England walked into the tent and sighed, tiredly. Based on the situation, tomorrow was going to be fun. He wasn't even being sarcastic either. The plan for tomorrow was to once again do battle with Scotland's army. Their last battle was an easy win for England so he had all the confidence in the world that this battle too was going to be another easy win. Though, the first military movement for tomorrow was to get the entire army across this one bridge. It was going to be an annoying bit of tactical work.

"Sir?" a young soldier asked as he entered the tent. England nodded and silently beckoned him in. "The Earl of Surrey asked me to retrieve tomorrow's movements." It was obvious from this soldier's tone of voice he was nervous. No doubt he had heard rumors about England.

"Yes, though between you and me, he doesn't need to know anything until tomorrow." England sat down and wrote out his plan, then handed the paper to the soldier. "Tell him to be up by sunrise. We'll start the march then."

The soldier saluted then left the tent.

England laid down on the ground and looked up at the ceiling of the tent. Even though he had a good feeling about tomorrow's battle, he still couldn't shake off a feeling of dread. Perhaps it was because of Scotland's face when he left last battle. It looked as though he had a plan, and not a good one at that. England put it aside, closed his eyes, and turned to his side.

England opened his eyes with the moonlight in his face. Odd, he was in the middle of a war on the eve of battle in a tent. Why was he now indoors in common clothing? He was wearing… a sweatshirt… England knew it was called that, but he hadn't seen one before let alone wear one. The fogginess of England's mind had cleared somewhat; he could think a little better at that current moment.

He got up and looked out the nearby window. There was a little ring of flowers right outside the forest. The night fairies were out dancing in the moonlight. England forgot about the war for a moment to enjoy the sight in front of him. Fairy magic was always something to view and appreciate.

'Did I get captured?' he wondered as he looked around the room. It was very plain, and he felt like he had seen it before. If he did get captured, who was behind it? It couldn't have been Scotland; he wouldn't have put England nicely in a bed. England looked at the door, then tried the doorknob. It obeyed his silent command immediately.

'Well, that was easy,' he thought. If he wasn't suspicious before, he was now.

"Oi, England," a voice said.

England looked at the source of the voice, which was a tall, green eyed individual. England swore he had never seen this person before, yet the eyes were strangely familiar.

"Something wrong, mate?"

'Mate?' England thought, 'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' "Where am I?"

"In your country. As for exactly where, I have no idea. I don't do so well with geography in other countries, even yours."

"Do I know you?" England felt like he should know this person… why?

"Do you recognize me?"

England thought about it for a moment. The guy did look familiar, but only in the eyes. He knew he had seen those eyes before. "No," England said at last.

The guy looked disappointed for a moment. "Oh, well. They all did say that was probably going to happen. Tell me, what do you last remember?"

The suspicion in England's mind continued to grow. He should just run for it, it wasn't like this stranger was blocking the hallway. But… at the same time… he needed some information as to what was going on. "I'm at war with Scotland… over at his place. Do you know what I'm doing here?"

"Yeah… that… um… You were taken over here… for…safety." The green-eyed stranger's fake smile sucked badly.

England certainly didn't believe it for one moment. "And so who is going to command the troops?"

"The general, who else?"

England groaned. He was the general, even though as far as everyone else was concerned it was the Earl. "Look, I need to get back up to Scotland, and I'm going to do so, with or without your help."

"Determined, aren't ya?" the guy said looking amused, "Alright… um, what if I told you the battle has already passed and you were brought here in the aftermath?"

England was not impressed by this explanation. The stranger said it way too quickly. "I should have a memory of that then."

"Maybe," the guy shrugged, "But what I said is true."

'You are obviously lying,' England thought. He was annoyed with this guy. "Who are you?"

"Australia."

"And you know who I am?"

"Yep."

England was convinced there was only one explanation. "…can you see into the future?"

Australia laughed. "No… but that would be a hoot. Maybe I could have gotten independence sooner if that was the case. Why do you ask?"

"But you have to. I've never met you before." England could feel his mind becoming foggy again. 'Did someone drug me? If that's the case, there's not much time.' He ran past the stranger and down the hall. He came to a longer hallway that he recognized. This was his house. He knew how to get out of this place. He turned left and ran as hard as he could. That didn't last long because he ran into Scotland, wearing his land's tartan.

"And what do you think you're doing?" Scotland asked.

'So, I am a prisoner in this place,' England thought, his anger rising. He leaped up and tried to tackle Scotland down, but England's strength was not at its best. Scotland grabbed him by the back of his collar, and suspended him a few centimeters off the ground. England was wriggling about, putting up a struggle, which reminded him a bit of his younger days when he was still a toddler. Scotland would pick him up in the exact same way and hang him up on a tree branch, leaving him there until either he wriggled enough to fall to the ground (which hurt for the record), Wales or Britannia found him, or (after the first few times of finding him in that state) Britannia forcing Scotland to take him down.

After a while, England gave up. Scotland slowly placed England on the ground. Weird, England expected the Scotsman to drop him. "Better?" Scotland asked.

"The hell I am. You kidnapped me!" England stood up and pointed an accusing finger at Scotland. Promptly after, he fell back down to the ground, landing on his butt.

Scotland rolled his eyes. "Like that's something new. And is it really kidnapping when you are in your own house?"

England growled as he stood back up again, slower this time. He could feel his knees wobble underneath him. Why was he so weak? Had he been drugged? That would explain the fogginess of his head.

"He thinks he's at war with you," Australia said, coming from behind.

"Excuse you, I am at war with him!" England snapped at Australia, making the green-eyed stranger take a step back.

"You always are, aren't you?" Scotland said, "Except I always win."

"Not this time, Scotty," England grinned maliciously, "I have you cornered."

"You sure about that?" The look on Scotland's face made England reconsider. It was the same look Scotland had riding away from their last battle: a look of cunningness.

"Very sure," England said unconvincingly. He started remembering the battle; Scotland ambushed his men on Sterling bridge, a bloodbath, that ended with him being found by the young soldier in the aftermath. England closed his eyes and felt himself fall forward.

England caught himself on the railing of the ship, overlooking the water below. It was almost as if he was trying to hurl himself overboard. In a panic, he pushed himself away from the edge, falling onto the deck.

"Did you really want to go for a swim there?" Spain asked, coming over to him. He had a grin on his face, meaning he was only joking.

"No, I…" England walked back over to the edge and looked at the water. 'How did I end up over here?'

"You look confused." The grin disappeared in a flash. "Something wrong?"

"I don't remember how I got here. At all. I was just back in my homeland… I…" England fell to his knees. He realized what was going on. He had thought of it before. Drugged. He was drugged.

"Well, after breakfast, we went on shore and explored a bit. You fainted from the heat, so I brought you back here."

"I don't feel well." It explained everything. The surrealism and the markings he discovered a few days ago.

"Heat stroke, probably. Here, drink this." Spain handed England a canteen. England took a swig of it. It was room temperature, but it was something to sooth his dry throat.

"You… I think you're right. About what you were saying yesterday."

"That this is a dream world?"

England nodded. "Something happened to us in the real world and brought us here."

Spain looked thoughtful for a few moments. "There was an explosion."

"So… you're in a coma because of that blast?"

"Si, it sounds right. Though I can't remember what I was doing. It was something really important that I was doing for a friend."

England nodded. "At first, I thought someone cursed me."

Spain laughed, "You would say that, wouldn't you?"

England rolled his eyes. "But then I noticed this." England rolled up his sleeve and revealed marks and bruises.

"You were drugged by someone?"

England shook his head, "These are self-inflicted. I think I overdosed on something. I don't know what. Nothing I know of would cause all these dreams to occur."

Spain was silent for a moment, still staring at England's arm. "Why? Why do that to yourself?" He didn't sound judgmental, just… confused.

England took a deep breath. The moment he would explain would make everything real. His feelings, his pain, all of it. "I needed an escape. I was in pain and…" England trailed off, trying to think of the other reason why he was drugging himself. There was another reason, but the fog in his head was too much to dig any deeper.

Spain put a hand on England's shoulder. He didn't say anything, but England could read his eyes. He got it. He understood. "Those marks don't look good. They might get infected."

"I think they've been taken care of," England said, remembering the past few highly vivid dreams, "I think my family is looking after me."

"That's good. I can hear Romano and Italy's voices sometimes, so I think I am too."

"Italy? I thought the twins were separated. Unless there is something you aren't telling me."

"The brothers are united in present day I believe," Spain said, his eyes closed to try to recall. "We need to get out of this dream world. It does us no good pretending like this."

"That's all well and good, but how?"

"I don't know, amigo. I just don't know."