America stood on the charred grass outside King's Park Psychiatric for the Criminally Insane, looking into the west wing through a hole in the wall. He was wearing a scowl that set deep lines on the man's youthful face. A dozen police officers were mulling about the area setting up lines and looking for evidence. Among them were several of America's men, who were still stationed in the area dispite Smith's repeated orders to leave the country. Hopefully they're helping to coordinate this mess, America thought angrily.
One of his men appeared at his side.
"Sir?"
Turning from the gaping hole, America pulled a large soda from seemingly nowhere and started to loudly slurp it up while scanning the crime scene. "What have you got?"
"Not much. There's woods for at least a kilometer in all directions, but we did find footprints and tracks in the mud not far from here. Car tracks. We're thinking they're from the car or whatever the terrorists used to get away in."
"And get here in the first place," America huffed. He paused to take another sip. "What else?"
The other man looked down to a notepad he carried, trying to decipher the scribbled notes.
"Well there's the fence that had been cut with cutters-"
"Which tells us nothing. *slurp* And?"
"And, uh, the hole in the wall," the man ended with a half-hearted motion. "We're getting the bomb squad down here to see if they can make anything else of it. But that's about it."
"About *slurp* it or really it?" America questioned hotly, while finishing his drink.
"Really it, sir. For now," he added quickly, in an attempt to appease his fuming superior.
America threw the empty drink container to the ground and stomped on it. "Dude! They left a two meter calling card in the wall and we still have nothing! What do they have to do? Walk up to you and hand a signed letter of confession?" America shouted.
The man didn't meet his eyes, ashamed. America signed after a moment then continued, quieter.
"How're the search teams?"
"They're split up, Sir. Got one following the footprints, but it gets hard fast. The dogs should be up soon. Then we'll know where the runaways went."
"What's the final count on the escape artists?" America asked.
Behind them, another of America's men appeared, stepping through the hole in the wall with Dr. Morgan right behind.
"Four, Sir," The newly arrived man answered.
"No, no, it's just three," Morgan corrected snootily. "They found Johnson hiding in an office cabinet."
"And who were the others?" America questioned.
"Oh, it's you." Morgan lifted his nose unhappily in America's direction. "I thought you were in politics, what business do you have here at a crime scene?"
"I do a bit of everything, it's how us heroes roll."
"Right, well..."
"So, who were the others?" America asked, impatiently.
"There's Johnny Paris, who I'm sure will turn up. He's done this before on a smaller scale. He just hides then pops back. Has nowhere else to go, you know. And no ambition. He's reformed quite a bit, but he's still quite ma-"
"And the other two?"
"And a man by the name of Zach Charles and your friend Ar-"
"Arthur Kirkland," America finished. He turned a glare towards the hole in the brick wall and kicked the discarded, squashed soda cup at his feet. "God Dammit!"
"Quite," Morgan agreed calmly as he checked his watch.
"Was anyone hurt?" America asked after a moment.
"We've a few patients and staff who inhaled too much smoke and a few patients hurt attempting to escape through a barred window in the lobby. Nothing serious."
"Did anyone see the guys who did it?" America asked.
"Oh, yes. There was a group trapped in the lobby. Apparently the intruders came right up to them and asked them a few questions."
America lifted an eyebrow incredulously but the doctor just nodded confirmation. The man seemed quite unperturbed by the whole situation beyond the disruption it was causing in his schedule.
"You didn't see 'em yourself, Morgan?" America questioned.
"Oh no," Morgan replied, sounding aghast at the idea. "I had already headed home for the evening."
America nodded critically. He hated uptight, snobby, college pricks. They always thought they knew everything and hated putting in more than the minimal amount of effort required.
"I'm going to need a list of everyone who was on duty yesterday and this morning," America ordered.
Morgan glared at him, displeased at being given commands, but nodded. "I'll get right on it."
"I hope you find them soon, Mr. Jones. For their own sake and the sake of anyone around them," said the doctor. "They were all on medication for their conditions. It is essential we find them, especially Arthur Kirkland, before it wears off."
"What'd you have him on?" America asked, scowling at the idea of pumping England full of drugs and calling it medicine.
Morgan saw this and adjusted his glasses. "Mr. Kirkland, as you know, had no notable prior history of severe violence, but something in him snapped, Mr. Jones. This can happen when a person is under a great deal of stress and people who are already damaged –Possibly by past experiences and trauma- or people who are in a highly stressfull occupation, are more susceptible. Even with the sedatives and therapy sessions, he's had bouts of violence during his stay. Without them…." Morgan let the sentence hang ominously.
America started stonily back at the doctor. He knew what the doctor was saying; If England wasn't found and treated, he could kill again.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
"You know," England groaned, rubbing his eyes. "I'm getting tired of just suddenly waking up and not knowing where I am or how I got there."
England sat on an old beaten up mattress, his back propped against a cool wall of stone. He was in a small room dimly lit by a single bulb. It reminded him of a walk-in closet. And maybe it had been once upon a time, but it seemed so old and unkept now, he doubted anyone had used it in years.
"We crashed here last night, remember? After our Great Escape? Lovely old condemned building?" England jumped slightly, then turned to see Captain Hook leaning in the doorway.
"No, not really," England grumbled. He felt groggy, stiff, and irritable. Hook held out his hand and helped England to his feet.
"Well, you're not thinkin' hard enough then," Hook told him as England tested his ankle. The damage it had taken in the fall the night before seemed to have mostly healed. England sighed.
"Or maybe I don't remember, because this is all in my head," he countered. Hook handed him his stolen collared shirt and tipped his head curiously.
"How do ya' figure?"
England slid his arms into the sleeve and adjusted the shirt with a shrug. "Because, Hook, besides the fact that me being accused of murder is postively ludicrus in the first place and could only belong in a nightmare, when you're in a dream, you often jump from place to place and time to time. It might seem natural at first, but when you start to think about it, you can't remember actually getting there," he told the pirate matter-of-factly. "That's when you realize you're dreaming."
Hook chuckled and motioned for england to follow him out. "No, you gettin' chucked in the nut-house really did happen, though that stuff about jumping from one place to the next... That's true enough. In your case, however, I'm bettin' it's the stuff they drugged you up with."
"Drugs?" England questioned.
"Or maybe your mind was just elsewhere," Hook continued, waving his hook vaguely as they stepped out of the closet and into a larger room that reminded England of an abandoned factory. The area was only about two meters high, but something close to 15 meters wide. He was less interested in scenery, however, and more interested in what Hook had said. He reached out and grabbed the man by the shoulder.
"What drugs?" he demanded.
Hook rolled his eyes. "They call it medication," he said. "You've gotta wonder though. And when you wonder, your mind wanders. Wandering wondering minds… What did you see when your mind wandered, England?"
England glared at Hook in growing annoyance. "Nothing."
"Oh, I highly doubt that."
"What is it with you?" England growled. "Ever since you showed up at the asylum you've acted as if you know more than you say." England stepped up close to Hook as what had started as mere frustration began to boil into something more dangerous. "I want answers."
"I'm sure everybody does at this point," Hook replied vaguely.
"Everybody who?" England questioned hotly with a gesture to the empty space around them. Without warning, England's other hand shot out and pressed the taller man back against the wall. Hook grabbed at England's hand, eyes wide in fear even as England's blazed. "Tell me, who you really are in all of this? You know more than you've been telling me."
Hook choked and England found his lip curling back as if in pleasure at the man's distress. And why shouldn't he be pleased, really? Captain Hook had been nothing but a nuisance since day one, with his inappropriate jokes about Tinkabell and his habit of spitting, all he did was remind England of his pirating glory days and how come this pathetic man could be a pirate but The United Kingdom of Great Britian and Northen Ireland had to be content with just being a boring old man, he was still bloody young! And the garbage that had been pouring out of Hook's mouth of late. And... and...
"England, please!" Hook sputtered.
"The truth, Hook. No more of your inane riddles," England hissed.
"Not riddles-" Hook choked. "I just know what I know."
At the unsatisfying answer, anger flooded though England that put anything he'd felt previously to shame. It was a pure, white hot rage that felt so incredibly alien, it made him halt his murderous action of grabbing Hook by the head and snapping his neck with a twist. Instead, he blinked confusedly at Hook.
"Yeah, maybe you are in a dream, but not the way you think. I think we can help each other, but first you gotta decide if you want to wake up," Hook said earnestly. "Please, England. Is this who you are?"
England's eye twitched and again the urge to dispose of this nuisance of a man threatened to overwhelm him. Hook trembled in his grip, but kept his eyes locked on England. England wasn't seeing him, however. England's gaze had turned inward. He remembered being crouched over the body of a murdered country. He remembered being at another murder scene with America. He recalled with something worse than clarity that he was responsible. He remembered feeling pleased and some spark of sanity left inside him recoiled at the thought and with that small moral reaction the murderous anger dwindled. Dwindled, but did not disappear, England noted with disgust.
England released Hook who also seemed a bit more relaxed.
"I'm sorry. I … This isn't me," England said, confusion clear. "I don't understand," he said as he turned away. "How can I be-"
England stopped short as he came right in line with a gun. The man holding it wore a serious expression and he wasn't alone. Two other men had somehow also entered the room and gone unheard and unnoticed until now. England recognised them as Japan and... North Italy? And the man holding the gun was South Italy, why on earth are they here?
"Er... Romano?" Italy said tentatively, "I don't think you're supposed t-"
"Quiet, stupido," said Romano, "I still don't know whether or not I trust him yet."
Italy frowned. "Yeah, but it's dangerous to point guns at people and Germany sai-."
"Germany, Germany that's all you ever talk about," snapped Romano turning his attention from England to address his brother, whilst gesturing angrily "I'm only here because you asked me to come and don't think I w-"
"You do know the safety is still on don't you? While I'm not sure I like you pointing that thing at me, if you're going to threaten me, you can at least do it properly." England cut in.
"Wh- argh, dammit!" Romano cursed, he turned around and began fiddling with his gun.
"It's the little lever on the side there..." England said, looking over his shoulder.
There was an awkward silence in the room for a few seconds.
"...yeah alright, I already knew that, obviously!" Romano insisted, as he took the gun off safety, while England rolled his eyes and mouthed a "sure".
"So, do you wanna tell me what you were doing in here?" Romano asked firmly. The two held steady gazes for a few moments, then England broke it with an accepting nod.
"Well, obviously I was having a... rather intense discussion with Captain Hook here" he said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.
"Who?" Romano asked, lowering his gun in confusion. North Italy and Japan exchanged nervous glances.
"Hook, the pirate right behi- hey where'd he go?" England exclaimed, whist turning around. "He must have run off, but you saw him when you came into the room right?"
The others shuffled their feet awkwardly.
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid we didn't see anyone else" Japan said quietly, breaking the temporary silence.
"That's it, I knew he was nuts, I'm outta here! Come on fratello!" Romano said loudly.
"But, I wanna stay and help" North Italy whinned.
"Hai, I agree with Italy, England is my friend. We should stay and at least find out why we're here." Japan said.
Romano sighed, "Fine."
The three looked expectantly at England.
"...well?" Romano growled.
"Huh?" England said confusedly
"Why are we here?"
"...Er, I don't know. Why are you here?" England said slowly, mistaking the question.
Romano huffed, "Hey, don't play mind games with me, I know some people in low places buddy."
Another flare of anger coursed through England, but he managed to keep it in check. Romano saw England's eyes shoot to him and the quick glare that flashed across the man's face and he cleared his throat.
"Um... I mean... Ah, don't kill me!" He pulled his brother infront of him like a sheild, "I have family in Manchester!"
"Don't be ridiculous," England sighed, "I just want some answers, I've been in the dark for a... while. Actually, how long have I been gone?"
"About two weeks! I remember because Festival Nazionale dei Primi Piatti was on and I had to miss some of it because of all the questioning from the police. I nearly missed the pasta art competition!" Italy piped up.
"Y-you really didn't know how long you were gone?" Japan asked
"Er. No, I was in an asylum and I'm a little... fuzzy on the details, but it certainly doesn't feel like I've been gone that long, I thought for sure it had been four, maybe five days at the very most" England scrunched up his face in concentration, trying to sort through the last two weeks, but he had very little to work with. He didn't like the feeling.
As yet another awkward silence threatened to consume the group, England decided to think further back, to the events that lead to him being brought to the mental health facility in the first place. "There were some murders" he started, "not just ordinary ones though, the victims, they were..." he trailed off.
"Countries," Romano filled in, "they were countries like us." His voice seemed to break, and in quickly became obvious that he was having a difficult time holding his composier. His brother edged closer to him and attemped to wrap his arm around Romano's shoulders, but he was shrugged away. "I'm fine! I don't need any of your hug theropy!"
"The victims," England continued, "one of them was Prussia, wasn't it?"
The others nodded grimly.
"Germany was so upset, it was kinda scary" Italy said in a small voice, while still attempting to comfort his resisting brother.
"Can you remember any others?" Japan asked, trying to help things along.
"Um," England bit his lip, he could think of one other, but he almost didn't want to hear the answer and he was afraid to ask. All he could think about was that... Dream? Memory? Hallucination? That he had back at the facillity. Where he had a revolver, he had pulled the trigger after turning the gun on... On... On...
"America." England asked, staring at the floor. "Was he one of the victims?"
The silence that followed his question was stifling. "Well, was he?" England asked hotly, lifting his head up in order to see the answer on their faces.
All he saw was confusion.
"N-nooo" Romano said, drawing the word out, as though trying to placate England and mock him at the same time. He looked extremely irritated but wary of England.
"He wasn't?" hopeful relief filled England's voice.
"No, why would you think that?" Italy asked.
"He was probably next on that crazy bastard's list" Romano shot out, "come on Fratello, I'm not gonna trust a single word that guy's saying, this was probably just a trap to lure us here or something." He grabbed Italy by the arm and made for the exit quickly.
"I told you! I don't know why you're here!" England said, raising his voice.
"Then why did you ask us to come?" Romano said, loudly, turning to face him while letting go of his brother.
"I didn't ask you to come!" England was yelling now.
"Yes, you did, don't deny it you bastard!" So was Romano.
"Um, excuse me" Though, Japan was as quiet as ever as he attempted to interject.
"Did not! I didn't even know where this place was until Hook lead me here... I think."
"Oh, another one of you're crazy little fairy friends?"
"Excuse me," Japan was still struggling to get their attention, but he was to polite to interrupt them or raise his voice.
"He's a pirate dammit! You know damn well th-"
"Blah, blah, crazy shit, blah, pirate, blah" Romano said, in a high-pitched, poor british accent, whilst entertaining himself by using a hand puppet that was clearly meant to resemble England that appeared to have materialised out of nowhere.
"Where the hell did that thing come fr- you know what, it doesn't matter. I used to be a bloody pirate! So show at least a little bit of respect!"
"Respect? I bet you were a half-arsed, girly pirate!" Romano shouted.
"Excus-"
"Half arsed, girly pirate?" England yelled, cutting off Japan, who was beginning to feel a little like... that guy, America's brother, whats-his-name. "That's not what your man-crush Spain said when I kicked his arse all over the ocean."
"You have no right to say his name, you bastard!" Romano growled. "You're nothing but a murderer!"
"I am NOT A MURDERER! And I'll say his name as many times as I damn well please!" England roared.
Japan was still trying to stop the fight. "Can you two jus-"
"Just try it!" Romano yelled.
"Spain, Spain, Spain, Spain, Spain, Spa- ow!"
"You stupid, murdering bastard! I don't know why I even decided to give you a chance, I shouldn't have come here!" Romano shouted, cocking back his fist to lay another punch on England's face. Italy rushed to attempt to constrain his brother.
"Everybody shut up!" Japan yelled.
Wait... Japan... Yelled?
"Err..." England floundered.
"Wow, Japan's actually mad." Italy whispered, while his brother just stared in silent shock.
"I-I mean... Well. Um, I apollogise for my rudeness and for losing my temper like that, but perhaps we could try a more effective way of working through this." Japan stuttered, looking embarresed.
"I guess you're right." England sighed.
Romano let out a "hmph", crossing his arms and looking reproachfully at Japan, he was still shaking with anger.
"Now, England. I believe you were working through the events of the past few weeks? You'd just determined that America was not one of the victims." Japan said, trying to avoid eye contact with Romano. This is why he usually refrained from speaking when sensing the mood.
England screwed up his face in concentration. "Yeah, so I was told there were three victims. Is that right?"
Italy and Japan nodded silently, while Romano just huffed impatiently.
"So there was Prussia... then who?" England asked.
"As if you don't know bastard!"
"No, Romano. I don't know so why don't you enlighten me, huh?" England snapped.
"Well Prussia and... and... a-and." Romano started sobbing, as did his brother.
Japan looked at them both sympathetically, "Romano, if you feel you cannot say it, you don't have to. I can tel-"
"N-No! I'll say it. I have to be the one to say it. O-One of the victims was... w-was S-S-Sp-Spaaaaiiinnn." He let out the name in a wail.
The Italian brothers both started bawling, Japan watched on in empathy and England just let out a small "Oh".