America woke up, screaming, in a cold sweat. He could vividly remember the feeling in his dream, a nauseous, sickening feeling. He remembered the way his eyes had rolled back in his head, the feeling as though his tongue had turned to lead and his stomach had been filled with poison, but most of all, the feeling of abject terror. He gripped his arms with his shaking fingers tightly to make sure they weren't spasming like in the dream, and swung his legs out of bed, testing to see if they could hold his weight. Finding his legs did, in fact, work properly, and had not turned to jelly like in the dream, he walked into the bathroom and gargled some mouthwash, desperately trying to gt rid of the bad taste left me the dream.

The bad taste didn't seem to fade from his mouth, so he gulped some mouthwash down, shuddering. His heart was going a thousand miles an hour from the memory, and when he closed his eyes he could see the scene playing out like a movie on the backs of his eyelids, and America felt the need to puke urgently. Finally, he did something he only did when he was very upset, and with shaking fingers, dialled the phone.

Canada picked up on the third ring even though it was only 2am, with a grouchy "What?" America licked his lips and tried to speak. When his words came out, his voice was low, and trembling. "Mattie..." With this one word, Canada seemed to wake up instantly. "That dream again?" America nodded tearfully, forgetting Canada couldn't see through the phone, but his brother seemed to understand. "You always get this dream around this time of year.." America could hear the creaking as his brother sat up in bed, fully awake, and preprinh to tlk his brother through his nightmare.

"I'm scared." America admitted, in a quieter voice than even Canada's. Canada's brotherly instics kicked into gear, and he soothed America gently. "It'll be okay. We won't let him do that to you ever again. France and I will make it ourselves, so trust us." Alfred still felt as though someone had jamed rotten eggs mixed with rotten fish and gasoline down his throat with a molten metal rod, and he swallowed, trying to get rid of the taste.

Canada went a step farther, attempting to be the mediator. "You'll be okay." Canada promised, continuing. "It's not like Britain did it on purpose, he had good intentions." America's lower lip trembled. "You don't understand." He whispered, pitifully, and a little spitefully. "He doesn't do this to you." America could tell he struck a nerve by the slight intake of breath on the other end of the phone, and felt a little guilty for the feeling of spiteful satisfaction he got from it.

"America, its not like I want to be constantly forgotten." Canada said in a light scolding tone, but there was an undertone of deeper feelings in his words. Canada took a deep breath, as though to calm himself and continued. When his brother spoke, his voice was understanding, although there was a slight tension to it. "Listen, forget about that time. Just trust me, even if you don't trust anyone else. Just believe in me when I say that this year is going to be your best birthday ever, and I will never again let Britain make the cake."

America sniffled, then smiled a tiny smile. "Thanks Mattie." His brother grunted in a non-commital way. "So can I go back to sleep now?" America snickered a little, lightly, and answered "Yeah, go back to sleep, rest up, you'll need it for your party later." If Canada hadn't already fallen back asleep, he may have hear his brother's gentle "Happy birthday!" before he hung up.

America padded to his bed and slipped into it, as a thought occurred to him. Since he had eaten the cake first, Canada hadn't touched it, so, in a way, America had saved his brother, hadn't he?" America grinned at the thought. "After all, I am the hero." He thought to himself as he drifted back to sleep, to dream of protecting a fragile and weak Canada from a giant food monster England accidently summoned while cooking.