-August 6th, 2006. England's Memories-

It was like a dream, but perhaps it was more like a nightmare. His body moved without his consent. He spoke words without trying. He could only watch as a moment of his childhood was playing out in front of him. His childhood self rose his head to see a younger version of France standing a few feet away. Nostalgia crept through him as France's young voice spoke out to him. His medium length blonde hair was blown in the soft wind. He was older than him, but still in his youth. Both of them were still so innocent and naive.

"Salut! Why are you playing around on the ground, little caterpillar?" France said as he stood over him. His hand sat on his hip and his eyes were full of worry. England sat up from his spot. If only he could have remembered his friendship with France through all the tough years to come. His mouth opened and words came out:

"I am not a caterpillar and I don't have to tell you anything," England scoffed. His mind told him that he had actually been looking for the cute rabbits that lived there. Unfortunately, it seemed they were scared of him.

"Whatever." France replied. He ran his fingers through his wavy hair.

"Not just 'whatever'. Don't be that way."

"Hey, Arthur?" France asked him.

"I was trying to say something, frog."

"Do you see that person over there?" He pointed to the other side of the wheat field they stood in. England turned around to see a girl in the distance. The color of her long black hair clashed with her pale skin. She seemed to be looking towards the cloudless sky.

"There shouldn't be anyone here. This is a secret place." England said. He stood up and started to make his way over to the girl. France caught the cuff of his sleeve and wouldn't let go when England tugged.

"Don't rush into trouble, my little caterpillar. What if she is from one of the enemy countries here to hurt us." He cautioned. His blue eyes were wide and full of fear. He was only a child back then, thought the mature England.

"You're only paranoid," said the younger England. He rolled up his sleeves and looked back to him. "Most woman are not sent as assassins. If she is one, I have my sword." He patted the silver sheath at his side an pulled out a dagger. Being so small, it was a sword to him. "Your previous war has gotten to you."

"Fine. Just let me come with you." France said. England sighed as France followed after him. As they neared the woman, she turned to look at them. Her face was covered in blood and cuts. Her arms and legs as well. She looked like she had gone through a field of ran over to her and England put his dagger away. It was not necessary.

"Are you okay, miss?" They asked. She looked at them but said nothing. "Miss? Miss?" They dropped to her side when she fell to the ground. Her eyes were closed. Her heartbeat was slow.

"Francis, help! What do we do?" England cried. Tears ran down his cheeks. He was hundred of years old, yet still had the mind of a child. A small child that still feared things like the dark and masked men.

France made a simple yet cruel statement: "She is a human, Arthur. They die." Memories of hundreds of dying people flashed through his mind. People he loved died just as much as people he hated. And everytime someone in his country died, it was like a small pinprick to his still fragile heart.

England stopped. He was absolutely shocked at what he was hearing. As the words were processed, his face reddened with anger. His arm moved without hesitation. His hand smacked against France's face.

"Idiot! She may die one day but she doesn't have to die now!" He screamed with all of his heart. France put a hand to the bruise on his face. "People may die. Even loved ones may die. She doesn't have to!"

"But-" France started. England cut him off with his own words.

"How could you be so terrible?" Tears fell down his face. "How?"

"Je suis désolé. Je suis vraiment désolé. I am sorry." France set his hand on the woman's as he looked at her closed eyes. "I'll help. How?"

England still seethed with anger. "You stay here," he told him. "I will go get my mom's magic book, 'kay?" He stood and started to run through the field, through the town, through his house.

He found the leather bound book and returned as quick as possible. He ignored all distractions. Even the rabbits he had previously been looking for. He didn't stop for a second. When he had found them again in the long grass on the field, he fell to his knees. He could feel bruises form from the impact.

"You have to hurry, England. I don't think she can continue much longer."

England flipped through the book and found the page he was looking for; healing fatal wounds. He took a quick look at the instructions, and began reading the words. It should work. It must work.

The woman's eyes opened, but she was not healed. Her cuts were still open. The blood still formed in the fresh wounds.

"It won't work," she said in a soft yet trembling voice. Her voice was so beautiful yet sad, it bore a hole into England's eternal soul. "I'm not from here."

"What do you mean?" England cried. "The magical world of my friends?" The woman only shook her head and closed her eyes once more.

He didn't understand her last words. She told him a name of a world he would not hear of again for many years:

"Closed space."

England didn't listen. Even though she thought it wouldn't work, England had to continue trying. He flipped through the book once more, to the healing spell for magical creatures. He read the instructions. It wasn't as simple as the last spell.

"It says that I will need a charm holder. The spell will..." He shook his head. He couldn't quite read the large words. "Anyways, we need someone to help. It can't be me or the lady." He turned to France. "Will you do it? You're immortal, so it can't hurt."

France smirked. "For this beautiful woman, of course. How much of a heroic man would I be if I didn't?"

England didn't smile. Instead, he began to read the spell. His right hand was on the woman's hand while his left hand held France's. France gripped England's hand loosely, but his hold gradually tightened.

He didn't open his eyes even as France cried out in pain. It was sacrifice. When he did open his eyes, France also laid upon the long grass. His arms were wrapped tightly around his torso.

Tears welled up into his eyes as he shook France. He wouldn't wake. Letters were etched into his skin as scars. The words he said as a spell were now part of his body.

"Wake up!" He yelled to them. He turned to the girl, but she wasn't breathing. "You have to be okay!"

The memory floated off into the distance. He was no longer a child, but himself.

England opened his eyes to see that he was still standing in the garden of beautiful flowers, exactly where he had been. He breathed slowly in and out.

The memories of what just happened were still fresh in his mind. He felt like he would go insane. That couldn't have been real, he thought to himself. Even so, he knew that it was.

He made his way through the kitchen where Italy still cleaned, through the dining room with it's floor covered in towels, past the painting of the boy that wasn't Germany, through the hallway filled with flowers long out of season, and opened the front door. Germany and Japan stood in front of him.

"England-san, are you okay?" Japan asked. England nodded.

Then, he went home.

Author Note: Thank you for reading. I really appreciate it. Hint: The first letter of each chapter is seperated. I'm also trying to subtly show which characters have a close relationship by which ones call eachother by their human names.