"The Justice Team, please report to the office."

Matthew groaned, and head-desked his... desk. He was currently in Advanced History, listening to the teacher animatedly talk about the Hot War and the Non-Civil War. And although it was all very, very fascinating, Matthew had found himself to be doodling on his notebook, drawing shamrocks and coffee cups and a perfect replica of the Sunbucks symbol.

That is, until the intercom sounded and made him draw a line across it by accident.

Cursing at his brother in every language he knew (which was quite a lot, he must say) for picking such a retarded name, he packed up his things and shuffled away quietly. Not many people stared at him, but others threw erasers at him, probably realizing that he was moving up a rank. Picking up an eraser, he flipped to the side of it.

"Wanna make out? You have a load of hickeys- how much a night?"

He immediately reached to his neck, and could feel the large, purple welt underneath his collar. Dammit, he thought he had concealed it! Obviously not. Glaring daggers at every single person he saw, he slammed the door shut, making a satisfying echo in the halls. Who was it that accepted that damn mission, anyway?

Oh, right. Arthur.

Stupid Arthur. With his damn bushy eyebrows. And nice accent. And smart personality.

And the fact that his brother had the hots for him.

Matthew kicked at a wall in irritation. He had his fun pretending to be Arthur's lover. The brief moments of contact, the touch against his skin. They had silly moments, smiles he didn't think Arthur would have, and they had a good friendship. That was all he needed.

Was that all he wanted?

He then smacked his head onto the wall. Yes. Yes. What was he even thinking?

"Stop hitting your head against the wall, it'd be a pity to lose such a smart person like you." A very familiar voice said. Matthew immediately froze, and then turned around.

There he stood, with all his bushy-eyebrowed glory.

Fuck.

"And you're the only decent person in our group. Do you really want to abandon me in a group of wankers?" He scolded lightly, and then stared at Matthew's head. "You know, you have some blood up there."

"Oh!" Matthew's hand shot up there, and he laughed nervously. "I'll just go and see Renaissan- I mean, Renee, and ask for a band-aid." He started to inch away, but Arthur's hand slapped onto his shoulder. He visibly flinched, and straightened up.

"No need." Arthur took out, from his pocket, a handkerchief. He dabbed at Matthew's forehead, and then grinned. "See? Good as new! Now let's go see what that Principal of ours wants from us." He retracted his arm, and started to walk forward. Matthew stood there dumbly for a minute, before Arthur turned around and raised an eyebrow.

"What are you waiting for, lad? Do you want to postpone your upgrade?" He motioned for him to follow. "We're an advanced country, mate. Women can walk beside us, go to school, anything."

It took a couple of seconds before Matthew registered what Arthur was saying. "God dammit, Arthur! I can't believe you just called me a woman!" He ran forward and punched Arthur on the arm. Arthur only laughed it off.

This crush was not wearing off anytime soon.

Arthur, of course, didn't know about Matthew's feelings. They walked to the office, keeping up banter that would make their other two teammates envious. When they arrived, Alfred and Gilbert were already in the office, looking impatient. Alfred brightened when he spotted them. "Artie!" Then, as an afterthought, "Mattie!"

Matthew looked at him flatly. "Did you really just do that?"

"Yes," his brother replied with the utmost dignity. "Yes, I did."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, looking back at the headmaster. "So, sir? You wanted us?" He sounded surprisingly respectful, considering what kind of person he was.

The headmaster, an old man named Legolas, nodded, his expression grave. "I have called you here to present to you the evidence of your upgrade to Level B." The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth deepened as he smiled, holding out four small medals. "You deserve these."

The team took them, fairly bursting with pride. "Thank you, sir," Gilbert said, voicing what they all wanted to say. Then he ruined it by asking, "Does this mean I have bragging rights? Because I am dying to gloat to Antonio and Roderich." Before Legolas could reply, he grinned down at his medal. "Oh, man, I can just imagine their reactions. Antonio will be all happy for me while his teammates are all like, 'GET OUT', and Roderich will just slam on that piano of his and then Elizaveta will totally try to beat me up with her frying pan for mocking her husband or whatever the f..." He stopped himself just in time from cursing. "Fudge he is. Yes."

Luckily, Legolas was pretty cool with humor. That didn't stop him from looking at the albino with an unamused face. "Yes, I suppose it does give you bragging rights. Just remember not to do it in hearing range of our Level As."

Alfred, who had been coming up with schemes to brag about being a Level B in front of the As, looked rather sheepish. "Is that a command or just a suggestion, sir?"

Legolas looked at him. "Do I really need to answer that, boy?"

"... Okay." Alfred took a step back to be directly beside Arthur, successfully putting himself between his love and his brother. He glanced at Arthur, who glanced back at him, and he had to smile. That made Arthur quirk a small smile back at him before looking away.

Matthew swallowed his jealousy and plastered a smile on his face. "Is that all, sir?" he asked, as they were out of things to say.

"Yes. You can go now." Legolas made a 'shoo' motion. "Ask Rachelle for the liberties you now have, if you don't remember what they are." Everyone had learned what sort of freedoms and new rights they had when they moved up in the levels. It made them try harder to get to the one they wanted. Not many people were disappointed.

After their upgrade, they decided to take it easy for a few days. It was rare for students to even have a whiff of fresh air, since they usually went mission after mission after mission. Not all students were studious, but it was a big disappointment for everyone when there was a student who was still a D Rank that was pass the age of 15.

Matthew decided to use his extra time to go talk to Renee.

He wasn't actually friends with her. He just went to get a new uniform far too often, so they were on a first-name basis. (Usually, she didn't know anyone's names, because she didn't bother. One time, Alfred went up to her, and she just raised her eyebrow and said, "Matthew's bro, right? Name's... Jack?" It made Alfred's jaw drop.) He wandered around aimlessly, picked up a coffee and took a couple of sips, and went up to her.

"Sorry, I'm on break..." She trailed off when she lifted her eyes off from her magazine. "Oh, hey, Matt! For me? You shouldn't have!" Without waiting for a response, she grabbed it and downed it, never mind the fact that it was scalding hot. She wiped her mouth with a handkerchief (which reminded him of that... argh!) and pushed the magazine away.

"So... you have a problem?" She said, pushing her icey-blond hair back. She reminded him of Ivan, sort of. Except for the fact that she had blue eyes and was not as scary as him.

"No... just got upgraded, decided to chill for a few days." He shrugged. She examined him closely, and then snapped her fingers.

"I got it! Girl problems?" She said, her eyes shining. Matthew laughed.

"No, of course not." More like guy problems, he thought bitterly.

"Hmm... then... Gil problems?" She said, smirking. Matthew looked at her, confused.

"What... Gilbert's fine, acting okay." He looked at her strangely. She sighed.

"You are a dense kid."

"We're practically the same age!"

"No. Two years, hon."

"Uh huh."

"Well, if it's not Gilbert, who is it?" She leaned back and swiveled on her chair a couple of times.

"It's no one." He said firmly. She sighed, and counted off from her fingers.

"Johan? Nikolai? Romano?" He was caught off guard.

"Wha-"

"Mathias? Ludwig? Kiku? Elizaveta? Belle-"

"Look, what are you talking about-"

"Arthur?"

This made his lips go in a line. She smiled.

"Ah, hit the mark, didn't I?" She said, seeming proud.

"No." He said stubbornly.

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Ye-"

"Okay!" Matthew said, throwing his hands in the air. "You got it right, alright?" He sighed, and sunk onto her desk. "This sucks."

"What? Arthur's a... a..." She thought for a minute. "Wait! Bushy eyebrows? Prodigy? Hallucinates?"

"Yes."

"Guy that Jack likes?"

"Fuck. Yes."

"Ooh." She clucked her tongue sympathetically. "Been there, done that. Painful. I lost."

"And I'm going to lose, too." He sighed. "No one knows either, so keep this between us two."

"Alright, honey." She said, smiling.

"And I'm not going after him. Alfred likes Arthur, Arthur likes Alfred. Brothers come before lovers." He picked at an eraser shaving, and cut it in half with his fingernail.

"You're a good brother." She frowned. "But don't waste your time on guys like him. Go and get someone else."

"Uh... huh." He said, sliding off from the desk. "I'm not looking for love right now, so no need. Thanks, though."

She nodded her head, and waved him off. "Bye, Matthew!" She said cheerfully. Matthew waved back, and walked off.

"Matthew is so dense." She muttered, picking up her magazine. "And who the fuck is Alfred?"

Alfred was lying out in the courtyard near the fountain (which was rumored to be the original Fountain of Youth), his eyes closed, the breeze rustling his hair. He was enjoying the nice day in a fairly good way. He probably would've liked it more if he had someone to enjoy it with, but hey! At least it wasn't raining, like Arthur said his home country was like.

Oh! Had anyone told you? Arthur wasn't from good ol' Aleyrn. He was from some other country (one whose name Alfred couldn't be bothered to remember). Fancy that, eh? He moved to somewhere in Aleyrn before being sent to Veturborg to be trained in supernatural dealings. It was why he had an accent.

He felt someone by him, and he opened his eyes. Well, speak of the devil. Arthur was standing over him, but he moved to plop down beside him. "Hey," Arthur greeted casually, one corner of his lips quirking upward. "I don't suppose you'll explain to me what's so great about lying down on the grass."

Alfred laughed, tilting his head to look at his friend. "It's something that cannot be taught, young grasshopper. It can only be experienced."

"I hope you don't expect me to actually―" The rest of his sentence was cut off with a yelp as Alfred pulled him down, almost causing him to bang his head on the fountain. He bit back a curse, but settled more or less comfortably on the ground, the grass tickling his neck in a most unpleasant way. "I hate you."

Alfred tried to shrug, but it didn't exactly work out. "Just close your eyes, okay?"

Arthur couldn't help but eye him suspiciously.

"I promise I won't do anything."

They lied in silence for a while until Alfred broke it. "It's relaxing, right?" he asked, propping himself up with the elbow nearest Arthur. He smiled down at him when Arthur's eyes fluttered open.

"I guess," Arthur relented grudgingly. "But the grass annoys me."

Alfred snickered. "The grass? Out of all things you could be annoyed by, you chose grass?"

Arthur lifted a hand and shoved him, which resulted in Alfred rolling onto his back with an umph. He sat up and tugged Arthur toward him, which led to them both falling. Somehow, that evolved into playful wrestling. It only ended when they bumped into three people, who scattered, giggling. They looked at each other and started laughing uncontrollably.

Alfred managed to stand up, and offered a hand; when Arthur took it, he lifted him up. He reached out and plucked a few blades of grass out of Arthur's hair. "For a guy who complains about grass, it seems it's attracted to you," he stated with that mega-watt grin he was practically famous for (or perhaps a tad infamous, in this case).

Arthur found himself blushing, and he lifted his hands to rub at his cheeks, attempting to scowl at his companion. "It's your fault," he complained. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have even needed to whine about something as trivial as grass."

"You know you love me," Alfred said, sticking his tongue out.

Arthur rolled his eyes, wishing that, just once, he could be able to express himself properly. "Right."

"Anyway..." Alfred ran a hand through his hair, pulling out several blades of grass. "We should do something, you know, together. Because we don't really hang out much, you know? And since you're, uh, having casual sex with Mattie, I don't think we'll really have time to hang out, if you and him bang a lot..."

The shorter man sighed. "Alfred, there's something I should probably tell you."

Alfred blinked. "Yeah?"

"I never actually shagged Matthew." Arthur crossed his arms. "Nor was our romance ever real. We made it up to mess with you. We hadn't expected you to actually believe it."

Alfred coughed. "E-excuse me?" He held up a hand, turned his head to the side, away from Arthur, and made a few gagging noises that sounded vaguely like dying ducks. He turned back, rubbing his mouth. "So, let me get this straight. You let me think that you and Mattie were an item? JUST TO MESS WITH ME?"

Arthur shrugged. "Pretty much, yeah."

Alfred stared at him. "I hate you so much."

"Mmhmm." Arthur smiled awkwardly, nudging Alfred's shoulder with his own. "Now let's get going. You said you wanted to do something together, remember?"

Alfred blinked again before his face lit up, his lips stretching into that grin of his. "Oh, yeah. I think we should..." As Alfred continued on with his idea, they started walking, close enough that their shoulders bumped with every other step.

It might have been, but might not have been, love.

Meanwhile, Gilbert was kicking at cans in the cafeteria. He was about to send one into this one girl's face when he spotted his best friend. "Toni!" he exclaimed, standing up. The man looked up, looking like a startled rabbit. "There you are! My god, I've been looking everywhere for you!" He made his way over to Antonio, knocking more than a few people out of the way.

"Hey, Gil," Antonio greeted, glancing down at Lovino, who was glaring very intensely at Gilbert, probably predicting a giant shit-storm. "I was in my garden." His tone implied that Gilbert should have known that, and really, he should have. When someone wanted Antonio, they went to his garden. It was very likely he would be there.

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He took hold of Antonio's shoulders and looked him right in the eye. "Have you heard the news yet?"

Lovino resisted the urge to kick him in the crotch. "What, that you're now Level B?" he guessed sarcastically.

"Whoa!" Antonio's face brightened, confusion replaced with pleasure. "That's great! I can't believe you did it!"

Gilbert released him and smirked. "Yeah, I know, but come on. How can someone as awesome as me not be Level B?" He gestured to himself, his eyebrows raising. "Seriously. I'm the most awesome and also the hottest piece of ass this place has ever seen."

Lovino crossed his arms. "You wish."

"Bitch, please," Gilbert replied flippantly. "You know you want this."

"You gay-ass son of a bitch, I will fucking end you and your goddamn―"

"SO HAVE FUN BEING A LEVEL B," Antonio interrupted before it got too graphic, tugging Lovino away. "SEE YOU LATER."

Gilbert stared after them. What the hell just happened? Oh, well. He shrugged. Might as well visit his brother while he had nothing to do. He strolled over to Ludwig's dorm, and opened the door. It was fairly neat, though in Ludwig terms, it meant it was extremely messy. He must not be there. He would have never allowed his roommate to mess things up that badly.

He walked over to the desk that was clearly Ludwig's, and opened one of the drawers, pulling out a notepad. He picked a pen up from the desk and scribbled down a note.

Hey, West―

Call me when you see this, alright? We gotta meet up sometime soon. Miss you, bro!

―your awesome brother

He nodded in satisfaction and left it there, walking back out, whistling. Yeah, he was the best at notes. He was awesome in general. What did you expect? This was Gilbert we're talking about.

Anyway, it was time to find something to do. He compiled a list in his head before stopping abruptly in the middle of the hall. It was a day off, and he couldn't figure out what to do. "Fuck my life," he said aloud, slapping his forehead. Time to go do whatever he could come up with off the top of his head.

That just happened to be buy a shitload of marshmallows and make s'mores while throwing the burnt ones at people passing by from somewhere high, which would make it seem like a bird just shit on them.

"Marshmallow Man strikes again," he whispered dramatically, running off to do exactly that.

He ran into the school department store, peering into every single aisle before spotting the marshmallow signs. He grinned. It was as if Julius was looking after him. He whistled, and hopped, reaching for a bag, but his hand touched with someone's ice cold hand.

He looked up, and found Johan.

Now, he had nothing against Johan. They just didn't talk often, and since he was Romano's roommate, he was quite sure he had to put up with a load of shit. But with his dark, purple eyes staring down at his own, reflecting nothing, it was rather discerning.

"Well. Here to buy marshmallows?" Gilbert said, laughing. He retracted his arm. Johan picked up the bag of marshmallows idly.

"I was bored." Johan responded, his voice flat and emotionless. Gilbert almost flinched, but he managed not to- because hey, he was Gilbert, and he was awesome. Awesome people do not flinch. But it was quite hard not to against this albino.

Even though Gilbert was an albino as well. But whatever.

"I was thinking of burning the marshmallows and throw it on people's heads from up high." He continued on. "Nikolai's off searching for Arthur for their weekly occult meeting thing, and-"

"Woah, wait. Back the fuck up." Gilbert raised his hand up in front of Johan's face. Johan pushed it away irritably. "You were going to throw it down on people's head so that it would look like bird shit?"

"Yes, although I don't know where you got the 'bird shit' part from, because I'm pretty sure I wasn't thinking aloud." Johan said, his eyes narrowing.

"Awesomesauce! That's what I was thinking!" Gilbert said, laughing. He slapped Johan on the shoulder. Johan gave a grunt to show his distaste. "We should totally do that together!"

"What? No." Johan said. Before he could walk away, Gilbert grabbed his arm and pulled him to the check out counter. Johan groaned. He really should've just ignored the idiot.

243 burnt marshmallows later, Johan was unwilling to admit it was actually fun. Especially the looks of surprise by the unsuspecting targets. That was pure gold. He was quite certain that Nikolai would stare at him as though he was a retard (which he pretty much is acting like one right now) but after burning marshmallows into crisp after crisp, he didn't care anymore.

He was also hoping that the mini fire he made wouldn't catch onto his clothes and send him catapulting down and make HIM a human burnt marshmallow.

The only thing Matthew could do was stare.

It was immense, huge, and ominous. Just looking at it for 2 seconds was enough to traumatize him for life. It was barricading his door, snickering evilly, looking happy and something the devil shit out from his pants. It was dark, gross and absolutely horrifying.

It was Alfred's homework.

Actually, cross that out: It was Alfred's unfinished homework. Big diff there. It was so tall and so... WHITE... that Matthew could feel himself go colourblind.

How many missions did they go on? Not that many, seriously. And plus, the teacher was usually lenient on kids who went on missions. (More importantly, to the kids that died on their missions, the teacher tended to burn homework at their grave. No joke.) Except for the fact that Alfred called him 'dragon lady', 'teacher's bitch' and 'mom'. Mr. Wang was feminine looking but anything but girly. In fact, he did a 360 degree kick at Alfred's face when he called him that.

It resulted in Matthew having to escort Alfred to the nurse's office and hearing him talk about how his nose was bleeding.

Matthew edged around it, and tripped over a moldy donut, which made him fall head-first into the sheets and sheets of homework. The paper fell, scattering like snow, but far from being majestic. It just made him sigh, and wince at the papercut on his face.

"Mattie! Are you- woah." Alfred pushed open the door, and stared at the mess. "I see that you have many unfinished homework."

"It's YOUR homework, you bitch." Matthew said, getting up. Alfred offered his hand. Matthew eyed it warily, and took it. "You should probably stop calling Mr. Wang mom."

"Well, he acts like it!" However, Alfred rubbed his nose self-consciously, as though remembering the pain.

"Are you going to get Artie- I mean Arthur- to do it for you?" Matthew said. The papers looked even taller for some reason.

"I could." Alfred chuckled. "I mean, I have to. How else am I going to be able to do all this shit here?" Alfred waved his hand in the direction of the homework.

"You could do it yourself?" Matthew suggested.

"Or I could send a message to Mr. Wang calling him a faggot." Alfred's eyes lightened up. "Yes! That's what I'll do! Where's the machine?"

"You broke it last month." Matthew said dryly.

"Oh. Right. Ahahah." Alfred laughed. "Let's go to someone else's place!"

"To call Mr. Wang a faggot?" Matthew said.

"Yes." Alfred beamed. "Isn't that a great idea?"

"You're an idiot."

"Correction: A HOT idiot."

"You're still an idiot."

"You're my twin, so you are one too."

"I'm your unwilling twin."

"God, Mattie!" Alfred threw his hands in the air. "I bet that if we weren't related, you'd want to bang me right here, right now!" He sighed dramatically. "But then again, who DOESN'T want my hot piece of ass?"

"I don't." Matthew said, raising an eyebrow. Alfred pouted.

"That's because you're my TWIN. You've seen enough of my junk to last your lifetime." At that, Matthew slapped his arm.

"That was when we were younger. And I've been traumatized enough." Matthew said, snickering.

"I know." Alfred nodded his head. "I know."

Now, Arthur was a nice guy. A gentleman would never act rudely or in a way that would cause offense. However, he tended to forget that rule, and, actually, if there was a rule against sulking, he had forgotten that one, too. He was sitting on his neatly-made bed, arms around his knees, attempting to rid himself of the urge to strangle something or someone―or, more accurately, Alfred.

They were fine up until they started feeding ducks. Arthur was quite brutally attacked by a rather large one, and Alfred had just sat there and laughed while Arthur was mauled by a duck. He suspected it wasn't any ordinary duck. It was quite obviously a hitman, hired, perhaps, by an evil goose wizard hoping to be rid of one of its few competitors. It might have been a swan. He wasn't sure yet. Actually, maybe it was Alfred. The git would certainly do something like that for the laughs.

After the duck incident, they chilled at McDonald's. Alfred started making funny faces at him over the rim of his cup, and Arthur nearly choked in laughter several times before proceeding to cough violently and then wheeze and cough twice more before being fine. Alfred laughed at that, too. Rather, it made him burst out in such laughter that it took several minutes for him to calm down, and then he would look back up at Arthur, and he would start laughing again.

Arthur had never wanted to punch anyone so much.

He had also somehow managed to step into mud after they'd left. When Alfred had commented on it, he had resisted chucking his shoes at him. Now, he wished he'd done it. They may be friends, but that didn't mean Arthur could really tolerate Alfred all the time. Really, Matthew was much better at staying in Arthur's graces than Alfred.

The foreigner grew pensive, his irritation draining. How could he be oblivious to the boy's feelings? He hoped it wasn't anything strong. He'd never been good at rejecting anyone. He raked a hand through his hair with a sigh, feeling as though an invisible weight pressed against his shoulders. Matthew was a good kid, but he just didn't feel that way. Or maybe he did, but didn't know. He doubted it, though. If he really did like Matthew, he wouldn't feel tired when he thought about it.

Just thinking about it made him feel weary. He pressed his face into his knees. He wished there was a way to just stop thinking for a while. Maybe leaving to throw pieces of bread at the duck hitman would help him feel better. That would probably just make it attack him again, though, so he decided that he would stay in his room for the time being.

It wasn't like he had anything to do. It was their day off, and he'd finished his homework ages ago, so he had nothing to do but perhaps slowly melt into the ground and fertilize plants.

He slowly leaned to one side until gravity felt it would give him a break and made him fall the rest of the way, still clutching his legs. Unfortunately, he hadn't landed quite so close to his pillows, so he had to release the appendages to scoot himself forward and then pull parts of his body up as he pulled the blanket out from underneath him. It was probably more effort than he would have exerted had he just got up and lifted the quilt up to slide underneath it.

He took a deep breath and sighed it out. Closing his eyes, he breathed regularly, maintaining an image of nothing. He would take a short nap. Maybe a long one. Sleep the day away, yes. It sounded like a terrific idea. At least he wouldn't feel like an angst-ridden teenager that fretted over problems in the ways of love with such intensity that he had somehow managed to create an entirely new illness that involved him dying from the inside. Lovely image.

He was quite impressed by his creativeness. It wasn't every day he was able to conjure up bizarre instances such as these. It certainly wasn't helping him fall asleep, though. Maybe he should invent a spell that worked in such a way that the more creative and tired you were, the easier you slept. Something like that, anyway. He couldn't exactly think straight. He may be bursting with ideas, but he was still tired, and he was ready to sleep. Really, it wasn't as though he had acquired a long-lost ancient treasure and was being hunted down so that a maniac archaeologist could get their hands on it.

After a vague wonder of what he was even thinking, unconsciousness claimed him, and he welcomed it.

Unfortunately, his creativity seemed to have bled through, for he had the most bizarre dream he was likely to ever have.

He found himself surrounded by white. It wasn't so much that he was on a plane of nothing than that he was in a room whose only color was white. There was a long table nearly large enough to stretch from one end of the room to the other. It had about a dozen wooden chairs, and three vases filled halfway with water and flowers the size of his fists. The walls were bare even of windows and doors. Looking up, he found that there seemed to be no ceiling; there was something like glass that decorated the space instead in large swirling patterns that seemed to move like waves.

When he tore his gaze away from the top of the room, he found that there was a window across from him, the blue of the sky welcoming after the blinding whiteness of the room. Moving forward, his eyes widened as he saw that there were people outside. He recognized them with a start. His brothers were smaller than he remembered, younger, their faces not quite as thin, the bags under their eyes not quite as dark, their shoulders not yet bent with what seemed to him like the weight of the world. They were throwing around a ball, their mouths moving, the corners of their eyes crinkling, but he couldn't hear a thing.

He lifted a hand to tentatively touch the glass separating them, but it burst apart in a beautiful arrangement of colors; as it fell, he could see the image flicker on the separate pieces before dying. The place where the window had been was a part of the wall again with no evidence that there had ever been anything else there.

His fingers brushed against the space in wonder, and suddenly, he was falling. His mouth had just opened in preparation to scream when he hit the surface of the water, knocking the breath out of him, and he sunk, bubbles streaming out to meet the air. He tried to swim upwards, but he felt surprisingly, unbearably heavy. Just when he thought he might actually drown, he was pulled out of the water onto dry ground. A hand slapped his back a few times as he gagged out the liquid that had entered his mouth. He looked up blearily at his savior, forced to squint because the sun was currently behind the man; he couldn't really see anything other than that the guy was blond, his white shirt was soaked through, and he was very, very wet. He thought he saw the frame of glasses. He found himself blurting out in a horrendously croaky voice, "Are you an angel?"

The stranger laughed, the sound pleasing to the ears. "Shucks, no," he said with a drawl typical of southerners, but it was different. The accent was mixed with something more familiar. "Still in training."

Before Arthur could think of anything to say, the man faded, as if he were but a picture painted with mist, and the scenery changed into a meadow; the moisture had vanished and had been replaced with dirt stains. He reached out in blind panic, as if an unseen force moved him, and his other hand spread out across the ground, the tips digging in as he drew his fingers into a fist.

His mouth moved with words he didn't recognize, a sense of urgency overcoming him. A powerful voice, disconnected from a body, answered him, and he hit the ground, breathlessly shouting back. His gaze moved to a boy in front of him, lying still, seeming to be sinking into the ground. Vines were wrapped around his wrists and ankles, pulling him down. His eyes burned when the features of the male cleared. His glasses were bent, his hair looked as though it needed a good wash, and his face was streaked with filth, but it was easy to recognize him.

Alfred.

Someone called out his name, and he looked up, eyes locking with Matthew's. The younger man's expression was contorted in a look of pain, unable to accept his brother's near-inevitable death; splattered with blood, he yelled at him to do something, anything. He couldn't let Alfred die, not now, not after all they'd gone through.

He screamed back that he didn't know how to help him. They were dealing with the earth itself, a massive, unbending thing that was somehow under the power of their opponent. How was he supposed to fight it alone? How was he supposed to save him? Help him win the battle; injure the man, distract him, anything that would help.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to reason with the world. He blocked out everything that wasn't the ground beneath him, rumbling. In his mind's eye, there was a man he almost recognized, blue-eyed and dangerous, with a woman with silvery-blond hair. In their hands was what looked to be a bird cage with something inside that looked to be a sort of stone so dark that it made everything else seem ridiculously vivid. The woman smiled at him, all teeth, the points of which glittered. "Too late," she said, too clearly for the distance between them, and everything seemed to unravel like a ball of yarn.

He woke up drenched in sweat. He sat up, breathing hard, as if he had run all day without pause. He pushed his bangs back from his forehead shakily. He stared down at his blanket, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down. Well, that was quite interesting. He felt rather paranoid. Why did the last bit seem so ominous? It was just a dream, but he couldn't shake the feeling of dread. He hoped he didn't just have some sort of premonition.

That led to increased worry. What if it was a premonition? If it was, it meant that his team was going to go up against a very skilled opponent in what looked to be the near future. He wasn't at all sure if they were going to make it out alive. He hadn't seen Gilbert in the scene, which was odd in itself, but coupled with the fact that Alfred had been sinking into the ground, it made him a bit more concerned than he would have been otherwise.

He flexed his fingers, exhaling slowly. It was fine. Nothing was going to happen. It was all a silly dream and nothing more. No one was going to have a near-death experience anytime soon. No one was going to die. No one was going to have to go through that.

Feeling that this was going to be as calm as he was going to get, he looked over at the clock beside his bed, and grimaced. It was only two o'clock in the morning. It was much too early to wake up from a dream like that. Then again, he had gone to sleep sometime in the evening. Ah, well. He twisted around to fluff his pillows and settled against them, his eyes drifting closed. He wouldn't dream anything this time, he was sure, and he was right.

When he awoke earlier than usual, he went into his bathroom to take a long, hot shower and shave.