Dro: Admit it, you guys thought I died, didn't you? No really, sorry about the mini-hiatus. I decided to take it upon myself to sub the Hetalia movie (-psst!-It's on my LJ (nick_rolynd)). Took me four days. -dies- Anyway, sorry I didn't get a chance to tell you guys ahead of time. It was kind of a whim. Anyway, one more chapter left of this! Don't forget to review as this winds down now!

Chapter Summary: The remaining nations hurry to escape before Ivan's mansion explodes.

Warnings: Language

Disclaimer: Dro doesn't own APH. I mean, obviously. Why would I need to sub a movie about my own show?

"Say that again."

"The mansion is rigged to explode!"

Alfred's eyes honed in on the rapidly decreasing seconds on the stopwatch. Time seemed to have sped up, every moment he spent frantically thinking of a way to get them out of this equating to several seconds on the timer. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Guys!" He whipped around to face the others on the roof, all of whom had frozen at Arthur's exclamation. Gilbert and Antonio, still huffing in exhaustion from the battle, stood completely tense, eyes wide. Ludwig, who was helping Romano staunch the blood flowing freely from the wound in Italy's chest, met Alfred's eyes with a look that clearly read: "Why? Why can't this just be over?"

Alfred look to his other self and then to Matt. Both were incapacitated. They'd be carrying them both out of here. His eyes instantly landed on the helicopter. It could have easily been another one of Ivan's tricks, but they had no choice. They wouldn't be getting out of here through the doors, and jumping from the roof of a three story building with three gravely injured people was not a viable option. He sucked in a deep breath. He hadn't flown a helicopter in almost a decade. He wasn't sure he could even identify the controls on this one. But it was either risk the helicopter or go up in a massive ball of flames. Fuck this.

"Get everyone into the helicopter! Now!" He spun around and hoisted Matt up from Arthur's arms, careful not to press too hard on his brother's wounds. Matt was quickly fading. They would have get to back to Moscow within an half an hour. Max. Possible with the helicopter, but it all depended on Alfred's skills here.

"Alfred…" Arthur started.

"Not now. Just get into the copter." He rushed for it, Arthur quickly trailing behind him. He flicked his eyes to the rest of the roof again as he let Arthur open the door for him and hop in first so he could pass Matt in gently. Antonio and Gilbert were supporting the other Alfred, who was still barely clinging on his consciousness. Ludwig held Italy, Romano sticking close to his brother's side. They converged on the helicopter just as Alfred and Arthur secured Matt. Alfred shuffled out of their way so they could get the other injured inside the roaring machine. "I need a co-pilot." He mumbled. Just in case.

"I'll do it."

Alfred stared at Romano.

"What? Don't think I know how to fly a helicopter, bastard?"

Alfred shook his head. He wouldn't deny he was surprised that Romano had volunteered, but as soon as he thought about it more, it finally clicked. Romano kept his eyes trained on Ludwig and Italy even while speaking. Alfred could see the emotion bubbling in the man's green eyes. Jealousy. Loss. Pain. Understanding. Acceptance. It hurt him to know that his younger brother had someone outside of Romano that he could depend on. Romano had been dependent on Feliciano, but his brother was not dependent him. And it hurt him, made him feel weak. Alfred laid a hand on the boy's shoulders. Romano finally broke his drowning gaze.

"What?"

"It's okay, Romano."

The other man bit his lip. "Whatever, bastard. Let's get out of here before this shithole blows up."

Alfred took the hint and hopped into the pilot's seat. His eyes quickly roved over the controls. He cringed. It wasn't too different from what he remembered, but for all he knew, the equipment didn't work the same. If he misread something, he could send them spiraling into a fiery death. Then again, if they didn't get off the roof, that's exactly what would happen. Alfred turned the stopwatch around in his hand, daring to look at it again. His heart started pumping faster with every second that the watch shed from the time.

One minute, twenty seconds.

Could they even get far enough away with that time?

"Guys, we need to hurry."

"Right. Almost done." Antonio said as Ludwig and Gilbert helped him get the incapacitated Alfred into the vehicle. Arthur paled as he got a look at the man's head wound, and his lip quivered like he was about to break out into sobs. But he managed to hold himself back, making sure he was touching both Matthew and the other Alfred at all times. Antonio and Gilbert hauled themselves into the helicopter and slammed the door shut. Sucking in a breath, he placed the headset on, Romano mirroring him.

"You know how to do this?" Romano grumbled.

"Yes. Now shut up." He barked. No time for niceties now. They had less than sixty seconds to get this deathtrap off the roof and far enough away to avoid the blast. He wrapped his hand around the control stick, flicking all the buttons and switches he remembered. The he moved it. And they were up. It was a slow ascent at first, the tension mounting with each passing second. The interior of the helicopter was completely silent. All its occupants held their breath.

Forty seconds.

The roof slowly started to look lower and lower. The trees around the building slowly morphed into shrubbery. Slowly. So slowly.

Thirty seconds.

Alfred shifted the controls, the aircraft moving to face the direction of Moscow. And then he floored it. As much as he could floor a helicopter anyway. The vehicle finally picked up speed, and the ticking time bomb behind them started to disappear into the sea of trees.

Ten seconds.

"We did it. We're out." Romano murmured, staring blankly out the window as if he couldn't comprehend defeating Ivan. Alfred hadn't bothered sparing the man's body another glance. He'd shot Ivan in the head. He was dead. Gone. Right? The chill went all the way to his fingers. God, he just wanted to be completely out of danger. But they were, right? The mansion was behind them. They would probably see it explode in the distance, and then they would all rejoice. Right? They'd won. They were heading back to Moscow for medical treatment. Everyone would live. They'd all be all right.

Alfred lost control of the helicopter.

"Holy—!" The vehicle spun around wildly in the air as the shockwave slammed into it. He grabbed at the control stick, trying his best to steady it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur desperately cling to Matt's prone body and the other Alfred's incapacitated form. Ludwig wrapped his hands firmly around Feliciano, who gasped at the jarring force. Gilbert and Antonio braced themselves against the sides of the helicopter, trying to keep their footing. Alfred finally managed to steady the vehicle, but the sensors were going crazy. What the hell? Their direction now skewed by the impact, he had a good view of the location of Ivan's home.

Or where it had been.

Trees for what had to be a mile—at least—had been blown down by the sheer force of the shockwave. And dead center, ground zero, was nothing. An empty, black crater. It formed right before their eyes, appearing ever slowly as the massive mushroom cloud of ash and dirt and debris dissipated, charred pieces of everything from elaborate furniture to twigs raining down onto the now scarred and seared patch of land.

"Jesus Christ!" Gilbert yell, eyes glued to the window. "That could've been us!" He collapsed back into a seat. "Holy hell. What the fuck was that bastard thinking, setting up a bomb like that?"

"It was Ivan. No one knows how he thought." Romano heavily emphasized the thought. Past tense. Because Ivan was dead. Alfred tried to steady his shaking hands. His body had taken more than he could handle, and he was starting to lose it. Calm down. It's over. Calm down. That was it.

That was it.

They flew the rest of the way to Moscow in peace, nothing but the curling tendrils of black smoke from Ivan's former home trailing behind them as a reminder of what had just happened. If Alfred had had a choice, he would've chosen to block that entire night out. One disaster after another. One death after another. One betrayal. Francis. Damn it. They'd left him there too. Alfred was split on this. On the one hand, Francis had betrayed them to Ivan. On the other, he was still Francis. And they just left his body there to get blown to shreds with Ivan. He shook his head. One thing after another. He'd think about all this later. He needed to get Matt, Feliciano, and his other self help first.

Then he'd sit down and have a nice, long night of contemplation. He'd get all his feelings sorted out. He'd get all this relationship mess dealt with. He'd try and bury those damn memories from this night that were bound to mentally scar him. As Moscow grew larger in his line of sight, a sense of finality began to settle over him. They'd defeated Ivan. He and Ludwig would be able to go home now. This world would be free again, and the nations could finally resume their lives without the Red fear lurking in the background.

"Matthew?"

Alfred was jarred from his thoughts just as the secret hospital building caught his sight again. "What is it?" He yelled back to a panicked Arthur.

"He's not breathing! Matthew's not breathing!"

Alfred felt his own lungs seize. As quickly and safely as he good, he brought the helicopter down into the parking lot of the hospital, not even bothering to turn the machine off as he rushed out with the rest of them toward the doors, Arthur, despite his complete fatigued, hauling Matthew in arms like he was a feather. They entered the building just as Feliks and a number of armed guards emerged from the elevator. The Polish man immediately shouted some orders, and the guards helped Arthur into the elevator with Matthew, taking them up. Alfred managed to squeeze in just before the door closed, cutting off Ludwig and the others, who hurried toward another elevator that Feliks had been gesturing too. Alfred got a look at Matt. His brother's skin was the palest he'd ever seen it. It appeared as if all his blood had drained from his body. Arthur was covered in Matt's blood, and so was he, Alfred realized. When he'd held Matt to load him onto the helicopter, his brother's life blood had seeped into his clothing. Matt was dying right in front of him. He dared to brush Matt's cheek with his finger. Cold. Dead.

No. No. No. Matt couldn't be dead! He prayed to a God he didn't believe in for this stupid fucking elevator to hurry up, for his brother's life. Please don't take Mattie away from me. He knew this wasn't his Matt. God, did he know. But it was Matt. And Matt was Matt no matter what world he was in. Finally, after what seemed like years, the elevator dinged and the door opened, revealing an already prepared stretcher that the one of the guards had radioed up for.

Arthur laid the unconscious and breathless Matthew on the stretcher, the doctors immediately jumping into action. "No pulse!" One of them said. "Get a defibrillator ready." Another shouted to a nurse, who immediately ran ahead. They wheeled Matt down the hallway rapidly and into a surgery room. One of them broke off and ushered for Arthur and him to stay back. "I know he's close to you, but we need you out of the room."

Alfred would've protested had he had any strength left. But his adrenaline had worn away, and he was left without a shred of energy. As was Arthur, he could tell. As soon as the doors to the room closed, they both stumbled back and collapsed into chairs, Alfred sucking in deep breaths.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah." He answered to a sleepy looking Arthur. "You?"

"I'm fine." He swallowed. "Thanks to Matthew."

"Don't blame yourself. You would've done the same for him had your positions been reversed, right?"

"Of course, but…"

"Look at it from that perspective, Arthur. Would you want Matt to blame himself if you got hurt protecting him?"

Arthur turned his head away, tears prickling his eyes. Suddenly, the other elevator down the hall dinged open, revealing a rush of people that included all their comrades. More emergency doctors immediately picked up the bleeding Feliciano and the now unconscious other Alfred. Arthur jumped up, voice hitched. "God, Al…" He rushed over to where the doctors were wheeling the unconscious Alfred away, following them around the corner. Alfred let him disappear without another word. Arthur needed to be near his own Alfred. He stayed in his chair for several minutes until an worn out Ludwig came shuffling around the corner where Feliciano had disappeared with another group of medical staff. The German looked ready to pass out where he was standing, and Alfred beckoned for him to sit in the same chair Arthur had.

He dropped into the seat as if his legs had given out on him. Alfred recalled that Ludwig had been injured, and he glanced at the man's shoulder. "You should probably get looked at too."

"Not until Feliciano gets out of surgery."

Alfred cringed at the pain in Ludwig's voice, and he tried to reason with the man. "Look, Ludwig, won't you want to stay with Feliciano when he gets out of surgery? So how about you go get fixed up now so you won't have to leave him?"

Ludwig's weary blue eyes met his own, and after several seconds of intense silence, the man finally acquiesced. He called over to a passing nurse, who immediately perked up and escorted him away after he told her he was injured. And now that Alfred thought about it, so was he. Most of his wounds were just superficial. A few cuts, a few bruises. But now that he was testing his body, he realized his ankle felt sprained. Groaning, he stood up to search for someone who could help him. He'd gotten out of this fight a lot better than most, but he wasn't foolish enough to think that meant he could ignore his own injuries.

He stuck his hands in his pockets, sighing.

Then he paused.

There was something…wet in his pocket. Confused, he dug around, pulling out the stopwatch that he'd stuck in there hastily a while ago as they were flying. Something inside the stopwatch had burst, and a sickly-looking liquid was running from it. Alfred let the watch drop to the floor, shaking his hand off as he watched the cracked plastic bounce until the screen was facing upward, panic suddenly rising. What the hell kind of liquid could be in a stopwatch? And then he got a look at the screen. The screen was no longer a time. It was two words.

Alfred's eyes drifted from the screen to the liquid staining his shirt, his gloves, his pants, seeping into dozens of cuts on arms and hands. Then he looked back to the mocking words. The last words Ivan had not gotten to speak out loud. He would've screamed. He really would've. But it was at that exact moment that the poison hit his heart. And instead of screaming…

He fell.

'Got you.'

Dro: Ha! You totally thought the action was over, didn't you? Jeez, Ivan. Doesn't even stop playing games after he's dead.

No preview this time! The last chapter is a secret!