Dro: I see FF still hasn't fixed (what I think is) a simple error. Silly FF. You really need to get on the ball. Anyway, here's another chapter for you. (I'm trying to get back on schedule, see...) So, you know the drill. Read and review!

Chapter Summary: Arthur goes to see the camp of Matthew's company to look for clues, only to get caught in a bomb raid. Torn, he makes a split second decision. Then we switch back to Matthew, whose having himself a rough time in the country.

Warnings: Language, Violence

Disclaimer: This never changes. Never. And it never will.

Arthur numbly walked across the camp, weaving around tents, passing by wounded soldiers and exhausted medics and soldiers who had dropped into sleep on the ground after being pushed to their limits, the voices of arguing officers surrounding him as they figured out their next plan of action. The world seemed but a blur to him, a rush of color and light and unintelligible sound that only just pervaded his mental solitude. He gazed up at the overcast sky, wondering if it was the same where Matthew was, where Alfred was.

If Alfred was indeed alive, then Arthur had no doubt in his mind that Matthew was as well and that the boy had gone after him. Matthew had abandoned his post in the army to chase after what could very well be nothing but a lie, but he had done so out of desperation, Arthur knew. Matthew had been falling apart the last time Arthur had left him. He was crumbling from the inside out, and though he kept a stoic face, Arthur could see the pain that was slowly ripping the boy apart. Matthew had chased after the ghost of reality that was Alfred because…because he might very well have lost himself if he hadn't.

The last thing Arthur wanted to see was Matthew fall apart completely. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he left that happen, but at the time when he'd returned to his own front, he hadn't a choice in the matter. There was a war going on, and people died, and though it was killing him inside, he'd been forced to tell himself to take the pain and keep going. He wondered how much worse it had been for Matthew, watching more and more of his friends and comrades dying everyday. How long would it have been before he broke?

And now he was gone, chasing a dream. If Alfred truly was alive, then Matthew would find him. Arthur knew that much. The question was what Matthew would do if he did. How would he return to the front without ending up court marshaled? How would even get out of Germany alive? It was one thing sneaking past the lines by yourself, but how he would manage to evade every Nazi in Germany? The chances of him not getting caught were slim. And the very idea of what they would do him if he was caught…

He was interrupted by a dull buzzing filling his ears. It was incessant and irritating. He scowled, looking back down from the sky. But he paused mid-nod as his eyes latched onto something rapidly approaching. Several somethings. Planes. Bombers. German bombers. The camp around him suddenly panicked from every angle, soldiers running for their lives, medics trying to carry wounded men to safety. The world around him had literally blurred now, a rush of frantic activity consuming every place he looked.

He made to move but stopped in his tracks. What did he do? Help the medics? Just run for his life? He watched the bombers as they swooped in, watched as a bomb descended from the sky, landing on the eastern side of the camp. The world vanished in a cloud of dirt and dust and debris and smoke, the burning stench of bodies filling the air. Arthur finally broke from his indecision. He ran.

In the direction of the bombers.

He would never know what compelled him to do it, to do something so foolish and rash. But he ran at full speed, swooping underneath one of the passing planes just as it dropped a bomb where he'd been standing before. The world zipped by him, the hum of the plane engines, the screams of the dying, the force of exploding bombs, all seeming to rush by him in an instant. He kept his eyes glued to his destination: the forest that led toward the front lines. He knew France well enough to know how to evade an army and reach the edge of the country undetected. That wasn't the problem. It was Germany that was the problem.

And the bombers. They were a problem.

They'd turned around for another sweep now, buzzing as they descended to drop another series of soldier-killing explosives. Arthur kept up his pace, the forest approaching at a rapid rate. He heard the bombs exploding behind him, felt the shockwaves as they landed one foot to close, but he kept running. He kept running until he leapt safely into the brush. Only then did he stop. He dared to turn around and give the battered camp one more look. Bodies were strewn across the ground, most of them in pieces. He shuddered as he took a breath and sucked in air. I'm a fool for doing this. I'm not going to find Matthew or Alfred, and I'm going to end up dead.

But…His eyed widened as he realized. But he would much rather die than live without either of them, so even if did end up dead, what would it matter? If they had both died, then would it really matter if he did too? He would see them again, he hoped, on the other side if they were already there. And if not, if by some shred of Godly mercy, they were both still out there somewhere, then he prayed that God would let him share that mercy, at least long enough to see them one last time.

And with that, he was off. He didn't bother to slow down until he'd made it several miles. By that point, he was struggling to breathe. He leaned against a tree to catch his breath, his eyes flicking up toward that damned overcast sky, silently cursing the Nazis again and again. His boys might have been out there somewhere, somewhere in enemy territory, somewhere they were liable to die at any moment…he laughed bitterly. Then again, they had that possibility on their own side of the war, didn't they? He pushed himself off the rough bark of the tree and started walking. It would be a long journey and he had no supplies. He hadn't had time to even think to get supplies, much less to run back to a tent and grab any. He was wearing nothing but his uniform, which, he grimaced at the thought, made him an obvious target. And he couldn't just walked into a Nazi-controlled town and buy something. He would have to steal some things when no one was looking.

One, desertion. Two, theft. He wondered how many other things he would end up adding to his lift of crimes. It would probably be like this the entire search. Lying, stealing, acting like a common criminal. But he didn't care what level he had to sink to if he found those boys at the end of all things. If Matthew was indeed alive, he would've been heading to the town mentioned in the letter. Arthur subconsciously felt for it in his pocket, where it had been since the day he'd first read it. And there it would stay until he found his boys. Or died in the process.

The sun beamed down on him, causing him to squint. He held his hand over his eyes, blocking its powerful rays, so he could take another look down the quiet dirt road. He'd been on this road since yesterday, when he'd finally—somehow—made it into Germany unscathed. Now he was just about lost, despite the fact he had a map, and he'd been walking aimlessly down this same road for what felt like forever. If he could just find a town—one with a name, preferably—to figure out where he was, he'd be set.

Sighing deeply, he continued on down the road. His shirt and pants were scratchy and dirty, his boots ill-fitting and pinching his toes. But it was the best he could've done on short notice. He'd actually snuck into someone's empty house and snagged these quickly. He hadn't really had time to try them on to see if they were comfortable. But they weren't a military uniform, and that was the important thing. His fatigues were scattered around the woods miles back. The only thing he had left was his tags, which were the coolest thing he was wearing. The metal stung coldly on his overheated skin, wiping against pooling sweat. He was so hot. And he didn't have anything to drink.

He sincerely hoped he came to some form of viable drinking water soon. A clean enough looking pond. A stream. Anything really. He was just really, really thirsty. The sun was relentless today. Where was that overcast, gray, cold, dreary, rainy weather that had plagued him and his friends for the past few weeks? If the weather wanted to switch moods when Matthew had a victory, the least it could do was be a favorable change for him. Or maybe it was just mocking him. That sounded a hell of a lot more likely.

Everything seemed to be mocking him lately. When he'd tossed his pack to make it look like he'd lost it, he'd forgotten to take the damn letter out. If that fell into the wrong hands, he was in trouble. And potentially, Al was in trouble. Damn, that was stupid of me. His "escape" to Germany had been so intense in some parts, he'd started making foolish mistakes like that. He hoped he hadn't seriously screwed anything else up. He groaned, berating himself. He could do better than this. He had to. Some parts of this trip could potentially be even more dangerous. There was still the problem that he was in Germany but didn't speak German. He could, however, speak French, and could potentially pass himself off as a French defector. Which was definitely his plan if anything went awry and he actually ended up having to talk someone.

Which may have be the case at this exact moment, as he suddenly realized he heard the sound of a roaring engine barreling toward him on the road. He froze for second too many, trying to decide whether to run or hold his ground. Then he realized there was nowhere to run to. He was in a gap in the woods surrounded by field. Shit. Of all times, why do they come now? He stood rigid at the edge of the road as a military jeep full of German soldiers headed right for him. He tried his best to silence the alarm bells in his head that were screaming at him to run for his life, and he stood still, trying to keep a complacent, calm look on his face.

As soon as the soldiers spotted him, they immediately started chatting with one another. I'm going to die. I'm so going to die. The jeep slowed as it reached him, and it pulled to a stop right next to him, the soldiers inside scrutinizing him. At first, Matthew couldn't decide whether to look them in the eye or keep his eyes firmly planted on the dusty dirty road beneath his feet. One of the soldiers leaned out of the jeep, frowning, and looked him over.

"Woher kommen Sie?" He asked. Or at least, Matthew assumed he asked something because it sounded like a question. The only German word Matthew knew was "ja."

"Ah, I came here from France." He answered in French, hoping that, even if none of them spoke it, they would get the idea they wanted him to.

The man speaking to him perked an eyebrow. "Franzose?" He turned back to the other men and motioned for one to enter the conversation. One of the men in the back clambered over the others and hopped out. Matthew almost ran away right there. But he managed to hold his ground.

"You are a French defector?" The man asked him in nearly perfect French. Oh, thank God! Matthew wanted to cry in pure elation.

"Yes. I left my home a few days ago. I was hoping to simply find refuge in a nearby town. Is the nearest town far?"

The man gazed at him for several seconds, seemingly judging if Matthew was telling the truth or not. Apparently, he decided the young looking blond boy could pass for a young Frenchman because he pointed down the road. "Only about three kilometers down the road. There is a fork about a kilometer up. Take the left." He then waved Matthew off, both signaling for him to leave and silently telling his comrades that Matthew was just a harmless boy.

"Thank you very much." He started down the road at a leisurely pace, trying to keep himself from looking too stiff. He could feel their eyes on him for several seconds afterward, but they didn't make any move to chase after him. After he'd gotten about thirty feet away, the engine roared back to the life in the jeep, and the group drove off.

Matthew almost collapsed. Holy crap that was close! And it would probably get closer. He'd gotten lucky that time, but what happened when someone he ran into didn't speak French or didn't buy his story? He really needed to work these kinks out before he had another situation like that. Learning to speak German would be a plus, but it wasn't like he had the time to do that. He wanted to get Al and get out as soon as possible. He would have to come up with something else.

"Uh, whatever…" He scowled at the bright sunlight again, cursing it, and started off back down the simple dirt road again.

Dro: I hoped you liked impromptu (and probably incorrect) German. Hooray for terrible translations! I love how I'm writing a fanfic about a Japanese story, but I never actually use any Japanese (which I study in school).

Next Chapter: Alfred settles into his new routine with Gilbert and Ludwig, but the longer he stays there, the more curious he becomes about the brother's pasts.