My most sincere apologies for the tardiness of this chapter! It's now a Spooky Sunday instead of a Frightful Friday! :C I had trouble with FFNet on Friday night and didn't get a chance to upload on Saturday. I hope nobody was too maddened by my false promises.

Thank you to: mastersoulphantom, nucleartaste, hawkerstrike, The Fangirl With A 1000 Names, starryclimes, firebreathingninja, suzako, SomethingSimsy, EverydayUSUK, Doodle0505, Iggycat, dozefallsdownthestairs, Winter-Grown-Lily, Empress Vegah, Kunoichi-Shea and five Guests!

Also a huge thank you to thefashionistainwonderland over on tumblr, who drew cutie witch Belle whipping up all the spooky delights from her bakery! Link on my profile if anyone is interested!

The Waning

X

The street was deserted. He was close to the edge of town, where the roads began to fade out into misty woodland and the streetlamps were few and far between. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip as he crossed the road; they were wide and without markings, Colonial pathways designed for carts and carriages. His footsteps echoed both ways, shouting into the mist.

The silvery whisper of a sword being drawn carried, seizing around his heart. He whirled, lashing the cord of his saw around his hand, and found Arthur calmly standing not ten feet from him. The sword flashed in the yellow lamplight.

"Good evening, Alfred," he said. It was polite, terse, ice-cold. There was no trace of a smile on his face. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Nine months, almost," Alfred agreed. "Not since Halloween."

"You'll forgive me," Arthur said, taking a step towards him. "I found myself somewhat... offended that night, what with you attempting to tear me in two with that ghastly thing."

"Sorry about that." Alfred spread his feet apart. "This time I'll try harder!"

He launched himself forward, revving the chainsaw as he charged straight at Arthur; but the vampire easily swung out of the way, skipping back a step or two. Alfred whirled, using the weight of the saw to send it arcing towards him, and Arthur caught it against the edge of his sword. The chainsaw sputtered and struggled, the teeth grinding against the blade, unable to complete their cycle. Alfred pulled it back, freeing the teeth, and swung it again - and again it met with a clash of steel on steel. Arthur put his free hand to the top of his sword and shoved, almost knocking the chainsaw's blade flush into Alfred's chest - he ducked back just quick enough to avoid it, the proximity sending a jolt of panic through him. He grit his teeth and shoved back - but even with all of his strength, Arthur was effortlessly stronger, holding him at bay until his arms and shoulders burned with the effort. Desperate, knowing he wouldn't be able to hold him off much longer, Alfred swung out his foot and caught him flat in the stomach, kicking him away. Arthur stumbled backwards, barely winded, and righted himself to come swinging at him again; Alfred rolled, the sword singing past his ear, and killed the chainsaw as he came into a crouch, breathing hard. He wasn't going to win like this - he could cut Arthur into a hundred pieces but it wouldn't down him for long. He needed to get away, get back-up, get... get the proper weaponry. Even now he didn't carry a stake or holy water.

Arthur was above him, the sword raised high; Alfred held the chainsaw like a shield, taking the blow on its blade, the impact sending his bones rattling. He skidded aside and flipped the whole saw over in his grasp, holding it by the blade, the razor teeth biting into his palms as he smashed it into Arthur's ribcage. There was a definite crack - and Arthur gave a grunt and stumbled aside. Alfred didn't give him time to recover, his hands screaming as he slammed the saw's iron engine into Arthur's jaw. The vampire gave a strangled sound, losing his grip on his the sword as black blood frothed over his bottom lip. Alfred seized the blade and plunged it through Arthur's abdomen, at last bringing him to his knees; and then he scrambled away a few feet, tugging on the cord of his chainsaw to fire it up again. He'd cut him into a few sizeable chunks and then run - that should buy him enough time-

The cord was jammed.

"Shit...!" Alfred pulled and pulled at it, wrapping it around his hand to get a better grip on it. "Fuck, not now...! Come on, you piece of junk!"

It wouldn't budge. Beginning to panic, Alfred tossed it aside with a loud clatter and sprang forward to seize the hilt of the sword. He began to wrench it out of Arthur - but the vampire caught his wrist. Alfred froze, looking down at him. If his jaw had been dented at all, the damage had repaired itself already, leaving only a slick stain of black blood like a film of oil over his chin. His green eyes were bright and livid.

"Alfred," he said gently, "you're beginning to make me very angry indeed."

Alfred was reminded of the night he had followed him from the blood bank back in 1942; the way he had looked when he had seized him about the throat and pinned him against the wall. He had not seen that look in his eyes since that night and knew it to be that of a threatened beast. He realised, if he didn't get away from Arthur now, he was going to die.

He yanked his wrist away, taking the sword with him - but overshooting in his panic, flinging it away. He cursed himself, backing away from Arthur as the wound began to close before his very eyes; he didn't have time to get it, Arthur would be on him before he could turn around. Instead he turned and ran; Arthur was faster, it was true, but he wouldn't be at full speed until he fully recovered and by then perhaps Alfred could get to his Jeep three streets away-

"Stop." A click accompanied the command and Alfred's blood ran cold. He skittered to a halt, his heart pounding. "Good lad," Arthur drawled. "Turn around for me, won't you?"

Alfred drew a deep breath as he did so. Arthur was upright, in perfect health, his Browning Hi-Power cocked and aimed.

"It's not very sporting of you to, ah, cut and run." The vampire didn't smile. "So to speak."

"If you're going to kill me then do it," Alfred snapped. "Stop making a show of it. It's pretty gross to play with your food, right?"

Arthur paused for a moment. Alfred didn't know if he was merely enjoying it - or if he was rallying himself. Somewhere deep within him he half-expected Arthur to say something like "I can't do it" and drop the gun to the cobblestones.

"Arthur," he began warily, "I-"

Arthur shot him. The bullet hit him with a searing burst of white-hot pain just under his collarbone, sending him reeling. The second seemed deafening, a roar of the sea deep in his ears, and the agony flowered low down in his right lung. He was only dimly aware that his knees were giving out, the old rectangular buildings blotching red and black with bursts of light, upending themselves to tumble sideways through the sky. He caught Arthur on the edge of his vision, upside down, flaring gold and black and green. He tried to gasp his name-

The third shot. Silence. Nothing.

"God, I am looking forward to tonight!" Søren plonked himself down on the bench next to Matthew, setting his tray down with a clatter. "Been sharpening my axe all afternoon!"

His voice carried even with the room this crowded. The mess hall was two chambers - the drawing room and the library - with the wall knocked through, the divide between flocked Roccoco wallpaper and pale gold with elaborate plasterwork still visible. Each of the long tables was decorated with a carved pumpkin emitting an orange glow from within its grotesque features. A rather ratty old banner proclaiming 'Happy Halloween' had been strung from the balcony above.

"Uh huh." Matthew glanced at Søren with suspicion. "Well, don't be testing it out on Alfred."

Søren rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I heard from Caesar." He stabbed at his greyish steak. "Apparently he's seen the light, come back to our side?"

"Yeah." Matthew sighed. "It's a relief."

"Took him long enough,"

"His relationship with Kirkland is... well, complicated." Matthew prodded at his food. "I have to be honest, despite everything, I'm... surprised that he's agreed to give him up."

"I'd have thought that was a no-brainer after he chopped off his fucking head." Søren began to attack his food. "I wonder why the hell Caesar changed the order, anyway. He's always wanted Kirkland roasted on a spit before now."

"He hasn't said," Matthew replied.

"Not even to you?"

"I'm hardly his most trusted advisor," Matthew said coolly. "He barely even notices me."

"But your darling brother seems to be the key to all this," Søren pointed out. "I thought maybe-"

"Well, you thought wrong."

Søren raised his eyebrows, chewing.

"Alright, alright," he said, swallowing. "I didn't realise it was such a touchy subject."

Matthew exhaled.

"Al is... well, he's got this thing, you know, where everybody thinks he's so wonderful," he said in a low voice. "I don't know if it's his smile or his confidence or what but people always think the best of him. When we were little, he'd do bad stuff all the time and get away with it. I'd always cover for him or lie for him - not because he made me or anything but because I wanted to. When..." Matthew paused and took a breath. "God, I shouldn't tell you this."

Søren shrugged.

"If it makes you feel better."

"It's just that I never told anybody this before." Matthew shook his head. "Not that it really matters anymore. When we were fifteen, Alfred killed three guys. Just three poor homeless men-"

"I'd believe that after what he did to Berwald," Søren cut in coolly.

"W-well, I helped him hide the bodies. Again, he didn't ask me to - I wanted to, not because I approved of what he'd done, but because... well, I don't know, really. I hated that he'd done it. I was kinda scared of him, actually, but... jeez, the thought of him being caught for it and sent to jail, having his life ruined... I couldn't stand it. You know, I actually had these crazy thoughts of saying it was me if it ever came down to it. I mean, we're identical. If there were any eye-witnesses to the murder, they wouldn't have known which of us it was."

"Christ, you are fucked up, Williams," Søren said. He sounded somewhat impressed. "I'm guessing it never came down to that?"

"As far as I know, the bodies have never been discovered. The men were never reported missing. They wouldn't have been, would they?" Matthew gave a sour smile. "So, you see, he got away with that, too - and with sneaking into the army two years too young."

"Well, he didn't get away with fucking around with a vampire," Søren said.

"Except maybe he did," Matthew said. "He's alive - well, more or less. Caesar said he could come back to the All Saints Army, complete with promotion to Major, if he sold out Kirkland tonight."

"That sleazy motherfucker," Søren grumbled. "I've worked my ass off for five years and I'm still only a corporal!"

"Heh." Matthew shrugged. "You're mad about it. I guess that's the normal reaction. But I can't get mad at Alfred. I don't know why. It seems like... the worse he is, the more determined I am to preserve his image as the Golden Boy. I guess I've always known that I'm second-best."

Søren was starting to look uncomfortable.

"Look, I didn't mean for this to turn into a therapy session-"

"Oh, no." Matthew shook his head. "It's only because you asked if Caesar had told me why he changed the order to have Kirkland taken alive after Alfred reappeared."

"Which... he didn't."

"No." Matthew shrugged. "As you say... Alfred is the key to all this. We're just cannon fodder."

Søren snorted.

"Speak for yourself," he muttered darkly.

They were joined by Lukas and Emil, both of whom seemed to get some enjoyment out of brooding over a gloomy forecast for tonight's operations. Matthew finished his dinner and left them to it, heading back to his room to check over his equipment. He spotted Kiku Honda out on one of the balconies as he passed; the Japanese man was hunched over on the wrought iron bench, his head in his hands.

"Captain Honda...?" Matthew paused in the doorway. "Are you alright?"

Kiku looked up, startled. He was a mess, his pale skin whiter than usual, with dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn't been to bed in about forty-eight hours.

"C-Corporal Williams!" He stood quickly, bobbing his head into a small bow - forgetting, it seemed, where he was. "Yes, I am quite well, thank you."

"Are you sure?" Matthew wasn't remotely convinced, leaning against the doorframe. "You don't look-"

"I was merely thinking, that is all." Kiku sidestepped him into the corridor, nodding all the while. "We have a busy night ahead of us, after all."

"We do, sir." Matthew didn't take his eyes off him. He couldn't help but feel that he seemed... shaken about something.

"Captain Honda," he said as Kiku walked quickly away. "Is this... I mean, it's nothing to do... with Alfred, is it?"

Kiku stopped dead.

"It is, isn't it?" Matthew went on. "What does Caesar really want with him?"

"I do not think that it is my place to say, Corporal," Kiku said. His voice was shaking.

"He's my brother!" Matthew burst out.

Kiku shook his head.

"I have already said too much," he said. He started away again.

Matthew caught him up, grabbing his arm; Kiku wrenched it away, turning on him.

"Mind your rank, Corporal," he said dangerously.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't just stand here and let you make plans for my brother without-"

"They are Caesar's plans," Kiku cut in coldly, "but rest assured that we all have our parts to play in this destruction."

Matthew blinked.

"...Sir?"

"You lied to Alfred about the vampire that attacked you," Kiku said frostily. "It was not Kirkland. Do not forget that I was the one who sewed up your wounds - and they were not consistent with the type that Kirkland is."

Matthew's heart was pounding.

"Caesar said... it was for the best for Al to turn against him," he said weakly. "H-he said Al was playing a dangerous game, that Arthur would eventually turn on him... I was only trying to help him-"

"Very true, I expect, but a lie nonetheless - the one which drove the rift between Alfred and Kirkland." Kiku turned away again. "The rift which led to his death. That was your part in this, Corporal Williams. You do not want to accept responsibility for it, perhaps, but it is the truth."

"I-"

"Now I must play my part," Kiku went on, coming to the door of his office. "I only hope that I am brave enough to take responsibility for mine."

He went into his office and shut the door; Matthew heard the lock click, echoing in the empty hallway.

"How could I help it?" he asked softly, looking up at the cracked ceiling rose. "It was the first time I'd ever had any power over him."

"What do you think?"

"'You're not really gonna go out like that' is what I think."

Francis - in the body of twelve-year-old girl with dimples and ringlets - stopped his twirling and folded his arms.

"How rude!" he exclaimed in the girl's voice - high, soft-pitched, now with a distinctive French accent. "What is wrong with her?"

"She's cute." Alfred shrugged. "That's my point. How much damage can you do with her?"

"As Arthur so kindly pointed out, her hands are more than capable of holding a gun."

Alfred wrinkled his nose.

"She's really the best he could get?"

"Apparently so." Francis pulled a face, the girl's pretty features distorting. "If you ask me, he did not spend very long looking-"

"I told you, there were soldiers everywhere," Arthur snapped, coming into the living room. "There was no time for dilly-dallying. Speaking of, chop chop." He clapped his hands. "Both of you, go and get ready."

Alfred looked down at himself.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" he asked. "It's a massacre, not a dinner party."

Arthur gestured down at himself; he was dressed very plainly in black trousers, combat boots and a close fitting shirt with a round, buttoned collar.

"Tonight," he said, "the way you are dressed might save your life. No ties, braces, collars, belts, anything they can grab hold of or strangle you with." He waved his hand at Alfred, who was in his usual baggy button-down, slacks and braces looped loosely over his shoulders. "Tonight is about survival - and you won't survive long in that."

Alfred wasn't particularly worried given that he knew he'd been pardoned from the hit-list - but knew that putting up too much of a fuss would make Arthur suspicious.

"Fine, fine." He got up and shuffled out of the room, heading upstairs. He didn't know what the hell else he was supposed to put on, nothing of Arthur's would fit him. Maybe he'd squeeze into one of his sweater-vests just to piss him off...

He found, folded carefully on the bed, a pair of grey trousers and a black T-shirt. They looked army-issue, although quite what army was anybody's guess; and close-fitting, the trousers made of out some kind of weird nylon-like fabric. There was a pair of combat boots, too, a little big but much better to run in; all of which pointed to the fact that Arthur apparently had been in a position to get him something other to wear than gross morgue-clothes. He put his old WWII dogtags on to complete the look and thumped back downstairs with them jingling against his chest.

"Strangulation hazard," Arthur said immediately, yanking them off.

"Nuh uh," Alfred argued. "That's why they have a ball-chain clasp, duh."

"They also jingle," Arthur went on witheringly. "You sound like a bleeding cat."

Alfred couldn't argue with that part so went to the sofa to sulk.

"How come he gets to go out dressed like that?" he asked, pointing to Francis - still regaled in the frilled nightgown of his body's previous owner.

"I've argued and argued with him," Arthur sighed. "On his own head be it."

"I feel that I might as well use this body's appearance to my advantage," Francis said. "I can cry and act lost and scared, enabling me to get close to the All Saints Soldiers..." He pulled out a clunky old revolver. "And then it will be too late."

"...Can I ask where the hell you pulled that gun from?" Alfred asked.

"I dread to think," Arthur said delicately; he flapped his hands when Francis began to lift up the nightgown. "For Hell's sake, nobody wants to see that! Have some respect for the poor girl!"

Francis let the frilly edge drop again.

"I hope I do not run into her parents," he said thoughtfully. "Mon dieu, that would be unfortunate..."

"She seems to have died of a illness, not a supernatural mauling," Arthur said dryly. "With any luck, her parents won't have the casual bloodlust of the rest of the town." He looked at the clock. "It's almost time to go. I'm going to have a quick pick-me-up before we head off."

He started away towards the kitchen; Alfred leapt up and went after him.

"Think I'll have a sandwich," he said.

"Fine," Arthur said. "But let me get mine first. The way you flap around the kitchen irritates me."

"Sure." Alfred sat down at the kitchen and put his chin in his hands, watching him get out a glass and go to the fridge to retrieve one of the chilled blood bags from the top shelf. He carefully snipped off the top and poured it into the glass, deep and thick and red.

"Do you like it cold?" Alfred asked, watching the vampire's throat pulse as he downed it.

"When it's very cold like this, it's quite refreshing," Arthur replied, licking his bottom lip. Half of the glass remained. "But there's nothing better, when you're really hungry, than getting it at body temperature."

"...You mean straight from the vein," Alfred said.

Arthur pressed his bloodied lips together.

"Yes," he replied. He swilled the blood around the glass for a moment before finishing it off.

"Do you like it?" Alfred pressed. "The taste of it, I mean?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him as he swallowed the last of it.

"Why all these questions all of a sudden?"

Alfred shrugged.

"Just curious. 'Cause it's like... you know when you're a kid, right, and you get a cut and you lick it, it tastes gross-"

"Surely you don't remember being a child," Arthur cut in dangerously.

Oh. Alfred stopped talking, realising that he'd put his foot in it (or someone else's foot, anyway). He simply looked at Arthur like a deer in headlights.

"Alfred, I know you have some of your memory back," Arthur said, licking the rim of his glass. "Quite how much I'm not sure-"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." Alfred sprang up, knowing that he had to act quickly to swing this to his advantage. "I didn't want to worry you, not after what happened the other night-"

"You were hooked back up to your original body," Arthur said. "That's what I heard your brother say."

"Yeah, but... I-I didn't get it all back. This guy came in, Kiku something, and he got all pissy and broke the connection-"

"Where does it stop?" Arthur interrupted. He had subtly pressed himself up against the sideboard and Alfred stayed back. He knew by his body language not to make him feel cornered.

"The, uh... the time I said we couldn't meet anymore. I gave you my bomber jacket."

Arthur frowned. He didn't look very convinced.

"That was a very long time ago," he said. "The first Waning."

Alfred gave an exaggerated shrug that he hoped looked suitably helpless.

"I don't know how long I was out for," he said. "I guess maybe not that long. That Kiku guy was pretty mad about the whole thing."

"I wonder why they still have your body," Arthur said.

Alfred had been wondering this himself; but had to bite his tongue to stop himself from retorting that perhaps it was to study the effects of a vampire's petty vengeance.

"Dunno." He shrugged. "A-anyway, it's made me realise that..." He trailed off, daring to draw a little closer.

"Made you realise what?" Arthur asked coldly.

"Well, how much I love you." Alfred lifted his hand, putting it to Arthur's cheek-

Arthur blocked his touch, pushing him away.

"Don't," he said. He ducked under his arm, stepping away from him.

"Why?" Alfred had no choice but to feign ignorance. "Why are you so cold towards me, Arthur? Don't you trust me?"

Arthur arched his thick eyebrows.

"I've already said that I don't." He turned his back on him. "Hurry up and make your sandwich, won't you? We need to-"

"Hey." Alfred grabbed hold of him, forcibly turning him to face him. "Never mind the damn sandwich a moment, okay?"

"Unhand me." Arthur didn't struggle or squirm, simply uttered the command in a tone Alfred recognised as one he was expected to obey.

"No," he said. He held Arthur's elbows and pulled him close, pressing his mouth to his. The salty taste of blood was overpowering, almost enough to make him want to pull away, but he pushed forward, determined to make Arthur kiss back. Arthur didn't, going very rigid in his grasp, his sharp teeth locked tightly together.

Alfred pulled back with a scowl.

"Are you finished?" Arthur asked coolly.

"No." Alfred seized him under his thighs and bodily lifted him onto the kitchen table, pressing in between his parted legs.

"Alfred, what-!" Arthur made the mistake of opening his mouth and Alfred was upon him, grabbing his jaw to kiss him properly. The taste was still enough to make him retch - he'd never liked tasting blood on him, kissing him before he fed if he could help it - but the sensation of it brought old memories bubbling to the surface: army-issue cigarettes, Glenn Miller on the wind-up record player, the whisper of nylon. For a moment it was 1944 and they were in a tent away from Caesar and the weapons and the war.

Arthur shoved his hand against his throat and pushed him off.

"If you do that again, I will bite your fucking tongue off," he hissed.

"You didn't feel anything?" Alfred found himself asking it sincerely. "Nothing at all?"

"Vampires feel no sexual pleasure."

"I meant emotionally - or don't you feel anything like that, either?"

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about." Arthur pushed at him again. "Let me down."

Alfred stepped back, allowing him to slide off the table. The vampire made a show of brushing himself down.

"I don't know what you're trying to prove," he said frostily.

"That I love you," Alfred replied. He didn't feel that he had control of this conversation anymore.

"Indeed." Arthur went to the kitchen doorway; Alfred did not hinder him this time. "We're leaving in ten minutes."

"Hey," Alfred said, leaning against the sideboard. "Remember the first time I kissed you?"

Arthur stopped.

"1943," Alfred said. "Reconnaisance mission in Occupied Belgium. We almost got the hell shot out of us. You saved my life." He looked at the kitchen floor. "I'd been wanting to do it for ages but I couldn't get up the courage to even say anything to you. I mean, you were this super-old amazing immortal being-well, I mean, you still are but... I guess I thought you'd never be interested in me. The andrenaline, it must have been - thinking I might die that night... it was like it didn't matter anymore. I didn't care if you ripped my throat out afterwards. I just did it. ...I didn't expect you to return it."

"I probably should have ripped your throat out," Arthur said. "You're more trouble than you're worth."

"Not tonight." Alfred ventured forward again, catching his hand. Arthur whipped around as though he'd been stung, snatching it back - but their eyes met. "Maybe you don't totally trust me," Alfred went on. "To be honest, I don't completely trust you either. But... we're in this together tonight, right? So let's survive together."

He put out his hand. Arthur regarded it cagily for a very long moment.

"You'll try every trick in the bloody book, won't you?" he said.

"Pretty much." Alfred smiled at him. "C'mon, don't leave me hanging."

"Alright." Arthur put his hand in his, shaking with him. He was smiling himself - but it was cold, distant. "I suppose it's only for one night."

The main street of Midnight Marches was abustle with the occasion, lined up and down with stalls selling weapons and miscellaneous pieces of armour and candy apples. All of the shops and restaurants and public buildings were locked up, their owners and occupants out in the street. Gilbert was attempting to chase his rag-rag army into order from atop the roof of his newly-acquired Jeep; his impressive coat glittered in the lamplight as he shouted orders to whoever would listen. Ludwig was at the wheel of the Jeep, armed to the teeth, with Feliciano and Lovino in the back guarding the rest of their arsenal.

"Is this what you guys do?" Alfred asked, looking around. "Just all gather here and wait for them to come and get you?"

"More or less." Arthur checked the chamber of his pistol, cliccking it back into place with the heel of his hand. "There's no point hiding in basements and under tables. When the barrier drops, Midnight Marches will vanish."

"And plonk you right in the middle of Sleepy Hollow, right?"

"Yes."

"Seems like an unfair disadvantage."

"It's very unfair." Arthur shrugged. "Well, what's to be done?" He jammed his Browning into his pocket and took his sword from Alfred. "All set?"

"I guess so."

"Good." Arthur put out his hand and Alfred put his into it. "Now then, the first few minutes are always a shambles. People panic and scatter and get themselves killed - on both sides. The thing to do is keep a cool head."

"Gotcha."

"When the barrier drops, we'll be east of the green-"

"Because of the crossroads, right?"

"Yes. There was a crossroads there a long time ago, a traditional sticking point for many supernatural beings. We're going to go north towards the library - it has the highest roof." Arthur looked pointedly at him. "Remember, tonight is about survival, not about how many kills you get. We are not the hunters."

"Yeah, yeah, I got you." Alfred held up the chainsaw. "This is purely for self-defence."

Arthur averted his gaze and Alfred grinned inwardly. A sudden hush fell over the crowd, an expectant lull, and then the belltower at the edge of the town began to chime, long wailing peals echoing across the night.

"The moment the barrier goes down, I'm going to run," Arthur said in a low voice. "You know how fast I am. Try to keep up."

"Like you can outrun me, old man," Alfred replied, jostling him; although he knew this wasn't true. Arthur was like Hell on legs when he got going.

At the ninth chime, there was a chorus of safeties clicking off, chambers snapping into place. Ten: positioning, aiming, rough lines like an old-fashioned army. Eleven: lining up sights, breathing, waiting.

Twelve: Gilbert fired once into the air with a whoop as the pretty old town was engulfed in a greenish mist, curling upwards towards the sky.

"Happy Halloween!" he shouted; he stamped twice on the roof of the Jeep. "Let's raise some Hell!"

Ludwig floored the Jeep at his signal, ploughing through the mist towards the emerging lines of grey-coated soldiers. They scattered as he caught two under the wheels and crushed them, blood splattering across the pavement as the mist cleared.

"Where's Caesar?" Gilbert called over the birth of gunshot, Ludwig squaring up to break the frontline. "I've got a bullet with your name on it, motherfucker!"

Alfred saw him as Arthur darted away, pulling him along; the general was at the front of his scattered frontline, shouting orders astride a glossy black horse. He didn't have time to catch his eye, Arthur well-versed in using the confusion of the opening moments to his advantage.

Of course, he had already been debriefed. Caesar had recommended that Alfred allow Arthur to lead for a while, lull him into thinking he was safe, before luring him to the church. So he put up no fight for now, letting Arthur pull him down the nearest alleyway out of sight.

"That's the most sensible thing I've ever seen Gilbert do on Halloween," the vampire said, pressing himself flat to the wall. "Although I bet it was Ludwig's idea, not his."

"Yeah, I get that vibe. What now?"

"We need to get across the green. It's open ground so we need to move fast - but I think it's better to go now than to wait."

"While the line is broken, right?"

"Exactly."

"You're the boss."

Arthur took hold of his hand again.

"Right, let's go." He tugged and Alfred followed him down the alleyway, taking a sharp right turn; it was so dark that Alfred simply had to trust where Arthur led him, hoping he didn't trip over a brick or a rat or something.

The green, visible beyond the alleyway, was clear and Arthur gave him no warning, breaking out into a sprint; it was so sudden that Alfred felt his stitches pull taut enough to almost snap as he struggled to get his feet into gear.

"Hurry up!" Arthur snapped, slowing just a touch. "We can't afford to dawdle!"

"Jeez, warn a guy, will you?!" Alfred retorted breathlessly, at last falling into step alongside him.

They pounded across the grass, the chainsaw thumping against Alfred's leg. Shrieks and gunshot rang out overhead - but the vast empty space made it difficult to pinpoint the direction. Alfred wasn't worried; in fact, safe in the knowledge that every single member of the All Saints Army would have been briefed beforehand not to kill he or Arthur, he actually found himself enjoying the andrenaline rush. This was nothing more than a bit of fun; dessert before the main event, so to speak.

They reached the far edge of the green and Arthur turned north, his green eyes on the pointed tower of the library like a turret over the rest of the town. Alfred kept close to him as they took up a quick pace down the street and over the road-

A car screeched to a halt just shy of them, sending them both skittering backwards out of the way.

"Christ...!" Alfred barely had time to get his breath back before he realised that the car's window was down and a guy in a jack-o'-lantern mask was squaring up a sub-machine gun at them.

"Go!" Arthur slammed into his back, shoving him out of the way as a barrage of bullets exploded from the car. They rolled, coming to rest at the car's back wheels as the driver struggled to control the weapon - clearly he wasn't used to firearms, the gun firing all over the place.

"How the hell does he even know we're not human?!" Alfred was affronted.

"All Saints are in the grey uniforms, civilians wear Halloween masks." Arthur drew his sword and neatly punctured the back tyres of the car. "Although, as you can imagine, a lot of civilian casualties happen because they kill each other." He took Alfred's wrist. "Let's go."

"Wait a second." Alfred pulled himself free and scrambled up over the back of the car and onto the roof, revving his chainsaw; it was barely audible over the obscene rat-tat-tatting of the machine gun. He hoisted it up above his head and plunged it downwards, cutting through the car's roof with a screech of metal and flurry of orange sparks. It juddered for a moment and then went through and hit home, splattering the inside of the windshield with gore. The machine gun stopped abruptly and dropped to the ground.

"Nice kill," Arthur said archly, coming around the car to get the gun. "Not that we're keeping count."

"Right." Alfred jumped off the car to land with a heavy thud, blocking Arthur off. "Hands off. My kill, my spoil."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Fine. I don't expect it has much ammunition left, anyway - not after that display."

"Shame you punctured the tyres," Alfred said, trotting after him with his new prize.

"Not my brightest idea, I'll admit." Arthur shrugged as they turned the corner. "But I didn't-"

He cut himself off as they came to face-to-face with a dozen masked defenders, head-to-toe in cheap garish mockeries of witches and vampires and devils. Four carried flaming torches while the others had guns, knives, a sickle and even a pitchfork.

"Forget your masks, boys?" A plump man in a ghoulish clown costume came forward.

"Sure did," Alfred agreed, sizing them up. He didn't know how much ammo was left in the machine gun and didn't like to raise it yet. "Seriously, I'd forget my head if..."

He trailed off. They were all looking at the stitches across his throat and at his wrists. A poorly-timed joke indeed.

"The other is a vampire." A woman much too old to be wearing the skimpy witch costume she'd crowbarred herself into came to the front of the crowd. She was holding a large retangular mirror with flowers painted in the corners; and even from here, Alfred could see plainly that it was only his reflection in it.

At the sight of this, a sudden wave of frenzy seemed to go through the gaggle and they stampeded forwards, torches flaring, with screeches of 'monsters!' and 'devils!'. Alfred opened fire, cutting down four at the front; but the others kept coming, scrambling over them, and Arthur seized his elbow and made him run.

"Holy crap, these people are crazy!" Alfred exclaimed.

"I don't know quite what gets into them," Arthur agreed, pulling him back around the corner. "Oh fucking hell...!"

This was aimed at the Jeep trundling towards them, taking up the entire width of the narrow street. It was manned by two young privates, wet behind the ears. Their first Waning, no doubt. Alfred wasn't particularly worried about them; they'd have been briefed, of course-

"Sargeant!" the first screeched, his eyes widening as he clocked Alfred and Arthur stopping dead in the middle of the street, closely followed by a baying mob. "Where's the goddamn sargeant?!" He started fiddling with the radio device.

"Christ, never mind!" The second seized his rifle - the type that shot stakes - and sprang over the low door.

Apparently these two hadn't had the memo.

"Up!" Arthur said urgently, pushing him towards a flimsy fire escape ladder ascending up the side of a tall brick building. "Get to the roof!"

Alfred didn't argue, slinging his chainsaw over his shoulder and hoisting hiself up. He could feel the thing shaking under his weight as he scrambled up, Arthur just behind him as the soldiers opened fire. The first stake missed by a mile, shattering against the brick, while the second bounced off the rung just beneath his foot; these were joined by an assault of regular bullets from the civilian defenders now gathered around the bottom of the ladder, pinging off the metal. Alfred stopped near the top, hanging on one-handed and leaning back over Arthur to shoot at them, emptying the rest of the machine gun's round into the crowd, dispersing them with a burst of blood and three more corpses.

"Move!" Arthur urged, shoving him.

"I'm going, I'm going!" Alfred grabbed hold of the edge of the roof and hauled himself up, tossing the empty machine gun across the tiles. Arthur clambered up after him, drawing his Browning.

"They're climbing up after us," he said, leaning over. He sounded irritated. "I'll sort them out-"

"Don't waste your bullets," Alfred interrupted, revving his chainsaw. He swung the blade downwards, sawing through the supports anchoring the ladder to the wall. He put his foot against it and shoved, sending it peeling away to the pavement below. A flurry of panicked shouts accompanied its descent, followed by a crash of metal on stone.

"Crude," Arthur said, "but effective." His eyes narrowed a little. "...You know, I have to say that you seem awfully well-versed for someone who proclaims to remember one Waning four years ago."

Alfred shrugged.

"I'm a natural, I guess." He gestured for Arthur to go ahead. "Shall we?"

"Hm." Arthur side-eyed him as he stepped past, his boots crackling on the old tiles. "I suppose we'd better get to the library, in any case."

"Sounds like a plan."

Alfred scampered after him as they made their way across the guttering, easily stepping between the close-knit roofs of the crooked old buildings. This part of town was still rather quiet, much of the madness concentrated at the source; as the night wore on it would spread, encroaching upon every corner of Sleepy Hollow, but for now they left it behind them, heading for the sanctuary of the library. The night was crisp and cold with a smell of old smoke - and he could see for miles above the mist. There was a nostalgia about it, something that brought a sense of delight welling up inside him.

"What are you grinning about?" Arthur asked coolly. "Don't tell me you're enjoying this."

"Of course I am!" Alfred beamed at him. "It's Halloween, it's a beautiful night - and I'm in perfect company."

OMFG, everybody in this fic is such an asshole. I don't know how it happened - it just kind of turned out this way. XD

Lukas is Norway and Emil is Iceland; not official names but ones that apparently Himaruya has suggested as possibilities.

Hopefully next Friday's updat will be back on track! Thank you for all your support!