Welcome back! ^.^ As I said in the previous chapter, there's going to be a bit of action in this one. For everyone who guessed that Mattie would be in this chapter… you're right! ^.^ *Hands out cookies* As always, I want to thank reviewers, favorites, and everyone who put the story on alert. You guys are the best.

So, here's the pairings so far. Let me know if there's a request and I'll try and squeeze it in.

(Main) USUK, PruCan, RussiaxChina, SpainxRomano, GerIta

(Minor) GreexexJapan, AustriaxHungary

Glowstick145 Thank you! ^.^ Mattie is indeed in this chapter!

Nayli28 O.O If you drew it, I'd totally write a request one-shot. I'm really glad you're enjoying it so much! ^.^

Renuki Poor Arthur. He always thinks the worst in situations with Alfred. He'll definitely be a hero! I mean, come on, he's Alfred. XD

CaptainCynical Thank you so much! ^.^ I'll fix the error when I get the time to. *is pushing it to get this chapter out* . Anyway, I'll try to start putting the previews up at the bottom.

And, sadly, I still don't own Hetalia. I've been told that shooting stars aren't miracle workers… *Joins Germany in the "I want a Shooting Star to Grant me a Miracle" club*

Chapter Five:

Prelude to War

True to his vow the night before, Arthur stopped to buy something for a potential head ache on the way to the airport. Alfred didn't really question it. He was too busy bouncing up and down on his heels, excited to head off to North America even if it wasn't to his home country.

By the time they made it to the airport, Arthur was almost certain that the younger man would have a heart attack before they even got on the plane.

Francis, Antonio, and a person Arthur almost mistook for Feliciano (he'd been far too sour to be the cheerful Italian) were waiting with their tickets (Arthur didn't even want to know how Ian booked the flight without their passports). Francis greeted Alfred as though he were a long lost friend, placing a kiss on each cheek that freaked the American out. The Italian cursed at the Frenchman and promptly hid behind Antonio when Francis turned back to face him.

Alfred and Antonio sized each other up with a strange visual examination that lasted only a few seconds, each one smiling innocently. Arthur assumed that those were common habits from their similar backgrounds. As if by telepathy, they both reached out to shake the other's hand at the same time without so much as a crack in the spacey smiles that Arthur knew hid dark, terrifying secrets.

"Hola, Alfred," Antonio greeted, not having to even ask if the man before him was the criminal.

"Hello yourself, Antonio," Alfred returned the greeting, like the Spaniard, not even having to ask who he was. The other three onlookers had stayed still and silent through the exchange, as if waiting for some sort of explosion to occur. Apparently the saying "it takes one to know one" applied to the two of them.

"Say, Alfred, do you like tomatoes?" Antonio asked, effectively allowing the other three to breathe a sigh of relief.

To say that the plane ride was a nightmare would be a grievance understatement as far as Arthur was concerned. At least with a nightmare, there was the possibility of escape to the world of consciousness. For Arthur, there really was no escape once they were seated. He had taken the seat nearest the isle while Alfred happily claimed the seat next to the window. He's babbled on and on about loving to fly and how it made him feel as though nothing could touch him up in the sky. Flying just made Arthur sick to his stomach.

Francis, Antonio, and what turned out to be Feliciano's older twin, Lovino Vargas, were seated behind them. Lovino was seated near the isle so that he could run away if Francis tried anything and Antonio sat in the middle, casually slipping and arm over Lovino's and Francis' backrests. Francis took the window seat with pleasure. Alfred had spent nearly an hour peaking over the seat just to talk to Antonio about tomato farming before the stewardess had kindly informed him that he needed to stay seated. Alfred seemed to think that special water imported from Mars' ice caps would probably make the best tasting produce on Earth. The sad part was that Antonio actually considered the idea as though the pair of them were going to call a space agency the next day and propose their hypothesis. Lovino promptly scolded Antonio for even considering such a stupid idea with what Arthur had to admit were a few rather creative expressions.

Most of the trip was taken up by Antonio cooing in a mixture of Spanish, Italian, and English to Lovino who responded in a similar mixture with the only real difference being the violence in Lovino's words that actually translated into literal violence in the form of one head butt and three punches. Alfred and Francis laughed through most of it, highly amused. Arthur just wanted to go to sleep.

Eventually, Arthur did manage to fall asleep, but it was a restless nap that was constantly interrupted by bickering somewhere between the decent sized group.

After a few hours, Lovino began to frown off to the side before his eyelids slowly drifted closed. Francis pulled out a mask to block out the lights and leaned his head against the window. That left just the former criminals.

Seeing as their cabin was basically deserted, Alfred hopped up in his seat and turned himself around to look at Antonio, "So… What'd you have to do? To become a hero, I mean."

Antonio thought for a minute. "Well, it's kind of a long story, amigo, but I think we've got the time," he finally answered, "I was actually supposed to kill Lovi. Believe it or not, his grandfather is a pretty successful businessman and somebody in the family didn't like that. But I made a mistake, you see, and it was the best mistake I ever made; I talked to Lovi. After that, I just couldn't do it. So, I went to a police station and turned myself in." He absently patted Lovino's head and Alfred was fairly glad the young Italian was asleep because the head butts sounded like the hurt.

He went on to talk about taking odd jobs with the authorities, using the networks he'd built up as well as the particular skills that they didn't teach officers and agents. "Basically, you show them that you are more useful alive and happy than you are dead or stuck in a cell," he concluded, "The fact that Lovi's brother is Ludwig's only friends may have helped to."

Alfred nodded, digesting the information. He slowly smiled, "I think I can do that. I am gonna be a hero, after all."

Antonio shot him a thumbs up, "I've got faith in you, amigo."

Thankfully, Arthur was able to sleep until landing time. As it turned out, the entire plane ride had been relatively uneventful in comparison with most of the so-called "adventures" Francis had forced him on. At least no angry stewardess was threatening to throw the Frenchman out of the plane at several thousand feet.

Oddly enough, Alfred seemed even more cheerful than usual, tapping his feet lightly against the floor as though he couldn't manage to keep himself still for more than a few minutes. The only thing that irritated Arthur was the fact that his book was laying in Alfred's lap while the taller blonde flipped a page.

"What do you think you're doing with my book?" he demanded.

Without moving his head, those blue eyes shifted to Arthur, peeking out from the side of his glasses, "I'm readin', Artie."

Arthur scowled, "I know that, git."

Alfred shrugged and returned to his page, "Well, you asked."

Crossing his arms to sulk, Arthur glared, "I didn't even know you were literate. You could have fooled me."

Alfred actually laughed, "Come on, Artie, it's a detective story. How was I supposed to leave it alone? 'Sides, I think you get way too into your job. Francis is right."

Arthur snatched the book out of Alfred's hands, "If you're going to mock me for doing my job, then you can't read my book."

That was the first time he experienced Alfred's pouting. He had almost written off the idea of the boy being smart enough to be manipulative. However, one look into the pitiful, wide blue eyes and the expression on his face that Arthur subconsciously likened to a kicked puppy destroyed that thought. He sighed, knowing he was being manipulated, but set the book back in his waiting hands, "I'm only giving it back so you'll stay quiet."

Alfred cheered, "Thanks Artie!" He managed to find his page and started reading again.

Francis had a rental car arranged when they left the airport. Antonio promptly volunteered to drive but was shot down by everyone except for Alfred, who had no idea what he was agreeing with. While Antonio was a cheerful and laid back man, his driving was the one thing that carried over from his former life style. He drove like a stuntman for a Die Hard movie, laughing all the way. When Francis explained this, Alfred's smile widened and he claimed that he could cast a "hero vote" which outvoted everyone else. Arthur shoved Alfred in the back seat before Antonio got any ideas.

Francis took the wheel instead. Lovino sat in the back seat with Arthur and Alfred, sulking the whole time while Antonio chatted happily with Francis in the passenger seat. An odd thought struck Arthur: it was like they were a bunch of college kids on a road trip. He bit his lip and forced the comfortable feeling away. He reminded himself that the long leg and toned shoulder that lightly leaned against his side belonged to a killer, no matter how warm and seemingly comfortable they were.

It took an hour to make it to Gilbert's house. Throughout the rest of the trip, Alfred was fairly silent, reading through the book at an alarmingly fast pace (maybe he wasn't as dumb as he acted) and adding a few random comments to the conversation going on in the rest of the car, leading Arthur to believe that the younger man was actually multitasking rather well. He eyed Alfred suspiciously, at one point, from the corner of his eyes.

The strangest thing was actually arriving at the German's house. Francis knocked on the door and announced their arrival, "Gil! Open up, it is your best friends! The trio shall be back in business once again!"

Arthur didn't even want to know what Francis was talking about. A few minutes (and a couple of stumbling sounds) later, Gilbert opened the door, wearing a black apron with devil horns over a black T-shirt and jeans. The apron was rather useless since all three articles of clothing were covered in flour. In fact, his face and arms sported spots of the stuff. Having met the German only once before, Arthur was prepared for the massive head ache that he was bound to induce. The flour was only proof that he hadn't changed a bit.

Francis snickered and eyed Gilbert, "Just what 'ave you been doing, mon ami?"

Gilbert flashed the Frenchman a grin, "I vas cooking vith my new friend." His crimson eyes traveled around the group before stopping on Alfred. Arthur barely noted that his grin fell just a hint, and something passed between the two men. It was almost like what he'd seen pass between Alfred and Antonio hours earlier. He narrowed his emerald eyes.

"Gilbert, are you oka—" The soft voice stopped dead in its tracks when whoever the owner was likely noticed that the door was open. Silence descended on the group. "Gilbert?" the soft voice called again, this time hesitating as though its owner were expecting monsters outside of the door.

The German found his grin again and peaked back into the room, "It's just some friends, birdie."

The tension in the atmosphere vanished. There was a soft "Oh, okay" Gilbert stepped out of the doorway and let the group in. His house was fairly nice with a decent sized lawn and a couple of trees randomly scattered across the property. The tan colored house itself was two stories with a small attic. The front door opened into a nice sized living room that held the entire crowd without feeling cramped.

The first thing Arthur noticed was the tall blonde man, oddly free of flour, standing at the entrance to what looked like a kitchen. He scanned over the new faces, one hand grasping the doorway, the other holding a spatula. He wore a dark red shirt with a small Canadian flag printed on the middle. But the thing that really struck Arthur (enough to make his heart skip a beat) was the striking resemblance he had to a certain American. Obviously, he wasn't the only one who noticed because Francis was glancing back and forth between the two.

When the man's almost violet eyes landed on Alfred, they stuck and his mouth opened just a bit before he closed it and bit down on his lip, not removing his gaze. Arthur glanced at Alfred who was wearing a similar expression on all too similar features.

Once again, Gilbert broke in, diffusing the mood. He pointed at the blonde, "Zis is mien friend, M-Will. He has been staying vith the awesome me since I am awesome and he has no money to pay for a dorm room."

Francis introduced himself, then Antonio, then Alfred, and finally Arthur. Will shook hands with the three Europeans before he stopped in front of Alfred. Throughout the whole ordeal, the two hadn't quit staring at each other as though they were looking at a ghost.

They were the same height, Arthur noticed when they stood face to face. Will smiled softly, "It's nice to meet you, Alfred." He held out his hand.

What looked to be a smile that held conflicting sadness, joy, and playfulness lit up the American's features, "Yeah, yeah it is." He took the other man's hand tight in his own and shook it as though he were holding onto a lifeline.

They let go a few seconds later and the strange spell seemed to be broken. Gilbert ushered everyone onto the couches before Will excused himself to continue cooking and cleaning up the mess Gilbert made.

Alfred tapped his feet against the ground, anxiety welling up in his stomach. He glanced at Arthur, who was currently arguing with Francis about British cooking, then to the kitchen. He'd wanted to laugh at the alias Gilbert managed to contrive in a matter of seconds. He'd taken Mattie's last name, shortened it, and pretended as though he and Alfred didn't look like twins. Still, he couldn't get up and run to the kitchen or Arthur would get suspicious. Arthur couldn't find out who "Will" was. That would mean that Mattie would be stuck in danger again, just like Alfred was at the moment. At the same time, he wasn't sure how much longer he could sit there while Mattie, the brother he hadn't been able to even find out if he made it to Gilbert before Winter caught up, was in the next room.

Gilbert headed off to the kitchen, claiming that he needed to help clean up his mess. Before he vanished through the door, he stopped and turned to Arthur, "Do you mind if I borrow Alfred to help the awesome me clean up?"

Arthur didn't like it; Alfred could clearly see that from the look on his face. He recalled something about having to stay in Arthur's sight at all times. It seemed as though the next room wasn't stretching it too far since Arthur gave a reluctant nod.

Alfred tried to make it look as though he hadn't leapt to his feet and rushed off to the kitchen, but likely did a poor job of it. Gilbert closed the door to the small kitchen behind him and stood back against the wall with his hands crossed and a smile on his face. He was giving the twins their space.

Alfred stared at Matthew who stared back with a good foot and a half separating them. Neither one of them moved for a minute, seeming to fear that the other one would turn out to be an imposter. Alfred couldn't take much more silence, so he broke it, "Ya look happy, Mattie."

Alfred saw the punch that landed neatly on his stomach coming, but he didn't notice the slap that followed it until he heard the smack and felt the sting. He straightened up his posture after having doubled over a bit and laughed roughly, "Hey to you, too."

Matthew closed the gap and embraced his twin tightly. Alfred could feel the tears that slowly soaked through his shirt and the light trembling caused by the silent sobs. "You're so stupid, Al," Matthew whispered, "I thought you were dead."

"C'mon, little bro, it takes a lot more than Winter to kill me," Alfred joked, closing his arms tightly around Matthew, "I wasn't sure if Gil got to you before Winter."

Gilbert laughed, "Never doubt the awesome me, Alfie."

The twins held onto each other, Matthew crying his silent relief on his brother's shoulder. Alfred was a bit shocked to feel a single trail of salty water that leaked from his own eye, down his chin. He smiled softly at the sign. He hadn't cried in twelve years. But it seemed as though everything was finally being made anew.

The brothers parted after a few more minutes and Matthew lifted up his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes. "Sorry for hitting you, Al," he apologized.

"S'okay, man," Alfred responded, grinning happily, suddenly feeling both drained and overjoyed. If he had the energy, he almost imagined he could run a marathon with the weight of worry lifted off of his shoulders. He thought it was funny that he really only felt exhausted from carrying the burden when it was relieved.

Gilbert took that as his cue to enter the conversation. "Good to see you again, Alfie," he greeted informally, holding out his hand.

The two clasped arms, grinning their confident smiles. "You've got no idea, dude," Alfred laughed.

Matthew watched Alfred with curious eyes, "How did you escape?"

Alfred laughed nervously, letting go of Gilbert's arm before rubbing the back of his neck, "I guess you could say I got pretty lucky." He lifted his shirt to show the pair the bandages around the wound. "Winter screwed up, and I woke up in some French hospital with cranky Inspector Holmes in there." He pointed to the door that Gilbert had closed a few minutes earlier.

Worry began to fill Matthew's expression, "He's a cop?"

"Detective," Alfred corrected, playfully mocking Arthur's accent and rolling his eyes, "Guy's obsessed with it, I think."

Matthew's frown deepened, but Gilbert stepped in, slipping an arm around the Canadian's shoulders. "Don't worry about a thing, birdie. Ze awesome me vill make sure zat Ludwig is nice to Alfie," he encouraged, looking to Alfred. Alfred wasn't sure if the two of them were related by blood. It seemed unlikely since Winter hadn't even heard of Ludwig. He just assumed that it was a bond that the two formed when Gilbert turned up at the police station, wounded and freezing in the snow, running from a phantom he refused to name. At least, that was the story Gilbert had given him when they discussed how to save Matthew.

Deciding it was best to not bring up the arm wrapped around his twin's shoulders, Alfred nodded, "That'd be totally great, man. I thought that guy was gonna explode or somethin'."

The three of them descended into conversation and cooking, each one coping with the life they'd had in common and left behind. It was a slow climb out of the dark well they'd been cast into, but it certainly wasn't impossible to envision feeling the bright rays of light from a new day shining on skin that had only known the darkness.

It was sunset by the time Arthur got the chance to interrogate Alfred. The two of them had been placed on the two couches for the night since they refused to share a bed and no one wanted to sleep on the floor. Both blondes had settled into blankets they'd been given, and the house was silent. "Who is that man?" Arthur asked, having a good guess already.

He heard Alfred shift, "His name's Will, right?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the ceiling, "Don't play dumb, git. You know what I mean."

Alfred laughed softly, "Not a clue, actually."

Arthur sighed heavily, "This is not a game, Alfred." There was a bit of silence as though Alfred were debating his answer. When there was none, Arthur tried a different approach, "That's him, isn't it?"

The silence was tense. "Don't start that conversation, Artie," Alfred responded, a strange roughness to it that Arthur was unused to hearing in his cheerful voice, "I'll pay for any sins my brother had to commit."

Arthur bit at the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to say. His mind went back to the conversation they'd had in the car. He knew what Alfred had done to protect Matthew, and he was certain Alfred would choose to do it again if he were pushed. The part that swayed him, however, was the image of the scars lining the young man's back and an image of Peter. Perhaps… Alfred had suffered his fair share… for the moment, anyway. Finally, he found the words, "Even if he is Matthew Williams, there isn't any evidence to convict him with anything. He would simply be a missing person's case, unlike you." The photo along with the plethora of aliases and falsified passports that Antonio had uncovered were fairly clear pieces of evidence against Alfred.

He literally heard the breath of air that Alfred let out, "Thank you, Arthur." The detective didn't respond. Instead, he let his eyes shut and tried to force himself into a sleep he knew wasn't going to come with any semblance of ease.

The absence of Alfred's regular snores was the first sign in Arthur's mind that something was very wrong. He cracked an eye open and glanced over to make sure the American was still in the room. Alfred was laid out on his back (another oddity since he generally slept on his side from what Arthur had seen) and his glasses were still on his face.

That's when the second warning bell rang in Arthur's mind: he'd seen Alfred take his glasses off and set them on the nearby table before they'd turned out the light. What in the world was the American doing…?

"I am not a fool, Alfred," a thickly accented voice cooed, "You are not asleep." Arthur stiffened. Sure, they had a rather ethnically diverse group in the house, but there was no Russian among them.

The American sat up, his eyes traveling to the darkest part of the room. A grin that literally put chills on Arthur's arms spread across a normally carefree and oblivious face. "'Sup, Ivan?" he asked with casual words that hid venom in every salable. He wasn't looking at the cheerful "hero" he'd been babysitting for the past few weeks: Arthur was looking at the face of an assassin.

Arthur watched Alfred's eyes sweep the room, looking for what he assumed to be a weapon. The Brit didn't even see the Russian man move until Alfred shot up to his feet, dodging what looked like a pipe that smashed into the place where he'd been sitting only moments before. The Russian kept sweeping at the American who neatly ducked and attempted to throw a few punches and kicks that were promptly blocked. For a moment, Arthur was stunned. He'd seen world-class fighters before, but the pair before him surpassed anything he'd ever witnessed. They were agile, powerful, and ruthless. He was reminded of a pair of wolves he'd seen fight on a documentary.

He managed to snap himself out of it and decided to join in. He was already sitting up with the light snapped on, freezing the two combatants. Arthur heard a metallic click. He whipped his head to the sound. Gilbert was leering down the barrel of a pistol, a savage anger on his face that Arthur couldn't have imagined earlier. "Vhat are you doing here?" he demanded in a growl. The gun was pointed at the Russian.

Said Russian, who indeed held a pipe above his head, chuckled with a smile that was just too innocent, "привет, Gilbert. How are you these days?"

The German's finger was so close to squeezing the trigger, he only had to twitch to fire. Gilbert responded in a roar of Russian that Arthur couldn't understand a word of. The Russian chuckled, "I am not here to hurt anyone. I am actually here to warn Alfred."

Said American narrowed his blue eyes, coiled and ready to strike if anyone moved, "Why would you warn me about anything?"

"Because I must," Ivan answered cryptically, "He will be coming for you soon. You know that, да? Your new friends… they will die and you will come back to the family whether you want to or not."

Alfred shook his head, grinning like a madman, "Over my dead body, commie."

That innocent smile fell just a bit, "Let us hope not. You would need a special army to defeat him. You know that, да?"

"Get out," Gilbert seethed, breaking into the conversation, "Or I vill put a bullet between your eyes."

The Russian nodded and retracted his pipe before heading out of the front door as though he'd been invited in for tea. He stopped to glance over his shoulder at Alfred, "Remember, capitalist, there are some things that cannot be changed. We are one of them, and that is not the curse you think it is."

It took three hours, several bottles of alcohol, and three dents in the walls to calm Alfred and Gilbert down. Arthur figured that they had good reason to be upset.

Winter knew they were alive and he knew where to find them.

Yay! I got it done on time! XD

Anyway, here is your preview:

Alfred took a seat on the bench, munching on his hotdog. He glanced at Arthur. The British man was shouting at Gilbert and Francis who'd managed to gang up on him about his cooking. The American glanced at the Japanese man who was sitting beside him like a stranger, tossing crumbs to the park's birds. "Good afternoon, Alfred-kun," he greeted softly, "I have a warning for you."

"I heard," Alfred responded, using his hotdog to cover the fact that he was speaking, "Ivan told me."

Kiku didn't look surprised, "Something strange is happening. I think that you best prepare."

"I can't, dude," Alfred pointed out, the black band on his ankle suddenly feeling like a chain, "I'm gonna get them killed, too."

Kiku smiled softly as a pigeon landed on his knee, "All you need is an army."

Alfred frowned, "Funny thing, Kiku; that's exactly what Ivan told me."

"Perhaps you should learn to look past the surface, Alfred-kun," Kiku suggested, "Things are not always what they seem."

Something weird was going on, and Alfred was beginning to suspect that it may have had something to do with the reason he was still alive.