Dro: It's the chapter you've all been waiting for! So read and review please!
Chapter Summary: Something rather miraculous happens to a certain someone. Then Ivan and Alfred and run into Matthew. Or do they?
Warnings: Violence, Language, Implied Past Sex
Disclaimer: A bit by obvious by chapter 48, but no, Dro doesn't own APH. Like I've said 47 other times so far.
Wake up.
He awoke, eyelashes fluttering over confused eyes. There was something covering his face, and reached up and pulled it down, revealing a plain high ceiling hanging over him. Where was this? Where was he? He couldn't find the answer to either question. He searched the room for answers. It was a mess. Broken furniture. Destroyed walls. Cracked windows. Had a bomb gone off? Where was he that a bomb would have gone off? He couldn't think of a place.
He sat up, stretching. He felt light and airy, like he had, at some point in the last few minutes, become intangible. It was a strange feeling. Had he taken some kind of medicine to make himself feel this way? He couldn't recall. In fact, he couldn't recall anything. That was certainly strange. Humming, he rose to his feet and swiveled around in a circle, surveying the room and peering out into the hallway through the large hole in the wall. He walked spritely up to it and stepped through, ignoring the open door next to it. The hallway was empty too.
This was a very empty place, he thought. Such a large place should have been livelier. Maybe he would go exploring to see if he could find party? A place as big as this was certain to have a party somewhere, right? He made to take a step forward, only to stop as he realized someone was behind him. He turned, smiling brightly as he realized it was someone he recognized.
"England! Hi! How are you?"
England was frowning, and he sighed deeply. "I figured this would happen. I'm sorry to ruin your peace, but I need you."
"Ve?" He cocked his head to the side. "What do you need me to do? I'm sure I can help with whatever it is!"
England smiled sadly. "Unfortunately, you are the only one who can at this point."
"So…what am I helping with again?"
England approached him slowly, and Feliciano's happiness seemed to shatter like a mirror meeting stone. Even before England touched him, an overwhelming sense of dread filled his veins, pumping from his heart to every extremity of his body. And then England's fingers brushed against his temple.
And it all came back.
The airships. The destruction. The death of Ludwig. Magic. Alfred. The final assault. Two Englands becoming one. Freeing Alfred. He'd freed Alfred…and then…and then what…?
"I…what happened to me?"
England frowned. England. Was it England? Feliciano's immediate response was "yes." The only thing that stood in front of him was the man he'd known before, the real England. The one who would never harm his friends and allies. But what was England doing here? England was supposed to fused with Britannia, so how could they be apart? Unless…where was he? Feliciano was obviously still on the airship, but…he was so confused. What had happened? Where was Alfred? Where was all the fighting?
England seemed to scrutinize his face, as if expecting him to have a sudden realization. After a few seconds, he shook his head. "Don't panic when I tell you this."
Feliciano immediately panicked internally. What was England going to tell him?
"You're dead."
Wait, what?
"…What do you mean I'm dead?" He couldn't be dead. He was standing right here, talking to England. An England that no longer existed. Oh Dio…Oh God, I… He remembered it faintly now, the world fading around him as Alfred screamed and cried and begged for him not to die. He put his hand over his mouth, trying to stop himself from sobbing, trying to stop his body from shaking uncontrollably.
"But it's alright. Because I'm bringing you back."
"You…you what?"
England took several steps toward the window, facing away from him. "I know you're confused, Feliciano. So just let me explain. Firstly, you are dead. Accept that. You died saving Alfred. However, thankfully for you, I can bring one person back to life. Just one. So I need to show you what I have to show you, and then I need to revive you, and you need to get to work."
"What work?" Feliciano's mouth felt dry, and he couldn't stop looking his body over, wondering if it was even a body at all or just some kind of projection of himself that his soul had.
"I have a way to defeat Britannia."
"How?" Feliciano's resolve rebounded full force. If England had a way to defeat Britannia, then Feliciano would use it, no matter the cost. No that he could really lose much more at this point. He was dead. Dead. Is this what happened when you died? You just walked around aimlessly in the place where you met your end?
England shook his head as if he knew what Feliciano was thinking. "This is not what truly happens in death. Not even I know that. This is a middle state—somewhere in between this world and the other—that I've pulled your soul into. It's a corruption of nature, and it's something that should never be done. But I had no choice. This was the only place I could talk to someone without Britannia knowing."
A sudden thought wormed its way into Feliciano's head. If England was here, then…what was he? "Um, so you…"
He shook his head again. "I'm not a ghost or a wandering soul. I'm just an echo. The real England is part of Grand Britannia, body and soul. I'm just a temporary manifestation of the actual England. He left me behind so I could lead you to the way he'd discovered to beat Britannia. I—he—had a feeling for a long time that by the end of this, he wouldn't be around anymore. And he was right, too. So he worked in secret to create a way to win against Britannia, and then he erased it from his own mind and left me—his echo—to instruct whoever it was that ended up here. He knew at least some of you would be coming here sooner or later, and he knew that some of you would die here, if not all of you."
Feliciano's respect for England rose to incomparable heights. Arthur had known the entire time that something terrible was going to happen to him, but he had still left them a way to win. Feliciano took a deep breath, only to realize it was pointless to breathe. He was dead. After a few more seconds of staring out the window, England—England's echo—started walking down the hallway. Feliciano followed him silently. He weaved in and out of the labyrinthine hallways until he came to a closed door. He went right through it. Feliciano paused and looked down, wondering how it was that he could stand on the floor and yet walk through doors. He decided that was something that probably best remained a mystery.
He stopped short of the door and closed his eyes. Then he propelled himself at the door. He went right through it and stumbled to a stop on the other side. It was a bedroom. England stood next to a nightstand, tapping on the wood with his finger. It made no sound. Feliciano stepped closer. England was staring thoughtfully out the window.
"It's in here. It's a letter that not even I know the full contents of. He wanted the person who died to be the only one who read it. It has a spell on it that will shield the information in it from Britannia's mental probing. Be careful who you share the information with, Feliciano. I would suggest you tell no one about unless you absolutely have to. I don't know what England came up with to defeat Britannia, but as far as I know, it's the only solution. Use the knowledge well."
Feliciano nodded slowly. So what now? He knew where to go to find England's letter, but… "So, are you bringing me back to life now?"
He frowned. "Just a few more minutes, if you please."
Feliciano was confused by his behavior until he came to a startling conclusion. To bring him back to life would take some kind of magic, some kind of energy. But where would an echo of England get it? The only option must have been…itself. The magic that had created the echo would bring him back to life…and the echo would cease to exist. And then he understood. This was the last shred of England that existed, the last hint of Arthur's true self. And it was about to disappear.
"I…"
He shook his head quickly. "Don't, Feliciano." He continued to stare out the window, his thoughtfulness now long-turned to longing. "Just win. Please win."
"I will." He replied. And he meant it. Whatever the cost, whatever the consequence, he would defeat Britannia. For England. For Alfred. For everyone.
"It's time. I can't stall anymore."
"If you don't want—"
"No. You have to live. I'm just an echo, not even the real thing. Don't worry about me. Just fight him and beat him. That's all I ask, and that's all I want." He turned to face Feliciano, his green eyes holding an unfathomable sadness within them. He reached out and touched Feliciano's shoulder, those sorrowful green eyes sliding closed. A bright light filled the room, and Feliciano clenched his eyes shut as it consumed him. He felt again, really felt. It was like a slingshot, and he was thrust backward until he slammed back-first into a solid wall.
Then he woke up.
Alfred and Ivan walked briskly down the hallway, searching for any sign of any one. The ship had been abnormally quiet for the last several minutes. They had heard sounds of fighting about ten minutes prior, but they had abruptly stopped, and both men felt the same terrible conclusion eating at the edge of their minds. Alfred had tried to assure himself that everyone was fine, that the fighting had stopped because their side had won, but he knew how unlikely that was. If Lucaster or Siphone had come up against anyone other than Romano, then whoever they had fought was probably…
Ivan stopped walking, and Alfred almost walked past him. He paused and looked up at the taller man, whose eyes were locked onto the adjoining hallway, wide and horrified. Alfred let his own eyes travel down the hall, where they landed on the form of Matthew, who stood directly in the middle, frowning at them.
"Matt…"
Alfred almost made a mad dash for him, but Ivan grabbed him and held him back. "Alfred, look carefully. Something is very wrong with him."
Alfred stopped short, taking a better look at his brother. In appearance, Matthew looked exactly the same. But his expression was all wrong. Even when Matt had been firmly under Britannia's influence, he had not ever looked like that. His face was contorted into a feral grin, his eyes narrowed viciously. It was almost like…like one of…
"Hello, Alfred. Hello, Ivan."
Like one of Britannia's expressions.
Alfred could feel it. He could feel it rolling off his brother. Britannia's magic. Oh God…Oh God, don't tell me that…It couldn't be what it looked like. It just couldn't. And yet, as Matthew started to walked slowly toward them with a nonchalant, yet oddly elegant gait, Alfred knew he was right.
"Oh, I see you've got me all figured out, Alfred. How about the big Russian there?"
Ivan was paled and shaking, and he glanced confusedly at Alfred, questioning him silently. Alfred swallowed nervously before turning his gaze back toward his brother. His "brother." Except it wasn't. It was brother's body alright. But Matt wasn't the one using it.
"He's possessed. Britannia's possessing him."
Matt laughed. No, Britannia laughed. It came out of Matt's throat like a warped banshee's shriek. Matt's voice was never supposed to make that sound. It sounded like poison to the ears, thick and high-pitched and disgusting. Alfred felt ill. He was sure he was going to throw up any second.
Ivan appeared to be stuck somewhere in between enraged and terrified. His body was shaking harder, and any hint of determination and courage had drained from his eyes, along with the blood from his face. He was deathly pale, paler than Alfred had ever seen the Russian before. Ivan looked like the walking dead, as if by that single revelation, his soul had been ripped from his body and all that was left was an empty husk.
"Matthew" kept shifting closer and closer, stopping only once a mere few feet separated them. He looked mischievously from Ivan to Alfred and back again. "So, you two want to play or what?"
Ivan's body shot sideways, slamming into a door so hard it broke off its hinges, and he landed roughly on the floor inside a dark room. He didn't get back up. Alfred barely had time to react. Britannia's magic hit him full force, and he went sailing through the air. He broke free from the hold at the last moment, but it was too late to stop himself from hitting the wall. It cracked under the force, and he collapsed, coughing violently. "Matthew" walked up and leaned down, grabbing his chin and pulling him into a sitting position, their faces inches apart. Alfred could almost see Britannia behind Matt's eyes.
A drop of blood landed on Alfred's cheek. He broke his gaze away from Matt's corrupted eyes. Matt's nose was bleeding. "What…what have you done…?"
"Matt" smiled. "Nothing yet. But possession is a bit rough on a body, Alfred. And of course, the more magic you use, the worse it hurts. Of course, I don't feel anything, but Matthew…"
"You fucker." He growled. "Let him go."
"I will. If you return to me."
"No fucking way." Alfred was readying his own magic for a counter-attack.
"Then I guess I'm staying in Matthew's body."
Alfred was ready to strike him, but then he realized he'd only be hurting Matt, and he stopped himself from attacking. He couldn't hurt Matt. Which is why Britannia did this.
Exactly. It was Britannia's voice this time, floating into his head.
You bastard. You fucking bastard.
He shrugged. Whatever gets you back on my side, Alfred. Granted, if you stay here long enough, you'll return to me anyway. But I'm getting the feeling I'll be needing to end this rather quickly, so I would like your assistance.
"I won't help you." It physically hurt him to say those words, and Britannia knew it.
"Matt" smile that distorted, sickening smile. "Then I guess you'll just have to watch little Mattie waste away, huh?"
"I can't do that…"
"Well, you have a choice, Alfred. You always have a choice. Help me, and get Matthew back. Or don't help me and watch him die."
"I…" What was he supposed to do? He could always lie to Britannia to get him to release Matt, but he knew Britannia wouldn't fall for that. He would just possess Matt again if Alfred tried to rebel. So he was stuck. He either betrayed his friends and…God, he couldn't kill them. But he couldn't kill Matt either. "I…"
"Matt" kissed him. He pushed Alfred against the wall and dominated his mouth. Alfred was so shocked he went limp, letting Britannia ravage him, using his brother's body. When "Matt" pulled away, his lips were swollen and red, his cheeks flushed. He leaned to the side and whispered into Alfred's ear. "Do you remember that night the three of us spent together? Do you remember what you said to me? To Matt? How you loved the both of us and would do anything for us? Were you lying, Alfred? Were you lying to Matt? Were you lying to your own little brother?"
He remembered perfectly.
"No. No, I wasn't."
Dro: Well, this chapter was just one big thrill ride, eh?
Next Chapter: Ivan wakes up and runs into a dead man. Francis wakes up to a nightmare.
