WWII

"Damn Kraut," England grumbled as he futilely pulled at his bonds. "Damn him, damn these chains, damn this blindfold, and damn this bloody war!"

"You're rambling." America's voice was directly behind his ear, a shift indicating that they were tied back-to-back. The Western Nation's voice was irritated and oddly restrained. "Bitching won't do anything."

"Well it certainly makes me feel better," Arthur snipped back. He wriggled his hands restlessly. "Being rude won't help us, either. Now snap these chains. Quickly, before the guards return. I've been hearing some nasty rumors concerning Nazi prison camps and would rather not be around to confirm them."

No answer. America's form felt completely still against his back, which was alarming because the boisterous young Nation was rarely so inanimate. "…Alfred?"

After what seemed like an eternity, America suddenly unfroze, exhaling a sharp breath and a muttered swear.

The sound of a soldier's boots echoing against stone could be heard somewhere beyond this little holding cell. Arthur released a colorful, sea-touched curse of his own. "I don't know what on Earth is wrong with you but now is not the time to—"

"Arthur."

The Englishman's mouth shut with an audible click. Alfred's tone sounded deeper than it should have. Something about it made Arthur's hackles rise.

"Promise me that you won't remove your blindfold."

"Wha—"

"Promise me," Alfred insisted, his voice still too much like a growl. "No matter what you hear."

Arthur found himself nodding, despite the fact that Alfred wouldn't see it. A muffled phrase in German, and the door to their shared cell began to squeak open ominously…

"I promise."

Arthur lurched up in a cold sweat.

The old clock on the far wall ticked away the seconds. A mild breeze made the leaves rustle on the tree just outside his window, the moon casting long shadows across the floor.

The island Nation threw his blankets off and swung his legs over the side. A moment of fumbling in the dark found his slippers. He crossed his drafty bedroom with the vaguest intent of a glass of water.

After so many years of horrid nightmares, he'd come to the point of usually just going straight back to sleep.

But for some reason, this dream lingered. Left him uneasy.

He remembered that day. World War Two, when they'd been captured by Germans and taken to a holding place near the border of France. Alfred hadn't allowed him to remove his blindfold until they were well past the tree line.

He also remembered the strong smell of blood.

The unease remained even after he finished his glass. Just when he was considering going for something stronger, the damned phone rang.

He jumped halfway out of his slippers, scowling at the noisy contraption before going to pick it up. The number belonged to none other than Alfred.

Bloody wonderful.

"Do you have any idea what time it is, here?" Arthur hissed into the handset.

"Sorry, Arthur."

England's frown intensified. "Matthew?"

"Lost my phone." The mild-mannered blond sounded oddly breathless. "But listen, Al and I aren't going to be at the meeting."

"This could have been an email," Arthur grouched into the receiver.

There was an odd thump from the other end of the line, and a harsh curse that France probably didn't even know existed in his language. "You know the protocol. Verbal—ack, arrêtez—notifications. And Al's going to be…indisposed. For a time."

"Why couldn't he tell me himself?" Arthur demanded. Then he added, "And at a more decent hour?"

"I said indisposed, didn't I?" came the surprisingly snippy answer. There was a soft groan in the background, followed by the sound of glass breaking.

"What in God's name are you doing?"

"Goodbye." Click.

Arthur stared at the phone. His lingering unease heightened into foreboding.

'They're adults,' he tried to reassure himself. 'I don't need to know.'

Oh, what a lie. He went into his garden with one being in mind. A chill wind carried the faint sound of chimes, and one of his closest friends poked her head out of one of his prized rose bushes.

Flying Mint Bunny flew up to land delicately on the porch railing. "You're not usually up when the stars are out."

"Tonight is an exception," Arthur said.

The faerie blinked. "You're worried about something." She sounded concerned for him. Whether she really was or not.

"Yes, and…I need to ask a favor of you," Arthur said. "I'll pay you in pizza, of course."

Whomever it was that had discovered that the Fae had a special love for pizza that bordered on addiction, Arthur wanted to shake his hand. Flying Mint Bunny's ears perked up in excitement. "Of course, England!"

"Somethings happening in America," Arthur explained. "Alfred's land. I need you to go to his house and find out what. I can give you the address, since you've never been."

Arthur despaired when her ears drooped. That was never a good sign.

"I'm sorry." The gentle faerie's voice was quiet, and afraid. "I can't do that."

"Are the native spirits giving you trouble again?" But he'd thought that the mini pseudo-war was over, since their dispute of unexplained origins had been ended through formal peace talks mediated by himself and…Canada's polar bear, of all things.

He hadn't realized the creature was a spirit until that very strange summer solstice. And a formidable one at that. It was more than a little discomfiting, since he'd been around that bear for centuries before noticing.

"Not that." Flying Mint Bunny shivered, and so Arthur allowed her to snuggle into his arms.

"Then what's scaring you?" Arthur asked gently, stroking her pastel fur.

"Our court doesn't go near your Alfred." She explained very quietly, so much so that even in his arms England had to strain to hear her well. "The Queen forbids it."

"You did when he was a child," Arthur argued, confused. "What changed? He won't even See when you're there; it wouldn't make a difference."

"The Queen forbids it," Flying Mint Bunny repeated, "because it Sees us."

"Wot?"

The little faerie shook her head quickly. "I don't want the attention. Please stop asking."


I've been working on this one too. Hope y'all don't mind; I couldn't help myself.

Later dudes. ^J^