Dreamland
RUSSIA'S POV
He'd gotten way into my personal space, cuddling into my chest with a giggle. I sighed and lied back into the lush valley grass. He seemed to doze off when a (rather annoying) voice rang through the hills. A flock of sparrows flew off suddenly at the sound of the alarm-like voice. I wish I were them.
England's short figure stalked up to us, tensing up at the sight of me. Hmph, the feelings are mutual. His eyes reminded me of grimy, green bottles as they glinted in disgust.
"Come now, Alfred. It's time for lunch." The child sat up, cutely rubbing at his eyes to shake them of sleep. He smiled, but hesitantly climbed off me. England stretched his arms out for a hug. A creepy hug, if you ask me. America trudged to him, letting the other embrace him. The young nation's eyes sparked with fear, and he pushed Arthur away roughly, running back to me.
It happened fast. The Dreamland cascaded into swirling red fissures, sucking in the beautiful landscapes and blotting out the azure sky and replacing it with a fear-provoking murky black. The stench of corpses filled the vomit-inducing storm. England's stout body morphed into a half formed Nightmare-like satyr. He let out a malevolent gurgle. Shit.
In gathered America into my arms, and ran for a nearby pavilion, which had long since crumbled to ruins, it seems, before the earthquake. I slipped behind a broken statue and blanched. The smell reminded me too much of the past…
Wait. Where did Alfred go!? Oh shit, Ivan. None of the nations are ever going to let you watch their charges again! You've already lost one! WTF? WTF!?
Anya's laugh echoed in the remains, her war cry signaling others of what seemed like an army. I looked out from my safe place and saw a million men (and women, mind you) on horseback rushing down the slopes of the valley. Squinting, I glimpsed a familiar blonde head at the front of the pack. Alfred was full grown and decked out in Papa Sweden's Viking armor.
He was okay. And incredibly safe, too. I knew from experience that it took a lot to puncture Berwald's magic infused breastplate and helmet. He was safe…
Real world
NORMAL POV
The morning sun peaked through a minute crack in the thick curtains, waking Alfred. The American stretched lazily, cutely rubbing at his eyes to shake them of sleep. He yawned and pulled himself off of the incredibly comfy couch and stumbled to the kitchen, reading the emerald numbers on the microwave and oven.
9:30
"'S too early for this…" He complained, moving his hand to rest on the cool, stainless steel handle of the fridge. He tugged the appliance open and pulled out a frozen waffle from the freezer. He ambled to where the toaster lay, groaning loudly when Russia's voice tentatively broke the silence of the morning.
"Fredka, go get Elizaveta up." There was a pause. "…please." Alfred's left eye twitched comically.
"Why can't you?"
"You're already up."
"Get your lazy ass up, Commie bastard. I don't wanna."
There was a loud sigh from the other room before noises of fabric against fabric could be heard. Russia passed through the kitchen, punching America in the arm as he strolled by. The blonde held his arm, punching back. Hard.
The Russian hesitated, popped his neck, and turned to give his famous "mama-bear-is-pissed-so-you-will-die-today" look he gives Texas and New Jersey when they flirt with (or fuck) Alaska. His foot found its way to Alfred's jaw, then to his ass. He literally kicked America's ass. In an instant, they were on the freezing tile floor, wrestling in their underwear.
They didn't hear Hungary pad down the hall to investigate the noise in her kitchen. But they did hear her body hit the ground. And they did see blood spurting from her nose like a river. Again.
A.N. Oh, Hungary! Will you ever learn? Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. The second part of the dream sequence holds many, many hints. I'd love to hear your theories about it, so feed the review monger and enjoy the story. Cheers!