After a solid two years of no fanfiction, here comes a lovely piece based off of a very weird and very surreal dream I had. Time to see if I've improved!

This story, to do it justice, has to be split into a few chapters, but hopefully I won't go overboard here. Expect either 10 longish chapters or a bunch of shorter chapters like this one—if I can sit myself down and write the fic until its end, that is. Since this is based off of a dream I had, you can expect characters' ages to vary and for some relationships to be a little off the wall. I think this is the first fic where I don't ship Romano and Liechtenstein, but there's a reason for that.

The title comes from the song Up In Our Bedroom, After the War, by Stars. It's a really moving song that probably contributed to the weirdness of my dream.

Up In Our Bedroom, After the War

Chapter 1-

All that's left of that night are blurred smiles in the dim lighting of the party. Feliciano bursting into his room to tell him Alice is with a boy and they're holding hands. Running down the hall, almost tripping on the Edelsteins' overly extravagant long rugs, snapping at and giggling to each other. Ludwig stands the grand table, punctual as always, placing the finishing touches on the party feast before the family dinner. Francis would be with him, but the Frenchman has moved on to wish the birthday girl a happy afternoon—if only he could find where Alice has run off to now. The brothers race past them, only Feliciano bothering to wave and toss a hello. They have a mission.

There he is, Fratello! Oh, wait, it's just Antonio.

Just Antonio, the older kid whose family Lovino lived with for a time. They were distant cousins of the Edelsteins or something—but Lovino didn't care.

Alice is not blurred, though he can't remember exactly what her party dress looked like. She stands crisp against the dark, grainy marble floors and wooden panels on the walls underneath dull wallpaper. The main lights of the ballroom hadn't been lit yet, so the room is awash in golden streaks from the setting sun glinting through towering arched windows. Her hair is lighter than the sunlight, curled at her shoulders, held back by a headband laced with pearls and navy ribbon.

Her smile, when she turns to meet the brothers, is stunning. Antonio beams beside her, throwing his arms wide to meet a flying hug from Feliciano. It's been so long since they've last seen him, but the idiot's barely changed. He tells them they've gotten taller. Feliciano sets forth to decide just much taller he's gotten while Lovino pouts.

Francis arrives, Alice takes the kisses on either cheek, Antonio and Feliciano skip off to find Ludwig's annoying brother.

Smiles sit on every face, and Lovino wonders when that all changed.

Seven years later, on the eve of Alice's twenty-first birthday, seventeen-year-old Lovino sits in the corner of the ballroom. It was Feliciano's turn to make a supply run, and Antonio is on gun duty with him and the others.

It's not fair to make the kid run through hell and back for a few semi-edibles they'll finish off in a day. But Lovino can't say that aloud. Everyone must pull their weight if they're going to survive the horde until help arrives. Help will be here soon. Roderich constantly mutters the empty promise like they'll believe it more than him. Lili humored him in the beginning. Before she and Vash left, Lili found some old paint in a back closet and went up to the roof to paint SOS. It was a stupid idea, but her optimism helped them through the night. No one bothered to check if the message was still there. The brave and forced supply runners are more than a little preoccupied with fighting their way back to safety to chance a peek at the rickety roof of the mansion.

Lili and Vash left three weeks ago, just five days after the Disaster struck. Feliciano and Antonio have been gone five hours. It takes six and half hours to reach the nearest safe zone, haggle for or steal some food, and come back home. If they made it off the estate in one piece, that is. Lovino tears his eyes away from the grandfather clock between two arched windows, each covered by ripped curtains. He can't remember if it was Vash or one of the Russians who created the gun station by the windows. The first few days were a chaotic swirl of shrieking and throwing furniture in front of basement and first floor entrances and windows. Nearby families and neighbors came during these days, so the younger kids like Feliciano and Lovino were charged with gathering blankets and taking stock of food while the others set up defenses.

Ever since they raided the pantries and found both Francis and Ludwig's secret food stashes, Lovino has felt just a twinge of admiration for them. A quick scan of the huddled masses crammed into the ballroom finds Francis gone and Ludwig muttering lowly to Gilbert and one of the kids that came with the Russians. His name is Toris, Lovino thinks? The dark haired young man wasn't quite Russian, but he and his brothers and friend had joined their mass exodus out of the Polish flatlands into mountainous Austria, previously thought to be safer. By their gesturing hands, Lovino assumes Toris doesn't know much German.

Aside from the hushed conversations, the great room is mostly silent. They sit on the second floor of the mansion on top of a steep hill, so the constant moaning and groaning seems farther away than usual. The quiet is useless as a means to draw them away—even the infected aren't stupid enough to magically wake up one day and decide to hunt down another huge group of people—so it's more out of respect and reverence that the shouting has ended and the hot heads have cooled. Worry has quelled any stupid arguments between the usual combatants. Today's runners were a mash of at least one member from each group.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," Alice sighs, plopping down beside Lovino. Exhaustion radiates off her person, and it's enough to bring a picture of Feliciano wobbling on unsteady legs beside Antonio to his head. She knuckles the side of his head and the image flits away.

"What do you want?" Lovino mumbles, drawing his knees up to his chin. "Today's supposed to be my day of rest and all that."

She rolls her eyes. The bright light in them never faded, even after the first few days of fruitless waiting for her brothers to show up at the door. Lovino barely remembers what Lars and Sebastiaan looked like, aside from their equally stupid hair. It's been years.

Alice hoists him to unsteady feet. "Yes, but you're not resting. You're sitting here letting a rain cloud collect around your head. I want you to come and sit with me and the kids. If you're going to pout, you can do it aloud and in Italian so Leone will stop crying."

"I'm not hiding out in a room of screaming babies," Lovino seethes, yanking his arm back. Alice merely purses her lips. "Find someone else to fix the kid. I'm not leaving until the runners are back."

Before he can stalk away, Alice grabs his hand and reels him back. "…Look," the girl begins, tugging at her stringy hair. She still has the pearl headband from so long ago, but several pieces are missing and the ribbon is fraying. The rare gift from her older brother isn't for good looks now, though. It's for tying greased locks out of her red face. In only four weeks, Lovino sees the start of premature wrinkles creasing her brow. "I know I'm being selfish when you're worried about Feli and Toni coming back, but… but I don't…."

Lovino almost caves as the emotions flash on her face. He's not the only one waiting for family to come back. But Alice shakes her head. "Never mind. I'll be okay. I'll see if I can find Matthew—he's been good with kids when they put him on sitter duty. And maybe later we can dig out Roderich's old instruments and get some cheer going. After all, help is coming soon, right?"

"Whatever."

As if anyone believes the lie now.

((((()))))

Six hours. Alice hasn't resurfaced from the large room at the end of the grand hall where the little kids stay. It's the least frightening area, Roderich decided, seeing as it had one window that was quickly boarded up. The very top of the high windows were left uncovered to provide some light into the room. Personally, Lovino would be scared crapless in the room because of the lack of light most of the day—it also faced the backside of the mansion, where another taller hill lay. It was protected, but at the cost of perpetual shade.

But that wasn't his problem. His problem assumes the form of one of the tourists unfortunately caught in Vienna when the Disaster struck. All of these stupid tourists, thinking Austria was safe because they weren't directly involved in the war. When the rest of Europe was swallowed whole by death and inescapable havoc, it only made sense the neutral guys would eventually be dragged into the fray by the crazies in charge. Except Switzerland, but they might as well sit on another planet entirely.

The annoying Brit doesn't seem to know anything but English, save some atrocious French phrases Francis taught him at the beginning of the blockade. That's better than the obnoxious American with them. The American's brother knows Canadian-French, so he's gotten along well with Francis and Alice.

Lovino has no idea exactly how the walking pair of eyebrows found Roderich's castle, or why he decided to come here rather than remain in the city's safe zone. The Russians at least were refugees from the war who'd seen one of the flares they'd set off at the beginning of the disaster when the mansion was first surrounded.

"When come?" the British man loudly asks in bad German. His accent makes Lovino wince, and he's not the best German speaker around either. He assumes the man is asking when the runners will return. A good question, he wonders, peeking at the clock. It's hard to remember the journey is six and a half hours.

Various people reply with six fingers, but the man's eyebrows merely furrow deeper. Lovino narrows his own eyes when the man turns to him. "When come?"

Of course the tourist doesn't know a good curse when he hears one.

The man sighs and sits right beside him, because Lovino must appear open and friendly to others. "Alfred." He gestures to the windows. After sputtering on the foreign phrases, he eventually says in English, "My half-brother."

Bruder. Fratello.

"My brother," Lovino sighs in defeat. At least he can expand his language skills. His English was always bad. Hated watching the American shows with Feliciano. Hated watching television in general. In school he chose any language option but English, because how many drugs had the first English speakers been on when they concocted their grammar? French and German were easier because the family was fluent. He grew up with Italian at one ear and Spanish at the other. Four languages were enough, Lovino figured.

"I'm Arthur," he introduces, extending a hand. "Ex-soldier. Came with family."

Soldiers, tourists—it made no difference if the strangers were friends or the enemy. The war was basically put on the back burner when the Disaster struck. Lovino hopes so, anyway. It would suck to fight a war against foreign powers and mindless, chompy drones.

The minute hand on the grandfather clock creeps closer to the inscribed six. Lovino mutters, "Lovino. Son of Roderich's… uh… father's father's brother. Family," he decides is the easiest way for both of them to understand. Truthfully, he and Feli were basically adopted into family, though Roderich and Elizabeta swore they were distant cousins or something. Antonio's father, whom they lived with after Nonno kicked the bucket, was their uncle, and apparently he was Roderich's dad's nephew? Eh, it doesn't matter.

Their sorry circumstances led him and this British ex-soldier to their four week-long prison in Roderich's inheritance with no end to the misery in sight. No one in Vienna likely knew they were trapped except for the sorry market owners, and what could they do to help? Politely ask the government to lend a few choppers to drop down into an infested courtyard, risking lives and money for a bunch of rich buttholes and their unwitting companions? They were lucky some people in the city had extra rations to spare.

But the food would run out for them soon, and that mean the sure end for Lovino's cell mates.

Arthur scratches at the marble tile beneath him. The floors have dulled considerably since the Disaster. You could once use them as a mirror. Feli used to spin around to see himself twirl, then he'd get sick, and Lovino would yell at him for being an idiot.

"Do you know someone gone?" Arthur asks in English, ignoring the language barrier between them. With enough time in cramped corners with the guy, Lovino supposes they'd eventually find some way to better communicate. "I assume so if you belong with the owner of the place. This is quite a large family you've got. My family—they've mostly gone. Split their separate ways before and during the war. But my half-brothers escaped America last year. It's gone to hell there, you know. Not sure if they've anyone running the place anymore."

He offers a glance at Lovino. The boy has found his cramped position quite comfortable after a while, and there's no reason to wander about without Feliciano to fill the silent void for him. The house has become little more than an ever widening black hole. It sucks away pieces of him little by little, each room, until Lovino can't sort through the memories of the place in his head. His room was on the third floor, next to a sitting area, and Ludwig and Gilbert would keep him up at night while they drank and loudly discussed politics and the economy. But now he wonders if he imagined the brothers' late night sessions and his old room.

Four weeks in the ballroom on shared mattresses with family and strangers creates a sort of surrealism that eats away at reality.

"You don't look much younger than Matthew," Arthur continues. "He was in his first year of university when this happened. Alfred almost had his degree. You wouldn't believe it if you looked at him, but he's a scientist at heart. This mess of infection has really fascinated him, the weird bugger."

Lovino was almost finished with high school. Feliciano wasn't out of junior high yet.

The English starts to grate his ears until he can barely stand the other man's presence. "They'll be here any minute," Lovino cuts into his soliloquy. He points at the window, then the grand staircase at the end of the room. Elizabeta, gun in hand, and a few others have left to stand by the door for the runners to quickly pass through the barricade. Arthur scrambles to his feet, anxiously joining the second crowd by the window. Lovino follows at a slower pace. He won't be able to look past the taller bodies, so there's no point getting excited. He'll see Feliciano when he comes upstairs. He will also make sure Feliciano is never put back on runner duty again—even if it means Lovino must take the job instead.

Alice is back when the commotion reaches her at the nursery. "I can't see Toni," she complains, standing on her toes. "Can you see?"

"No, because these idiots are in my way!"

The taller Russian moves slightly to let them squeeze in closer. It's awkward as heck standing next to the big guy, but with his muttered spew of worried garble, it's safe to assume he won't snap Lovino's neck today. Later, when his busty sister is safe and sound, all bets are off.

"Alfred!" Arthur shouts at the window. "You bloody—"

"Sestra!"

"Jest Eduard!"

The weight hadn't noticed before lifts when Lovino catches sight of a huddled red head clinging to Antonio's side. The infected aren't swarming yet—Alfred had some kind of gas bomb in the paper bags on his belt, and Russian's sister is an excellent shot. "Alice, there they are!" he grins, grabbing her hand. "Look, look! Near the back—see Toni's red jacket? They're going to make it!"

As soon as the words escape his mouth, his brother face-plants into the dirt.

He's not sure if it's his scream or Alice's when the first infected to shake itself free of its stupor stumbles towards him too fast. Antonio shoots it at point blank, and the kick back makes him stumble. He yanks Feliciano to his feet and they break into a sprint.

"Feli!" Alice shrieks. She's right at Lovino's heels as he takes the stairs two at a time.

Elizabeta has opened the foyer doors. Alfred and the Russian lady are the first to enter, breathing too hard, wild eyes locked onto the others of the group. The woman grabs Lovino's arm before he can throw himself outside. "Feli!"

"Bros'te drugoy oglushit' napadeniye!"

"They're too close for another stun bomb!"

"MOVEMOVEMOVE!" Antonio screams as he bursts through the door, Feliciano screeching an ungodly warning siren right beside him. Elizabeta and Gilbert throw themselves at the door as a rotten arm breaks between them.

"CUT IT OFF CUT IT OFF!"

"MOVE THE FURNITURE BACK!"

"WE'RE TRYING—"

Lovino shoots through the panicked throng to his brother, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him harder than necessary. "Are you alright?" he gasps above the thrall. Feliciano nearly nods his head clean off, and smushes his face into Lovino's bony chest. "You tripped—of course you'd trip—and if one had touched you, I swear I'd—I don't know what I'd do, but I swear, Feliciano, I swear—oof!"

Antonio throws his arms around them, his satchel digging into Lovino's hip. He smells gross—Feliciano does too, now that Lovino stops to breathe—like sweat and decomposition and dirt. The journey to Vienna seems longer than it should from their shaking arms and knocking knees. Feliciano has nothing to say about anything as he soaks Lovino's shirt with terrified tears. The Spaniard sobs into their hair, and that's where Lovino draws the line. "Alright, already, get off of me!"

"Lovi! I'm just so glad you're alright!"

"You're glad I'm alright? I'm not the fool under Death's feet! Did you keep my brother safe? Toni, I swear, I'll kill you if you let one thing touch a hair on his head!"

Alice squeezes herself into the circle, forcing another group hug upon them. "It's fine, they're all back, all in one piece." She kisses Feliciano's forehead, then Antonio's cheek. When she frees them from her vice grip, Alice crosses her arms. "Now, it's time for you boys to get some sleep. You both look asleep on your feet, and you'll want to be awake for the report to Roderich."

Antonio blinks, as if remembering he is back at the mansion for real, and that some semblance of order exists under Roderich's rule. "Oh," he simply says. "Alfred, Katyusha, Eduard! We must meet with Roderich!"

"I said after you take a breather!" But they're already gone, sluggishly shuffling through the welcoming committee. For a moment, the sight terrifies Lovino. They look like the dead pounding on the door behind them all, and it draws Feliciano closer to him. When had Antonio's proud gait drooped to a weary shamble? When had he learned to cradle his rifle to his chest with a comforting assurance? Earlier this morning, he had been afraid to carry the gun in front of him out of fear of misusing it.

Lovino runs a hand through his brother's hair. "You're really okay, right? No scrapes or bruises?" he murmurs.

"I'm fine, fratello," the tiny boy answers. He pulls away with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and Lovino swears the boy will never set foot outside again until they're all able to safely leave. He'll face the horror outside a thousand times over if it means Feliciano won't have to.

Roderich had the decency to refuse Feliciano a gun, but the wise precaution did nothing to protect him from hugging himself as he followed after Antonio. The fifteen-year-old doesn't look back at his stunned brother and Alice.

There must be no help left in the world if six and a half hours were enough to break his brother.