Dro: You guys better love me forever for this. This damned chapter is 4,300 words. I should've split in half too, but no! I wanted to give you the entire thing. So enjoy it! Because I spent all morning and afternoon writing it.
Chapter Summary: Alfred heads to Moscow with his alter self and Matt, intent on secretly helping Arthur. However, his double leads them on a slight detour to a familiar abandoned hotel. Meanwhile, Arthur reels over Poland's revelations, France get cockblocked by the (not) dead Alfred, and you get a hefty dose of a flashback (read: a flashback within a flashback) before the exciting moment everyone has been waiting for finally happens!
Warnings: Language, Mentions of violence, Confusing flashback within a flashback scene
Alfred watched the sun rise. He should've been sleeping still, but something had kept him up all night. He wasn't sure what had made him so restless, but it was too late to remedy that now. His double's secret force was moving out today, intending on covertly aiding Arthur in his quest to assassinate Russia. He peered back into the tent. Matthew was on his side, dozing comfortably. Alfred smiled. It had been nice seeing Matt even if it wasn't his true brother. He longed to return home more than anything. He missed Arthur. He missed his country. He missed everything.
He laughed at the irony. Everything had started to seem so mundane to him in everyday life recently. He'd been bored and had grown lazy. He'd kept wishing something exciting would happen. And now it had. And he was miserable. He shook his head. Be careful what you wish for, Alfred. You might get sent to a parallel universe.
"Mm, Al?" Matt rolled over sleepily, blinking at Alfred.
"Other Al, Matt."
"Hm?" He sat up. "Oh. Right. Sorry." He rubbed his visible eye. The doctor had come by yesterday and said the bandage could come off sometime today. Which apparently worked out for everyone because Matthew couldn't wear the helmet with it on. Alfred had scoffed upon learning that everyone was supposed to dress up in the same uniform, but he'd realized later that absolute anonymity was probably a good idea in a world where Russia had spies around every corner.
Hence why Alfred was all geared up. His helmet sat on the table, remnants of a light breakfast of toast next to it. He glanced at Matt. "You want breakfast? I can fix you something."
"No, I'm good. I'll eat after I get dressed." He yawned. "Where's my Al?"
"Scouting."
"Who's with him?"
Alfred shrugged. "No idea. He just told me to stay here and watch you."
Matthew scoffed. "Yeah. He's been under the impression I need a 24-hour nurse since I got here."
"Well, you were hurt pretty bad." Aflred eyed the bandage closely. His sense of morbid curiosity made him want to see exactly how bad Matt's injury was.
"I was only in danger for a couple of days. I've been in the clear for a while now."
"Well, if my Matt was almost mortally wounded in the head, I'd be pretty shaken up too. I know it would make me more protective of him." He already felt more protective of Matt, parallel brother or not.
"Ah." He nodded. "I suppose I'd feel the same way if Al…" He trailed off. Alfred knew, of course, where this was going. Matt had thought his brother was dead for several months. It was a wonder he wasn't clinging to the other Alfred for dear life.
A loud shout outside interrupted them. Alfred peeked out to see the scout jeep returning. Which meant they'd be leaving soon. "Al back?" Matt asked. Alfred nodded.
A hour later they were on the road, the landscape zooming past them. It would be an hour's ride to the outskirts of Moscow. Some team members would hang back with the vehicles, guarding their speedy escape route in case something went wrong. The main team would consist of five men Alfred didn't know, himself, his alter self, and Matt. He glanced sideways. Matt's face looked slightly paler where his bandage had been, but Alfred was happy to see the injury wasn't nearly as bad as he'd imagined. There was a rounded red scar above the edge of Matt's right eyebrow. It still looked irritated, but it was obviously healing well.
Alfred couldn't help but wonder how Matt had managed to survive a shot like that. It had obviously hit his brain. He wondered if Matt had had any adverse side effects from the tissue damage. He hadn't seen any paralysis or motor problems or anything, but it was always possible that Matt could have some kind of permanent brain damage. He shook the thoughts away. Matt looked fine. He acted fine. He was fine. Stop worrying yourself.
"How close are we?" Matt asked, looking at Alfred's alter self in the front seat.
"About ten minutes. Gear up." His doubled grabbed his helmet and slipped it over his head with one hand. "We're getting close to the hornet's nest now."
Alfred and Matthew followed suit. It was odd seeing the world from behind a tinted helmet. Alfred gripped one of his guns. He had several strapped to his body in odd positions now. These people weren't playing games. Alfred had gotten a good overview of the team earlier. Highly skilled martial artists. Former navy seals. Weapons experts. His double had spent his time "dead" creating a crack team like no other. This was his alter self's endgame.
Moscow appeared in the distance, and Alfred shifted uncomfortably. He'd been in this city in his own world just a few months ago at a peace conference. Now he was going in to help assassinate Russia. He weighed the idea of telling this entire story to everyone when he got back. On one hand, they'd be begging to know what happened. On the other, it might not be a good idea to tell Russia he'd helped snuff his alter self out.
The jeeps pulled to a stop, and everyone filed out. He stood up front with Matt and his alter self, noting that the rest of the team seemed slightly confused. He glanced from side to side and almost burst out laughing. All three of them had the exact same height and build. With their helmets on, they looked like triplets. His other self finally realized and removed his helmet.
"Now, you all now what to do. You three," he pointed to the team staying behind, "keep a lookout for the signals. If anything goes wrong, we'll be back here as fast as possible. You guys," he shifted his hand toward the five coming with them, "follow my lead and my orders. If I tell you to abort the mission, do it without question. I don't plan on losing anyone today. Or tomorrow. Or the next day."
Right. Three days was the maximum amount of time his double had been willing to give this mission. If they couldn't manage to team up with Arthur and take Russia in three days time, then they probably wouldn't be able to do it at all. Three days would be more than enough time to assault Russia's home and attack him head on. Alfred shivered at the thought that he'd be sneaking into Russia's mansion any day now. He'd always hated that place. In his world, it was eerily empty now that the Soviet Union had fallen. Alfred wasn't sure what was scarier: an empty house of the USSR filled with bloody memories or a full one filled with current nightmares.
Alfred adjusted his weaponry. Matt held their disassembled rifles in his pack, ready to be put together at a moment's notice. His double saluted to his team, who returned the motion. Then they were off. Marching through the Russian wilderness wasn't Alfred's idea of fun, but at least it would only be a few miles. Or so his double had said. When the man had gotten back from the informant's call, he'd seemed highly disturbed and had immediately changed a few plans. Instead of squatting in their original location—a rundown factory—they were apparently going to an abandoned hotel. Alfred still hadn't figured out why, and alter Alfred would not tell him. "You'll find out when we get there. I'm not sure of this information myself yet."
Annoyed, Alfred followed Matt and his double into Moscow, leaving members back at a strategic locations until it was just the three of them. The slipped through dark alleyways, taking a winding and twisted path through several abandoned areas. Moscow was eerily silent for this time of day, and Alfred wondered just what had happened to the city in this world. It was nothing like in his own world. His double held out his hand, signaling for them to pause. He motioned toward a building across a parking lot. Alfred assumed it was the mysterious "abandoned hotel" they were looking for.
They hid in the shadows as a few cars passed by, then they sprinted across the road and parking lot and slipped into the building, hopefully unnoticed. The bottom floor was deathly silent, and it gave Alfred chills. His other self beckoned them forward, turning a corner and stopping in front of a service elevator.
"Are we going up?" Matt asked.
"Indeed we are."
Arthur stared solemnly out the window. His eyes were ringed in dark bags. He hadn't gotten any sleep the night before. How could he? After seeing Poland like that. After seeing…After hearing what Poland had had to say to them…God, this situation had turned critical. Fast. If that wasn't enough, they'd received a frantic message from Vash, telling him that the Red army was moving in odd formations. Like they were expecting a massive attack any day now. There was no denying what that meant. Russia knew they were on the move. Which meant he could very well know that Arthur was sitting here in an abandoned hotel in Moscow preparing to attack his house.
How had this spiraled downward so quickly? Just yesterday, everything had been going according to plan. They were on their way to victory, damn it! Why couldn't he just get a break for once? He dropped his face into his hands, letting out a shaky sigh. His world had been turned upside by Poland's revelation. He wanted to believe what Feliks had said so desperately, but he was so afraid to get his hopes up. So afraid.
"Angleterre."
He didn't bother to acknowledge Francis' presence. The man walked up behind him and started to massage his shoulders. "Do not do this to yourself, Arthur."
"I'm so frustrated." His voice cracked. He was really starting to lose it, wasn't he?
"We all are. There is nothing you can do about what has happened. All we can do now is try our hardest to win." Francis rested his head on Arthur's shoulder. "You must keep yourself together. I fear for you."
"I fear for everyone. We could all die right now, Francis. Russia could just bomb us right into oblivion."
"But he has not yet, and we are still here and able to fight." He gently grasped Arthur's arms, drawing circles with his thumbs. Arthur finally turned his way, green eyes bloodshot and exhausted.
"What do I do, Francis? What can I do?"
"You are doing all that you can. And no one expects any more of you. Calm yourself, now. I came here to get you for lunch."
"Not hungry."
"You need to eat, Arthur."
He sighed. "I know." He rose, shirking off Francis' hands. "Let's go then." Truthfully, it wasn't the food he was worried about. He didn't want anyone to see him in this state. He looked a mess. Just as he reached the door, straightening his collar, hand pulled him back. He glanced up at Francis.
"What?"
Silently, Francis cupped his cheeks. Arthur met eyes engulfed in a feeling he had not seen in many months, and his stomach twisted into a knot. He moved to get Francis' hands off his face, intending to tell him this wasn't the time or the place for something like this.
"Fr—"
Francis pulled him into a searing kiss. Arthur's mind went blank. It had been so long…so long since he'd been kissed like this. He melted into it, letting Francis reel him in closer. Francis' lips moved against his own, hot and passionate. Arthur's eyes drooped low, finally closing as he gave himself to the kiss.
Beneath his eyelids, he saw only one thing.
Alfred.
He gasped, pushing Francis away from him with all his strength. Francis stumbled backward, shocked. "Arthur?"
"I…I'm sorry…I can't…I can't do this…Not now." He turned and darted out of the room, face burning.
Francis lingered behind, anger running through his tight jaw and clenched firsts. Feliks had given them all false hopes, and now he was losing Arthur. Again! "Tell me something, Amerique." He whispered to the empty room. "Are you truly intent on haunting him until he meets you in the grave?"
Arthur, pulling open the door to the stairway, felt a shiver go down his spine. Please just let today be better than yesterday. Please. Just this once.
"P—Poland!" He exclaimed. "Oh my God, Feliks! You're…you're alive!" Arthur and the others filed out of the elevator in pure disbelief. They had all long considered Poland dead. He'd been captured near the beginning, and they'd never heard from him again. Poland itself was nothing but a Soviet shadow of the former country, war torn, poverty stricken, hopeless. Then again, perhaps "alive" wasn't really the term to use for Feliks. He certainly didn't look it.
His face was gaunt with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. His clothes hung off of him like he was nothing but skin and bones. He appeared to have been severely starved, and now he looked weak and emaciated. There were bruises dotting his face and neck, trailing underneath his collar. And when he walked toward them, he hobbled with a limp, his right leg obviously not keeping up with its mirror.
But even in such a condition, Felik's eyes were bright and hopeful, and a smile was plastered on his pale face. "It's been, like, way too long, you guys!"
Arthur couldn't stop himself from walking forward and hugging the man tight. Feliks desperately embraced him back. "It's so good to see you."
"You too, my friend. We totally need to catch up!"
"But, Feliks," Antonio started, "where've you been all this time?"
Arthur and Feliks parted, and Feliks smiled sadly at Antonio. "Where do you think?"
"Russia kept you prisoner?" Gilbert asked. It was rare for Russia to keep an enemy nation alive for very long.
But Feliks nodded. "He was…" his voice caught as a wave sadness washed through his face. "He was using me to keep Toris in line."
Arthur's mouth hung open. He knew, of course, that the Baltics were never fond of Russia, but they had been working with him diligently this entire time. "So, Toris...did he help you escape then?"
Feliks bit his lip, and Arthur saw the tears in his eyes. "I can't…Just…Just let me show you." He turned and started limping away.
Arthur and the others followed along, each sending worried glances to their neighbor. Arthur wondered what exactly was going on, and when he followed Feliks into a room on the left, he was left with even more questions. And more pain. So much more.
Lithuania laid deathly silent and pale on the bed, his head bandaged in stark white that almost matched the pallor of his skin. His chest rose and fell mechanically, powered by a ventilator. Arthur swallowed thickly. He heard Antonio's heavy breathing on one side of him and Gilbert's soft growl of anger on the other.
"What…" Arthur paused. "What happened to him?"
Feliks dropped down into the chair next to the bed, his body immediately relaxing as if the mere effort of standing had winded him. He leaned forward and grasped Toris' hand, wetting his lips with his tongue.
"Russia shot him in the head."
No one spoke. No one moved. The gravity of such a proclamation sank into them for several minutes. Russia had shot one of his own Soviet nations. One of the few that had always obeyed him—willingly or not. One of the few who had never dared to stand up against him.
"Why?" Arthur cried out.
Feliks eyed them and responded. "Because he lied."
"About what?"
Feliks shook his head. "I'm not sure how to tell you this. I don't even know if it's true, but…let me just retell what happened. You can draw your own conclusions."
Arthur nodded.
"You guys should probably sit down." Feliks added.
Numbly, Arthur pulled up a chair from the corner, and they all shifted uncomfortably as they waited for Feliks to begin.
"I suppose I should start from the beginning…"
Feliks had lost track of how long he'd been confined to this solitary dungeon. He hadn't seen sunlight in months. He hadn't had a haircut in over a year. His allotted bathroom amenities were few, far between, and lacking in quality. He was dirty and tired and depressed. They were barely giving him enough to eat. His only recompense for not committing suicide was to see Toris twice a week. God knows how hard he'd try to off himself if he stopped being able to see Toris. Without Toris, the world just wasn't worth it to him anymore.
On the note of Toris, he sat up. It was one of Toris' visiting days. He didn't have a clock, but his body had adjusted itself enough that he always seemed to know when it was time for Toris to come. Which made sense considering it was the only thing he had to look forward to. So he crossed his legs and waited. And waited. And waited.
After about a hour (he guessed), he started feeling nervous. Toris was never late. Never.
"Liet, where are you?" He asked the dank cell. He started getting jittery. He would've gotten up and paced if it wasn't for his damned leg. Stupid fucking Russia! He still remembered the man's laugh when he'd blown three holes through Felik's leg. Of course he hadn't bothered with surgery, just removed the bullets and stuck him in this hell hole. His leg hadn't healed right. With his country in ruin, he lacked his normal healing abilities. He'd probably never be able to walk right again.
He clenched the sheets. Where the hell was Liet? He tried his best to patient, but his mind kept going through every possible scenario. What if Liet had been killed on a mission? What if his jet had gone down and he'd died burning up inside it? What if Russia had tired of him and finally killed the Baltics? What if? What if? What if? That was all Feliks could think.
Finally, the sounds of someone nearing his cell echoed off the walls. Relieved, he waited for the door to open, only to realize it was just the guard coming to drop off his meager dinner. Dinner. Toris was supposed to have been here right after lunch time. The guard closed the grate on his door before he could even get two words out. Now he was really panicking.
He spent the rest of the evening under his frazzled, thin sheets, trying to hold back tears. He failed miserably, the sounds of his sobs bouncing off the cell walls. At some point, he must have cried himself to sleep. Because he woke up to his cell door being opened hours later. He shot up, completely convinced that Liet was dead and Russia was finally through with him. A part of him was relieved. He could finally rest in peace and be free from this torment. Another part of him was terrified.
And then all of him was confused.
Because Eduard stood in the doorway.
Estonia glanced at him grimly and marched over to his bed, hauling him up.
"W—what are you doing?"
"Be quiet and come with me. Don't ask questions. Don't speak at all. We only have a few minutes."
"A few minutes for what?"
"Just shut up, Poland!" He barked.
Feliks went silent and allowed Eduard to pull him along. He gaped as they passed three unconscious guards. Had Eduard done this? What in the world is happening? Eduard stopped several times, peering around corners. Was he really breaking Feliks out? It seemed so unlikely that Eduard would be willing to cross Russia that way. But it seemed more and more to be the case as they headed out the back door of the building and into a parking lot full of military vehicles.
Feliks cringed as light hit his eyes, but all the while he couldn't stop staring at it. The moon. Oh God, how he'd missed the moon! Eduard continued to drag him along until they reached a random vehicle in the middle of the lot. As Feliks looked in, he realized there was a driver waiting for them, someone he didn't recognize.
"Eduard, please tell me what's going on." He whispered.
"You're getting out of here. For good."
"But…why are you breaking me out? Why, like, risk your life this way?"
Eduard stared at him, eyes hard. "Because I need you to take care of Toris."
Feliks stomach dropped into a pit. "What?"
"No more questions. We don't have time."
"Please. What happened to Toris?"
Eduard swallowed and pulled him along to the back of the vehicle, opening the gate. Feliks' heart stopped. A bloody Toris laid unconscious in the back, a completely drenched towel—dyed a dark red in the night—covering the upper portion of his face.
"L—Liet. What…What…What happened to him?" Feliks cried.
"Russia interrogated him."
"B—but…why?"
"Because he lied about something."
"And…?"
"And Toris talked back to him. That was the result." He flicked his eyes to the still body of his long time friend. "Now get out of here."
"But…Eduard…if Russia finds out you let me go…"
"I know."
"But…"
"Go." He helped Feliks into the back of the truck. "Take care of him for me."
"I—I will." Tears streamed down his cheeks. Eduard called to the driver to go. "Wait!"
Eduard looked at him. "What?"
"What did he lie about?"
Eduard's lips thinned into a hard line. "America."
"What about America?" Hadn't Russia bombed America with nuclear warheads a few months ago? Liet had told him all about it. What could Liet have possibly lied about concerning…
"America is alive."
"T—that's impossible." Antonio murmured. All eyes were on Arthur, waiting for his reaction. But he just sat there, staring at everything and nothing. Every assurance he'd told himself of Alfred's death. Everything he'd done to leave the man behind. Everything shattered into a million pieces. The doubt and the confusion he'd long buried away came back in a rush, his mind muddled with disbelief and insecurity.
"But how could Alfred be alive?" Gilbert dared to ask. "A…After what happened to him?"
Feliks shrugged. "I don't know. That was all Eduard told me. I had to leave then or I would've gotten recaptured."
Arthur felt numb. Francis placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking. If only Arthur had known it was out of anger and not shock. Instead, he grabbed Francis hand and squeezed it tightly before slipping it off.
"I…" The room suddenly felt ice cold. "I need some air." He left without another word.
Arthur stood in the stairwell, gulping in air. What the hell was Francis thinking? How could he kiss me like that after what Feliks said yesterday? He knows that I… "Damn it." His voice bounced off the concrete walls. He rubbed his temples. Of course, there was always the chance that Feliks was wrong, that Estonia had been wrong. In fact, that was more likely than them being correct. But there was a fire burning inside Arthur now, a fire that had been extinguished for such a long time. It seared through his veins and brought with it memories of a time he'd tried his hardest to bury away.
Hope he didn't not want out of fear seeped into bones. He was getting all worked up for what was probably nothing. But, if it was nothing, he rationalized, then why did Russia react the way he did? Truthfully, the answer was contained in a single person: Toris. But Toris was comatose. How could they possibly find out the truth with him in that state? Arthur slid down the wall and wrapped his arms around his legs. He was going to break. He could feel himself on the verge of shattering.
A shrill alarm blared out, startling him. It lasted for several seconds before a voice came over the PA system, telling all armed allies to head to the elevator.
An intruder alert.
Arthur realized the service elevator track ended only one floor down from him. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his handgun and rushed down the steps, wrenching the door open. The elevator door stood across from him, menacing. He glanced at the lights. Two floors away. No back up had arrived yet. Everyone had been in the cafeteria for lunch. On the other side of the building. Shit. What if there's more than one?
He raised his gun, prepared to shoot the first person he saw. The elevator hit the last floor and grinded to a stop. The doors banged as they rolled opened. Three masked people stood in the elevator, garbed in black and heavily armed.
"Don't move!" I'm outnumbered! Shit! Shit! Shit! His threat was meaningless.
But for some reason, they stopped. All three of the figures froze at the sound of his voice.
"I…I don't know who the hell you are, but put your weapons down. Now!" Finally, he could hear the sounds of backup approaching.
The man in the middle suddenly raised his hands, and Arthur almost slipped up and shot him right there. "Don't you dare. Don't even think about it!" But the man kept moving. He held up his hands in a surrender gesture for several seconds before going for his helmet. Arthur gulped.
The man pulled his helmet off.
Arthur's gun clattered to the floor.
"Alfred?"
Dro: Don't ask me how I managed to fit all that in one chapter. It should've been two separate ones. But it was all the same part, so...I was nice and made it one for you. On another note, ha ha for France getting cockblocked by a supposed dead guy! He totally deserves it for being an traitorous ass.
Next Chapter: The heartwarming reunion between Arthur and parallel Alfred (and Matthew), the reunion of Alfred and Germany, and the split decision on whether Alfred and Germany should stay or leave now while they still have a chance to remain unscathed. Meanwhile, Lovino, recovered from his wounds, confronts Feliciano about his animosity, causing them to relive the day that shattered their brotherhood.