::A/N:: Well I really hope everybody enjoys this. I don't own Hetalia. If I did,... well I don't XD The title, if you're interested, means 'a dream within a dream' in Hungarian. It comes from the poem of the same name (in English) by Edgar Allen Poe. The quotes at the beginning of each chapter are from that poem.
These are not the countries, but the people, so here's a list of human names, I'll update the list as the people come along. Don't worry, most of them are coming along XD

Roderich = Austria

Elizaveta = Hungary

Gilbert = Prussia

This is most likely going to turn into an M story (for shameless smut and bloody gore) but until then, it's just a T~

PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW

Elizaveta POV

Fogd ezt a csók után a homlokát! ~ Take this kiss upon the brow!
És az elválás most, ~ And, in parting from you know,
Így sokkal hadd elismer ~ Thus much let me avow-

"Is right now really the time to do this, Elizaveta?" his tired voice begs of me. The purple bruises of fatigue match the violet of the half-closed eyes they rest under. I'm sure my cheek bones harbor the same. Too bad the fire in my heart can't burn away physical fatigue as it can the mental and emotional counterparts. Sleep is far from my mind now.

"Roderich, you said that I was whore. I think it's beyond time for us to do this," I demand, surprised, but pleased, at the stoic quality of my voice.

"I didn't-"

"Don't. Not tonight Roderich. I can't take any more of this forced serenity. Be honest."

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, then, "The way you look at men is disgusting for a woman of your status!"

"Disgusting? Woman of my status? What is disgusting is the way we are able to dive into fighting with such ease, Roderich!"

"Ease? EASE? You think this is easy for me? Fighting with you?"

For a minute, my heart jumps a little. Are you going to apologize? I think.

"You wanted us to fight, for God's sake! My girlfriend shouldn't be fighting with me! It is warrant for people to talk, Eliza!"

"Oh I'm so sorry," I drawl, my chest beginning to tighten with numbness. "I didn't realize how much of a topic I am between being a whore and an instigator."

"Ja-!" he starts, almost slipping into his native German. "Yes, you are a whore!" His recovery isn't nearly as fluid as it ought to be.

"I wish to know how you can think that about me, Roderich!"

"You flutter your eyes and flaunt your hips as a taken woman! It is hardly a difficult conclusion to result upon!"

"Excuse me for blinking and walking!" I scream at him, balling my fists against the tight muscle defining my legs. I am being juvenile, I know I am, but the anger beats over the rationality.

"You do more than blink and walk! What about all of those times you go and visit Gilbert? What are you two doing?"

"WORKING!"

"Is that all? Just working? I find that hard to believe."

"Well you shouldn't! Because he's a world class ass hole, and he will never be you, Roderich!" Please, here my apology, Roddy. Please give one of your own.

"You are a bad liar, Elizaveta."

"What?" I gasp, dumbfounded. "You still say that?"

"Yes, I have heard that you two do more than work. My friend said he saw you at a bar with that man, Eliza. Why would you enjoy pleasantries with someone you hate?"

"I can't go to have a drink every once in a while after work? He's a fr-... well he's a ... GOTT our relationship is complicated Roderich!"

"That is exactly my point. It is too complicated for you to trust me with it."

"Nem! I've just known him forever, that's all! That's the only reason we spend time together! I would never keep anything from you Roderich!" I cry, realizing too late, that it isn't true.

"Then what do you two do?"

"NOTHING! We just-"

"I mean for work, Eliza," he murmurs, cutting me off. Someone who didn't know Roderich would think his hushed voice a sign of defeat. I know he's just becoming more dangerous. He is volatile in his whispers.

"I.. I told you," I whimper, realizing where this is inevitably going. I can't tell you. "We.. we handle business for a corporation."

"Which corporation?"

Please no more questions! I beg silently. "It's.. um.. a big one," I trail off lamely, pushing a strand of my long brunette locks away from my face; a nervous habit.

"Eliza," the man in front of me sighs. He's shaking his head, like I'm some sort of naughty daughter rather than his frantic lover. "I fail to see any reason for me to continue to trust you."

I raise an eyebrow. I know my green eyes are flashing. How dare he? "How dare you," I whisper.

"Eliza, it only makes sense-"

"It doesn't make a fucking ounce of sense, you fucktard," I snarl.

"Eliza, don't do this. Look, lets just try to get some sleep-"

"Don't you dare cop out now, bastard," I hiss, taking a leaf out of a foul-mouthed co-worker's book. "First I'm a whore, then you insult my virginity, which I will have you know is long intact and definitely over due. But no. I respected you enough to never press you. You know you're the biggest pussy I've ever met. You can't even have sex with your girlfriend. So don't you fucking dare tell a virgin she's a whore, asshole. Then – oh, don't worry, this gets funnier – you tell me that I'm screwing around instead of working. You would be the kind of boyfriend a girl would cheat on because you're certainly the kind of boyfriend to mistake their virgin lover as a slut. Rest assured, I can tell you with every confidence, that that girl is not me. So get off your fucking high horse, look me in the face, and tell me you honestly believe the shit pouring out of your mouth."

Roderich looks at me, frozen. It's the most emotion I've seen from him in weeks. Oh the beauteous irony.

"Fucking answer me, or I'm leaving, Roderich Edelstein, and I am never coming back." I rest a perfectly manicured hand on the door frame. He notices the silent threat.

His business eyes narrow, calculating the expenses of my departure. What will he have to pay in my absence? Even matters of the heart can become equations. Finally, he says, "I don't trust you, Eliza, and I don't think it wise to love someone like you. I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience." The look in his eyes is mournful, like he wishes he could have done better with me. No, the look in his eyes says he wishes he could have done better than me.

"Then we're through here. When I'm finished packing I will leave." I turn to go, but my eyes fall on an expensive vase Roderich bought me for our 1 year anniversary. It is absolutely hideous. I knock it to the floor nonchalantly with a simple brush of my arm. The finely crafted clay explodes against the oiled wood floorboards. His sharp intake of breath is the exact reaction I wanted. "I always hated that vase you know," I smile. "Was it terribly expensive? Oh, that's right." My grin turns into a leer, pulling up the corners of my face into a hideous grimace, to which my muscles complain. "You conveniently left the price tag on it when you gave it to me. Was it four digits? My bad. At least it wasn't your piano, igen?"

"You're a crazy bitch, Elizaveta Hedervary," he snarls.

The step I take towards Roderich is a little bit insane. All that goes through my head are images of this man bleeding, dying, and regretful. The blood lust wells up, threatening, begging, to boil over, but a stab interrupts my murderous train of thoughts. I look down to see Roderich's savior. It's a shard of pottery stuck in the skin of my heel. I grudgingly thank the pain; the broken vase might well stop me from breaking Roderich.

"See Roderich? Aren't you glad we had this talk? Have a good life, or then again, don't," I smile vindictively after a moment.

My things are thrown into a bag robotically. There are so few items of mine here. When I moved, Roderich asked me to leave most of my things with my parents. He said he "didn't have enough space". I loved him enough to not fight about it.

It takes one bag before I'm erased from Roderich's flat.

The most ironic thing about all of this, is that my parents died when I was ten. Long before I ever met Roderich. Maybe if I had realized what he had said then, and not lying awake and alone in our king bed during one of his many business trips, my heart wouldn't be dead right now. Maybe.

I leave a purposeful little blood trail with my injured foot. The line leads right out the door, marring the perfect white rug.

I guess I won't ever be entirely erased from your home, huh, Roddy?

"Who the hell are you, fucker? I'll punch you into next week- Oh. Heya Lizzie. What's with the bag?" the man asks, lowering his fist.

"None of your fucking business," I snap, struggling through the little apartment door.

"... Um, you do realize you're in my house, right?" he asks in his deep baritone, with its slight German accent, as he quickly gets out of my way.

"Fuck off, fucktard. This isn't even a house."

"Fine," the man announces, flopping down on the beat-up old couch and flicking on his adored flat screen TV. "Feel free to dump your shit in the bedroom."

I ignore his hospitality (rare as it is) and shove my way through the clutter to one of the four rooms that make up the apartment. There's the lovely living room, where I leave the owner flipping between the weather channel and football. There's the bathroom, barely big enough for one; the bedroom, which has the best view of the neighbors (who, when you're lucky, you get to see vacuuming naked); then the kitchen which is entirely unused. In the place of actual food are porno magazines and a mini-fridge stocked full of beer. German beer.

Getting to my destination, the bedroom, is a struggle. Despite my bag being nearly empty and my weight at 115, I'm still too fat to fit through the door. This is a prime example of his shitty living space.

The bedroom contains one bed, whose sheets are strewn haphazardly around what might be a collection of other furniture. Of course, that would be impossible to know. It looks like the mens' wear section of the Mall threw up all over the place. I can't see past the band tees and boxers to even begin to fathom what's underneath. Personally, I think it's the pants section of his closet, but he claims there's a couch somewhere in here.

I glance around, and quickly find what I'm looking for: the corner of the room where a collection of suitcases are stacked precariously on top of one another. All the things I couldn't bring to Roddy's. I throw my one bag on top of the mountain. It wobbles dangerously for a second, before finding its center.

A tiny part of me knows I should at least explain to my host why the hell I'm here, or thank him for letting me store my shit in his tiny living space, but my pride doesn't let me. Instead I sink down onto the king bed and cry. I cry out everything. My body is shaking so hard, I am forced to curl up into a fetal position to try to get it to stop.

"Lizzie, make sure you're breathing," comes a voice.

"Go away, Beilschmidt," I say hastily, trying to wipe away my tears. I don't cry. I just don't. And I don't want Gilbert seeing the start of an era or anything.

After a moment, it seems like he's left. Then I feel an insistent poking to my ribcage.

"Quit it asshole!" I yell, trying to squirm away.

"Liz you're being prissy," he says, forcefully continuing the onslaught.

After several minutes of a one-sided poke war, he says, "You know you're one of the only people who's ever been able to pronounce my last name right, and the only person who pronounced it right on the first try. Even my brother and I had to practice. Funny right?"

"No," I sniff. "That's stupid. Is that your pathetic way of trying to cheer me up, Gilbert? Or is that your way of trying to distract me from the bruises forming on my ribs?"

"Yup, isn't it awesome?" he asks, choosing neither of the options.

"Not really. It's kind of sucks."

"That hurts, Lizzie. It really does."

"Well not as much as my back," I skeptically note.

"You're getting snot on my sheets," he offers as explanation.

"You're an asswipe."

"So are you, and yet, for some reason, I still welcome you into my house she-man," Gil grins.

I sit up and punch him. "That was hardly a welcome. And this isn't a house."

He clambers up from the floor, holding his arm theatrically. "Fuck."

"You are such a dick," I say, a small smile picking its way at my lips.

"And an awesome one at that, darling," he grins, pulling me up from his bed. (He's right. There's a big puddle of liquid sadness on the blanket.) "Okay tonight I'm going clubbing, and you're coming with." His voice coaxes me from my incremental amount of guilt.

"No thanks."

"I didn't offer it as a choice, Lizzie. So I'm not sure what was in that bag you brought, but if it wasn't clothes, then wear that black lacy tank top in the green suitcase with the little frying pans on it. It'll make you look sexy despite the puffy, red eyes."

"Hey, you are so- Wait. You've been through my bags?" I gasp, rushing over to them.

"It was your prerogative to leave them here."

"Fuck! And since when have you known how to correctly use the word prerogative?"

"Since I've been watching this drama on-"

"Soap operas? You're sure you're not gay?" I query, cutting him off.

"Oh, I am beyond sure, babe. I can show you-"

My high heel impales him in the face, and he staggers out of the door frame.

"It's not my fault my cable was cut!" Gil yells from the other room, his voice muffled by a bloody nose. I slam the door with a solid thud and earn a "SHUT THE FUCK UP, GILBERT" from the upstairs neighbors.

After a minute, I walk over to the suitcase with the kitchen equipment adorning it. Indeed, in prominent display, is the top Gil was talking about.

"Fucking pervert Prussian, who's fucking desperate and fucking nosy and a shitty fucktard! There's no way I would ever fucking wear anything that shit hole suggests." The string of muttered insults ensues as I pull the shirt over my wavy brown hair.

::A/N:: Well this is kind of my first Hetalia fic with a plot (there's more to come). I'm kind of nervous about this fic, so reviews/favorites/story alerts would be great! They'll keep me motivated to write more~

Translations (as few as there are in this chapter)-

Ja (German) – Yes

Nem (Hungarian) – No/Not

Igen (Hungarian) - Yes

Reviews = LOTS OF COOKIES! OR CAKE! I HAVE ICE CREAM TOO! Whatever you prefer~! Please, just review!

Was it stupid? Too fast? Bad format? Too choppy? Questions? Please review~