A Dream in a Nightmare

Chapter One

He was making me dizzy. Not the good, I'm in love dizzy, but the bad, I think I might faint dizzy. He was walking around the classroom quickly, talking loudly, and waved his hands about (which reminded me of Feliciano and Lovino Vargas). I looked at the desk, at the wall; anywhere but the teacher. I wanted to avoid another trip to the hospital. I've been there enough times as it is. But the pain was getting worse and I knew the blackness was going to be taking over very soon, and all the people in the room will be pushed into chaos again. A part of me wanted to give the others a warning, but I didn't feel strong enough to write and my voice refused to work. Well, I could have spoken, but I didn't trust myself. It would have come out as a scream, most likely. Instead, I had sent a desperate look to Elizaveta, to mouthed, "What's wrong?"

I was slipping and falling.

Failing.

Everything was wrong.

The room spun faster around me, becoming a blur, but then there was peace. Dark, black peace.

That's the thing with cancer; it's like a boat in the ocean. It's just a bright, seemingly normal, sunny day. Then, something happens, something stops working correctly and fails and you're sinking. Before you know it, before you can stop it, you're already drowning. Some people go quickly, others suffer. There are the lucky people who get saved, and then there are those who get saved, only to be thrown off the savior ship and back into the vast and unending ocean.

I'm one of those lucky people. Or, I was, until I got thrown off my savior ship.

For me, it started with a brain tumor. We caught it before anything serious could happen and I was lucky that wasn't that big and grown where it did, because it hasn't done that much damage to my brain, leaving me almost fully and perfectly functional.

Of course, like usual, it was growing back. And it was already too big for it to be fixed. Or, safely, at least. And from what I had heard, it had already spread. (So maybe I pretended to sleep while my dad and doctor talked over me from opposite sides of the somewhat comfortable hospital bed I spent almost every day in.) And to my lungs, as far as I had heard. (I actually did fall asleep during that conversation, so I don't know all the details. And don't give me that look, having cancer is tiring!)

The following weeks after the passing out in class consisted of sitting in a hospital bed all the time, watching stupid and overly dramatic soap operas. And of course, those times when you're stuck getting a stupid chemotherapy treatment. (I mean, really? I'm dying. Don't waste those drugs on me and give them to someone who still has a chance!) Then I'm not hungry (and even when I am, I usually throw up what I ate later, but hey. If I'm hungry, I'm going to eat), and… well, my hair. It hasn't started to fall out yet, but… it will soon. I just don't want to die bald, that would suck. And last on this list—the headaches never cease.

I sighed, pushing the food away from in front of me. "Dad…?"

"Yes?" My dad could be pretty annoying, but you have to love him. I mean, all the stuff he's done for me is amazing. I still wish mom wouldn't have left though. (Really, I haven't seen her or my own twin brother since we were eight, and now we're seventeen.)

"Can't…" I paused. I didn't want to break his heart more than I already had, but, "Can't I go home? I… I'm dying, and both of us know it. I don't want to die in a hospital."

His green eyes (and when I say green, I mean green) were full of tears. He's not usually one to cry, but most people would get emotional if their kid had just flat out told them that they're going to die and want to go home. "Oh, Alex!" He hugged me (gently, of course) and sighed. "You're not going to die poppet; if you were, I promise I would take you home!"

"Thanks, Dad…" The words honestly weren't reassuring. I'm just not going to live, I know that. I hate my fate with all my heart, but me living through something like this was like a house in the path of a tornado—ultimate death.

I just wanted to go home, email Kiku, and play video games. Because that's how I'd want to spend my last days (and going home equals no chemotherapy, which means HAIR). Now I just need dad to except it. If he did, I could be eating ice cream right now. But no, I'm stuck in a hospital dying and eating the worst food on the planet (besides airplane food. Yet again, you usually eat that while in the air, so…). Well, my Dad's food is pretty disgusting, too.

According to the hospital, though, I haven't reached the dying stage yet. Which means that my Dad got kicked out the moment visiting hours ended. It was nice, having the quiet room to myself. (Yes, the bed next to me was empty, so there are no fights about what to watch on the tiny, failure of a TV.)

Well, until the next week. "Hiya, Alex," one of the nurses greeted, holding thin white sheets and the usual itchy (and also thin) and usual cream colored comforter.

"Hey," I replied, muting the soap opera I was currently on. It's not like it mattered, I didn't understand it anyways. It was in Spanish.

"How are you holding up?" she began to make the bed next me, easily sparking my interest.

I looked down at my hands. The skin was so pale anymore (was it even… me?), I wondered what I actually looked like now. I haven't seen my reflection since that day (which is the day I passed out in class). "Fine," was my eventual response.

"Fine enough to share that TV?"

"What's their name?" I asked. Chances are I won't know them, but I might as well learn it for future reference.

"Ivan Braginski."

That name rang a bell. (It took a minute to remember though, that stupid brain tumor made me forget why the name was so familiar.) He'd been my childhood rival. Actually, we had been friends as kids, but when we were thirteen… things happened, we're enemies now, pretty much. "Is he, by any chance, and extremely tall Russian guy?" And I hadn't seen him since we were fourteen, though he always had towered over me.

"Yeah. So, at least you'll be with someone you know!"

"Ha, he was my enemy when we were younger, and I haven't really talked to him since."

She hit the pillow (to fluff it, I'm sure) and laughed. "Well, that'll make for some interesting conversations."

"What does he have…?"

The smile left her face, "I'm honestly not sure."

"Oh," I glanced over at the TV; the muted Spanish soap opera still was still on. What did he have, and why did I care? That had been, what, four years ago? I leaned back against the pillow, closing my eye. Great. Not only am I going to die (possibly bald) in a boring hospital, but my enemy will see the whole thing. Lovely.

Now I really would love to go home…

This is the longest chapter I've written for a fan fiction…

Anyways, this story… The main POV is Alex (Fem!America), and I don't think I'll be changing POVs. So, yeah.

Things will be inaccurate; I am doing research, but I still have a lot of other stuff going on, which makes it hard to sit down and just research.

Also, the part where she's talking about her mom and her twin… Her mom is Fem!France and her twin is Matthew/Canada. (Well, Canada and America are pretty much always twins, so... |'D)

Peace. Love. Anime.

~hetalia-deathnote-kuroshitsuji~