Just one of the ways

The river was flowing through the peaceful field, lazily making its way to wherever it was heading, water shining in the bright sunlight. There were no trees around, no rocks, nothing but the field, the river and the blue, blue sky. And a lonely figure that was standing near to the river, not moving, just standing still. There was no wind to ruffle his short, sandy hair. His green eyes were wide open, staring somewhere far.

England was terrified. Something was wrong, it was far too peaceful to be normal. In fact, 'peaceful' was not even the right word; 'dead' described the situation much better. Air felt thick and heavy, difficult to breathe. No sounds did England hear except the quiet, almost not audible sound of flowing water and wherever he looked, he would only see the field meeting the sky somewhere far in the horizon. He was alone in the emptiness.

Heavy, dirty-grey clouds started to cover the blue sky. England shuddered. What was happening? And where was France? England had a feeling that the other nation should be there, too. So why wasn't France there with him? No, why wasn't he somewhere else with France? Why was he there alone, in that cold, empty field, he shouldn't be there, not there, not-

"You killed him", hissed a strange voice from somewhere. England jumped around, but didn't see anything or anybody.

"Killer…" another voice hissed, and this time England could feel its breathe in his hair. But again, he saw nothing when he turned around.

"Who are you?" he shouted, heart first freezing, then beating furiously somewhere else than it should be.

"You are empty…" new voice answered behind him, always behind him. This voice was full of fear, but not its own. No, it felt more like the voice tasted England's fright, wrapped it around its invisible tongue, played with it.

"What are you talking about?!" England asked, wildly looking around, hoping and fearing to see the sources of the voices. "Who are you?"

"You are unable to love", again new voice hissed. "…to love…" other voices echoed.

"No… I'm not!" England protested. He was not unable to love, no, he loved, he was in love!

The river darkened as the sky above it turned almost completely black, sucking all the light into dark and heavy clouds.

"Loved by no one…"

"…loveless…"

"No! You are wrong!"

"…empty…" New voices kept joining the others, each of them repeating same words with their hollow, hissing voices.

"No, France… France loves me! I love him!" England shouted desperately. He had never said those words before, not even silently in his mind, but now he felt the urgent need to cry them out. He knew that they were true, each and one of them, even if he had always tried to deny it.

Suddenly very strong and very suffocating wind hit him, violently tearing his hair and loose clothes in different directions and making him feel like choking.

"He is dead…" a voice said unbelievably cold tone.

"H-he is not!" England protested once he managed to catch his breathe again. Cold, invisible fingers touched his neck and he shivered trying to back down but just feeling another fingers running across his back. "Stop it!" he screamed in blind fear.

"…dead…"

Voices increased, whispering from all directions, surrounding him.

"You are empty…"

"…not loved…"

"Alone."

"…emptiness…"

Tears of fear, desperation and some kind of inner pain running down his cheeks, England slammed his hands on his ears, attempting to keep the voices away but failing, as they still echoed in his mind.

"Killer."

"Empty…"

"You killed him."

"No", England cried hands still covering his ears, unable to think clearly. "I didn't kill him, I didn't, no, I love him, France, no…" Sobbing, he fell to his knees. "France, France…"

Freezing hands laid all over his trembling body, like trying to get a good grip of him. Fingers stroked his hair in a mockingly gently way, massaging his head, continuing lower to his neck first caressing, then slowly wrapping around it. Whispers started to repeat only one word: "…dead….dead…dead…"

"Stop it, please, no…" England pleaded, being tugged to the ground. He was too weak to fight against invisible hands –and how was it even possible to fight something you didn't see, anyway?

Fingers around his neck tightened.

Then a new voice, worried and familiar, added to the chorus breaking through the terrifying hissing. "Angleterre!" Warm hands found his shoulders, making cold touches disappear.

"France", England cried. "France…"

"Angleterre, Mon Cher, I'm right here, what's wrong?" Deadly grip around his neck melted away and England's eyes flew wide open. First he saw nothing but the darkness of his bedroom, but then worried face of France outlined in front of his eyes. "France", he repeated, weeping.

"Shh, mon Cher, don't cry. I'm right here." France's voice was calming as he gently wiped away the tears from England's face, placing light kisses on his cheeks and forehead.

Sobs calming down a little, not even for an instant wondering what France was doing in his bedroom, England reached his arms and wrapped them around the other nation. "Don't leave me, France, please, never leave me…" France held him against his chest, stroking lovingly his hair. "Of course I won't", he said. "You saw a bad dream, but it's gone now. Don't worry, mon amour, I'll always be here for you."

Loving words and gentle yet firm touch of the older nation finally calmed England down. Burying his face in France's chest he closed his eyes. "I love you, France", he muttered. There was a moment of surprised silence, then France smiled and kissed England's nose. "I love you too, Angleterre."

Safe in older nation's arms, the younger one drifted to sleep again, this time to sweet and peaceful.

When England woke up next morning, he knew that everything from the last night had been just a dream. He rolled in his empty bed, closing his eyes again. Everything had been just a dream, no matter what he did wish for.

He wouldn't notice the crimson rose on his bedside table yet for a moment.