The preliminary experiments were done only between humans. They would sleep in the same room with wires connected to their skulls and the whole night is monitored. The explorer's fingers would twitch but for all the adventures that they were experiencing- it was minimal movement. The universal unconscious is the shared mind space of all living sentient beings and finally Alfred's scientists had been able to find a way into it. While the possibilities for using the technology were limited, and few of any good purposes. Information retrieval, destruction of cognitive abilities…the abuse was fruitful.

So far the universal constants were:

A defensive entity could be one or many, usually holding symbolism for the owner of the brain. Would attempt to eliminate the intruder.

Memories were stored in various means, but they would be abundant.

Bodies of water held emotions. Negative mostly. The most vivid for the majority of people.

Landscape and environment would vary.

The Ideal Self: The perfect image of the mind's owner, idealized by them. A true self, formed of desire but also natural instincts.

Dreams would be above the mind-scape. A movie or flashes of images. Usually mean nothing to the traveller.

Memories could be experienced, as real as one's own memories, if the stored device was activated.

Nation minds are incompatible with human minds. Cross travel impossible with current technology.

The basics of the mindscape seems to be an ideal environment, a place the mind owner either experienced in early youth and refined or the place they want to be most.

How this would all play out for the personifications was unknown. Alfred was more than willing to be the guinea pig. It was the adventure of a life time, in the final frontier.

They had gotten it down to a science, as much as they could. The human psyche was so ill fitted to be a science yet rip for it.

Instead of looking at the reports of his incredible debt he was fiddling with the remote. Simple enough much like the device for a television. There was a currently blank screen at the top, a dial, numbered buttons and some control buttons (stop, next, previous).

He needs to find someone to act as his first host mind; once more minds entered the primordial unconsciousness he could pick and choose from the minds as he wanted. Skipping around with a flick of a button. If he picked someone too far away from his time zone he'd end up waiting all night to get in.

He could have his pick of any of the nations around him really, the meeting he was in the middle of wasn't a full world meeting but still fairly large. He looks around him. People talking together, people avoiding each other, people avoiding themselves by diving into work even during the break (mostly Germany on that last one). He spots his brother. Matthew.

The blond is sitting at his table, with the miniature polar bear sleeping at his feet. For all that they had shared throughout the years there were corners inaccessible. In truth, any of the nations he visited on his journey would have parts reviled that he probably wouldn't see. A type of intimacy that he isn't sure what will be like.

He could always back away right now, or half way through. But

But,

Always a but, the unknown.

Something that he wants or even needs to know.

He turns the dial. There is a click and a slight hum as he waits the required few seconds.

He levels the remote at his brother's head.

If he's caught he's not sure what lie his brain will come up with, it's almost enough to get him to get caught. To know what that lie would be.

A near silent click and his brother lets out a hiss and rubs his head.

Now all he had to do was wait.

He thinks he has it all timed out well enough. He would go to sleep first. Shouldn't be too long before the remote would register his tag.

Another aspect of this great adventure: his own mind.

He's not sure what to expect.

It was like Christmas if Santa delivered a portal into his own mind under his tree.

Which is what he first notices when he opens his eyes in his mind.

Lots and lots of trees. It's familiar. Dangerous but only vaguely so, not in any actual danger but an instinct tells him it should be. Just like the forests of his youth. The light is dark, as if the sun is in the middle of setting, looking up though he can only see his dream. The consolidation of thoughts, memories, on some level his brain is working- in the space between awake and dead.

And there was so much of it!

Trees and junk.

Car parts, plane parts, a gear shaft here, an old ice box there. He kicks this and rolls his eyes at that.

Old egg beaters, oven handles, brooms, empty picture frames hanging from twine in the tree branches.

He finally just touches something, originally wondering if the broken shift rod felt the same but instead was vividly remembering the first time he dragged race along a piece of abandoned highway circa 1953.

The taste of dust and the sound of the teenagers yelling around him.

As vibrant as the day it happened. He throws the metal away with all his strength. Possibly forever embedding the metal in a tree somewhere but he can't stop and think about that possibility at all. He needs to keep moving.

If he were pressed to describe the sky, in truth is was a dream and a sky mixed, so that the clouds were tainted the colors of the dream and yet the land around him never brightened nor darkened with the dream.

The land was permanently casted in the odd night fall shades.

In his wondering he finally comes upon a large lake. He can see the other shore line, so not horribly too big. Looking down inside he sees the wreckage of boats. He yearns to touch the metal that was laid to rest here but he can gather a million memories that belong at the bottom of a lake and doesn't want to relive them.

He's made some self-reflective progress. He's sure to talk to his therapist about the symbolism of the metal debris and how it represents his memories. But on to more important things.

So where were his mind guardians or guardian? And his ideal self.

As he's about to push onward he hears a small bell. In the pocket of his jacket he finds the remote. Perfect.

There is a dot, blinking on the screen. As more people go to sleep, he'll be able to choose from the dots but for now he presses the button and

Feels like lying down and never getting up. The trip to the mindscape is horrible on the stomach.

The perceived stomach of his adventuring body anyway. He lands in piles of dried pine needles.

His mindscape didn't smell much like anything, dry summer maybe but Matthew's mind smelled like a vibrant autumn day. Zesty, very much in your face. Here too was a dense forest. Looking up he sees storm clouds, faintly through them he sees a dream. He can't make it out but it looks like water, like drowning. He should know, he's drowned a few times. Some by accident and some on purpose.

It's dim here too. Not as dark as his own mind but not a clear day.

It seems lighter further into the forest and he's here to explore so he gets to exploring.

Lanterns are hanging from all the trees; good guess is that these held memories.

As tempting as it would be to touch everything he resists the urge.

The lanterns come in a variety of colors. He guesses that the color has some sort of correlation to what kind of memory they represent.

He starts to hear waves crashing. He can't see where it's coming from yet but he hears it. He also hears the low thudding of slow walking.

Four foot patterned stepping. Heavy.

In Alfred's life, he's done a number of things based on assuming, guessing and reacting accordingly. Call it instinct or intuition but it has worked out well for him thus far. His instinct was telling him that the steps were not good news for him and it knew he was here.

He picks up his pace, wanting to take in as much as possible. It wouldn't be fun for his adventure to be ended with his travelling self being brutally murdered.

He finds a dilapidated fence, the paint worn off and the taste of salt spray in his mouth. It's simple enough to jump over it and he walks to the edge. He's on a cliff. Below him are crashing violent waves and jagged rocks. The light is stronger here, looking around he can see a bright spot in the sky, and the dream very faint and the sun light strong. It's a halo effect on the small sea side cottage.

Hand crafted, patch work, but strong against the winds. And tulips. A rainbow of tulips around it. Outside in-between flower beds and stray flowers are fishing equipment. Old fashioned kind.

He's about half way to the cottage when he feels eyes watching him. Turning to the source he has to stifle a scream.

He's seen moose.

He's seen birds of prey.

This thing was both.

Part feathers, part moose.

Large, hooved, beaked mouth and antlers. The eyes seem to be empty yet angry.

So very angry.

And unable to approach. The beast runs back and forth in front of the old fence.

As stroke of luck.

He enters the cottage. It's a simple type of cottage. A continuous space, kitchen, dining, living and then sleeping. Above the table is a vibrant wreath of tulips. In the kitchen sink is a single set of dishes and on the table one glass.

It seems to be set up for one.

And yet, in here Alfred feels surrounded.

He touches the plate and glass, runs a hand along the counter and looks at the spectacular view, as the wall facing the cliff and the water is all windows.

Open, yet what it opens to is dangerous. He looks at the living room, an old plaid couch, a hockey stick mounted over the fire place. The bed room is barely decorated, faded paintings hand on the wall. The window in here looks out to the woods. And he has to stop himself from shuddering as he sees the beast is still patrolling.

Returning to the front part of the cottage he sits at the table. Matthew's mind was lovely and brutal…

But the frickin' tulips.

He expected poppies not tulips. They looked like nothing special. He reaches out to them trying to be gentle, he promises, when he's thrust into the middle of a memory.

It's different when it's someone else's memory. His hands but not his hands.

"Ehy, Matt!" He hears a gruff voice. It's loud but it makes him feel…happy? It's hard to place, his body but not his body. The view turns and suddenly is filled with tulips. "Thanks, again." The scent of tulips fills his mind.

The next memory is of Matthew's reflection in a mirror. In his hands is a letter, in Dutch, Matthews' fingers rub over the writing. Over and over, and his voice is saying "I love you".

There isn't a pause between them, the memories keep coming.

Lying on a couch, his face is half squished into someone's shoulder. A joint is passed and someone gets hit in the face with a bird on the television. Everything is funny and Matthew's laugh is joined with another. It sounds unused to laughing but in his mind is the appreciation for hearing his laugh.

Bare arms and needy hands, the room is dark and-

That's when the memory is cut off.

Because Ideal-Matthew came home and found his real world brother touching his wreath of love tulips (he makes a note to remember that for later) and got mad. So mad that he pulled his hair and looks like he was about to slam his face into the table.

Ideal-Matthew doesn't have glasses and given the amount of time, Alfred is sure he could find a million tiny things that made this Matthew different then his real life brother but now was not the time to ponder such things because Ideal-Matthew was not a pacifist and he was about to take a hockey stick to his face. Perfect timing as always a bell went off and without looking Alfred sticks a hand in his pocket and clicks all the buttons until he's gone.


Originally a request on the Hetalia kink meme here : hetalia-kink . livejournal 13125 . html?thread=30564421#t30564421

I must admit I haven't seen or played Psyconauts but I went with a type of Inception feel mixed with a scatter of other things I've seen done before. This is also my second attempt at writing this as I had to send in my computer to have the hard drive replaced and I hadn't saved the original draft in my documents (thinking at the time if I put it on my desktop I would see it and work on it. That didn't work as it wasn't put on my new hard drive.)

Over all I tried to touch on some of the pairings that OP wanted while keeping it interesting. Hell of a lot of headcanons in this and hell of a fun time which is probably why even though my original work was gone I wanted to do it again.

I didn't talk about the guardians of Alfred's mind but I had originally planned them on being some sort of forest creatures. Plural. Maybe a mixture of a squirrel and raccoon or something. Matthew's moose isn't based on any native Canadian mythologies. At least not to my knowledge. I kind of scrimped on the research in that part.

Ideal-Matthew is a man of action, rather than the real Matthews nature of thoughtful reflection before action. And I'd love to live in the cottage. I ended up not including a memory that was in the original draft but it was just of a friendship with Ukraine and it was really cute but I forgot how I wrote it. Alas things just happen like that.