Dro: I apologize for the two day absence. I needed a little break. I've been at my computer so much, it was starting to strain my already poor excuses for eyes. I had the worst headache the other way. I'm thinking I might need to take weekends off every now and then. (This is starting to sound like a job, isn't it?) Oh, and I also apologize for the story alert problems for In the Shadow of Wonderland. Did everyone get the alert? I had to add the chapter twice to get it to send one alert, then it sent out the original alert today. Ah, FF, you never cease to amaze me. And not in a good way.

Anyway, have at it!

Chapter Summary: One Alfred. One Ivan. One Arthur. One Ludwig. And twenty-seven SS officers.

Warnings: Violence; Language

Disclaimer: Since I did not win the lottery this week, you can pretty much bet this hasn't changed since last disclaimer.

They ran. Over hills. Through thick woods. They trampled over fragile field grasses and jumped streams. They ran until their lungs were burning for air, until their breathing was so loud and strained that it blocked all other sound around them. They ran for their lives, and it still wasn't enough. It seemed no matter which direction they ran, there were always more SS officers waiting for them. Shots came from everywhere, and they were constantly changing course, trying their best to lose their pursuers. But nothing was working. It became more and more obvious by the second that they were surrounded all on sides.

And Ludwig had no idea what to do about it.

Alfred decorated the Russian's back, his arms clinging tightly to the man. The Briton, though weary and injured, continued to run alongside him, never showing any sign of backing down. Ludwig flanked them, a gun he'd been so graciously given by the spy already running low on bullets. Any possibility he had of claiming he was still working for the SS was long gone. He'd shot at many of them in plain sight already. And oddly, he didn't feel the slightest bit of remorse about that. They were coming to another clearing, and Ludwig could already tell a line of officers was waiting for them. They weren't going to escape this. There were too many. Even with the Russian's brute strength, there was no way they could survive such an onslaught.

It was either surrender or die.

Ludwig was honestly leaning toward death.

Living would only prolong their suffering. They could be gunned down and die quickly, or they could be carted off to the camps, tortured slowly to death…there were a million heinous things that could happen to them if they allowed themselves to be captured. So what did it matter if they made this a suicide run? They would die either way, and dying now was a much better prospect.

The others seemed to agree. The Briton's face was hard-lined and determined, grim acceptance in his eyes. The Russian glanced back at him briefly, seeming to silently commend him on his decision to betray the corrupt Nazi regime. If he hadn't been breathing so hard, he probably would have laughed. Just months ago, he never would have done something like this. Despite never being content, he'd been consistently complacent. Now, he wanted change. He wanted everything to change. He wanted this war to end. He wanted Alfred to return home safely. He wanted the world to wipe this stain of corrupted government off the map and never allow it to return again.

But most of all, he wanted peace.

Peace was something he had not truly felt since the day he had betrayed Roderich. His heart and mind had been struck with constant doubt and torment. He had tortured himself into inaction and confusion. He'd let himself become lost, and at the time, he hadn't thought he deserved a clear path. He'd become convinced he deserved the pain he felt, the turmoil. But now all that had changed. He had changed. And he was ready for more.

And if this was his final act of repentance for the sins he'd committed, then he would accept his death with the very peace he sought. And he would let his life slip away to wherever souls were spirited to. With no regret. His brother was waiting for him. Roderich and Elizaveta were waiting for him.

And Alfred…

Alfred deserved life.

And that would be his only regret. His inability to allow Alfred to live the life he deserved. Alfred deserved to be waited on by fifty servants, to live like a king, to be treated like a savior. Because to Ludwig, he was. Alfred had changed him in ways he'd never imagined, and now he was going to fail to repay that debt. But if that was the way things had to be, then Ludwig would throw himself in the way of every bullet aimed at Alfred until his body could no longer move. And if Alfred did indeed follow him into death, then he vowed he would protect his soul for all of eternity.

They hit the clearing.

Arthur clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. But that ache was nothing compared to the pain in his shoulder. Ludwig had quickly dug the bullet out and patched him up with a makeshift bandage and sling before the officers had converged on them. But it hadn't been enough. He was still losing blood, though he was sure no one else had noticed it. It was getting dark, and blood was very close to invisible on dark clothing with this lack of light. He laughed bitterly to himself. Everyone was about to be shot to death, and here he was ahead of the pack.

He was beginning to feel lightheaded, but he forced himself to push onward. He had lost Alfred once, and he would not lose him again. He had already lost Matthew once more, and the way things were looking, it would be the final time as well. But he refused to just resign himself to a quick and painless death while Alfred was still here. He knew the poor boy felt helpless, and he knew it was driving him crazy. Because Alfred could not really fight in the condition he was in, and Arthur knew that if he was in the same situation, he would feel frustrated beyond all reason. He would feel like a useless waste of space, sitting by while his friends and loved ones were massacred. That was something that would tear him apart, and he hated to imagine such a thing. Yet that had to be exactly how Alfred was feeling at this moment.

So he kept going, for Alfred's sake. Because Alfred deserved to go on, deserved to realize that he wasn't useless. He had more of an effect on people than he could possibly imagine. He had the ability to transform people without even touching them. Just being near him, just listening to him talk, just seeing the actions he made, the choices. Just those small things were enough to give another a complete metamorphosis. And it was something that only Alfred and Matthew could do. He had already forfeited Matthew, and he would be damned if he lost them both.

His grip on the gun tightened as they neared the clearing. He could barely see straight, but he would shoot every bullet he had at those bastards. He would shoot until he legs gave out on him. He would shoot until his fingers could no longer pull the trigger. He would shoot until his eyes could no longer see. He would shoot until the moment his heart stopped beating. And if he was still standing after he ran out of ammunition, then he would run full speed and tackle them to the ground. Because he would not stop until he was no more. For Alfred. For Ludwig even. Perhaps even for the Russian who had just lost an irreplaceable friend.

They were in this situation together, and it was likely they would all die. But he would not let that stop him from defending these people. Especially not these people. Just like his aversion to war had not stopped him trying his hardest to win it. Just like his aversion to close relationships had not stopped from forming unbreakable bonds with the brothers.

The only thing that would stop him now was death.

They entered the clearing, a line of ten officers waiting for them, guns raised.

Ivan forced his fatigued to body to keep moving, to keep supporting Alfred. This was inescapable situation, he knew, but that would not stop him from trying his best to protect the American boy. He had lost enough today. He had lost someone whose death would leave a hole in his heart. Toris' death would haunt him forever. He had used and abused the young man so much. He had taken Toris' constant presence for granted. And he had never truly appreciated the acts of kindness the Lithuanian had shown him.

Now Toris was gone.

And the only thing left of him was the example he had set. Selflessness. Toris had always done his best to protect everyone, even enemies at some point. He sought to save anyone in which he saw even the remotest possibility of reform. He worked his hardest to encourage peace and nonviolence. At times it had worked. At times it had failed. But no matter how many hits Toris' philosophy of life had taken, he had always stood back up on his own two feet and continued walking.

Ivan had always been greedy. He wanted what he wanted when he wanted it, and he was perfectly willing to make sure he got whatever it was. He had committed countless atrocities in front of Toris, and the man had always been patient with him. And it wasn't that Ivan had not seen the error in his ways. He knew every breath he took was practically a sin. It had been that way for a long, long time. He had long lost any sense of morality or truth. He quite honestly just lost the ability to care.

Toris had been that one beacon that had prevented him from falling completely over the edge. And now that Toris was gone, what was he to do? What could he possibly do? There was a line of SS officers waiting just ahead of them. If he surrendered, he would be interrogated until he either divulged his secrets or died. If he surrendered, then God only knew what would become of Alfred. But if he refused to do so, then they would all die anyway.

What would Toris do here? He asked himself that question over and over. And there was only one thing he could come up with.

Toris would fight to protect his allies until the very end.

And so that was what Ivan would do.

For you, Toris. We will meet again soon, my friend.

They rushed into the clearing, a firing squad giving them only a brief second to surrender.

They did not.

And then, a miracle.

The ground beneath the officers exploded violently, sending many of them into air with lethal force. Ludwig watched, frozen, his gun still futilely raised for what was supposed to have been a very short fight. Most of them landed already dead. They stood there in shock, unsure of what had just happened or why.

"Hey, uh, what just…?" Alfred murmured.

"It almost looks like…mines?" Arthur attempted to answer. "Grenades? I…I have no idea."

The Russian tried to shake it off. "It does not matter. Many more are still pursuing us. We must—"

A grenade sailed out of the trees and landed a few feet away from them. Ludwig shouted for them to move, but it was too late. It blew up a mere second later, sending them all reeling from the shockwave. Ludwig felt shrapnel bite into his abdomen, and then he landed. Hard. He cried out at his armed cracked loudly, and he rolled several times before coming to a complete stop. His hearing and vision were warped for several seconds, and by the time he was able to stand again—still unbalanced—it was too late. An officer dashed out of the woods, gun waving around at the three of them.

The three of them.

Arthur, who was groaning in agony, the wound on his shoulder bleeding profusely, his face bloody from several deep lacerations.

Ivan, who was on his back, blood leaking from a nasty wound on his thigh were he'd landed on a sharp tree branch.

And himself, who could barely stand without tumbling over.

But…but where was…?

And then he saw him.

The officer seemed to have completely missed Alfred's presence, and Ludwig didn't dare to do anything to alert him to it. Not until Alfred did so himself.

The bandages over Alfred's eyes, now streaked with dirt and blood, hung loosely around his neck. Behind him, the sun had begun to sink into the horizon, illuminating Alfred's figure with an eerie orange glow. Ludwig felt like he was standing in the presence of the archangel Michael, his sword drawn and ready to slay Satan. Because Alfred had picked up a gun that someone had dropped. Despite the fact that he was blind. He had picked up a gun and walked up to the officer. Despite the fact that he was blind.

And when that officer realized someone was behind him, he slowly turned around.

And with no hesitation whatsoever, Alfred shot him in the head.

Despite the fact he was blind.

"Alfred…" He whispered.

Alfred swallowed. "I wasn't sure at first. I thought I was imagining things."

"…Alfred?"

"But then I realized…" Alfred looked at him.

Alfred looked at him.

"I can see."

Dro: Ha! Who saw that coming? Anyone?

Next Chapter: The group continues their escape attempt but continues to run into more trouble. Until someone shows up to save them. (Guess who?)