Arthur is standing in a forest stripped nearly bare from the fall. The ground is a mess of dead leaves, roots, and rocks. He's been here before. He just couldn't remember where it was.

Someone runs into the path up ahead of him. The figure turns, revealing Matthew's face. His expression is frantic, and his white shirtsleeve is inexplicably bloodied. The northern Nation screams something at him. Arthur can't make it out. Matthew turns and runs away.

Something—multiple somethings charging through the dark at him. He catches a glint of canine teeth in the moonlight and realizes what Matthew was trying to tell him.

"Run!"

Arthur flees, spurring himself forward. Further. Faster. He ducks, jumps, and dodges the rocks, trees, and bushes. No matter what he does, the dogs are still nipping and slavering at his heels.

He trips, his vision hazy and his ears ringing oddly. He can't run anymore, no matter how much he wants to. Like gravity itself is keeping him down.

Arthur struggles to get his arms under him, but the pack is already on him.

"NO!" England shot up from his bed, hands flung out to somehow stop those teeth from ripping into his vulnerable flesh.

A reproduction pastoral painting looked back at him, crème-colored walls and plush carpets replacing the forest of twisted old oaks and cedars shrouded in mist.

Never had he been so relieved to wake up in France.

Another intense dream, but this one wasn't a memory.

This felt like a warning.

England spent the entire G8 meeting ignoring the speakers and staring at the North American twins sitting across and far at the other end of the table. They were arranged geographically, today, which meant he was stuck next to their 'generous' host, the Disgusting Frog-Face.

"I see your mood has not improved," France sniffed. "If you really want to know what hair care products Canada uses then you could simply ask him instead of staring at him like a—"

"Shut your gob," Arthur interrupted, glaring for good measure. "I'm not staring at his hair."

France looked far too interested. "But you are staring at Canada, hein? What is it?"

"That is not your business."

"If mon petit Mattieu has gotten into trouble then it is exactly my business."

Arthur scowled at the Frenchman. "I'm not even sure yet. I just know something's happening. I've been having dreams. Premonitions, I think. But the Fae haven't answered any of my questions, yet."

Alfred was staring at a corner of the ceiling with a slack expression—which wasn't unusual by any means. His phone had been confiscated early on in the meeting. With no video games to keep his attention, and no one addressing him directly, there was little chance the lad would pay even a smidgen of attention to whomever was speaking.

Hell, it was still an international mystery as to whether America even listened to himself speak at these meetings. Was he sincerely that stupid or was he going for the longest bad joke in history?

No, what was strange was Alfred's slow, mindless scratching into the surface of the meeting table. It was…strangely methodical, even though Alfred didn't seem to fully realize what he was doing. Matthew abruptly paused his studious note taking and poked his brother hard in the ribs. Alfred jolted out of his reverie, and faintly grimaced at whatever his brother was muttering into his ear. His hands disappeared beneath the table.

No one else, not even the speaker at the podium, seemed to notice.

"I need to know," Arthur said softly. "Because…well damn it, I raised them. And they're still so young."

Francis looked to the twins briefly before returning his gaze. "You haven't asked them candidly?"

Arthur nodded. Both times it had been a small disaster. "Of course I did." He hesitated before adding, "They've all but admitted that there's a problem of some sort. But they don't want my help."

Francis said nothing for a long while, thinking. It took until the last speaker completed his announcements before the Frenchman finally said, "I won't see them hurt over something as ridiculous as them wanting you to 'stay out of it', Angleterre. That's never been the sort of thing to stop you before. I'm going to get involved."

"No," Arthur snapped immediately, just a bit too loudly. Several glances went their way, and they quickly looked away and around at anything but another Nation.

The tension in the room drained soon afterwards. Francis raised his eyebrows expectantly. Arthur dropped his voice again. "We can't barge into this…whatever it is half-cocked."

The meeting was coming to an end, and everyone could sense it. Already people were putting away their papers and laptops with vague hopes of being among the first out the door. Francis leaned in close.

"You will keep me informed. The meeting ends tomorrow, and then everyone will go home. Which would make this little mystery more unnecessarily difficult than you've already made it. I will approach them before then if you do not."

With that, he stood up as though their hushed conversation had never happened, and ascended to the podium to formally dismiss everyone for the day.

England stood right outside the hotel room door, hand poised to knock, when his ears caught the faint sound of an argument.

"It's getting worse."

"Trust me, I know. A horse nearly killed himself on a fence trying to get away from me."

A beat of silence.

"Maybe it's time for you to get help."

"You always say that. I've got it handled."

Matthew's bark of laughter was incredulous. "Handled? Is what happened at Parliament Hill two months ago what you would call handled, Alfred?"

"That was a fluke!"

"A deadly one! At quite possibly the worst time possible! Dieu Alfred, some of my own people were in the other room! What if I hadn't been there?"

More tense silence. Alfred took a long time to respond, and it wasn't the sort of statement that inspired hope.

"I'm not going to see any more doctors," America fairly snarled.

By now Matthew sounded downright incensed. "That's not what I'm suggesting when I say you need help, Alfred! Maybe the other Nations know something we don't. Maybe it's happened before."

"We would've heard something about it by now."

When did Alfred ever go to see a doctor? It was widely known that he avoided them…often joked that they were too expensive back home.

'"I'm not going to see any more doctors."'

There was real animosity in that statement. Where it had come from, Arthur couldn't begin to guess. But he couldn't make any assumptions now. It was hard to say even what sort of doctor they'd been referring to.

Arthur stepped away from the door with a quiet sigh. He definitely wasn't getting anything out of them tonight. But Matthew sounded like he'd be receptive to a helping hand if it was offered correctly…if he could just be caught alone.

The lights in the hall flickered. Probably some plague-ridden vermin chewing the wires. Temporarily defeated, the island Nation shuffled back to his own room.

The changes really start to kick in here. This particular fic has seen a lot of editing.

Review if you can!

Later dudes. ^J^