The fire was everywhere, licking the walls and melting everything it touched. Alfred's eyes streamed with unwanted tears, the smoke filling his mouth, his lungs….

He desperately tried to get up from his sprawled out position on the tiled floor, but the smoke choked him into a coughing fit, his hands slick with some kind of liquid -blood?- forcing him back down again.

Alfred tried to cover his mouth as he began coughing again, hoping it would stop the continuous smoke from invading his insides further. It felt like he was burning inside too, along with the room surrounding him. He groaned, more out of frustration than pain, allowing his arms to collapse from underneath him after another futile attempt at standing. What was the point in fighting back? He was going to die, alone in this fiery coffin.

Where was Matthew? Where were his parents? Had they escaped? Or were they huddled in some unknown corner, wondering if they should wait for rescue or death?

The black smoke practically blinded Alfred, but even so he still strained his eyes as he noticed something. A silhouette, a person, faced away from him, as if they were staring at the wall of fire. Alfred tried to call out to them, to beg for help, maybe, but only ended up coughing up another lungful of smoke.

The person turned. They seemed unfazed by the alarming amount of fire. Alfred tried choking out another cry, but stopped. Even through Alfred's clouded vision, he could see the cold smirk forming on the other's lips.

They spread out their arms, gesturing to the world of red and orange and yellow around them. "You deserve this," they said. Their eyes, eyes that were forever scared into Alfred's memory, were burning with a dark mirth. "You deserve this."

"Alfred!" The American was being shaken awake by his shoulders. His heavy eyelids opened fluttered open hurriedly, desperately scanning the area.

No fire.

Alfred allowed himself to relax, forcing the nightmare out of his mind with the memories of what had happened moments before. They had gone back to Arthur's car after deciding there wasn't much else they could do with the ghost at the train station. Gilbert had quickly claimed the seat next to Arthur, forcing Alfred into the back.

"You know," he could remember Gilbert saying to Arthur, "you look really familiar. I know it's a little late to say, but when Luddy and I went to your house, I remember thinking: 'Holy awesomeness! I know this guy!' So….Have we ever met before? Like, before this whole ghost thing?"

Alfred hadn't really been bothered with the conversation, and could faintly recall Arthur saying no, he didn't think so. The hum of the engine and the suddenly extremely soft seats must have lulled him to sleep after that.

But….Why had he had that dream? He thought he had stopped having it years ago. There was once a time where he would see that scene whenever he closed his eyes, and would wake up screaming night after night, convinced he was burning all over again.

"Alfred?" It was Arthur. He was gazing at Alfred worriedly. He must have been the one who had woken Alfred. "Are you alright?" He lowered his voice, even though they were the only ones in the car. "Was….Was it that nightmare again?"

"N-no!" Alfred said hurriedly. "What makes you think that? Y-you know I don't have that anymore!" Alfred brought an uncertain hand to his cheek. A few solitary tears had fallen in his sleep.

"Really?" Arthur asked, obviously not convinced. "You know, it doesn't matter if you were having that dream. It was a traumatic experience. I'd be more worried if you weren't affected at all by that fire."

Alfred huffed, looking away. Of course it mattered...If he started having that nightmare frequently like before; he might have to start going to therapy again. He found that the most boring and pointless hours of his life had been spent with a therapist, trying to get him to 'open up' and talk about that day…But Alfred didn't want to talk about it, especially not with some condescending stranger. He wanted to put it behind him, even if something was drawing his thought back to that day…

"What does worry me is that you just seem to bottle it up. You barely ever speak about that day. About what you saw. Wouldn't talking about it to someone be easier than pretending it never happened?"

"No," was Alfred's blunt answer. Talking about that day was what caused the nightmares. If he locked the memories away in some dark area of his mind, never touching them, then they couldn't hurt him. It must have been because of earlier, when he had quietly told Gilbert about his parents. Just barely scratching the dust off those neglected memories seemed to enough to awaken those nightmares again.

And then there was the fact that there was just no point in telling anyone about it. What would they be able to do? It wouldn't bring his parents back, or the past five years of his life.

And when he had actually talked about it, no one had believed him about the other person. The one who had smirked at him, and told him 'you deserve this…'

That person must have been the one who had started the fire. It was the only other person there. But when he had mentioned them after waking up in the hospital, everyone had just said he had probably imagined them, a vague hallucination after taking in too much smoke. The fire was supposed to of started in the same room Alfred had been occupying, and a few had said outright that he probably lit the fire himself. They thought of him as a trouble maker, who had just been messing around with a lighter and lost control of the fire, accidently killing his own parents.

Although it was true that Alfred couldn't remember anything from that day before the memory of being trapped in his burning house, Alfred knew that it couldn't have been him. He might have been a bit of a problem after the fire, but before that Alfred had been hard working, and would never do anything that didn't line up with his views of justice. But no one could understand that, they all thought he had made up the mysterious over person.

And Alfred was sure that the other had been real. There was no way something he had imagined would have left such an impression on his mind. And those eyes, those burning eyes that seemed to be filled with anger as well as a mocking laugher…he knew them. He recognised the person. But from where?

He ignored the tickle in the back of his mind, the voice telling him to dig deeper into his memories, to find out who the other was. He knew the eyes, but failed to think of a name. Maybe if he actually allowed himself to think back to that day, and not just through lucid nightmares, he could find out who the other was? But then...would that solve anything?

Alfred jumped out of the car, dodging past Arthur. He stretched, tensed and a bit uncomfortable after falling asleep in the car. Gilbert was standing a little bit away from them, checking a few messages on his phone. He glanced at them when Arthur went to Alfred' side, wanting to tell him that their conversation wasn't over.

"What's taking the two of you so long?" Gilbert asked, stuffing his phone in his pocket. "Does it really take so long to wake Alfred up?"

"Not usually." Arthur sent a pointed glance to Alfred, silently telling him that they would talk about his dream later. Alfred glared back, trying to say 'no we won't'.

Not a very long chapter, but I wanted to update….So, we know a bit more about Alfred's past :) Things will go into more detail sooner or later, although the next thing to do with Alfred's past is how he met Arthur XD I'll also have to go through Arthur's past too at some point ^0^ Oh, and one day we'll learn who the mysterious person in Alfred's memory is...In all honesty, I don't think anyone's going to get it before I actually say who it is XD Well, Please review and tell me what you think ^_^