England sat by his reading lamp, re-reading the story of King Arthur for over the hundredth time. The ice settled in his drink, and he swirled the amber liquid absentmindedly as the words on the page blurred and his eyelids drooped. He snapped to attention when there was a squeak of surprise and his reading glasses slipped off his nose, thumping lightly on his chest.
He looked down to see one of his fairy friends holding onto the glass as best she could, lifting from the bottom with her dainty arms. He cursed lightly and set the book down in his lap, before taking the drink from his friend with a thanks and an apology, setting it down on a coaster as not to stain his wood finish.
He sighed and loosened his tie a bit more, releasing the first button on his collar. Closing the book and setting it next to his drink, he settled back in the comfy chair and closed his eyes, quickly drifting off to sleep.
He walked an empty landscape, deep blacks, blues, and purples swirling together. Each step splashed, as if the ground, if there was any, was covered with water. He was strangely calm, perhaps a bit upset or sad, walking through that water.
"Iggy!" England's head snapped around, searching for where the voice of the irritating American had come from, but he didn't see him.
"Iggy!" The call came again, and England looked up with a scowl. America was falling towards him from the sky, hair flying and his jacket flapping behind him, that idiotic grin on his face.
"Stop calling me that, you bloody idiot!" England called up to him, storming forward in his irritation.
"England!" The call was closer, of more urgency, but England did not look back at his child, his charge, his friend. He ignored the bumbling fool, but froze when wind began to rush behind him.
"Arthur!" The cry was panicked, one calling for help, and England turned, eyes widening as America struck the water, falling deep down with barely a splash, bubbled streaming from his clothing and mouth open in a silent cry.
"America!" The call came unbidden, and he dove to where the superpower had crashed into the water, but it was solid. Arthur pounded uselessly at the wall separating him from his charge, panic seizing his heart as the boy sunk lower and lower into the water.
One eye, one piece of the sky, cracked open staring back at Arthur with unhidden fear as England pounded at the wall separating them. America's fingers twitched and his arm stretched out, reaching back up at Arthur in a plea. A trail of bubbles floated out of his mouth, lips holding only Arthur's name as he sunk lower, beginning to fade into the darkness.
"No! No, no, no! Alfred!" Arthur called, and he sank into the water, choking slightly at the bitter despair that closed over his head. The water was trying to force him out, whispering that Alfred was now his, that Arthur didn't belong there anymore.
Arthur clawed at the water, kicking out for the falling superpower, fighting his way down deeper into the icy water to get closer to America. The bubbles trailing from his lips were a thin stream, and he was merely floating down, unable to fight the grip of the water seeping into his bones.
"Alfred!" Arthur cried, reaching for the limp, outstretched arm of the lucid America. His fingers brushed the tips of Alfred's and the stream of air stopped, along with Arthur's heart.
"No!" He cried, grabbing onto the jackets fading collar and beginning to drag the superpower to the surface, but the water fought him, telling Arthur that the fallen superpower was his now.
He looked down at America in his panic, those sky blue eyes that always held hope and strength and a wild freedom like no others fading to a dull, gray blue, half-lidded. Kicking out as strongly as he could, his head broke the surface with a gasp, and keeping a firm grip on Alfred climbed out of that water, panting.
A cold, frozen hand circled the wrist where Arthur gripped Alfred's collar, and he froze, head snapping back. It was America's hand, and the grin on his expressive face showed no joy or hope, only an inky, swirling blackness between blue lips. His eyes swam with the blues and blacks of the realm, not those beautiful baby blues.
"Could you not hear him?" An unearthly voice spoke through America, and tore England's hand away, falling back faster than before. England reached down, screaming as tears sprung into his eyes, "Alfred!"
"Alfred!" England cried, jolting forward in his seat and out of the horrid dream. His heart raced and a cold sweat had his clothing sticking to him, his muscles tense and shaking as his friends gathered around him in concern.
He stood hurriedly on weak legs, pushing aside his friends as he ran for the hotel door, out into the hall and dashing, almost drunkenly, for the American's suite.
He pounded on the American's door impatiently waiting for him to open it, and finally it cracked open, revealing a disheveled Alfred, a sheet wrapped around his hips and glasses thrown haphazardly on his face.
"Iggy? What're you doin' here at…whatev'r time it is?" Alfred slurred sleepily, and Arthur panted, "Can I…come in?"
America blinked in surprise, and then nodded, readjusting his glasses as he went back into the room, England following as America flicked on a lamp and pulled on sweatpants. He laughed, and said, "It's not like you,"
England started and replied hotly, "What, pray tell, is not like me?"
"Eh, you know, still being dressed, not immaculately, by the way, very late at night, and voluntarily coming to see me." America said, shrugging, and pulling up a chair to the small table he had in the corner for them. England sat down in shock, and said dumbly, "You know what immaculate means?"
America grinned, sitting down across from him, straddling the seat and leaning against the back. "Yeah, want me to spell it too? I was writing my report of the country before I fell asleep. I guess you were reading that King book again."
England started, "How-?"
"You said, 'pray tell' instead of exactly. Why'd you come here, anyway?"
America's knowledge of him was astounding. "Why aren't you acting dumb like you always do? Being so full of idiotic dreams of heroes that you're oozing it?"
"Because that's what it is; an act." England froze, his heart pounding harder at America's words. "Sure, it wasn't at first, but, England…did you read any of the letters I sent you?"
Arthur jumped guiltily. America smiled softly, so naturally it tugged at England's gut. How could he not see the difference before? "I know you almost never check your phone, so I sent old-fashioned letters, instead. I guess you didn't read those either."
"America…are you…?"
"Declining? Yes, I am."
England's breath caught, his heart aching at the expression on America's face.
"Arthur…can you help me? I know you can't physically, but, can you tell me…what's it like? Falling? I'm scared, and I don't know…you're the only one I can talk to."
"Why? Why me?" That expression, that fading hope and fading wildness in his eyes and features…he never thought he would hate seeing Alfred sober up.
"Arthur, where do you think I got my hero complex?"
"From when you left me," England said bitterly, and America chuckled.
"Yeah, then, but do you know it was from you? You were my goal, you…are my goal, England. Always were, always will be." He rested his chin on his arms over the back of the chair, watching England with lidded blue eyes.
"I'm…your hero?" Arthur said, a light blush creeping into his cheeks.
"Mmhm" Alfred said, and he whispered, "Hey, Iggy? Can you promise me something?"
"What?"
"Will I find my hero's welcome waiting in your arms?"
"Huh?"
"Will you always think of me as a hero, Arthur?"
England smiled, watching as Alfred's breathing deepened and his eyes slipped shut.
"Of course, Alfred."