Author's Note: I apologize for the update being late. This week has been busy and only now have I gotten the time to sit down and post the update.
England adjusted the headset that sat on his head, trying to get his whole ear covered with the headphone. There was a message coming through, but it was very faint. He fumbled around the desk for his notepad and a pencil. Dot. Dot. Dot. Dash. Dash. Dash. Dot. Dot Dot. Dash. Dash. Dash. It kept going in that same pattern, Someone was in danger… but where? From what side?
Pursing his lips, England wrote out a response on the paper. Name and location Simple to the point message, however he was terrible at translating Morse in any which way, so he had to keep it short. Taking out his cheat sheet, he began translating the message, so he could send it out.
"Iggy!" the obnoxiously loud voice of America came from nowhere, and England was suddenly tackled from behind. "Whatcha doing?"
"Get off me, you git!" England tried to wrestle out of the American's grasp like an annoyed cat, "What are you even doing here?"
"Dude, I am here to save the day!" America posed in a heroic stance making him look ridiculous.
England was not at all impressed. "No, seriously, what are you doing here?"
"Just as I said. I brought supplies and an army to help you out. I was hoping maybe you can show me around. All I've seen is the sick bay and dude, everyone there looked terrible."
"It's a sick ward for a reason." England gritted his teeth. He was annoyed with America being there. He wanted to stay out of this war for all this time, and now he finally decided to join? He didn't want to admit to himself that he was relieved to see the American there though. Maybe the long, drawn out stalemate will end.
"Yeah, but you also look terrible. Just as bad as the people over there."
England never considered it. "I'm fine. Better than some of the poor sods who have to get sent home." He didn't want to think about the state of the soldiers that were sent home. Flashes of missing arms and legs, molding faces, and scabbed heads ran through England's mind. The Englishman started sending out the reply over the telegraph.
"Whatcha doing?"
"Shut up," England hissed, trying hard to concentrate and not mess up the message.
"Well, that's rude."
Suddenly, an explosion shook the compound, send England face forward on the table.
England's head fell forward and he woke up with a start. He half expected to be at Spain's desk, pouring over the box again. However, that was not the scenery surrounding him. He was in a small sealed room of sorts, with windows on all sides. There were only padded seats and a wheel up at the front. His head felt very foggy. 'Why won't it clear up?'
"What's taking them so long?" England heard America say… but it didn't sound familiar. It sounded older. He looked over and, while sure he could tell it was America, he was wearing glasses and looked closer to being an adult. Like in the dream.
"I can't tell," Canada replied. Same thing with him. He was older with glasses. And even a bit more confident. "She looks really confused."
"What's confusing about an ID?"
Canada shrugged half way, then realized that England was on his shoulder. "You're awake," Canada said, surprised.
"What's going on?" England said. His words felt thick and difficult to say. 'What kind of dream is this?'
"Well… oh, she's coming back."
A cop came into view, walking towards the front of the box room, where the window was open and Scotland was sitting right next to it. He didn't look happy, though England hadn't seen him happy in a very long time.
The cop said something; England couldn't hear. There was something very familiar about her, something England couldn't place. He had seen that face before somewhere…
"I'm telling you," Scotland said, his voice rising in anger, "The name on the card and the name registered with the plate are the same one! Nothing has changed."
"And I am telling you, sir, that this is not a valid ID."
"It's only been three months! Do you know how slowly they print those things out?"
"I need a valid form of identification."
It finally clicked for England. "Captain Henderson?" England's vision started to fog up.
The officer looked back at England. "Have we met?"
"You… your serving under me. We're…" Something was pulling England down into oblivion. "The Swiftsure…" England slipped into darkness. It felt as though he was submerged in water, however he could still breath. It was calming…
88888
England opened his eyes in a bit of a daze. He felt lost, confused, and concerned all at once. He could feel the Asunción rocking on the open sea, and knew he was awake. Or was he?
"Buenos dias, Inglaterra," Spain called out from his desk, "What's wrong?"
England looked at the Spaniard's face. It was full of concern. "A dream…" England said, standing up and trying to grasp at details. A whirling machine. An explosion from a powerful cannon. A room with no doors. America and Canada, all grown up. Captain Henderson. None of it made sense. And at the same time, some of it wouldn't let go of England's mind.
"Wish to talk about it?"
England sat down across from Spain and looked down at his hands. His brain was starting to panic. What was real, what was fiction, what was dream? Why was he even questioning this in the first place? This, what he was in right now, had to be reality, right? "It's just weird… I was in a dark place, underground from the looks of it. The walls were made of dirt. There was someone trying to get help… in a really odd way. Codes. America came in, saying he brought help in whatever war I was fighting in."
"Isn't he a child?" Spain asked.
"He was an adult in the dream, and somewhat competent… And then, I think the dream changed, and I was in a car with my family, and they were being stopped by a police officer for some reason. There was miscommunication somewhere…"
Spain tilted his head, "A car?"
"Don't ask, I have no idea. The name just fits right. A room with no doors but many windows. Anyway, the police officer was one of my greatest captains... or at least she looked just like him… He's on the ship."
"Huh…" Spain said once England was done. "It does sound weird. All of it. But then again, dreams are supposed to be weird."
"There's something strange going on here." England said after a time. "Dreams aren't supposed to feel real."
"So, you've caught on too," Spain said, "It's gotten to the point where I have no idea what is real or not."
"So… all of this could be a dream?" England said, not sure whether or not he was joking in this reply. He didn't really believe it himself, but something in his gut told him that his statement was right.
Spain shrugged. "If you take a look outside, you should be able to see the coast. We'll be landing into port soon, so you should get ready." Spain left the room, no doubt to get his men ready to land.
England got up and looked out of the window. The waters were calm and the sun was reflecting off the sea in a brilliant shimmer. 'Something happened,' he thought, 'Someone must have put a curse on me; that's why all this turmoil through these realistic dreams. But who? And why get Spain mixed up in this as well?'