Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of the prompts and themes I'm borrowing from the movie "Inception." I'm just walking proof that an idea is the most intrepid parasite. Enjoy.

Recollection

Chapter Two: The Pre-Job Part One

A shot rang through the meeting room.

America jerked his head back, just dodging the bullet as it whizzed past so close that he could feel the heat on his forehead. The bullet buried itself in the wall. Switzerland, his pistol still smoking, was trembling with rage so furiously that a careless observer might have thought he was crying.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded. "You can't just…get away from Liechtenstein!"

"Big brother…" Liechtenstein began, but her words were drowned out by England, who rounded the table and yanked America away by the collar.

"Git!" the Englishman said, dragging the American away. "Are you insane?"

America yanked from his former guardians' grip and went back down to one knee, this time to lift the fallen sketchbook from the ground. "England, look at these designs. They're amazing."

England raised a single eyebrow – which always seemed significantly more impressive for him than most people – and flipped the battered leather notepad open in his hands. Germany groaned, pressing a palm against his forehead. "Is this really the time?"

"Give us a moment, mon cher," France implored, rising from his chair with diplomatic grace.

England scanned the parchment pages, his eyes widened in surprise. They only got larger with every turn. It really was a remarkable journey; page after page of beautiful, intricate maze designs. Some were square, others circular; some inked, some in only pencils; some with large paths, some barely wide enough for a pencil tip; but all were utterly unique and composed with an artistic complexity that even a layman could admire at a glance.

"Remarkable," England said without thinking of the words, flipping back to the beginning and handing the book off to Francis, who was hovering impatiently over his shoulder like a parrot begging for scraps. "Have you ever had any formal training?"

Liechtenstein blushed, shifting in her lace and frills as her wide blue eyes fell to the carpet. "Well, no. I sat in on a class or two, but…"

"She's never been trained," America said, his voice brimming with excitement. "That kind of work, without ever taking a class! She's got a natural talent, England, image how it'll be once she's had a chance to study! She's perfect!"

Switzerland's snarl deepened, cocking his gun again. "What the hell are you going on about, you idiot?"

But still, either because he was indeed an idiot or just so relieved to have finally found what he was looking for, America ignored the raging little blonde and turned his full attention to Liechtenstein once more. He took her hand in both of his – which seemed so large in comparison! – and looked up at her with wide, hopeful eyes like a beau about to propose marriage.

"Liechtenstein…Lili," he began, speaking the name as affectionately as though she were his own sister. "I need you to design me a maze."

"A…A maze?" Liechtenstein said slowly.

"Exactly." America' voice rose steadily in pitch and tempo as he spoke, excitement overtaking everything else. "And you don't have to worry about money or materials or even the laws of physics if you don't want to. Wait until you see it, it's pure creation unleashed. I know you'll love it. And…and it could be the only way for me to see my brother again."

Liechtenstein sucked in a dainty little gasp. "Mister NAU…"

"America," said the young man, already wincing from the abbreviation. Yes, according to all the paperwork and the maps and even the name plate on the meeting tables, he was the North American Union; but he hated to hear the words. That title presumed the worst about his brother, assumed that there was only one brother left to assume that title. But that, he knew, was wrong. He could not, would not believe otherwise.

Liechtenstein seemed to understand. "Mister America…I'm afraid I don't totally understand what you're asking me to do."

"Don't worry. I'll show you."

Switzerland bristled noticeably. Everyone else in the room held their breath.

America sighed, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, he looked up at Liechtenstein with his widest, most sincere pleading gaze. "I know it sounds crazy, and I'm doing a horrible job of explaining it, but…please. Doing this is the only chance I have at piecing my memories back together, and that's the only chance I have of finding out where Canada is. Please consider helping me. I just want to see my brother again."

The room was so quiet that a dropped pin might have been just as loud as Switzerland's gun. Then Liechtenstein took a short, shuddering breath and gave America's hand a squeeze.

"I'll do it."

Switzerland nearly dropped his gun. "Lili!"

"Big brother, please," Liechtenstein said, turning to him. She kept her grip on America's hands, grasping them with her own. Her eyes brimmed with tears. "It's so sad. They've been apart all this time. It isn't fair. Family…family ought to be together."

America couldn't hold back anymore. A wide smile spread unsteadily across his face, and then he was on his feet and clasping the girl in a tight, shoulder-straining hug. He was babbling something that may have been a million thank you's or promises that she wouldn't regret it, but it all ran together so badly that nobody could really say for sure.

England and France exchanged a knowing glance that echoed a bit of their own concern. Japan began to scribble some sort of formula notes over the ones he'd been taking for the meeting. Switzerland rounded the table and set about hauling America away from his little sister, despite Liechtenstein's giggling that it was all okay.

Germany just sank into his leather seat at the head of the table and pressed his head into his hands. Someday, some century, he would preside over a world meeting where everything went exactly as planned. Today, however, would not be that day.

( - )

"You ever notice that you never remember the beginning of a dream?"

America's question came while Liechtenstein was in mid-sip, so she paused to swallow her warm tea before she answered. "What do you mean?"

America quirked a grin and tapped her tea cup with the spoon that bore the hotel's logo. The three of them – America, Liechtenstein and England – were sitting in the restaurant in the hotel lobby, getting ready for Liechtenstein's first Dream-building crash course. "Think about it. When you wake up from a really good dream, what do you remember? Just bits and pieces, right? The most interesting or bizarre things, the symbols and moments that really stood out and spoke to you, but never a complete story.

"That's because dreams aren't a complete story. They never are. They're non-linear, because that's the way that people think."

Liechtenstein frowned, her lips folding into a pout over the edge of her cup. "But we do think linearly."

"Only when you're thinking about thinking, love," England said simply, stirring a bit of milk into his own fresh cup. "When you're not trying to think, the information comes more sporadically and evolves in its own way."

"Exactly," said America, tapping his spoon against his own plate this time. "And that's just when you're awake. You ever hear that saying that people only use ten percent of their brain?"

Liechtenstein nodded.

"The numbers are a bit funky and vary from person to person, but in general it's a lot truer than you might think, at least when you're awake."

England cleared his throat, as though he didn't quite believe that America could give this explanation without confusing the girl. He wiped the spoon he'd used to stir his tea clean and set it on the pristine white table cloth before he spoke. "When one is conscious, most of the brain is preoccupied with the day-to-day tasks of one's existence: walking, language, recalling names and locations, remembering the tasks of the day, etcetera. Once you've fallen asleep, those aspects become unnecessary, so those parts of your brain are freed up for other tasks. Creative ones. Hence, the creation of dreams."

"Think of dreaming as a way that your brain blows off a little steam," Alfred said brightly, sipping his coke directly from the glass. "But when you think about it, that normal, chaotic sort of dreaming is really a waste of effort. What the Dream lets you do, in addition to sharing the dreamscape with others, is completely control the creative output."

"But why would you want to?" Liechtenstein asked, setting down her tea. "Control your dreams, I mean."

England laughed and leaned across their little table to freshen the girl's cup. "People have been training themselves in lucid dreaming for centuries. Most find it quite empowering. You're not bound by the laws of physics and your only limits are those of your own imagination. As for the shared Dreaming, it was originally developed for therapy work, especially for victims of trauma – one's subconscious tends to be much more honest than oneself, after all – though some unfortunate incidences of individuals with more unsavory goals have limited its use somewhat."

Liechtenstein's delicate blonde eyebrows knitted together in concern. "Um, when you say 'unsavory…'"

"There's a process known as Extraction," America said, interrupting her question, "that recently earned itself a felony charge, especially since the process usually involves kidnapping. It's when a person or groups of people use the PASIV to enter another's mind and steal their secrets. Anything from corporate intel to bank account numbers, you can find them in dreams, if you know the symbols well enough to bring them to mind.

"Then there's Inception, which some countries –" He glanced pointedly at England, who occupied himself with his tea and refused to return the gesture. "– have outlawed preemptively even though it's never been proven to be possible. It's a sort of brainwashing where you plant an idea in someone's mind; but it's all theoretical and hearsay. It did get a lot of lip service after the Fischer corporation break-up, but it's just an urban legend.

"Then there are some folks who use it as a drug; 'Lotus Eaters' as Greece calls them. It's like the best hallucinogen ever. People get so caught up in being able to dream whatever they want that they stop being able to function in the real world. Japan's been having a big problem with that kind lately, from what I hear. And then there were a couple of cases reported in the Middle East where it was being used for torture, forcing people through their worst nightmares over and over until they finally broke…"

"Do stop your babbling," England said, sipping his tea with all the grace and poise of a high society gathering. "You're scaring the poor girl."

Liechtenstein made a little squeaking noise, hurriedly clapping her napkin over her mouth to hide both it and her blush. America rubbed the back of his neck and sent her a relaxed, reassuring smile.

"Sorry about that. Really, the Dream's not a bad thing, it's just a tool that some people abuse. It's done wonders for a lot of people. It's creative freedom like you wouldn't believe and, hell, it's been helping me piece my brain back together. Trust me, I wouldn't bring a cute girl like you into this if I thought it was at all dangerous."

England coughed into his napkin and shot America a Look as though he wanted to object, but said nothing. Liechtenstein composed herself, lowered the napkin into her lap and cleared her throat. "Okay then. So, um, what exactly is it you need me to do?"

"Just like I told you before: I need you to design a maze." America held up his hand, thumb and pinky curled against his palm. "Three of them, really. It'll be your job to design the Dream."

Liechtenstein's eyes fluttered to her sketchbook. "Design the dream, huh? So...do I just imagine it? Is that all I have to do?"

"At a technical level, yeah," America said, pushing the remainder of his cake around the plate with his spoon. "But the devil's in the details, hun. See, the most effective dreams are the ones where your mind doesn't quite believe that it's a dream. You have to make sure that everything is as realistic and tactile as possible, to fool the dreamer – even if only on a subconscious level – into believing it's real. The moment you really realize it's a dream, everything falls apart. But if you do it right, you can get the details down so well that you can convince anyone that your Dream is reality. You can even convince yourself, if you're not careful, even if you went into the Dream knowing full well what you were getting into."

Liechtenstein sat there a moment, turning the information over in her mind. Then she set down her cup and straightened in her chair. "Wait a minute. I just…This is…"

"Think about it, dear," said England. "How did you come to be here?"

America chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "Nobody ever remembers the beginning of a dream."

Lichtenstein looked at the hotel, the café and the lobby and realized that none of it was real. Then, it all stopped dead. Her teacup rattled on its saucer. A moment later, the dream exploded into a whirlwind of chaos.

( - )

Lichtenstein opened her eyes with a gasp. She was lying back in a rather comfortable, if small, leather recliner, with her hands folded over her stomach as though she'd been playing the corpse at a mock funeral. Vaguely, she was aware of a small IV tube curling away from the crook of her right arm, but she barely had time to register it before Japan reached out to carefully remove it.

"Welcome back," he said softly, discarding the used needle. "I trust it went well?"

On her right side, America laughed and sat up, pulling the IV from his own arm. "Well enough for a first timer. Feeling okay, Lili? Not sick or anything?"

"Um, no," said Liechtenstein, sitting up.

Switzerland hurried to her side, looking not particularly freaked out but perturbed. "What the hell was that about?" he demanded. "What was the point in knocking them all out for five minutes?"

"Five minutes?" Liechtenstein looked to the clock sitting by the couch that England was rising from, and her eyebrows shot to her hairline when she realized that, yes, only five minutes had passed since she'd first laid down in this hotel suite. "But it can't be. We were talking for almost an hour!"

England chuckled, rubbing the place where his needle had been removed. "Time flows a bit differently when you're dreaming, love; rather, your perception of it does. With all your extra brainpower freed up, everything in the Dream moves much more quickly than it does in the real world. The deeper that you go, the longer your dream will last."

"Oh." Liechtenstein gazed quietly around the room and then looked at her own hand. She wiggled her fingers and found that they felt a bit stiff, as though they'd been lying very still – she really had been asleep. "It felt so real."

Switzerland's brow furled and a scowl twisted itself ever deeper into his face. He turned on America and Japan insistently. "And you're certain this is safe?"

"Positive," said Japan, who was replacing the IV tubes and cleaning the entrance-exit ports where the PASIV's chemicals flowed through.

"I want proof."

"You're looking at it, buddy," America said, popping a crick out of his neck. He rolled his shoulders and extended an arm in Switzerland's direction, tugging up his sleeve so the trigger-happy nation could see the row bruises left by multiple IV drips. "I've done this a hundred times and it's never hurt me."

Switzerland's glare only grew fiercer. He muttered under his breath in German – something about mental difciancies and brain damage – then snapped, "I want to see for myself."

America rolled his eyes and looked to England. The Brit returned the gesture and rose from the couch with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "Let him do as he likes. I'll sit out this round. No sense in overcomplicating the situation with a tourist onboard. I'll go find out what's taking France so damn long with those drinks."

"Awesome," America said with a grin. "Make sure he's got plenty of coffee and not just your gross tea, okay?"

England paused at the suite door long enough to flip him off with the grace of a gentleman and the scowl of a delinquent. America laughed and plopped back into his chair, hooking up his own wire as Japan attended to Switzerland and his sister. "Put us under for another five minutes, okay Kiku? That ought to be more than enough time to finish the orientation."

"Hai," Japan said, nodding. He laid Liechtenstein back, patted her head like a kindly nanny and tried to ignore the dirty looks that Switzerland bore into his head. Once he was certain that all the IVs were properly attached, he returned to his position by the PASIV's case, double-checked the balance of the chemicals and initiated the sequence to begin the Dream.

"Sleep well," he bade the room in a quiet voice. It was the last sound any of the trio heard before they slipped into a peaceful and quiet sleep.

( - )

From their original starting point in the hotel café, America lead Switzerland and Liechtenstein out the front doors of the grand hotel and out onto the streets of Rome; or rather, he lead Liechtenstein out with a series of polite bows and held doors and pointedly ignored the grumpy Swiss man following their every move.

"Like I was saying, the devil's in the details," he said, gesturing broadly to the city around them. "Take a look at this place, and not just with your eyes. Take in the smells, the sounds, the tastes. You feel that snow against your face, the chill, how it melts and sticks? You've got to start paying attention to it, know what matters. If you're missing any of aspects, or they feel off, you'll startle your target right out of the Dream."

"So you created all this?" Liechtenstein asked, gazing around. "This is amazing. It looks just like Rome."

"No no no," America said, waving his finger warningly. "All this is based on a bunch of movie sets some of my people designed for a bunch of romance-in-Rome movies. I just blew it up into reality and covered it all in snow."

"Ooh," said Liechtenstein with a hint of wonder, trailing her eyes along the crowds that pushed past them. "And these people? Did you create them too?"

"I didn't have to – these guys are all manifestations of my subconscious. We may be sharing this dream, but it's my head you guys are wandering around in, and sometimes the brain can get pretty defensive, so watch your step."

Liechtenstein nodded her agreement, though she didn't really understand, and scanned the crowd once more. A flash of light caught her eye and she turned after it on instinct, catching a glimpse of grown-out blonde hair, glasses, and a single curled hair…

"Before we get too deep into this, I really aught to warn you," America said suddenly, turning to Liechtenstein with a serious expression and drawing her attention back to him. "Never, and I mean never, base your Dreams on anything you know in reality. Use pieces – a lamppost, a bridge, maybe the outside of a building – but never recreate places from your memories in their entirety. That's the easiest way to get lost."

"'Lost'?" Switzerland echoed, his voice dripping with suspicion.

America's eyes flickered to him, then focused back on Liechtenstein. "You remember what we told you about the Lotus Eaters?"

She nodded.

"What I'm talking about here is the extreme form of that. Lotus Eaters fall so in love with the Dream that they wish it was real and would rather live there than in the real world. But if you're not careful, there's always a chance that you could lose sight of what reality really is." His other hand fell on the girl's opposite shoulder, and he leaned down to look her straight in the eye. "Don't take that chance."

Liechtenstein nodded again, and America stepped away before Switzerland could go for his gun. The American ran a hand through his hair, replacing his serious expression with his usual smile, and rummaged through his coat pocket. "When we get out of here you're going to want to find yourself a totem; it's an extra safe guard to keep everything straight. For now though, why don't you give the creation side a shot? See what you're really capable of."

"Me?" Liechtenstein squeaked, pointing to herself.

"Of course," America said, leaning casually against a nearby building. "Go on, knock yourself out."

The girl clutched both her hands to her chest and looked around like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a truck. Her eyes scanned the city around them, as though searching for inspiration, before an idea finally settled in her mind. She relaxed and grew very still. A second later, the ground beneath Switzerland suddenly lurched upwards into a steep pillar straight out of Ancient Rome. It shot three, five, eight stories into the air, carrying the trigger-happy nation into the sky.

Switzerland yelped, lost his balance and fell to his hands and knees. "Liechtenstein!"

"S-Sorry big brother!" Liechtenstein called up, the momentary relaxation escaping her in a flurry of flustered flails. "I didn't mean to put it there!"

America laughed out loud and clapped his hands. "Not bad for your first try. Not bad at all."

Switzerland's growl reached them even from his high perch. He scowled over the edge, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the side of the platform. "It's just a damn dream," he spat. "I can jump down just fine!"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," America warned, waving his finger again. "You don't know how to kill the physics in a pre-defined setting yet, and getting hurt in a dream still hurts like hell, so long as it doesn't kill you."

Switzerland turned white, then red. "You can die in these things?"

"Not for real," America said with a shrug. "This ain't the Matrix. You die here and you'll wake up, but that doesn't mean it won't hurt like hell first. Lili, it'll probably be better if you get him down instead, okay?"

"Um. Okay."

Liechtenstein closed her eyes again, but before she could do anything America's voice broke in. "You're too tense. This isn't some kind of exercise, it ought to be a natural process. Just relax."

Liechtenstein took a deep breath and held it for a count of ten. She released it slowly, letting her body settle into the same relaxed state she took before she tried to sleep. She opened her eyes.

Instantly, the world around them melded to her will. The pillar sprouted stairs, which looped around its marble surface in a tight spiral and let Switzerland to the ground. Switzerland followed it hesitantly, somewhat awed by the power his little sister was suddenly wielding, and landed on the sidewalk as easily as if he'd stepped out of a car.

"Good, good," America said encouragingly. "Careful though. Bend the laws too much and you'll draw attention to yourself."

If Liechtenstein heard his words she didn't see fit to acknowledge it. She turned and headed down the street, slipping through the crowds as easily as a fish through a stream.

America hummed to himself, glancing in Switzerland's direction. "Looks like she's getting into it. Come on, we better keep up."

Switzerland nodded, still a little surprised by the power his sister now apparently wielded. The two of them hurried to catch up with Liechtenstein, who was now moving through the streets at an excited pace, a creative gleam flashing in her eyes.

"Did you design all of this?" Switzerland asked after a fourth right turn somehow did not put them right back at the hotel.

America shook his head. "The only thing I designed was that first street. Everything else is all Liechtenstein." His lips quirked into the same excited smile he'd worn while declaring his intentions in the meeting room. "She's a natural. Just like I knew she would be. She's perfect!"

They came to a busy street, thick with traffic and roaming passerby, but Liechtenstein paid it little mind. A bridge suddenly blossomed from the pavement, its perfectly measured stairs carrying them – and the few passerby who flowed with them – up and over the street as though it had always belonged there. The design here was a different from the rest of the city, perhaps a reflection of Lichtenstein's own home.

It was only when they made it to the other side that Switzerland realized the crowd was beginning to act strangely. The passerby, which had originally treated them as nothing more than part of the crowd, were starting to stare at Liechtenstein and Switzerland as the three Dreams moved among them. No, not stare – glare. Their eyes bore a vicious, heated accusation, as though the three had been caught doing something terribly wrong.

"Why are they all looking at us?" Switzerland asked, sending a glare back at a woman who seemed completely unfazed by the hand that rested on his pistol.

America had noticed it too, and his brow was furulled with a worrying concern. "They're figuring it out," he muttered, and picked up his pace to catch up with Liechtenstein. "Hey, Lili. Hold on a sec! You need to tone it down."

He caught Leichtenstein's arm and the girl looked back in surprise. In the same moment, a wall of gleaming black glass shot out of the ground in front of them, coming to a sharp point ten stories above their heads. Three other similar walls sprouted from the roads from which they'd come, falling together to form a towering black pyramid that engulfed half the city.

For a brief moment, the snowy city of Rome was covered in near-impenetrable darkness. Then the city attacked.

( - )

England stepped from the hotel suite to find France already standing outside the door with a drink carrier full of Styrofoam cups. The Englishman looked from the drinks to his companion's face, pushed the door closed until he heard the click of the lock and leaned against it with his arms crossed over his chest. "Since you're out here, I assume you have something you want to talk about, frog."

"Oui." France pulled a drink from the carrier and offered it to England with a graceful sweep of his arm. "Your tea."

England took the cup and sipped its contents. He muttered something about weak tea-making practices and glanced France's way once more. "So, what's on your mind?"

France glanced at the door, then down the hall, as though he suspected that someone might happen upon them. Then he heaved a sigh and set the drink carrier on the floor beside the suite door. "Amerique has told you of his plan, I assume."

"Aye," England said with a nod. "He wants to go three levels down, to the very brink of his own subconscious. A dream within a dream within a dream. Why? Does it make you nervous, getting so close to limbo?"

"Of course not," France said with a sniff, but the way that he avoided the Englishman's eye betrayed his hidden uncertainties.

Limbo, they knew, was no urban myth like the concept of inception. The pure creative subspace had been proven time and time again by those who studied the nature of Dreams. It was well-known as the place where one was most likely to lose the concept of reality, and the time distortion left every second of sleep lasting an eternity. The grim fates of those who had wasted their lives an sanity in limbo's gasp served as a warning for all Dreams: go too far down the rabbit hole and you might never come back.

England sipped his tea, leaned against the door and contemplating the heavy silence falling between him and France. When he finally spoke, it was with a level of determination and authority that could not be challenged, even if France had wanted to. "We draw the line after this. America gets one more chance. We'll go down to layer three, and if he still can't get his together after all that, we're through. All of us."

France nodded. "I agree. It is what is best."

He looked as though about to say more – perhaps delivering some clichéd line about how Canada would not want them all endangered for his sake – when a scream echoed from within the suite. England dropped his tea and, together, the two burst into the rooms.

Switzerland was awake, clutching at his chest and giving great heaves that shook his entire body. Japan looked just as startled as England and France, especially when Switzerland began to rip the PASIV's cords out of his own body as though casting away live snakes.

"What happened?" England demanded.

"I don't know," Japan said, flustered. "Something must have gone wrong, he must have died…"

"Liechtenstein!" Switzerland gasped, flinging himself from the couch. He grabbed his still-unmoving sister by the shoulders and shook her violently. "Lili, Liechtenstein, wake up! Wake up!"

"Vash, please!" France said, reaching for the smaller nation's shoulder. "Don't do such a thing, you're liable to hurt her!"

Switzerland knocked France's hand away, spinning around to face them, briefly. His blue eyes were wide with an insane level of fear, and his heaving breasts had not calmed in the slightest. His gaze fell upon America's still-slumbering form and he pounced, shaking the other nation violently by the collar.

"You bastard! Wake up, you bastard!" he shouted, striking America once across the face. "Give me back my sister!"

"Stop it, Switzerland!" England said, grabbing Switzerland's right arm. France seized the left and the two bodily carried the smaller nation across the room and pinned him on the couch. None of them could fathom what had happened in the dream, but they both knew that Japan was certainly right: something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

( - )

Switzerland was dead.

The mob had descended before America could react, converging on Switzerland en masse. They seized his arms, legs and shoulders before he could even think of reaching for his gun and, in the next second, one of them split away from the group with a long, cruel knife in hand.

Liechtenstein had turned just in time to see the knife plunge into her brother's stomach. She'd screamed and it had brought the crowd's attention to her as Switzerland's lifeless body sank to the pavement. Without a second thought, she turned and ran, sprinting across the bridge she had created seconds before.

"Liechtenstein!" America shouted after her. "Stop!"

But she did not hear him, too lost in the horror of seeing her beloved brother so freshly dead and the fear that the pursuing mob would do the same to her. In seconds, she was across the bridge and racing down the streets of his imagined Rome, disappearing from his sight and from the reach of his voice.

She darted down the maze-like corridors of streets, taking corners as break-neck speed and not daring to glance behind as long as she heard footsteps. Finally, she dove into the tiny gap between two buildings and fell back against one, gasping for breath. The crowd dashed past without even looking her way.

"Big brother," she whispered to herself, a few fat tears rolling. "B-Big brother…"

"Hush, now."

Liechtenstein jerked in the direction of the voice, though it was only her nerves that startled her so, for the voice was so quiet that she wouldn't have noticed it at any other time. There was a skinny, blonde figure standing at the other end of the alley, blocking her way. She recognized him, but only because she'd seen so many of his pictures lately, in America's photo albums and the tiny portrait that America carried in his wallet.

His name fell from her lips before she could stop it, "Mister Canada!"

The blonde young man – who looked so much like America, now that she saw him up close – shifted down the tiny corridor like a ghost, so silent and smooth that she half-imagined she could see the fluttering of a sheet around his thin form. Hesitantly, wondering what on earth was going on, Liechtenstein took a step closer to him; but that was as far as she got before two of the crowd from outside burst into their little nook and seized her arms, holding them outright like a sacrifice before the alter.

"Liechtenstein!" America called, his voice echoing from the far end of the gap. Liechtenstein saw him appear over the top of Canada's head, sliding to a stop and freezing like a rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming semi-truck. "Mattie."

Canada turned back to look at his brother, his expression emotionless and cold. His hands slipped into the pockets of his hoodie.

America swallowed. "Mattie, please. You don't want to do this."

Canada shook his head and clicked his tongue, combining the disapproving movements of England and France into a single subtle expression.

"Mattie," America begged. "Please. Don't hurt her."

Canada slid his hands from his hoodie, turning back to Liechtenstein with his expression as cold as ever. In one hand, he now held a long, sharp hunting knife that gleamed even in the gloom of their little gap. Liechtenstein went rigid, searching wildly for an escape, but there was none. She was trapped.

"Lili!" America shouted, lunging into the gap. "Wake up! You have to wake up, now!"

Liechtenstein had no idea what he was talking about.

"Wake up! Wake up, wake up, Mattie, don't!"

But it was too late for even the hero to act. Canada took a single step forward and swung the knife straight across the curve of Liechtenstein's throat, slitting neatly from side to side. Bright red blood sprayed across the gap, and Liechtenstein felt strangely breathless for a few brief seconds.

She caught a final glimpse of Canada's face, grim and cold, covered in her blood.

And then, it was over.

( - )

"Liechtenstein! Oh, Lili!"

Liechtenstein woke and was almost instant engulfed in a protective huge from Switzerland, who burst from the grip of England and France like a wild bull from its pen. Liechtenstein clutched at her own throat, coughing, but found no trace of the wound she'd received in the dream. Only the memory of pain remained as Switzerland swept her into his arms and held her against his chest as though afraid she would disappear if he dared to loosen his grip.

A moment later, America was awake too, sitting up in his chair and pressing a hand against his forehead. "Oh man," he said. "That could have gone better."

"What the bloody hell happened in there?" England snapped.

"Nothing to worry about, Iggy, take a chill pill," America said, waving one hand dismissively as he removed his wires and climbed out of his chair. "We got a little carried away and the projections went into the defense mode. That's all."

England opened his mouth as though to say more, but was cut off by Switzerland, who suddenly wheeled around with a punch to America's jaw that only missed because the American ducked at the last moment.

"You bastard!" the Swiss raged. "You said that those things weren't dangerous!"

"They're not," America said rationally, raising both hands in a mock surrender. "Just take a look, neither you nor Liechtenstein are hurt. The only thing that happens when you die in a dream is that you wake up. That's all."

Liechtenstein, now free from her brother's grip, rubbed her throat self-consciously. "What happened in there? What was that?"

America sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and giving careful thought to his explanation before he gave it. "When you create a dream world, it naturally becomes populated by projections of your subconscious. These projections act like antibodies, sniffing out intruders into your mind and eliminating them. That's part of the reason you have to design Dreams as a maze. It keeps you hidden, and that keeps you safe until it's time to wake up, and then you don't have to go through that painful mess."

Switzerland bristled like a cat, one hand flickering to his holster, which was in fact empty at this moment as Japan hadn't wanted to risk gunpowder residue getting mixed in with their equipment. He clenched his fists. "We're not going through any of this mess, ever again."

"Switzerland-san," Japan began, but Switzerland had already turned, seized Liechtenstein by the arm and pulled her from the room, his hair practically standing on end with the tension of his desire to keep her safe. Liechtenstein managed to turn back and offer the room one last lingering apology with her eyes before the door slammed shut behind her and they were gone.

The four nations remaining stayed in silence. France sighed and sat down on the couch, running a hand through his hair. "Well, that was a disaster."

"Indeed," England said, and plopped onto the couch with a similar sigh and no regard for who he was actually sitting next to. His eyes flickered to America. "So, now what do you plan to do?"

"We wait," America said with a shrug, turning to help Japan pack the PASIV up again. "She'll be back. She won't be able to resist. You should have seen her, England. She's really a natural, and you know what it's like. Now that she's had a chance at that pure creative power, she won't be able to live without trying it again."

England and France exchanged heavy looks, and Japan, as though sensing that an awkward conversation was about to follow, finished packing away the equipment and quietly excused himself from the room. The two Europeans waited until he was safely away until England rose again, fixing America with a serious gaze.

"America," he said sternly. "We've reached a decision, about this operation of yours."

America pressed his lips together and steeled himself for what was coming. "…Go on."

"This is your last chance," said England, in a tone that left no room for argument or debate. "We'll go down to Level Three, just this once. After that, it's over. You will either figure out what's wrong with your memories, or you leave them be. Either way, this is the last attempt at Recollection that this team will ever pursue. Do you understand?"

America glanced at France. The older nation has always been as eager to find Canada as America himself. That was no surprise. Canada and France had always been close. But now France looked tired and sad. He was on the verge of giving up all hope, the way that England already had to spare himself the pain. This was the last real chance that any of them had.

America sighed. "All right then," he said, picking up the PASIV in its silver case. "Whatever you guys say."

And with that, he left them behind.

( - )

Much later that night, Liechtenstein hovered nervously outside the door to America's hotel room, wondering if she should knock. It had taken her several hours and a sleeping pill in his bottled water for her to get away from Switzerland, but now that she was here she half-wanted to run back to her brother, curl up beside him and sleep until the memory of being sliced open had finally died away.

But under that memory was a rush of excitement, of longing. She'd never felt anything like the Dream before. The idea of being in control of an entire world, even if – perhaps, especially if – it was a dangerous world full of secrets and symbols, was so thrilling. And…and she needed to know.

She steeled her resolve and knocked on the door. "Mister America?"

There was no answer. She waited for a full minute, then tried again, a bit louder this time. "Mister America? Are you awake?"

Still, there was no answer. She started to get nervous. It was too late for him to be out, and she knew that England and France were already in their rooms. What if he was in some kind of trouble?

Liechtenstein hesitated, glanced up and down the hall to makes sure that she was alone. She was. From the pocket of her dress, she drew the hotel master key she'd been given by the security guard who'd been trying to flirt with her since they arrived. She was neither as ignorant nor as innocent as she sometimes seemed. She knew that he'd only given her the key because he wanted to get under her skirt, but as long as she had it, this was as good a time as ever to use it.

She unlocked the door and stepped quietly into America's room, her footfalls hidden by the thick carpet. She eased the door closed behind her and peered into the darkened room. It was lit only by a familiar blue-silver glow.

Her eyes widened. "Mister America?" she called again, just to make sure. When she received no answer, she stepped all the way into the room proper and confirmed what she had found.

America lay on the bed, fast asleep with an IV coiling out of his arm. His breathing was slow and steady, in time with the whirring and beeping of the PASIV's moving parts. Liechtenstein leaned over the machine and took in the readings as best she could. She didn't really understand it all, but from what she could gather, America was definitely dreaming and had set the machine to wake him with more than enough time to prepare for tomorrow's meeting; the last of their World Conference for the year.

Liechtenstein turned her eyes from the machine and settled them on America. He looked so peaceful in his sleep, and so young. She forgot sometimes that he was much younger than the other nations, older than her but so much younger than the rest of Europe. He'd risen quickly and gone through a lot. The pressure had aged his face without actually aging him. Now, in sleep, he at least seemed to be at peace. She wondered what he was dreaming about.

America's sleep was mostly undisturbed, as it should have been under the influence of the PASIV, but as she watched over him, his face twisted briefly into a more distressed expression. His eyes moved restlessly beneath their lids and a word slipped from his mouth. "Mattie…"

Liechtenstein knew what she had to do.

She left his side for a moment to push the room's armchair over to beside the bed. She settled into the chair, pulled out the extra PASIV cords and inserted the IV into her own arm. She leaned back and kept her eyes on America as the chemicals began to flow into her veins. Her eyes fluttered closed and she surrendered herself to sleep.

A moment later, Liechtenstein once again stepped into America's dreams.

TBC…