Dreams

England only wished he could hide in his dreams.

He constantly heard other people speak about how pleasant dreams could be. A break from real life was sleep and one's subconscious could be opened to pass that time away. One's imagination could soar without the constraints of reality, the constraints of the conscious, upon them.

Then again, the Humans who printed these words did not have the imagination of all of history behind them. Compared to a Nation, a Human's imagination is rather limited in places, rather expansive in others. It means Nations had such different dreams, when they were not busy having the exact same ones. The science of dreams was not yet understood, so there was nothing to start with to guess why a Nation thought what they did.

Certain dreams sought England out. They would laugh at him when he shut his eyelids. The fairies would soothe him, but only for so long. Eventually England had to face these things on his own. Sometimes he could not do it.

Sometimes it was utterly worth it.

"What do you think the difference between a dream and a nightmare?"

"It is not obvious?" France questioned. England rolled his eyes and did not ask again.

The dreams he could control versus the dreams he could not. How come it was the ones he had say over which turned out so badly? The ones his conscious allowed him some semblance of grip on the real world with... they would splinter and laugh at him. England would wake up in a cold sweat. This was what he did to himself.

But the good dreams, the ones which went as they liked without any ability on his part... those were thoughts England never wanted to have. They were good... until he woke up.

England had no idea what he preferred, waking up with those thoughts or waking up in terror.

"Hush! Mon ami... it is all right... it is all right."

His bleary eyes focused on France, the Nation bathed in light from the fire. "France, what...?"

"The power is still out. Go back to sleep. Would the bed be more comfortable for you than the sofa?"

England shook his head and settled himself back into place. At least the thunder and lightning were gone. At least France was calm. France settled himself on the edge of the couch, petting England's hair. "Watch it, you frog."

"Tais toi, Angleterre." Those long fingers rubbed against his scalp.

England decided, for now, he would not complain. That could wait for morning. They could have that much time.