Dro: Here's part two of the amazing climax, guys! Enjoy! And review! Because I believe there are only about two chapters left in this fic.

Chapter Summary: Alfred and Ivan fight in a death match that begins to encompass everyone on the rooftop. But can any or all of them actually beat Ivan?

Warnings: Violence, Language

Disclaimer: Dro will never own APH. Oh, woe is me!

He missed.

Ivan dodged at the last second, scarf snapping in the wind as the force of the move took Ivan rapidly backward. The gun swung forward, trying to land its aim on Alfred's masked head, but he dropped and rolled out of the way as Ivan fired the gun. Then he was up. And they fought. Ivan seemed mildly surprised at the speed and strength of his moves. The danced around each other, boots brushing stray strands of hair, fists nicking hanging threads of fabric. Ivan leapt out of the way as Alfred's fist slammed into the concrete of the stairwell that he'd cornered the man at. The wall imploded, shards of concrete flinging through the air, whipped away by the churning air from the helicopter blades.

Ivan's eyes widened, and Alfred caught him red-handed as the man snuck a glance at the rest of the crowd, honing in on the incapacitated other Alfred. Alfred smirked to himself. He knew Ivan's initial reaction would've been that he was fighting America. He'd fought his own Ivan more than enough times to recognize the man's moves and fighting style blindfolded. He supposed the other him and Ivan had had the same experience. He came at the man again, another bout of rage fueling his adrenaline rush.

Ivan picked up his pace. He slid past another fist with insane speed for his size and caught Alfred in the stomach with his knee. Heaving, Alfred stumbled back, Ivan pulling a knife from his coat and launching what was supposed to be the kill. Except it wasn't. The massive Russian suddenly jumped out of the way as a barrage of bullets littered the ground where he'd just been standing. Alfred turned to see Ludwig furiously aiming and shooting, rage searing across his fair features. He was mad. No, not made. Furious. No, that didn't even begin to cover it. Ludwig was breaking apart on the inside, the image of Feliciano falling to death ripping him further and further to pieces every single second.

For the briefest of reprieves, he'd thought he would no longer have to see this world's Feliciano's suffer. But now, now he'd watched the boy die. Painfully. Terrified. Knowing he'd failed. He gripped his rifle, following Ivan's rapid movements as the man dodged him before he shot. Ludwig would kill this man. He would shoot him until he was mutilated beyond recognition. No one hurt Feliciano and got away with. No one.

Huffing, Ivan suddenly changed his direction, charging straight for Ludwig. He barely had time to react before the man grabbed his rifle and heaved him forward, the strap to secure his gun now a death trap. Ivan flung him across the roof, and he landed in a heap, wrist snapping as he slammed into the rough stone beneath him. Fuck! Ivan was zipping back toward him, but Alfred interceded. Ivan dodged another kick and backed away, noticing Gilbert and Antonio readying themselves to attack as well. Ivan was far outnumbered, and with Romano now recovering from his attack and enraged at the loss of his brother, he was about to be in an even worse position.

Alfred smirked to himself, knowing they had the bastard now. There was no way he could get out of this. Ludwig guarded the helicopter, Antonio and Gilbert the stairwell. He knew he had to watch it though. His eyes finally trailed back to Matthew and Arthur. Arthur was sending him pleading stares, praying that he would hurry and end this. He had Matthew curled against him now, the Canadian barely conscious and still losing blood. If they didn't finish this soon, Matt would die. He sent Gilbert and Ludwig a quick glance, a silent order. Then they charged.

Alfred saw everything in stark, brutal clarity. Ivan feinted to the left, Ludwig faltering at the false attack. Then he went right for Gilbert, who had aimed his gun to protect his brother. The man couldn't correct himself in time, and Ivan's fist slammed into his gut, sending him into a complete flip as his momentum kept him going. He hit the ground head first and rolled away, trying to shake off the dizziness from the impact. Ludwig leapt over, keeping time with America as they converged on the overpowered Russian. Alfred went for the man's unprotected stomach while Ludwig aimed for his.

Both missed.

Ivan dropped completely flat to the ground on his back, sending up a sharp kick that landed in Alfred's stomach and using the bent position of the American's body to cast the man over his head and into the oncoming Ludwig. He tumbled into Ludwig, knocking the man off balance, and they both fell to the ground in a knotted bundle. Ivan quickly rolled over and jumped back up, backing out of the way of another attack from Gilbert. A shot rang out, but Ivan had seen it coming. Antonio was haphazardly shooting with the other Alfred on his back, trying to keep the incapacitated man balanced on his back while desperately attempting to give his friends an edge.

It failed.

They all charged at Ivan again, knowing they were running low on time. Matt could die any minute. The other Alfred was still slowly deteriorating. They had to finish this. They would finish this. Alfred's convictions riled him up, and he grappled with Ivan, hand to hand. They fiercely tried to push each other off balance, neither giving any slack in any direction. He glared at Ivan, knowing the man still had no clue who was behind the helmet. Ivan sneered at him, and Alfred suddenly let out from the pressure, Ivan falling forward as his own strength took him over. Alfred brought his fist down on the gunshot wound on Ivan's side, and he smirked as Ivan cringed in pain. But he missed the motion of Ivan's feet tangling around his own. The man heaved him off his feet, and he met the ground roughly. His head and shoulders burned with the sting of skin grating against concrete.

Then Ivan was up and evading Gilbert and Ludwig again. Both brothers were huffing with exhaustion. Ludwig's shoulder was obviously starting to hurt him. His arm started to falter in its movements. He'd injured it more when he'd been knocked over. Gilbert wasn't faring much better. A small trickle of blood ran down his face from just beneath his silver hairline. He was stumbling slightly, as if his balance was impaired. Shit. Shit! Alfred yelled to were starting to lose their edge here. If they couldn't beat Ivan before he got a few more hits in, they were finished. How the hell was Ivan so strong? Had his rigid domination over most of the world increased his physical strength this much?

Desperate, knowing he was running out of time, Alfred gave a haggard, wary glance to Antonio and Romano, who were both struggling, Antonio on whether to protect the other Alfred or join in the fight, Romano with his injures. Blood dripped down his chin from his mouth, his lungs obviously in distress from the shattered ribs in his chest. As soon as Antonio saw Alfred look at him, he nodded. This was all or nothing. He slid the other Alfred, who was still mumbling to himself, eyes glazed and far off, onto the ground, sitting him against the wall of the stairwell. He sat his rifle in the incapacitated man's lap, vainly knowing the man wouldn't be able to use it even if he was attacked. But he had no choice in the matter. He had to fight. Or they would lose. He turned around and took a deep breath. Then he ran into battle like he was casting himself into another old war.

Ivan huffed, annoyed. He grabbed Antonio's wrist and swung the man around into Gilbert, sending them both tumbling away, tangled together. Ludwig lunged at Ivan, only to catch the man's knee in his abdomen. He ended up several feet away, clutching his stomach and heaving in air. Even with all of them fighting, Ivan was still stronger. Biting his lip, Alfred made one last mighty charge for the towering Russian. Ivan met him with another glare and a matching fist, and they were lost in a dance again, one that, this time, was far more erratic, far more winded.

They shuffled ever closer to the edge of the roof, both of them hyper-aware of it, both reminded of the Italy brother that had previously fallen over it. Alfred kept his eyes trained on Ivan, terrified that he would look over by accident and end up even more emotionally compromised by the sight of Feliciano's body. He swung a powerful fist at Ivan's face, and the man ducked underneath of it, delivering a swift uppercut to Alfred's chin that jarred his neck back and sent him flailing over backward.

His helmet came off.

The world went instantly silent.

A second later, the helmet clattered to the rooftop with a loud, high-pitched crack as the hard plastic met concrete. As it settled, Alfred dared to look at Ivan. Wide, violet eyes stared down at him disbelief, the realization dawning on him so hard he actually stumbled back a few steps. "You…" he flicked his eyes over to the other Alfred. "Parallel." He whispered harshly.

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "Surprise." He tensed himself to leap up at Ivan, only to have his efforts abruptly halted at the sight of the gun once again slipping from Ivan's pocket, whipped out by the Russian's large hand and pointed directly at Alfred before the man could even hope to move.

Alfred froze, his comrades doing the same. Gilbert and Ludwig and Antonio stood completely still, both knowing Ivan could and would pull that trigger any second. A shuddered whimper broke free from Arthur's lips as he stared on in complete and utter horror, terrified at losing another loved one in the span of ten minutes. Ivan took two steps forward, pressing the barrel of the gun to Alfred's forehead.

"I do not appreciate being tricked."

"What? Don't like other people playing your games, Ivan?"

Violet eyes narrowed into slits. "I see you are exactly the same no matter what world you come from."

Alfred snorted, smiling ruefully. "You know, Toris was convinced of that too."

Ivan's frown deepened. "Do not speak of Toris."

"Make me."

Ivan's finger tightened on the trigger. "It seems I will not be needing your services anymore. You were a mystery to me for sometime. I was expecting many others. Not another copy of America. I only have enough tolerance for one Alfred, I'm afraid." He pressed the cold metal harder against Alfred's skull.

Alfred's body was completely tense, the his fingers and arms shaking from the rigidness in his muscles. Ivan was going to shoot him. He was going to die here. He would never get back to his Arthur. Matt was going to die. Damn it! Damn it! He'd failed! He'd failed everyone! He was supposed to be the hero, damn it! How could he let this fucking bastard kill him?

"Enjoy the afterlife, America. And I must implore you to be patient. You will not be alone there for too long."

"Bastard! Don't you fucking dare!"

Ivan smiled. "Sorry, Alfred. But we're playing my game. And you've lost."

He pulled the trigger.

And the gun flew out of his hand, blow away by the force of another bullet.

Alfred whipped his head to the right, his eyes landing on his other self, who shakily held Antonio's rifle in his hands, his finger around the trigger, his eyes half-lidded and light still fading from his pupils. Ivan's attention was immediately caught by the other Alfred's interference, and he growled, irritated. A foot came up and kicked Alfred in the face, and he fell over.

"I will kill you with or without a gun." He brought his foot up, ready to crush Alfred's skull with a single, sickening crunch. The others were still too far away to help him, and as he struggled to sit up, he knew it was over. His other self managed one more shot, distracting Ivan for the briefest second as the bullet skewed far off its trajectory, his double's last spark of energy and clarity fading away.

Alfred grabbed onto the low border of the roof, readying himself for the inevitable life-ending blow as Ivan turned back toward, sneering with a sickening bitter grin.

Something flashed.

Something shiny.

Something black.

Something flying up toward him.

Alfred saw it.

And then he knew.

And then he caught Ivan's own gun and pointed it straight up at that motherfucker's face. Ivan had half a second to register what had just happened, the very beginning of immense fear flickering into his eyes.

And then Alfred shot him in the head.

In the second and a half that it took Ivan to fall to the ground, just dead but already chilled to the core, Alfred let the handgun fall freely from his hand and nearly leapt completely over the side of the building…

…just managing to catch the slipping hand of the wounded Feliciano as he lost his grip on the side of the building.

With all the force he had left in his body, Alfred heaved the injured Italy back over the border of the roof, the two falling into heap, Feliciano on top. Alfred distantly heard Romano scream his brother's name. His heart pounded in his chest, a wave of immense relief washing over him.

He'd won.

He'd actually won.

He'd been a split second from death, and he'd still won.

He wrapped his arms around Feliciano's gasping form as a low chuckle started working its way up from his chest. It belted out from his mouth as echoing laughter. "Feliciano. You saved the day!" He hugged the boy tighter, careful of his gunshot wound. As his laughter faded, he lowered his voice. "I owe you one."

Feliciano didn't say anything as he pulled away and looked Alfred in the face, pain in his eyes. "I am sorry for all I have done." His settled his hand over his bleeding chest, the wound obviously hurting him.

Alfred smiled. "Don't be. You did the right thing in the end."

"Feliciano!"

Lovino practically crashed into his brother, hugging him as tightly as he possibly could, tears streaming from his eyes. "Dio! Dio! I thought I'd lost you." He sobbed into Feliciano's shoulder.

Alfred slipped away from the brothers and turned to look at his own, a sense of dread coming over him as he saw Matt's pale, bloodless face. His brother was dying. He rushed over to Arthur and Matt, falling to his knees. "We need to get him help. Now."

"I know. I know." Arthur mumbled. "How could he do that…? How could I let him…?"

"Arthur," Alfred placed a hand on his shoulder, "don't blame yourself. If it had been me, I would've done the same."

"Alfred."

"He loves you too, Arthur." He loves you even though the sight of me with you hurts him. He loves you that much.

"I know." Arthur whispered.

"Ar…" He paused, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him. "Matt?" Matthew's hand twitched and started moving, gradually coming to rest on his coat pocket. "Matt, can you hear me?"

Pained purple eyes fluttered open, Matt swallowing harshly. "Al…"

"No, Matt, don't talk. We're going to get you out of here. Get you help. Just hold on."

"No…A…Al…" Matt's hand slipped inside his pocket, exhausting itself with such a action as it produced something small. A stopwatch. Matthew's sloppily placed it in Alfred's hand.

"What's that for?" Alfred paused as he heard Arthur gasp, and he looked up to see the man's face contorting into sheer terror.

Alfred looked at the watch.

It was counting down.

From two minutes and thirty-two seconds.

Dro: So, who was expecting that? Be honest now!

Next Chapter: The group scrambles to escape before Ivan's mansion explodes.