Summary: Arthur Kirkland will never be the same again. After he is released from a mental hospital, his whole life is full of depression, therapy, and isolation. When he meets a young man at his group therapy, he becomes intrigued. Alfred F. Jones- a perfect looking boy until you look at his arms. Arthur wasn't planning on saving anyone but himself, but Alfred just might change that.

EDIT: Okay, so I've gone back through these three chapters and fixed all of these grammar mistakes. I didn't go back and reread these chapters to fix them for reasons I'm not sure of. But, this should be much more enjoyable now! Chapter four is also on its way; I'm looking forward to it!

Scotland- Allistor
Ireland- Darcy
N. Ireland- Dylan
Wales- Floyd
Ancient Egypt- Bubastis

Wreck

Chapter One

Arthur crossed his legs in an impatient way as he waited for his brother Allistor. He was hunched over slightly in an uncomfortable, wooden chair in the waiting room. Allistor was still talking to Arthur's therapist back in her office. Arthur had the choice to stay or go; there was no way he was going to stay.

The front door opened and a girl that looked a year or two younger than Arthur stepped inside. She had on a sweatshirt and jeans despite the hot weather outside. She looked tired and her posture was awful. An older woman rushed inside after her with wide eyes. Arthur rolled his eyes and looked away from the girl and her mother.

Little Creek's Therapy Office was not a place that children would go to on their own. They would either be forced to go here by a parent or, in Arthur's case, an older sibling.

The blonde teen straightened his posture and stared outside the clear window. Late afternoon sunlight was pouring into the waiting area, causing small dust particles to be noticed. The music that was being played over the speakers was nothing more than birdsong and a babbling brook. It was supposed to be soothing to the patients, but it just reminded Arthur of where he was...and why he was there. Arthur smiled very softly when he saw a bird land outside on the railing. It was a blue jay. Arthur loved blue jays; they always sounded so happy.

A hand touched his shoulder and startled Arthur right out of his thoughts. Allistor was standing over him with his usual crossed expression. "Ready to go?" His red eyebrows raised as he stared at his brother's shocked expression. "What's with you?"

Slowly, Arthur began to calm down. He cursed his stupid anxiety that made him scared when someone simply touched his shoulder. Yet again, Allistor should know that he didn't like being touched. Instead of reminding him of this, Arthur stood up. He turned his head to the door that led patients into the hall with their therapist's offices and saw his therapist standing there and smiling at him.

Her name was Bubastis, an Egyptian woman who was native from Egypt. Arthur didn't know much about her life outside of this except that she had a son whose name was Gupta. Bubastis gave him a wave but Arthur pretended like he didn't notice. He wasn't in the mood.

Allistor and Arthur walked outside into the hot, July sun. To Arthur's disappointment, the blue jay had flown away. The air was humid, yet held no promise of rain. Arthur loved the rain; it reminded him of his home in England. When the two brothers slid into Allistor's car, Allistor quickly stuck the key into the ignition and turned the AC onto maximum. Everything was quiet for the time being, with the exception of the AC. Arthur didn't mind this at all, in fact, he loved it.

But Allistor had to ruin it.

"How did it go this time?" The Scotsman asked as he drove out of the driveway.

"It went fine."

"That isn't-"

"I said it was fine."

"Don't fucking do that!" Allistor's outburst seemed to shock both of the brothers, even though they were both used to it. When Allistor came to the stop sign, he took a pack of cigarettes from the cup holder and slid one stick out. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the white stick before he drove off once more.

Arthur waited until Allistor blew out a breath of smoke before he spoke up. "I'm not doing anything."

"Arthur, we promised each other that it wouldn't be like last year," Allistor said quietly, though Arthur could detect some annoyance in his voice. "I am not going through that again and neither are you."

The blonde boy could feel the hot tears gathering in his eyes. He never cried in front of people, but that didn't mean that the tears didn't want to spill. Arthur closed his eyes and rested his head against the cold window. Maybe...maybe if he just ignored Allistor, he wouldn't have to hear about his past sins anymore. But his brother seemed fixed on arguing.

"Hello? You can take a nap when we get home. Right now I want to know how your therapy went. And you will tell me, or so help me, I will send you back to Poplar Springs."

'No. Please, don't.' Arthur wanted to scream, he wanted to kick, wanted to cry. But he couldn't; he was just too tired. He opened his eyes and concentrated on the trees that they were passing along with the occasional house or store. He took a deep breath of smoky air and turned his head back to the front.

"It went okay. We talked about some different methods I could use to stop thinking about suicide." There it was; that awful word that so many parents and teachers wished that children would never have to think about. A child was too young, too innocent, to be thinking about wanting to leave this nightmarish place called life. For Arthur, suicide was something he thought about on a daily basis. It wasn't as bad as it had been before, but it was still there, lingering in his mind even when he was having a good time- whatever that is.

Allistor gave a small nod of approval. He took the cigarette out of his mouth so he could speak. "What were some of those methods?"

Arthur pressed his fingers together before lacing them together, like he was holding someone else's hand. 'Yeah, right.' "Listening to music, going on a walk, and talking to you or whoever."

There was a small, grunt of approval that came from Allistor. "Those sound like good methods. But you have to be willing to do those things. I mean, you never talk to anyone, Artie." Allistor made a turn onto a road that was surrounded by nothing but trees. Arthur blinked several times as he stared at the dense greenery. He loved forests. It reminded him of his childhood, when he would go and play with his imaginary friends. Such simple times. He closed his eyes once again and blocked out his brother's words once again, but five, small words seemed to shatter everything.

"…start going to group therapy."

No!

Arthur opened his eyes and stared at Allistor as if he had three heads. "What? I don't need to go to group therapy!" Group therapy meant talking to strangers, it meant telling every stranger in that room what was wrong with him. That was his living nightmare. It was bad enough telling Bubastis; he didn't think he would be able to do it with a group.

"Arthur, you need every little bit of help you can get," Allistor snapped before he took another drag. He blew out the smoke, and Arthur tried hard not to gag. "Didn't you guys do group therapy at Poplar Springs?"

The blonde Brit hugged himself tightly as he was pulled back into the past of when he was at Poplar Springs. The patient that he roomed with would cry non-stop and scream at nothing; the ever-present smell of bleach; the awful feeling of waking up to white walls and white sheets. They did offer group therapy there, but Arthur did not go. He was in such a catastrophic state that the nurses decided individual therapy would be better for him.

"I never went," he choked out.

Allistor sighed rather loudly. "Well, I believe its about time for a change. You will feel a thousand times better once you've talked to these people! You might even make a friend or two. They'll go to your school, I'm sure."

"You know I suck at making friends," he mumbled.

"You're friends with Francis."

Francis. The only friend Arthur had ever truly known. When he moved to America from England, they had moved into the house next to the Bonnefoy residence. Francis was a year older then Arthur, but that hadn't mattered. Though Arthur had hated the boy as soon as he had seen him, he had proved to be a great friend. Francis had been the one that had found him in the bathtub, bleeding...dying. Francis had been the one next to him in the ambulance, had been the only one Arthur had wanted to see when he woke up in the hospital.

They were best friends. But just because they were that didn't mean that Arthur spilled his guts out to the Frenchman. Arthur drew in a deep breath. "That's different."

"Well, this is different, too. Bubastis gave me this number, and I'm going to call to schedule an appointment." Allistor made a turn down into a subdivision. They were almost home.

Arthur let out a shuddering sigh and gripped his other hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white. There was no way he was getting out of this, his brother was too stubborn for that. Arthur said nothing more for the rest of the way home.

When Allistor pulled up into the driveway, their youngest brother Peter was standing right up under the large oak tree in their yard. A couple moments later, Floyd was standing next to him. How he had gotten up in that tree was beyond Arthur's imagination. The Briton got out of the car and made his way towards the porch.

"Hey, Artie!" Floyd called, waving a muscular arm to his brother. "Wanna play with me and Pete here?"

Arthur glanced at Floyd and gave a simple shake of his head. He ignored the hurt feeling that was shining in Floyd's green eyes and walked inside. 'Screw him and his hurt feelings! He's leaving all of us to join the stupid military!'

Ever since Arthur was a little kid, Floyd had always been the classic big brother. He was kind and had always played with Arthur. Whenever Arthur was getting picked on, Floyd would simply crack his knuckles and step in. They had done just about everything together, from fairy hunting to going to reenactments of Shakespeare's plays. Then their mum had died.

Arthur let out a small sigh and walked upstairs. They lived in a house that was large enough for six people- their mother had been quite wealthy, so when she passed, money hadn't been much of a problem. It was going to feel strangely empty here with Floyd gone, and then next summer, Dylan and Darcy would be moving out. Arthur had a feeling they were going to study in Ireland. It would just be him, Allistor and Peter after that.

Finally, Arthur made it into his bedroom. The only interesting things in his room were three bookshelves filled with books, a large Union Jack hanging from the wall, and a wall of pictures next to his bed. The pictures were either of him and Francis when they were younger or of his family when they were still in England. He used to love taking pictures, and even though he had been small when he liked to take them, they were rather good.

Arthur laid down on his bed and curled up into a small ball. His phone, which he had left lying on his bed, was buzzing several times, indicating that he had a message. He lazily lifted an arm and picked it up. He had one missed message from Francis.

Francis: I noticed that you're home. Did everything go okay?

Arthur: No. The ginger wants me to go to group therapy tomorrow. Kill me.

Francis: You know I would never…But maybe this can be good, non?

Arthur: You know I hate talking about my problems.

Francis: I wouldn't call them problems. They are more like obstacles that you have to get over before your life can really start!

Arthur: Thank you, Dr. Phil.

Francis: Oh, haha.

Francis: I wish I could come over later, but we're leaving for Paris tomorrow morning at four.

Arthur: You're leaving me? D:

Francis: Oui! I'll be back in a week!

Arthur: Bring me a snow globe.

Francis: Will do.

Arthur leaned over to grab his earbuds that were lying on his nightstand. He stuck them into his phone and scrolled through his songs. He chose a song by Ed Sheeran, and then curled back up into a tight ball. He pulled the sleeves of his over-sized hoody up so he could look at his disgusting scars. Ragged, white skin was on his wrist and forearms, proof of what he had once done.

You should do it again, a voice seemed to whisper in his head. Arthur closed his green eyes. He was stronger than that, right? He wouldn't succumb to those voices he had tried to ignore. You're a worthless piece of garbage that has no use for living. Who cares if you damage more of your ugly skin?

The song changed to "Alone Again, Naturally" by Gilbert O'Sullivan and Arthur's heart nearly stopped. This was the song he had been listening to when he had learned about his mother's death. Why he still listened to it was beyond him. A sickening feeling rolled around in his stomach, and he was suddenly in England again, sitting outside in the veranda, reading. The song was peacefully playing next to him. Life was perfect.

Then Floyd had come running outside, saying they needed to get to the hospital now. It was all a blur after that.

Yes, perhaps he did need to cut himself.

Numbly, Arthur stood up and walked out of his room and into the bathroom. He blindly pulled Allistor's razor out of the closet and placed the blade over his arm. He needed to this. He was disgusting, stupid, a bloody waste of space. Who could ever love someone like him?

Arthur didn't even feel the sharp sting of pain as he sliced his skin. It wasn't near his veins, it wouldn't kill him. There weren't any tears; he was just tired. Tired of living in his own broken, scarred skin. A single tear did escape him, though. It slid down his cheek and mixed with the bloody mess on his forearm.

Blood dripped onto the floor, but it wasn't a concern to him. He would simply clean it, just like he would clean this mess on his arm up. One more slice, just one more cut for good measure. The pain hit him like a train and he recoiled in shock. With gritted teeth, Arthur washed the razor blade off and placed it back in the closet before he unrolled some toilet paper and kneeled down to clean the floor.

If only he could wipe away the scars on his arms has well, along with the scars on his heart.

A/N: First chapters are always the worst. I feel so sorry for Arthur; no one this young should have to go through this! But he's going to meet Alfred in the next chapter; the hero will fix this!