War's Edge

Unintentionally Lost

England awoke quite cranky, hearing an insistent tap tap sound that was going to drive him mad. Sure, for once, the clouds were parted enough to let a beam of bright sunshine through the window and a sliver of the blue sky clear, but he hadn't planned on having any visitors. The lovely, simple green sheets tucked up to his chin were pushed aside, exposing the Brit's long PJ pants and white T-shirt. One bushy eyebrow twitched in annoyance as he heard the insistent tapping sound get louder. Fists clenched, he threw open his bedroom door, hastily muttering an apology to a frightened fairy, and marched down the hallway. Expecting to be making a beeline to the front door, he paused when he heard the noise coming from his storage room. The door was cracked open just a sliver.

Still a little drowsy, green eyes glazed with annoyance and the desire to return to bed, he shouted, "Francis! I swear by the Queen, if you are in my bloody house—!"

"Arthur!" a shaky British voice cried from the room.

England was startled for a moment before he remembered Oliver. Unlocking the room, he threw on an old suit jacket covered in dust lying against a couple of boxes—simply to look professional—and sat in front of the mirror. Oliver's usually bright face was tear-stained. Vest untidy and sleeves unrolled, he ran a hand through his messy mop of strawberry blonde hair.

"Oliver, what the bloody hell are you crying about?" Arthur asked, still a little disgruntled from his rude awakening, but slightly concerned.

Oliver sniffled, a forced smile appearing on his face before he broke down again. Arthur could hear him gasping for air between his sobs; he could see the way Oliver's body shook like a leaf in the wind.

"Oh, my Allen! I've failed as a parent, haven't I? He's gone somewhere, but I can't find him! I haven't got a clue to where he's gone, and... a-and—"

"Hey, calm down a little, will you? When did he go missing?" Arthur questioned.

His head throbbed from hearing the unrelenting cries of his opposite. Oliver's blue eyes frantically moved from side to side, looking a little mad himself.

"A few days back. H-He was at our world meeting, b-but he never returned after the break! Neither did Lutz, that clumsy German; probably got lost again, but we can't find either of them! Even Allen's boss hasn't got a clue to where he is!" Oliver spluttered.

Arthur had no clue what to say to comfort his opposite. Even as he had raised Alfred, he hadn't had a clue as to what to say to comfort the colony. Tears ran down Oliver's face once more, and for the first time, Arthur noticed a trail of makeup running down with it. Lovely little freckles were dotted all across Oliver's face, going across his nose and splattered on his cheeks. Some of the freckles were still partially covered with makeup.

"Alfred's friend, that David kid, had a few freckles like those..."

Oliver's face turned red as he embarrassedly wiped away his tears and smudged makeup, proceeding to cover his face with cupped hands. Arthur could still see blue eyes peeking above his hands.

Arthur could remember a time when similar blue eyes had peered at him with sorrow and frustration. The way little fists balled up and clutched the edges of his blankets, muffling sobs into his pillow as he cried over something quite trivial to Arthur. A flower, it had been; a simple blue flower that Arthur had searched and searched for just to please his little blue-eyed colony.

"Well, he can't have gone too far off now," Arthur said in an attempt to reassure Oliver.

The other stifled a disappointed sigh. His slightly tear-dampened hand pressed against the glass of the mirror, bottom lip quivering as he restrained further sobs.

"There there, chap; I'm sure he's just being America," Arthur added, placing his own hand over Oliver's against the glass.

However, for Arthur, the glass seemed nonexistent. He nearly jumped when he felt Oliver's hand actually press against his, and clearly his opposite hadn't expected it, either. Arthur's green eyes met Oliver's puffy eyes—both of them were now silent and confused. Tentatively, Arthur leaned forward on his knees and placed his hand back on the glass of the mirror. Once again, his hand pushed through as if there were only a wall of liquid separating the two.

"Quite curious..." Arthur mused mostly to himself, pulling his hand away.

When Oliver attempted to do so, he quickly found out that his side of the mirror was solid glass. A crate sat somewhat near the mirror, piled high with junk coated in a thick layer of dust. Simply to experiment, Arthur fished through the crate for something small—an old glove still partially coated in mud with a hole in its side—which ended up causing a cloud of dust to rise into the air and send him into a coughing fit. After covering his mouth and nose, squinting a little through the dust, he tossed the glove through the mirror. It landed in Oliver's lap, but when Oliver attempted to throw it back, it simply hit the glass and fell back to the floor.

"Could it do that before?" Oliver asked, now far too curious to cry.

Arthur was speechless, mind working too fast to comprehend the words Oliver had said or respond. His excitement piqued as he dragged a finger down the mirror's dusty wooden border. The old wood of the frame splintered at the top, telling of centuries of rotting within the gloomy storage room. Arthur briefly wondered how such fragile wood could contain a power as the mirror had. When had he cast such a brilliant spell? The days of his youth? When magic was forbidden, yet the rebellious cries within pushed him to continue? It was marvelous—truly spectacular how such a power had been cast by a mere boy sometime long before the point where Arthur would've deemed himself able to conjure such a thing.

That left the question; had he cast this spell?

"Arthur? Poppet?" Oliver asked, tapping the glass to catch the attention of his opposite.

"Of course!" Arthur shouted, seemingly out of nowhere to Oliver, startling the other into yelping.

Arthur hurriedly mumbled to himself, a smile broadening on his face as he scrambled through the storage room. Even as his footsteps faded away, Oliver could still hear the rambling happiness of Arthur's voice. The display briefly reminded Oliver of the same excitement coming from a young, tanned boy who had just managed to make a plate shakily levitate above his own head. At the thought, Oliver's face fell, eyes brimming with new tears. He was truly a monster. Allen could never forgive him, and now he was gone having literally disappeared off the face of the Earth. He was alone now. And the only one who understood him—

"I've found it! Now all I've to do is find the spell!" Arthur shouted, rapidly flipping through pages, green eyes skimming through each paragraph.

Such a pity.

Oliver sat slack-jawed, the corners of his mouth now twitching up into a hint of a smile.

All alone?

Blue eyes widened, pupils shrinking as a mesmerizing ring of pink circled the pupils. Trembling like a leaf, a shaky fist knocked on the mirror.

You've not been one to sit around, have you?

Arthur looked up, one bushy eyebrow quirked in question. His smile fell a little as a sense of guilt arose like bile in the back of his throat. He had completely forgotten of his opposite's woes, but the troubled look on his face made Arthur set his book down.

Little poppet...

"Arthur, promise you'll help me?"

Arthur placed his hand against Oliver's, reassuringly squeezing it for both of them. He loved feeling needed, even by this person who was himself essentially but amounted to a brother in his mind.

I won't make the mistake of letting you go.

Oliver yanked back, pulling Arthur through the mirror. The commotion sent them both against the wall, sprawled over each other. Raising his head, Arthur watched in shock as Oliver's equally old, fragile mirror shuddered, leaning forward ever so slightly, and shattered into minuscule pieces across the old wooden floor boards.

"What have you done?"