Dream Eating Monochrome
AN: Hey guys! I know I haven't updated my other story in a while. (Curse writer's block!) Anyway, this was a song suggested under the crossovers for this lovely corner of the universe and Vocaloid. Checked it out and the plot popped up easily and fairly painlessly. Particularly once I thought of getting 2p England involved (my own version that is. Where he does have magic but uses it for twisted purposes.) So, without further ado, let's start this thing up.
"Bruder. For the last time, GO. TO. BED." Gilbert knew his brother was serious. He was wickedly tired. Being so awesome was exhausting work after all. If he was being really honest with himself, though, there was another, far less awesome reason that he hadn't already gone to sleep. He felt bad about keeping West up, but if he hadn't then he'd have had to sleep. And if he slept, it meant he had to dream. This was something even his brother didn't know. He'd had the normal, completely unawesome dreams like everyone else. Lately though… he'd learned to dread his dreams. They were weird, freaky stuff that made him remember things he didn't really want to remember.
"Don't be so unawesome, West." He countered, trying not to seem as scared as he actually was.
"Gilbert, I have the World Conference tomorrow. If you do not let me sleep, I will vake you at the same time I'm getting up." Poor, overworked West, he thought as he looked at his younger brother. It's not your fault the other nations aren't doing anything. Even his tone was exhausted, like he couldn't be bothered to put any energy into his threats.
"You wouldn't."
"…I'm not arguing with you again. Get to bed or I'll knock you out and place you there."
His "room" door slammed shut and he reluctantly got ready for bed. Just before he turned out the light, he wondered what horror he'd dream of tonight.
Unaware of this, just a few miles away, Francis Bonnefoy (better known as France) was also preparing for bed. Despite the distance, the attitude was the same. Very reluctant and slow. There was a dragging of feet and numerous delays. All nations have some type of period where pain far outweighs pleasure. Being one of the older nations, he had several. All of which, unfortunately, had taken to showing up in his beauty rest.
Sighing dramatically when there was nothing else for him to mess around with or fret over and the inevitable had come: He had to actually get in bed and sleep now. Trying to steel himself for anything at all to show up (he didn't know why he bothered, it didn't help any anyway), he turned out the light and waited for sleep to come.
To keep this from getting long and boring, I'll let the reader figure about Kiku and Alfred's rituals or lack thereof. All that was clear was none were particularly excited about sleeping for their dreams. They were not the only ones who noticed either. Elsewhere, in a parallel world if you will, was another version of the man Arthur Kirkland. There are some key differences, however. One, he was rather fond of bright colors that just looked insane together; particularly a certain bubblegum pink shirt and bright blue tie. Secondly, while he had his…abilities there was always some kind of catch thrown in. He made sure it was always in his favor. If some poor sap with a bleeding heart thought it was cruel and cold, he'd show them exactly how it worked.
Usually the problem was solved after one demonstration.
Thirdly, he had a sweet tooth. Why is this important, you're asking? Because if he hadn't had a sweet tooth for others misery, things probably wouldn't have become what they did.
As it was, he found the four dreamers as each was reaching their climax. He laughed a guttural and yet madly high pitched sound. He always did love fools who were desperate enough to gamble. If he had read them right, and he was sure he had, they'd be all too willing to take his gift. That is, to take it and keep calling on him to keep the dreams away, never bothering to think about what he might charge for such a thing.
This, of course, was everything. Everything within. Every hope, every dream, every color of them would be his. Oh, it was a very fun job he had. Now, who to start with… he wondered idly, as he glanced over the dreams before him. A cold, cruel grin came over his face as he selected his first, but most certainly not final, victim of the evening. A test, if you will, as to how far they'd go for relief.