That night, Alfred dreamed. First, he dreamed that he and all of his fellow nations caught Cuba's virus before they could find the cure, and since they perished, the entire world perished. Then, he was walking through a beautiful green field, underneath a pure azure sky, peppered here and there with pure white clouds. America recognized it as Saskatchewan, a province from his brother's country. He had only been there once, and despite his reluctance to admit it to Matthew, Alfred had loved it.

As he kept walking, the vibrant colors of the field began to fade, being replaced by various shades of gray, black, and white. As the colors faded, a deep sense of hopelessness and despair planted its poisonous roots in its mind and grew like a climbing, strangling plant within his head. Soon, he encountered a group of people. From a distance, they seemed normal, but as Alfred got closer, he saw that their skin was white as snow, all signs of flesh and blood drained from their countenances. They also completely lacked noses and mouths. Their eyes were not eyes at all, but unnaturally large, gaping holes that poured black mist. At first he could only see a few, but more of them poured out of the mist until Alfred could see that there were thousands. He cried out and desperately tried to run away, but found that he had no control over his limbs as his legs walked him ever closer. Finally, he was allowed to stop. He stood rooted to the spot, staring at the apparitions with wide eyes. They silently surrounded him, and then just stood, gaping at him with their strange eye-holes.

"Who are you?" he cried. "Where am I?" For a minute they were silent, and then a strange whispering hiss seemed to rise from all of them.

"This is Canada," they said, "and we are its people."

Alfred recoiled in horror.

"Fuck! What the—how—it can't be! W-where's Matt?"

They just stared at him blankly.

He screamed louder. "Where is my brother?"

Still they said nothing. After a few more seconds of silence, they began to move again, closing their circle, closing Alfred in. Alfred began to scream, trying desperately to get away, but still unable to move his feet.

"Help me!" he shrieked. "Help me, oh god please, don't let them touch me—" But it was useless, they were drawing closer, and no one was there to here him. Everyone was dead. He was alone.

Just as one of the beings was about to touch him, Alfred woke up mid-yell, drenched and sweat and tangled in the sheets. For a minute, he wasn't aware of anything. Where was he? What had happened?

Then he brushed his disheveled bangs out of his eyes, and with trembling fingers, found and put on his glasses. He saw that he was in his own room, safe. At least for now. He fell back onto his pillows, panting, nearly crying in relief. Then the sound of pounding feet came from the hallway, and Germany burst into the room.

"Mein gott, America, vhat the hell is happening?"

He was closely followed by Italy, as well as England and Canada. They all stared at him worriedly. America looked away in shame, a deep blush coloring his cheeks.

"It's nothing, I'm fine," he said through clenched teeth. "Just a…dream."

"Really?" asked Italy tactlessly. "Because you were really screaming—"

"Italy, I'm fine," insisted America. After a few seconds, they slowly began to leave, trickling away like lost puppies until only Britain was left. He wouldn't stop staring at Alfred, studying him intensely. His green eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. America blushed even deeper, uncomfortable under the Brit's intense gaze.

In a fluid motion, England moved across the room and sat next to America on his bed. America recoiled slightly, beginning to perspire.

"What did you dream about?"

America looked away. "I don't want to talk about it."

England moved again, and now he was straddling America's legs. America shrank from the sudden contact. No, we can't not now…thought America, beginning to grow panicky. Shoving England off of him, he jumped up out of bed.

"I'm going to get some water," he said, to no one in particular, and hastily exited the room. Undeterred, England got up and followed him. America hurried down the hallway, not bothering to quiet his footsteps. He slammed open the door to the kitchen and ran for the cupboard of glasses as if his life depended on it. He had barely made it before he was suddenly besieged by a flood of emotions and feelings that were not his own. He gasped and sank to his knees under the crushing weight of the despair of the people in his country. Under their influence, all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and die. Gasping and trembling, he almost gave into them, when suddenly two points of bright green appeared in his vision, quickly followed by a face and two strong hands gripping his shoulders.

"Alfred. Alfred!"

Alfred could do nothing, only let silent tears run down his cheeks as his whole body was wracked with chills and tremors. Arthur sat next to him, with his arms around Alfred, simply being with him as the American waited for it to pass.

Finally, it stopped. Alfred swiped a hand over his eyes.

"I feel like shit."

"We all do."

"Then why aren't you crying like a fucking kid?"

Arthur said nothing, but his eyes expressed such a deep and profound sadness that Alfred wanted to cry again. For a minute, it seemed like Arthur was going to let his emotions boil over. But then he blinked, and his eyes were green enigmas once again.

"Alfred, do you want me to distract you?" asked Arthur huskily, running his fingers up Alfred's neck and bringing his lips a mere half inch away from his. Alfred's hear began to beat faster, and he blushed deeply.

"Arthur, we shouldn't, not now—" but Arthur smothered him with a kiss.

"If not now, when?" he breathed in Alfred's ear, his voice low and seductive. No longer able to resist, Alfred pressed his lips back to Arthur's. Arthur teased his tongue as they kissed, causing the hair on the back of Alfred's neck to prickle, only to pull away and jump up, leaving the other man panting. Arthur grabbed Alfred's hand and dragged him into the living room, shoving him onto the couch. He then resumed kissing him, first on his lips and then on his neck. He began to lick and bite a little, causing America to whimper a little in pleasure.

"Mm, A-Arthur…!" stammered Alfred, as the Brit began to play with the buttons of his shirt.

"Mm?" he replied, rubbing up the other nation's nipples, causing them to grow hard and erect.

"W-we can't have sex here…"

"Why ever not, darling?" whispered Arthur, undoing the last few buttons of his shirt.

"My brother was sitting here...like, three hours ago…"

Arthur began to chuckle.

"I…I'm serious…!"

"Fine, prima donna," snickered Arthur, and in one motion, stood up and swept Alfred up in his arms and began to carry him up the stairs.

"Is this really necessary?" growled America.

"Of course."

"This isn't fair. I'm taller than you."

"So?"

Alfred decided to refrain from replying.

When they arrived in Alfred's bedroom, Arthur wasted no time in dropping Alfred onto the bed and leaping down on top of him, licking his lips in desire. They resumed taking each other's clothes off. Arthur seemed determined to kiss every inch of Alfred's head and shoulders. With trembling fingers, Alfred began to slide off Arthur's pants, even as the Brit did the same to him. Their boxers quickly followed, and Alfred moaned in desire at the sight of Arthur's perfectly erect cock.

Grinning deviously, Arthur began to trace painful circles around the American's cock, causing him to buck his hips and grunt in bliss. When he was done with that, Arthur adjusted he and America's positions so they were aligned. America sat hunched over, trembling and sweating, waiting for Arthur.

"Are you ready?" breathed England.

"Fuck yes," said Alfred through clenched teeth.

"Beg for it, bitch."

"Oh God Arthur, please!"

Grunting in satisfaction, England shoved himself into America's entrance. America threw his head back and yelled out loud in pleasure. England made similar noises. They knew that the others could probably hear it, but in the passion of the moment, they didn't care.

"Augh, Arthur….h-harder…"

Arthur complied, causing Alfred to arch his back in passion, sweat pouring off of his body. Eventually, Alfred couldn't hold it in any longer and came, spilling all over his sheets. Withdrawing his cock, Arthur grunted and came soon thereafter. For a minute they sat on the bed, panting, in their own cum. Then, Arthur climbed down under the sheets, and Alfred followed. The American fell asleep with his head resting on the Brit's shoulder.