Chapter 8: Breakthrough

It was raining when England awoke. When had he been moved? This was not the medical ward, he was in an unfamiliar cell. The ceiling was cracked and grey, the walls whitewashed. He lifted his arms into the air, gazing at his bare arms. His wrists were slightly darker from the many faded bruises, but his hands and arms were slender and white. England blinked a few times, sitting up on his small white bed.

"Bloody hell," he groaned, holding his head in his hands.

He felt as though he had been clubbed over the head, his skull throbbing. Distant flashes of memory were beginning to come back to him, and his breathing beginning to become erratic.

"France..."

His eyes went wide and he shot out of bed, rushing to the sealed door. He banged against it frantically, screaming to be released. He tried his hardest to smash the small window, though it was no use. The thing must have been reinforced. He furiously blinked back tears, before they began to escape. He swore loudly and sank to the floor, brushing away the unwanted tears. He looked up and his stomach dropped, seeing someone watching him through the small window. His doctor.

The door unsealed with a hiss, then slowly swung open. Two guards stood on either side of the grey man, and they systematically rushed forward to restrain England. It didn't take much, as he did not fight back. Without a word, the doctor nodded his head, and they set off, leading England out of the cell block. A few moments later, and they had arrived at Vincent's office. England was seated in the reclining chair, and the guards turned, leaving the room. The doctor paced the room, before slamming his fist on the desk, and switching on the news. The two silently watched the news.

"The Capital is rife with rebellion as angry citizens grow more and more restless. Nonviolent protests have been abandoned, while the people of London are becoming violent. Several attempts to get inside Buckingham Palace have failed, with several royal guard dead. The Queen refuses to be moved to a safe location, and has prepared a speech for her people..."

The doctor shut off the news, causing England to lock eyes with the man. His eyes looked tired and pained, as a few tears began to leak from his eyes.

"Arthur... We need to try this again."

"Try what? You're bloody insane, the country is tearing itself apart!"

"I know."

"Fuck you, I need to be with my people!"

The doctor raised an eyebrow. Arthur seemed to be very close to the people of England, it was almost as if... He shook his head. That was completely illogical, he knew. Nothing like that could be possible.

"I have shown you the news today, because I know you to be a very close informant to the Prime Minister, and the Queen. Arthur, I do not know the extent of your position in the government, but I do know that it is very important, now please, we must try this again."

England looked down, movement on the desk catching his eye. A manilla envelope. The same envelope he had been shown before. Arthur's eyes widened.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice becoming a whisper.

"Because I want to help you Arthur."

XxXxXxXxX

Francis' eyes fluttered open at the sound of his cell phone ringing on his nightstand. He blinked away the tiredness and rolled over, hand scrambling for the small cellular. He hit the talk button and held it up to his ear, drawing a breath.

"Francis Bonnefoy speaking," he said, a bit more slurred than he would have like.

"France? Turn on your T.V."

Francis became interested, the current tiredness already fading as he propped himself up on his elbows, satin blankets falling off his bare shoulders.

"Alfred? It's six A.M in France you know," he said, using his free hand to rub the remaining sleepiness from his eyes.

"I know that dude, you gotta catch the six o'clock news! They're talking about Iggy and me on T.V."

France groaned and rolled out of bed, quickly pulling on a pair of silk pants and fur slippers, walking groggily to the living room of his large, elegant home. He fumbled around the side table for the remote control and switched on his 52" flat-screen television. It was already tuned to the local news, as many nations watch it regularly. Already, images of citizens rioting in the streets of London flashed across the screen.

"In recent news, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom has hesitantly accepted audience with the President of the United States of America. While France's diplomatic relations with the U.S. are steady, recent tensions have broken out between the U.K and the U.S. One thing is for certain, if the alliance remains broken, the economy is sure to suffer."

Francis flicked off the television, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing in frustration. He breathed deeply and sank back into the couch.

"Alfred... I don't think we can get him out of there. Unless they can be convinced that he is cured, once and for all. Angleterre is far too stubborn to allow it. I think we need to do something else, instead of dealing with the hospital."

America was quiet on the other end for a moment.

"What do you mean?"

"Appeal to the doctor."

XxXxXxXxXx

Arthur lay on the floor, clasping the envelope in his hands. He was trembling all over, huddled around the precious documents as though his life depended on it. The Doctor stood over him, commanding him to open the folder.

"I will not! It's a trick, a bloody trick!" Arthur shouted, shuffling away.

"Arthur, the solution to your problems lies in that envelope. Do you not want to leave this place?"

"Liar, you're obviously lying," Arthur said shakily.

"Just open the envelope."

Arthur hesitated, glancing at the paper in his hands. He eyed the Doctor, about to crack it open, when a fuzzy noise erupted from the intercom on the desk. The microphone. Arthur clutched the folder to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. The Doctor cursed, then whirled around, snatching the intercom from the desk.

"What is it?" he snarled angrily.

"Doctor Vincent, two individuals have forced their way into the office hall. They said they wanted to see you. Permission to arrest?"

The Doctor paused, an unreadable expression crossing his features. He glanced at the security computer, catching sight of the two men in the hallway. They were easily recognized.

"Permission denied. Let them come."

Before the security guards could respond, he shut off the intercom. He turned and smiled warmly at his patient, still sitting on the floor, shaking.

"Arthur, I believe you have some visitors."

Just as he said this, the door to his office burst open. Alfred Jones and Francis Bonnefoy stood there, stoic looks upon their faces. France saw Arthur on the floor and his expression softened, rushing to his side. But something was wrong. Arthur looked horrified at the very sight of France, backing away from his touch.

"No, you're dead! You were dead!" He shouted.

Francis was now extremely confused, trying to convince Arthur that he was, in fact, alive. Alfred strode forward quickly, his strong hand gripping the Doctor's grey coat by the collar. The Doctor only smiled lightly.

"Mr. Jones... this is assault you know."

"Don't give me that! What the hell are you doing to him?" Alfred shouted, pushing the Doctor forcefully into the desk.

A lamp and a small picture slid off, smashing on the floor. The Doctor only chuckled.

"I quite liked that lamp. Mr. Jones, I don't believe you understand what is going on here. What we are about to do? Though, perhaps it is too much for your mind to envision."

Alfred hissed angrily, raising his fist.

"Alfred, don't!" France shouted, causing the American to stop short.

"If you hurt him, Arthur will never get out."

Alfred grit his teeth, and lowered his hand, taking a deep breath.

"What are you going to do to him?"

"Put the puzzle back together, Mr. Jones. Arthur. Would you kindly open the envelope and read the documents aloud."

All three individuals locked eyes with him. Arthur was trembling, glancing around for support. France, America, and that bloody Doctor, all gazing at him expectantly. Arthur had never felt so weak and helpless before, so he did the only thing he knew how to do. He opened the envelope. He grew confused as he read the papers aloud.

"A-Arthur Kirkland, Patient #310. Admitted 04/08/2011 under request from g-government officials."

He looked up.

"Go on Arthur," the Doctor said calmly.

"H-has shown signs of increasingly severe schizophrenia and violent tendencies. Placed under intensive care. P-personal notes. Kirkland has spoken of several individuals he believes to be closely aquainted with. A f-former patient of Russian nationality he calls "Zak," an abusive security guard under the alias "Munsun" and a murderous pirate called "Hook." As far as I know, h-he has actually interacted physically and mentally with each of these visions. After the attempt to crack the secret of "Zak" I believe we actually 'eliminated' the hallucination. He says we killed him."

Arthur dropped the envelope in his lap, a desperate gaze in his eyes.

"But- but they- killed Francis," he said, tears dripping down his face.

France gasped, and wrapped his arms around Arthur, drawing him close.

"They are visions Arthur... I am alive," he said quietly.

Alfred had a look of extreme disbelief and worry on his face. The Doctor was smiling triumphantly.

"You see Arthur? None of it was real. You are free."

Alfred's shoulders slumped as he watched the Brit. It was depressing, yet somehow extremely uplifting to see Arthur slowly returning to normal. He was sobbing on the floor, slowly moving his lips in time to the words in the folder, as if clarifying that they were real.

"So... It wasn't Zak's file I was trying to find? I-It was mine?"

"Precisely. All this time I had my suspicions that you really did want to learn the truth this entire time, in your subconscious... Unfortunately it took quite a bit of work to crack it. It was only a matter of time until I figured out the key. Your own file."

All three nations looked awestruck. For once, France had nothing negative to say about the Doctor. Perhaps he really was only trying to help.

Arthur's eyes darted to the door, as the world began to slow incredibly. The door to the office swung open as men began to rush into the room, pistols drawn in an aggressive stance. Arthur screamed in protest as he watched France and America spin around, throwing up their arms. He didn't hear the shots, but he saw them, exploding in bright flashes from the ends of six handguns, bullets pounding into the nation's bodies. Blood sprayed from the wounds and England screamed, lunging at the Doctor, who continued to stand in the center of the room, smile remaining on his face the entire time. They collided, and England saw nothing but red.

A/n: I updated! yayyyy! I hope this wasn't to bad. Or to short. Or to bad. Did I already say that? Well, I hope you are all satisfied with this update, I tried my hardest but recently I havn't been in the right frame of mind for writing :p ah well, I believe this leaves the chapter open for questions. It is a bit confusing, non? Honhonhon, well I plan to write one more major chapter, than an epilogue... Wrapping it up, ya know? As always, thank you my wonderful reviewers! THANK YOU ALL! :D