I seem to have fallen into a Monday/Friday update schedule with this story. Interesting! Well, I make no promises, but it seems to work... lol
For some reason, I'm having a harder time getting used to writing 'Kiku' than 'Alfred' or any of the others. I've had to go back and correct random instances of 'Japan' several times so far this story. Bah.
Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.
Alfred jerked awake, bolting upright on the couch, scream still echoing in his mind. He rubbed his face, waiting for his racing heart to settle down. Had he done that... out loud? He couldn't tell. Maybe it was a good thing he had insisted on sleeping in the living room that night.
"What the hell was that?" a voice hissed, answering his question.
"Sorry. Bad dream. Go back to bed." He held his breath, waiting to hear retreating footsteps, but instead they seemed to be moving closer. The couch shifted as the other person settled down by Alfred's feet.
"Want to talk about it?" the British accented voice said.
Alfred peered at him, able to only vaguely make his features out in the dark. "I don't know." He heard a faint clink, the familiar sound of his glasses being picked up. What was he doing with those?
"Are you sure?"
"Well, it was weird. And you were in it..."
"I was? Tell me."
He heaved a sigh. "Okay. We were walking in a city, some really big city I didn't recognize. We were talking and happy, I don't remember what we were talking about. Then we heard a siren, and then there was a distant explosion." He could feel England stiffen. He wished he could make out more of his face. "And suddenly, I was in a lot of pain. It was bizarre. I don't think I've ever felt pain in a dream before. But it hurt, and I was screaming, and you were screaming, and I collapsed and coughed up blood, and that's when I woke up." Alfred settled back against his pillow, feeling a bit silly for having such a weird dream. But he did feel a bit better for having spoken it out loud to someone else. Though why wasn't England saying anything? "Did you hear me?"
"I heard." It looked like he was toying with Alfred's glasses. "I never told anyone about that."
"About what?"
"You just described an attack on New York during the war. I told everyone basically what happened, but not as specific as that."
Alfred's mouth went dry. "That really happened?"
"It did. And before the attack, we were talking about where to eat, and you—he, I mean, wanted pizza for a change, and teased me about my food. As usual."
"That's right! I remember now." Alfred rubbed his eyes again. "Great. Oh, just great." He dropped back against the pillows.
"Do you believe us now?"
"I guess so," Alfred moaned. The dream alone was bad enough, but for England to fill in some of the details... "What the hell. I was a country? I have no idea what to do with that information. How could I have been a country?"
"You don't-"
"And now what? Am I going to keep dreaming about him until his memories are restored and he gets my body and I'm dead?"
"I don't think that could happen. It's not like you're going to lose your memories."
Alfred wasn't really listening. "I just want to finish school and marry someone and someday retire and move to—what?"
"Nothing." England patted his leg. "No one's saying you can't do any of that. This has never happened before. I'm just as lost as you are. I mean, nations have been lost before, but never like that..."
Alfred shuffled himself into a sitting position and leaned against England. The other man—nation?—jerked in surprise, then put an arm around him.
"Who were you planning on marrying?" England asked softly.
"I didn't have anyone in mind, I meant years in the future." Alfred bit his lip. "Were you and he... uh..."
"Yes." Such loss in such a little word.
"Sorry." His mouth spoke before his brain had a chance to catch up. "Maybe that's why I've been feeling an insane attract... er..." His brain finally caught up. Don't say that to him, geez!
Alfred gave a mental sigh of relief when England didn't get upset. "What, you don't think you'd have been attracted to me otherwise?"
Oops. "That's not what I meant." He felt his face increase in temperature to furnace proportions. "I mean... I don't know what I'm saying or doing! I was a country."
"It's not that bad."
"I don't want to dream about whatever weird shit he's been through. What if..." What if he dreamed about when he died? That would be horrible! Then his brain cheerfully supplied him with all the fun world history he had learned in school. He cringed.
"We're here for you. It makes you feel better to talk about it, doesn't it? We've all been through weird shit."
That was true. Just talking to England had made him feel better about the dream. On impulse, Alfred turned and wrapped both arms around England, feeling him stiffen again. "Thanks."
"Y-you're welcome." England settled more comfortably into the embrace. "Is it a memory now? Do you remember what happened in your dream as if it really happened?"
"Not really. It's still a dream that I remember."
"Oh..." Silence reigned for several more minutes, and Alfred released him.
"I think I'll go back to Ma-Canada's room if I want to get any more sleep."
"All right."
Alfred had been half expecting to be invited (in a platonic way, of course) to England's bed. "Can I have my glasses?"
"Where did you get those?" England asked as he handed them over.
What an odd question. "The optometrist's."
"Oh."
They quietly made their way up the stairs together. "Thanks for talking to me," Alfred whispered before they parted ways.
"You're welcome." England looked in the direction of his guest room, but made no move toward it. "I'm sorry for getting so angry at you the other day."
"It's okay."
"I was angry with myself, really. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
"It's really okay."
"All right." Another hesitation. "Good night."
"Night." Alfred smiled—much good as that did in the dark—and shuffled back into Canada's room.
He could make out the outline of a furry shape curled up in the middle of Alfred's side of the bed. With a sigh, he reached out to poke it, but changed his mind and drew his hand back. Poking a sleeping bear did not seem like a good idea. He set his glasses down on the nightstand, then did his best to curl up in what space was available. The polar bear shifted against him, and it was actually rather comforting. Despite the less than comfortable position, he fell asleep shortly, hoping for no more dreams.
But dream he did, of a rain-drenched battlefield, and a familiar blond figure in a red coat.
England lay back on his (well, Canada's) bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing sleep would return. He had barely gotten any the last couple nights, surely he must be tired. His mind, though, refused to give him a moment's rest, going 'round and 'round like a really bloody fast carousel.
He just couldn't figure out what to even think about Alfred. So yes, they had confirmed through a thousand different facts that he was indeed, somehow, America. He looked and sounded like him, he acted like him, the other nations were also out there as humans, and now he was dreaming about being him. No doubt about it. Yet his mind just couldn't decide on whether to think of him that way or not.
No matter how many memories came to him in his dreams, even if he regained every bit of memory... would it really be the same him? America was still dead. Nothing would change that. Right? His body was still in the ground, his brilliant spirit extinguished...
Right?
Or was this human the same exact person in every way? Could they pick up where they left off? Would they ever be able to genuinely reflect on the past they shared? Should England not feel guilty for longing to run his fingers through that wheat field hair, or kiss those sweet lips that looked just the same...
And it was guilt he felt at such thoughts. That was a step forward. A dull ache of guilt, rather than the harsh stab of anger he'd felt at himself the other day.
Ah, if only his mind could as easily accept the human America as it had human Japan.
Kiku set his orange juice down, staring out the restaurant's window, at the passersby starting their day. Yesterday's party felt like a dream. Let's not think about dreams...
"Good morning," a voice chirped, startling Kiku.
"Ah, good morning, Antonio," he said as his friend dropped into the booth opposite him. "Thanks for coming."
"No problem. This place makes good pancakes." He picked up his menu, eyes flickering over the assorted breakfast items.
"The reason Alfred asked-"
"Isn't it his birthday in a couple days?" Antonio wondered.
"Yes it is."
"Damn. I still need to get him something."
Kiku smiled. "Just give him something food related, he'll be happy."
"That's not very creative. I guess I have to hit the stores once we've eaten."
"If you want. But anyway, the reason-"
"I had the coolest dream last night."
"Ah. Did you?" Kiku's smile quickly fell. He'd had a rather unpleasant dream, involving fighting his best friend. He chalked it up to the bizarre things they'd said at the party.
"I was in charge of a vast fleet of ships! It was great! I wish it hadn't been interrupted."
"That sounds like fun." What had Kiku been talking about again? Oh, right. "So anyway, we're trying to get together everyone like... like us. Whose parents fled dying lands during the war."
"Ah!" Antonio grinned. "That's an interesting idea. Though what would this club of ours do?"
"I don't know. It just sounds interesting." How had he let himself get roped into this? Rounding up his friends—and some he barely knew—because some odd strangers thought they were... It was too weird. Yet Alfred seemed to be starting to believe...
He wished he could explain a random twin of his friend turning up. Or the strange dream he had had. Or the strange dream Antonio had had, which sounded rather Spanish.
Coincidences all, of course. People couldn't be countries. That was nonsense.
"Well let me know when the first meeting is. I'll bring Katyusha. She's Ukrainian!"
Ah yes. Just like the scary, scary man had said. How had he known about her? "Great. Alfred and I are trying to reach the others."
"What are you getting him?"
"Pardon me?"
"For Al's birthday."
"Oh." Kiku ran a finger around the rim of his juice glass. Apparently that's what Antonio really wanted to discuss. "A video game."
"Damn! That's what I was thinking of."
"You could always get him a different one."
"But that's also not very creative." Antonio dropped his chin into his hand. "Maybe I'll get him another date."
"With you?"
"Not with me. I'd tried setting him up with someone the other day, but it didn't work out."
"Ah yes. Well, I think he's met someone..."
"Has he now?" Antonio perked up. "Do tell."
Kiku chuckled. "Just someone I met at this party he dragged me to yesterday. A nice British guy. You should have seen the way Alfred was staring at him."
"British, eh? Huh."
"I'm sure you'll meet him soon."
"Are they together?"
Kiku tapped his chin, thinking back. "I don't think so, actually. The Englishman talked to me, and didn't say a word to Alfred, as I recall. Though he kept looking at Al and blushing, too..."
"That can be our present! We'll get them together!"
"I don't think that's a good idea. Let's let them go at their own pace."
"Of course, Kiku."
Why didn't he believe Antonio?