Dro: Last day before classes start, guys! Expect an erratic update schedule starting tomorrow. I'll still be writing the chapters in the same story order, but updates might (read: probably won't) be daily. At first, I might manage most days, but don't expect a lot of updates during exam times. Other than that, I should have most chapters out within two or three days max. It takes me about 2 hours to write and edit a chapter, so you shouldn't usually have to wait but a little while longer. We'll see how things work out, yeah?

Chapter Summary: America fights his way through the watchmen, only to be saved by a mysterious man in black. Meanwhile, the Italy brothers have a brutal, emotionally-charged sparring match that doesn't end well for one of them.

Warnings: Violence, Language

Disclaimer: Dro will never own APH.

One of them hurtled into a tree, his skull cracking open with a sickening crunch. He ducked as a bullet grazed his cheek. His leg shot out and kicked another in the chest. Ribs cracked. The man went down screaming. A bullet lodged itself in his arm, and he cried out but kept fighting. He held up his gun and fired, one bullet embedding itself in a forehead, the other in a chest. Both men were dead when they hit the ground. He tucked and rolled as a barrage of rifle fire ate away at the ground where he'd been standing.

Righting himself, Alfred ran for it. He'd broken the line of watchmen, giving himself an opening toward the border. Sharp pains ran up his arm, blood dripping from the wound and staining his sleeve. He needed to get the bullet out, but he didn't have time yet. They were pursuing at a rapid pace. Bullets splintered the wood of trunks left and right as he wove around them. He wasn't sure how far the border was from here, but he was determined to keep running until he these bastards were out of sight.

With the little light he had left, Alfred navigated his way through thick vines and brush. He leapt over a prickly bush, almost losing his footing, and kept running. The shouts of the watchmen were fading into the distance, and he felt a distinct sense of triumph. He'd made it past them with only a single, non-life-threatening wound! Ha! He strode over a small hill and kept a brisk pace, his eyes straining to see in the rising darkness. He turned his head and looked back to find that the watchmen had vanished. Yes, thank God!

He looked forward. And ran straight into the butt of a rifle. The force of the impact flipped him backward, causing him to land awkwardly on his injured arm. A scream of both pain and surprise escaped from his throat. He rolled over and opened his eyes, his face meeting a rifle aimed right at his head. The watchmen it belonged to glared down at him, a warning in his eyes. It read "Move, and I'll kill you."

Alfred panicked. Shit! What do I do? He could hear the other watchmen approaching again. Flashlights lit up the area as five of them approached. I'm so dead. They aimed at him.

"Hands up." One of them barked.

Alfred hesitantly raised his hands, wincing as another wave of pain ran through his arm. Two pairs of hands roughly grabbed him and pulled his arms back, and he bit back a yelp. A pair of handcuffs (that Alfred could easily break) snapped around his wrists. They don't realize my strength yet. I still have the element of surprise.

"Disable him."

Wait, what?

A hand pushed him to the ground, and he turned his head to watch in horror as two of the men aimed rifles at the back of his knees. Oh, shit no! He glanced around frantically, trying to find an escape route, but there wasn't one in sight. Shit! Shit! Shit! One of them moved to pull the trigger, and Alfred closed his eyes.

Shots fired.

None hit him.

He wrenches his eyelids open to see watchmen falling left and right. A figure dressed in black appeared out of nowhere and punched one of them, his limp body flinging into a nearby tree. Swift and deadly, the man broke the necks of two others before they could even get a shot out. Alfred found himself tugged off the ground with a gun pressed to his head. The only remaining watchmen was using him as a captive. The man in black faltered for a brief moment. Alfred wanted to see the man's face, but it was obscured with a black helmet.

The watchmen and the man were at a stalemate. If the watchmen shot Alfred, the man would kill him, but if the man tried to save Alfred, the watchmen would kill him. It was a lose-lose situation. Alfred realized the watchmen was just using him a diversion to gain time. If the entire border was patrolled by watchmen, then that meant others could be arriving at any moment.

Alfred also realized that the mysterious man knew this. His eyes drifted down to the man's hand, where a symbol Alfred completely recognized had been formed. He had no idea who this guy was, but he liked his style. In the span of a second, Alfred broke the handcuffs, broke from the watchmen's grasp, and ducked, the mysterious man immediately firing off a round into the watchmen's head. The guard went down without another sound. Alfred hopped up just as the man reached him and grabbed him by his good arm, tugging him along at a rapid pace.

The man paused briefly when he realized that Alfred was bleeding. He grabbed Alfred's injured arm, causing him to yelp. Without a sound, the man reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a knife.

"Uh, what are you planning to do with that?"

The man didn't answer. Before Alfred could react, the man tore his sleeve open and plunged the knife into the bullet wound, popping the small piece of metal right out and onto the ground. Alfred bit back a scream, a high-pitched whine breaking through his lips. The man then pulled out some gauze and tape, constructing a makeshift bandage that he stuck to Alfred's arm. In disbelief, Alfred just stared at the man, who shrugged and grabbed his uninjured arm again.

Wordlessly, the man dragged him through the dense woods, Alfred spotting a clearing through the forest. When they reached it, Alfred saw the man had stashed a motorcycle (not unlike the one Alfred had driven earlier) under a pile of leaves. The man heaved the bike up and signaled for Alfred to hop on. The bike roared to life as Alfred situated himself on the back. The man took off, Alfred clinging lightly to the man's coat. He took note of the man's uniform. It reminded him of a SWAT team uniform. Only more stylish, he mused.

For nearly half an hour (Alfred had long lost track of time in the darkness), they drove silently, leaving the woods behind for a what appeared to be a back road. Alfred wondered who the man could possibly be and why he'd chosen to risk his life like that. How had he even known Alfred was in trouble? Or maybe he was on another mission of some kind, and he'd stumbled across Alfred by accident? Alfred shook his head. There were a hundred possibilities. Hopeful that the man wound eventually talk to him, Alfred kept his mouth shut.

Eventually, he spotted a town in the distance. It grew in size as they approached. The bike threw up dust as they left the road they'd been on, tires hitting dirt. The man pulled the bike to a stop, and Alfred hopped off. He watched as the man opened up a small shed and rolled the motorcycle in, closing and locking it behind him. The man held up two fingers and beckoned for Alfred to follow him inside the quaint home across the yard. Wary, Alfred followed him with tense steps, ready to run at a moment's notice.

The man opened the door of the house without knocking. Alfred blinked as light flooded his vision, and he stepped into the warmth of a well-lit home. The man closed the door behind him and walked off to the right, taking a sharp turn into a different room without another word.

"Uh…hey, wait a second…"

"Did you find him, dear?" An older woman, plump and cheery, came around another corner, drying her hands on a dish rag. She stopped as she spotted him, her eyes widening in bewilderment. She shook it off. "Ah, where is that boy now? I apologize for his rudeness, dear." She addressed Alfred. "Are you hungry?" Her thick German accent paired with her cheeriness made her seem like the perfect, stereotypical image of an older mother.

"Um, actually…" His stomach growled loudly. "Yes, I am."

"Well, come on then! I have dinner ready."

Alfred followed her into a small, cozy kitchen. Loads of piping hot food were lined up on the table, some of it still steaming. Alfred felt his mouth water. I'm not dreaming, right? The woman ushered him into a chair and told him to eat whatever he wanted. She trudged out of the room. He sat there, completely lost, for several minutes. Then he shrugged and started eating. He had no idea what most of these foods were, and he really didn't care. It was all delicious, and he was really hungry.

After about ten minutes of eating alone, he heard the woman whispering as she approached the kitchen again. Alfred glanced at a mirror hanging on the wall, spotting the woman and the mysterious man speaking. The man still had his helmet on. He couldn't help but be a little irritated. This guy had saved his life. There was no reason to be so secretive. The woman reentered the kitchen.

"How's the food, dear?"

"It's delicious, ma'am. Thank so much!" He took a gulp of tea.

"Not a problem, dear! I love having guests for dinner. And I love it when they're nice and polite. Unlike a certain someone I know." She flicked her eyes behind him, where Alfred knew the mysterious man was standing.

"Are you calling me rude? I'm offended!" A far too familiar voice said behind him. Alfred whipped around, his fork clattering to the floor. The man had removed his helmet, revealing his face in full. Alfred could only stare. A gurgling noise broke free from his throat, a shaky finger raising and pointing.

"Y…y...y…"

The man chuckled. "Surprised?"

Alfred gaped, his vocal chords failing him for several seconds. When they finally started working again, the only coherent thing that his brain could muster was:

"Holy shit!"

Metal slid against metal, sharp clanks ringing throughout the room. Feliciano dodged gracefully, the deadly dance he'd played with his fratello countless times in the past back in session again. Lovino tossed another knife at full speed, and Feliciano caught it, throwing it back at the same speed. His other half dodged, the blade whizzing past his face and burying itself in the wall. In the time it took his fratello to move to the right, Feliciano caught up to him, throwing a punch. Lovino barely dodged it, the fist catching several hairs. Lovino responded with a well aimed kick, but Feliciano spun out of its way and countered with his own.

His boot grazed his fratello's cheek, but Lovino didn't falter. Instead, he spun on his heels and used the momentum to throw another powerful kick toward his younger sibling. Feliciano ducked, his hand shooting out grabbing his Lovino's ankle as it zipped past. Lovino gasped at his fratello pulled him forward, costing him his balance. He felt to the ground, his back slamming into the practice mat. Just as he caught his breath, Feliciano came at him with another knife. Lovino rolled out of the way, the knife ripping into the mat where his face had been moments before.

Feliciano was not usually this serious. Lovino knew his fratello's emotions were running wild, and he felt a pang of guilt. This was his fault after all. He knew Ivan suspected the truth, which was exactly why Feliciano had been given the mission to assassinate the other Germany. Ivan had given him a list of missions to complete while Feliciano had only the one. Ivan wanted to make sure there was no interference. He wanted to see whether Feliciano could do it or not. Truthfully, Lovino was not sure either way.

His fratello had changed over the past few months. Lovino dodged an elbow. Feliciano's carefree attitude had been dropped in favor of something a bit more sinister and serious. Lovino knew that was partially his fault, and he felt the guilt from it every single day. A knee slid past his abdomen, the force of it skewing his shirt to the side. It was the guilt he felt when he watched his brother kill another without a hint of emotion in his eyes. It was the guilt he felt when he saw his brother break down time and time again. It was the guilt he felt when he caught sight of the lifeless eyes his brother had whenever they slept with Ivan. To anyone else, Feliciano probably seemed unchanged. But Lovino knew better. And so did Ivan. And that was the problem.

Feliciano's foot slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He flew backward and hit the mat, rolling over a few times before stopping. He'd let his thoughts distract him. He pushed himself off the ground as the knife came down, his brother stabbing the mat again. Lovino took another stance, his abdomen on fire. Feliciano rose, a hint of unbridled rage flittering around in his eyes. He took off, Lovino barely having enough time to dodge the knife. His fratello would not stop until one of them was either completely pinned and unable to move or unconscious. Whichever happened first and more often the latter, as Lovino knew well. The kick had seriously injured him, and he felt faint.

Feliciano whirled around and came at him again, the rage boiling over now. Lovino dodged again, whipping a leg around to take his brother out by the back of the knees. He made contact with one of them, sending Feliciano sprawling. His fratello rolled onto the mat and pushed himself back up gracefully, never missing a beat. Lovino envied Feliciano for that. His movements had always seemed jerky and imperfect compared to his younger sibling's. Feliciano's eyes now burned with fury, and Lovino knew if they continued, it wasn't going to end well for either of them. They should not have been sparring with Feliciano in this emotional state to being with.

He held up his hand. "Let's stop for today."

Feliciano paused, stopping himself from another charge. "What?"

"I think you've had enough. You're out for revenge today. That is not a proper sparring match."

Feliciano narrowed his brown eyes. "That is not how we play this game, fratello."

"Let it be for today."

"No." Feliciano charged like a bull, lightning fast, and Lovino barely missed taking the full brunt of the knife. The blade skimmed across his shoulder, slicing open his first few layers of skin.

"Fratello!" He grabbed Feliciano's arm and swung his brother around, nearly sending the boy flat onto his face. Feliciano recovered and pulled himself free of Lovino's grasp, swinging the knife around for another go. Irritated, Lovino struck out with his arm, grabbing Feliciano's wrist and twisting it to the side roughly. Feliciano gasped, the knife slipping from his fingers. Lovino pulled his fratello down, kicking the boy's legs out from under him. They both dropped, Lovino landing on top and pinning Feliciano in place.

Feliciano struggled wildly, buy Lovino held him tight. His fratello groaned in rage, nearly screaming.

"There. It's over. I win this time."

Feliciano finally stilled, craning his neck to glare angrily at Lovino. "Fine." He said venomously. "Have it your way."

Lovino rolled off his brother and stood, holding out a hand to help his fratello up. Feliciano didn't spare it a second glance. Instead, he picked up the knife from the floor, walked slowly over to the wall and plucked the other one out, and left without another word. Lovino stumbled backward and hit the wall, sliding down it. He found it hard to breathe, his stomach aching. What did he break this time? Last time his fratello had kicked him so hard he almost ruptured his stomach.

Lovino found his vision fading. Uh oh. His cell phone sat against the opposite wall, taunting him. Damn it. He needed a trip to the infirmary. Right now. His sight clouded over, his body sagging and falling sideways until he hit the ground. Fratllo, I'm so sorry. Please for forgive me.

Those were the words he'd never dared to say out loud.

His consciousness waned just as the practice room door slid open, followed quickly by a gasp and a rapid succession of footsteps. Lovino felt someone shaking him, but he was too tired to open his eyes. Too tired to stay awake. His mind left the world behind.

Dro: Ah, a nice, full chapter. That's what I like to see. So, I'm guessing about half of you will guess who the mysterious man really is. This is going to be fun to watch.

Next Chapter: The mysterious man reveals his true identity and asks America for his help. Meanwhile, we rejoin England and Germany, who are now hiding in the outskirts of Moscow and preparing for their showdown with Russia.