Dro: -yawn- Don't ask me how I'm keeping up with my chapters. I seriously don't know. But I will tell you not to expect one tomorrow. I'm moving out of my dorm right after my afternoon exam, so I won't be home until about 8:00. I might get something written though. But if I do, it'll be pretty late in the day. Anyway, read on, and please review!

Chapter Summary: Matthew faces his worst nightmare. Alfred's mind forces him to face his own.

Warnings: I warned you last chapter about this, but I'm going to reiterate: IMPLIED RAPE. You have been warned. Do not complain. Do not hate on me. Do not freak out and report me for scarring you for life. If you are easily offended or have an incredibly weak stomach, please skip the first half of this chapter. Also, brutal violence in relation to aforementioned implied rape.

Disclaimer: I'm getting way too lazy to think of anything amusing to say in these things...Just go back to chapter one and reread that one.

Matthew listened intently at the door. He'd heard shouts and yells and screams and gunshots, and he had absolutely no idea what was going on. He could only hope that Alfred had come to his senses and escaped. He felt a pang in his chest at the thought that Alfred would leave him here, but he crushed it. He was not worth whatever tragedy Yao wanted to inflict upon this world. He wasn't. But even knowing that, he was still terrified. Death was not something Matthew often thought about. It was something that rarely happened to nations. Except in this world, it seemed, where they'd been slaughtered by an insane Ivan.

Ivan. Where was Ivan now? Was he okay? Was he hurt? Matthew had only seen him once in his "stay" here, and since then, he'd been left to wonder just was Yao was doing to him. There was no reason the man couldn't put them in the same cell, right? He groaned under his breath. Yao probably thought they would try to escape if they were together. Matthew didn't particularly care about escaping at this point. He just wanted everyone he loved to be all right. He just wanted to know his brother was still breathing, his lover's heart was still beating.

There was a blast of light. Matthew closed his eyes, crying out at the intensity. It faded a few moments later, and Matthew heard the sounds of many men rushing down the hallway. None of them opened his door, and he couldn't help but be curious. What exactly was happening out there? What had that light been? Some kind of magic? He found himself getting more and more anxious. He hoped to God someone opened that heavy door soon. He didn't care who it was. It could've been the firing squad come to execute him. He just wanted to know what was happening out there.

But no one did. The hallways were silent for the next half hour, all the commotion seeming to abruptly stop. He waited and waited. He sat and paced. He stared at the ceiling and stared at the walls. But he heard nothing else, and he started to feel more and more alone. It was too silent, too eerily quiet. He felt as if the world outside had vanished and all that existed was this little cell, floating in a vast expanse of nothing.

And then the door opened. He shot up from his bed. Yao stood in the doorway. "Matthew. How are you feeling?"

"What happened?"

Yao seemed irritated. "Nothing of importance to you. It's time for you to go now. We're readying a car to take you to Paris. You should be able to find your way back from there by yourself."

"Wait…what are you talking about?" He took a step closer. "How am I supposed to find my way back to my own dimension?" He didn't want to acknowledge the fact that Yao letting him go meant that Alfred was…

"I apologize for the inconvenience. But I'm sure you will eventually be able to return home. I'm afraid I can't send you home myself, however. Now, just come along with me, and I will escort you to the car." Yao ushered him forward.

Matthew tried to hold back his emotions, but he found that to be an impossibility. "Tell me what's going on!" He roared. "Where's Al? Where's Ivan? What have you done?"

Yao opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped before any sound passed his lips, his eyes widening. The door was pushed open the rest of the way, revealing a looming figure behind Yao.

Ivan.

"I…Ivan?"

Ivan smirked, and a chill shot down Matthew's spine. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. He backed away as Ivan entered the room. "Ah. I see. So this is what you have been hiding from me, Yao. You are too cruel."

Yao was visibly panicking. "No, Ivan. You do not understand. That is the other world's Canada."

Ivan raised an eyebrow. "The other Canada? Well," he grinned again, "that is certainly interesting."

Alarms were ringing so loud in Matthew's ears that he could barely hear what the other two men were saying. Ivan was all wrong. There was no sympathy in his eyes, no warmth. All the kindness and caring seemed have been drained from him and replaced with pure and utter malice. Matthew took another step back. An idea was scratching its way into his brain, and he tried to push it away, tried to deny it, but the idea was too loud. Too right. He found himself against the wall, trapped as Ivan closed in on him. A hand shot out and grabbed his chin, forcing Matthew to meet Ivan's violet eyes.

Heartless, cold violet eyes.

"Tell me, Matvey. Do you understand what you are seeing?" He squeezed harder, and Matthew whimpered. "Do you now who I am, Matvey?"

He knew. He knew, but he didn't want to know. He wanted to die rather than see this, wanted to perish rather than experience something this devastating. "Yes…" He whispered past his aching jaw.

Ivan leaned in, still smiling, until they were eye level. "Who am I, Matvey?"

The words were nothing more than whispers. "Soviet Russia…"

Ivan's smirk was so wide it contorted his face. "Ah, so you do understand." He rolled his eyes around, contemplating something. "Or do you? Tell me, do you know whose body this is?"

Matthew stared at him, confused. What did he mean "whose body"? That was…and then he got it. This world's Russia had been blown up after his death. His body had practically been disintegrated. Al had told him all about it. But if Yao somehow had managed to bring him back to life, then wouldn't he need another body? Another fitting body.

Another Russia's body.

"No…" It wasn't possible. It couldn't be.

"Smart boy you are, Matvey."

"No…please, no…" Not his Ivan. No.

"Now. Now. Don't worry about me hurting your Ivan, Mattie. I assure you he's long gone. It's just me now."

"No…" Matthew's legs buckled underneath him, but Ivan's grip held him up.

Ivan sneered at him. "You know, Matvey, the other you has caused me much trouble. I loved him, you know, just like you loved your Ivan. But it seems to me that loved ones always leave you in the end. Or in my case, are a major contributor to you end."

Matthew swallowed, his mouth and jaw throbbing. "You…you deserved it." His voice was no more than a whimper. "You deserved everything that happened to you."

Ivan's eyes flashed angrily. "Yao," he growled in a low voice, "leave us."

Yao tensed. "But…but, Ivan…I promised him I would let him go at the end of all this."

Ivan chuckled. "Well, that was your mistake, wasn't it?" Ivan turned his head and glared at Yao. "Leave." He hissed.

Yao slowly backed away, meeting Matthew's frightened gaze for a brief moment, his eyes alight with regret and apology. He really had meant to let Matthew go. He really hadn't wanted to harm the boy. Matthew understand that. Yao had goals and sordid ambitions, but he wasn't a monster. This Ivan, however…this Soviet monstrosity that had killed and tortured so many fellow nations and started a war that had killed millions. He was the devil incarnate. And he was back. Matthew understood now, understood what Yao had been planning. Alfred hadn't just been a sacrifice for anything, he'd been a sacrifice to revive Soviet Russia. And his Ivan had been the unwitting victim whose body had been used as this bastard's new container.

The door closed softly, and Yao was gone.

Ivan threw Matthew across the room, and his back collided with the frame of the bed. He cried out, but it was abruptly cut off by Ivan as he backhanded him. Once. Twice. Three times. He felt his cheek bone started to strain under the force, and he whimpered. A hand wrapped around his throat. He gasped, struggling as he was hauled from the floor and into the air. Ivan slammed him onto the hard mattress of the cell bed. Matthew grabbed at the man's hand, trying to get him to release his iron grip, but he wasn't strong enough. He was struggling for air, and as Ivan climbed on top of him, straddling him and pinning him to the mattress, he could only choke and squirm.

Ivan stared down at him, half-angry, half-amused. "You are just like my own Matvey, aren't you? Headstrong and unrelenting in your beliefs to the point where you will pretend you love me. I have personally had enough of that, enough of lies and deceit and people toying with my emotions. You are either with me or you are dead. That will be my new rule. No more blind trust. And I will start with you." He tightened his hold. "I will show you why it is best to stay quiet and do as I say." He tucked his free fingers under the waistband of Matthew's pants.

Matthew thrashed wildly, his pulse jumping as he realized what Ivan was about to do. Not this. Anything but this. Please, no. No. No. No. But he couldn't get away. He couldn't escape. He was running out of air. Tears poured down his face. Kill me. Just kill me.

Ivan's lips landed on Matthew's ear. "Do me a favor, Matvey." He pulled down Matthew's pants so roughly the fabric ripped. A feral growl erupted from Ivan's throat. "Scream."

Alfred awoke to a gorgeous blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds. He just stared at it for a long while, overcome with a feeling of peace and solitude. His periphery was framed with tall, lush grass, and it reminded him both of his childhood and his days as a young teen roaming the wild, free West. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this relaxed, this free from his responsibilities in the world. It had been so many years, so many decades. He longed for those simple times often, and now, he let himself bask in that wonderful feeling of freedom he had almost gotten used to missing.

It didn't last long. As his senses fully returned to him, he realized there was a heavy pressure on his chest, accompanied by cold wetness that was sticky and dried in some places. He almost blushed at that thought until he held up his arm.

And saw it was covered in blood.

His heart skipped a beat. He gripped the object splayed across his torso as he sat up, immediately realizing it was Arthur. The recent past seemed to slap him in the face. He remembered the ritual, Ivan's death, and then…this world's Arthur had shown up and forced him to escape. But then what had happened? They'd been running away from gunfire, and that was all he remembered. He rolled Arthur over and cradled him. The man's entire torso was bloodied, along with his mouth and chin. He'd been retching blood. Alfred felt his own blood run cold. He immediately checked Arthur's pulse.

It was steady.

He sighed in relief. He'd been sure that Arthur had been dead. But if he wasn't dead, then how…? He unbuttoned Arthur's shirt—the white fabric almost in tatters anyway—to reveal a completely smooth chest and stomach. Alfred stared in disbelief. If Arthur wasn't hurt, then why…? What in the world was going on? Alfred checked himself over, but he found no wounds either. Not the cuts from the ritual. And he had been shot at least once, right? He ran a dirty hand through his matted hair and looked around. They were in the middle of a large field of grass, devoid of any signs of civilization. Sitting next to them was a bloody knife. As Alfred looked closer to where they were laying, he realized that something had been cut into the grass. A shape. He followed it all the way around himself.

A circle.

A magic circle.

He looked back to the sleeping man in his arms.

"Oh, Arthur. What have you done?"

Twenty minutes later, he sat Arthur down gently next to a stream and peeled off the remains of his shirt. He dunked it in the cool water and used the cleanest parts of the fabric to wash his chest off. He repeated the process with Arthur, dabbing gently at his stained lips and chin. When they were both sufficiently clean, he hauled Arthur onto his back and started walking. He had no clue where they were, but he hoped to God it was still somewhere in France. They had get to back to Paris. He wanted with all his heart to go back to Yao's base, to go in guns blazing and rescue Mattie heroically.

But…

Alfred bit his lip to stop it from quivering. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, but if the position of the sun was any indicator, it was at least the day after the escape had taken place. Which meant Yao had had plenty of time to…to…to kill Mattie. Alfred's heart was aching, and his eyes were burning, but he up his pace, knowing that giving up and collapsing wouldn't help anyone. It Yao had really killed Mattie, then…then…

God, what was he going to do? What could he do? Mattie was…Mattie was gone. His brother was gone. He didn't try to stop the tears. There had been so many already. What was the point in stopping a few more? Or a lot more? What mattered at all any more? Mattie…he'd failed Mattie. He'd never see Matt's face again, never hear his voice. He held back a sob. It wasn't supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be in a boring meeting right now, joking about Arthur's eyebrows and sneaking extra donuts under the table. This was never supposed to be reality. This was supposed to be a nightmare. His worst nightmare.

A groaned floated into his ear. Arthur was waking up. Alfred slipped the man from his back and lowered him gently to the ground, holding him against his chest. Green eyes fluttered open. Arthur blinked in confusion for several seconds.

"Al…fred?"

"Hey. You okay?" Alfred tried to keep his voice steady, but he the evidence of his breakdown was clearly visible on his face.

"What…what happened?"

"I…I was hoping you could tell me. I woke up in a field."

Arthur's eyes widened, and his hands shot to his bare stomach, only to come in contact with perfect skin. His scars from wars and catastrophes long past were still there, of course, faintly visible. But whatever wound Arthur was searching for was not. "I…this…but how am I…?"

"How are you…what?"

Arthur didn't answer. "I…I'm sorry. I'm just confused. I was hurt escaping from Yao, and I…I teleported us here."

"Teleported? With magic?"

He nodded slowly "Yes. Yes. God, I'm just glad it worked."

"And our wounds?"

Arthur stiffened. "Pardon?"

"Our wounds, Arthur. I was hurt. You said you were hurt. But where are our wounds?"

"I…well…I healed you."

Alfred narrowed his gaze. "Healed? How much can you do with magic exactly?"

"A lot more than I could the last time we met." He pushed away from Alfred and rose to his feet, slightly shaky.

Alfred wasn't sure he bought this whole story, but he would let it go for now. Just for now. Because right now, he couldn't handle any more secrets, any more disasters. He couldn't handle anything right now. And if he had things his way, he would happily curl up and die right there, sobbing until he choked on the forest floor. But things weren't going his way. If they had been, this would never have happened in the first place.

He coughed. "So, where are we?"

Arthur looked around. "I'm not sure. But I know we're still in France. My spell couldn't take us but so far. We just need to find a road."

"Okay."

Arthur gazed up at him, sorrow pooling in his eyes. "Alfred, I'm so sorry…about everything. I just…I screwed up."

Alfred pressed his thumb against Arthur's lips. "Don't. There's only one person I blame here." He started walking again. "And I intend to make him know it."

Dro: So, how many of you thought Arthur was dead? If you lie, I'll know. I have your previous reviews as evidence! Ha!

Next Chapter: Parallel! Al, Arthur, and Parallel! Matt managed to track down Yao's base, only to be horrified by what they discover. Meanwhile, Alfred and Parallel! Arthur journey back to Paris in search of the former group. There's a phone call that leads to some revelations. Lots of anger. Lots of sadness. (What else do you expect? This is my story, after all.)