Dro: Oi, lazies! What happened to my ecstatic reviews for Labyrinth? They've been slowly trickling in for Chapter 3. I think I've only gotten half the reviews that I got for each of the first two chapters so far. -chastises lazy peoples- Don't do that to me now. Sharp drops in reviews scare me, guys! Makes me think I'm doing something wrong. ;_; Anyway, now that I'm done complaining for the day, onto this story!

Chapter Summary: The nations arrive amidst the chaos of Berlin. Ludwig receives devastating news. And Arthur struggles to keep himself together as the guilt keeps building up.

Warnings: Violence; Language

Disclaimer: Dro still doesn't own APH. Though I do own copies of the DVDs for season 1 and 2, the first 2 graphic novels, and the Art Stella. As if that counts for anything...

It was chaos. They'd had to change airports at the last second, and the only reason they'd been able to land at all was because they were "government officials." As they quickly learned from the German authorities who escorted them to a safe location near the edge of Berlin, someone had detonated several massive bombs at strategic points across the city. Ludwig was baffled as to how Russia was moving so quickly. How could he possibly have had time to set this all up already? As they sat in a large, bare-walled room, silent and brooding, Ludwig found his heart beating rapidly.

He'd had Feliciano sent here to Berlin. At his insistence. The other Feliciano had made it clear that his other self would be much safer far away from any urban areas. Just in case. But he hadn't listened. And now this had happened. What if Feliciano had been hurt? Worse? So many government buildings had been destroyed in the explosions. What if Feliciano had been in one of them? He would never forgive himself if that had happened. Never.

"You need to stop worrying so much." Feliciano's calm, cool voice floating into his ear with a whisper. "If you let yourself become distressed, you will be unable to help him if such a situation arises. There is no point in panicking over the unknown, Ludwig. So subdue your feelings for now. We need you level-headed."

Ludwig wanted to punch him, but he restrained himself. Despite Feliciano's apparent lack of empathy for anyone, he was right. Ludwig needed to stay composed if he was to be able to help his friends, to help his own Feliciano. There was no denying that. But even straight logic couldn't calm his heart completely. It still ached with every beat, and he imagined it would for a while. Until he made sure that Feliciano was all right.

"I need to talk to him." He glanced at the crowd in the room. "Alone." He muttered.

Feliciano didn't even look his direction. "There's a pay phone around the corner."

Ludwig didn't hesitate. He marched out the room and rushed down the hallway, nearly tearing the phone right off the wall. He dug around in his pocket and pulled out some spare change, shoving it quickly into the machine. He pulled the mobile phone number out of his memory, praying he remembered it correctly. It started ringing. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the wall, his entire body restless.

"You've reached Gilbert Beilschmidt." A low, automated-sounding voice answered in German.

"Fuck! Gilbert, pick up the goddamned phone!"

"This is Gilbert, stupid." The weary voice replied.

"…Oh." He could have sworn that… "Are you all right? You sound…"

"Like I nearly got blown up? Well, yeah. That's because I did."

Ludwig's pulse quickened. "Are you injured?"

"Eh, I'm…okay. A few broken bones. Some burns. Bruising. I'll live."

"And Feliciano?" He was afraid to ask.

Gilbert said nothing for several seconds. "I don't know." He whispered.

Ludwig felt like he was falling. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said, West. I don't know where Feli is. We were in the same building, just a few blocks down from one of the bombs. He was in a different room though. When the bomb went off, I was sent flying. The building collapsed. And…I was knocked out." He sighed. "When I came to, I was outside in the street. Gott knows how I got there. I just…West, I'm so sorry. You asked me to look after him, and I…I failed you."

Ludwig shook his head. "No. No, this isn't your fault. This is one man's fault, and it's not yours."

"Look, I've got everyone I know searching the building for him, okay? I'm sure they'll find him." He didn't even bother to say alive. "West, tell me the truth now. Is Russia back? This…was this an attack by Russia? It…It seems just like the first time, just like the original bombings that Russia tried to pass off as unrelated terrorists attacks…just…just before he launched the real assault. I…I don't want to believe it, but with all this talk about magic and shit…did Russia somehow come back?"

There was no point in lying. "Yes. Yao brought Russia back to life."

"…Fuck." He sounded exasperated. "So all that work…all that war and death…was for nothing?"

Ludwig bit his lip. Hard. "No, Gilbert. Four years ago was for everything. The world recovered from Russia's assault last time, and this time…this time we will not let him get that far. Do you hear me? We will stop him."

Gilbert sighed even harder. "Yeah, I hear you, West. I hear you." He could tell Gilbert didn't believe him. "The problem is, of course, how far he'll get before you do."

"We're going to take him down. Soon. I promise."

"You say that, West, and I want to believe you. But let me ask you this. Did you have any idea he was going to attack Berlin?"

Ludwig froze. No, they hadn't even known that Russia was going to Berlin, much less that he…he immediately understood Gilbert's point. Russia was too far ahead of them. The odds of him even still being here in Berlin were slim. He…he had known they would figure out he was traveling back to his homeland, and he had set a trap for them. He would destroy their planned base of operations to set them back even further. Ludwig nearly slammed the phone down. That bastard. Even Ludwig couldn't deny it now. Russia was a tactical genius, and it was this quality that had made him so hard to defeat in the first place. The only reason they'd even beat him last time was from pure luck alone.

And now it sincerely looked like that luck had run out.

"Gilbert, are you in the hospital?"

"Clinic, actually. Hospitals are filled with people in need of intensive care only now. Everyone else has been directed to smaller facilities."

Well, at least Gilbert seemed to be on top of things here. "Okay. Can you tell me where? You're government agents took us to a safe house when we arrived. We can come get you."

"Ah, got it. Just send some of them here." He recited the address. "No point in you risking yourselves in this chaos."

"All right. I'll do that. See you soon, Gilbert."

"See you soon, brother."

Ludwig hung the receiver up and backed away until he hit the wall. He slid listlessly down the floor and stared at nothing. Feliciano was missing. He could be…he could be…They'd left him to protect him, and…He didn't bother trying to hold back the tears.

Artie (as he had now begrudgingly conceded to calling himself) stared out the window, a ache in his chest. Would London be next after this? Russia was already the move again, already seeking to destroy everything they'd worked so hard to rebuild. It wasn't fair. It wasn't…it was all his fault. If he'd never helped Yao. If he'd never…if he'd never agreed to send Feliciano to the other world in the first place…There was no one to blame for this mess but himself. He'd heard the numbers on the news over and over. Thousands dead and thousands more missing. Major train stations, airports, shopping areas, government buildings…destroyed in seconds. And all those deaths were on his shoulders.

A hand landed on his shoulder. He saw who it was out of the corner of his eye. Al stood next to him. The man nodded his head to the side, indicating for him to follow. He did so without speaking. He needed to get out of this room, away from the television blaring the devastating news over and over. He followed his lover down the hallway and into an empty room. This building was brand new, but it was so…empty. Al closed the door behind them and sat down on a stiff new couch, patting the cushion beside him. Artie sank onto it and leaned against Al's shoulder.

"You okay?" Al murmured.

"No." He answered honestly.

Al wrapped an arm around him and held him close. "We'll fix this, Arthur. I promise."

He only wished that his lover could have sincerely meant that. But even America didn't have the power to guarantee victory. "I want to believe that. I really do, Alfred. But…after everything that's happened so far…"

"Don't." Al cut him off. "Don't go all pessimistic on me now, Arthur. We are going to win this. Hands down. If we've beat him once, we can do it again. An that's all there is to it."

If only he knew how much Artie had really screwed up. He bet if he told his lover he was bound to another man that his tune would about face instantly. But he couldn't. He'd tried to tell Al at least twenty times already what was going on between him and Alfred, but he hadn't been able. It was too much. It was too devastating. He hadn't even fully processed it himself yet. He certainly wasn't ready to break the news to his lover. So he kept quiet.

They stayed like that for several minutes, Al holding him tightly, trying to comfort him with sweet nothings. It didn't work though, and eventually, Al gave up and sighed, picking up business again. "Hey, did you ever figure out how Yao revived Ivan without sacrificing Alfred?"

Artie stiffened. Oh, this again. "Um, no…I've been thinking about that for a while. He may have found a way to circumvent the need to Alfred. It's possible." Actually, it wasn't. The spell specifically required Alfred because Alfred had been Ivan's sole murderer. He had meant to kill Ivan, and he had. Which meant the only suitable sacrifice was Alfred. In Alfred's case, on the other hand, the bullet that had killed him had been meant for Artie. Alfred had intercepted the shot. That meant there was no link between killer and killed. It hadn't been intentional. Which made Alfred's resurrection possible at the hands of any sacrifice. Had Ivan not been killed by Alfred like he was, and instead killed, say, by his mansion exploding, then Yao would have been able to use any old person to bring him back.

And it was this fact that had made Artie so much more sure that they'd never have to deal with Ivan again. He hadn't once imagined that Yao had enough drive to actually travel to the other world just to obtain the needed sacrifice. In fact, he had never thought Yao had any desire to resurrect Ivan at all.

Oh, how wrong he'd been.

"Damn." Al responded. "You would think since he went through all the trouble of getting the other me here that he wouldn't have had an alternate solution."

Artie shrugged. He was lying to his lover. He was lying through his teeth. "Magic is tricky that way. He may have discovered the alternative after he'd already lured Alfred here."

Al sighed. "This is just…God damn it all."

"I'm sorry…"

Al perked up. "What?" He frowned. "Hey, you're not blaming yourself, are you?" Artie refused to look at him until Al enveloped him in a tight embrace. "Come on, Arthur. You know better than that. This is Yao's fault. Ivan's fault. Not yours."

And yet here I am lying to you even while you trust me so much. "I…I understand that, but…I still feel so responsible."

"I know. I felt responsible, too, when I failed to stop Ivan from bombing the States. I…thought I'd never forgive myself for failing my people that way. But it gets better, Arthur. I promise. We're going to beat Ivan. We're going to fix all the damage he's done. And then you'll see what I mean."

Arthur wasn't so sure.

They all stood gathered in a half circle around a battered Gilbert. He'd just arrived with a group of guards around him, all of whom looked incredibly spooked and on edge. Alfred couldn't blame them. They had a reason to be. He flicked his eyes over to the hallway that the other him and Artie had disappeared down earlier, waiting for them to return. Artie had brooding throughout their entire stay, and it was really starting to bother him. This bombing had to be weighing heavily on the man's conscience. He could only hope his other self was reassuring Artie that it wasn't his fault.

He glanced down at his own Arthur, who was wrapped in a blanket. Alfred had asked him several times what had happened to him, but Arthur refused to answer. He felt like he was about to fall apart now. First his brother and now his lover. Matthew was the only one who had refused to move from his seat when Gilbert had shown up. He still sat, legs crossed, forehead pressed against the window. It was like he wasn't even there, like his mind was somewhere out in deep space, floating further and further away from Earth. Alfred wished he would come back. He knew Mattie needed time, but…but he couldn't stand this. And now Arthur was following him down that path. The only difference was that Arthur was at least attempting to act like his normal self.

It was a weak illusion.

His green eyes were distant, as if he wasn't really seeing what was in front of him. Alfred couldn't help but wonder why no one would talk to him. These two…they were closer to him than anyone else he had ever met, and yet…and yet neither of them would come to him in their times of need. Why? What had he done wrong here? It had to be something about himself, right? Or maybe they were just so traumatized that they had lost their abilities to maintain their relationships and feelings for others. God, he hoped that wasn't the case. He hoped it was his fault a thousand times over. Anything but that. He could stand them drifting away from him. But he couldn't stand knowing they'd suffered permanent emotional damage.

Gilbert cleared his throat, and Alfred dared to look away from Arthur to refocus his attention on the man. Ludwig stood closest to him, his face totally devoid of blood. Alfred was surprised the man hadn't fainted yet. When Ludwig had returned earlier, eyes red and puffy, and stammered out that Feliciano was missing…Alfred couldn't imagine what he was feeling at this point. Ludwig had tried so hard to keep him safe…and this was the result of that. What was wrong with this world? Why couldn't anyone keep their loved ones from harm? Why did everyone keep failing to protect the people they cared about?

"So…I've…got some news."

Alfred saw Arthur tense, and he himself froze, waiting for more news that was bound to be devastating. It wasn't what he'd been expecting, but it was either the most devastating news they'd heard all day or the most reassuring, depending on how you looked at it.

"We've searched the entire remains of the building that Feliciano and I were in." Gilbert took a deep breath. "We didn't find him. Not a trace."

"So he got away?" Ludwig asked hopefully.

Gilbert shook his head. "We honestly don't know. We're searching for him. I've got all the guys I can spare on it. But…I can say we honestly have no clue about his condition. He may have escaped from the building before it collapsed. But…there was so much carnage and chaos and confusion…he could have easily gotten swept away in the crowds. He could be anywhere in the city by now. But I swear we'll keep searching, West. If he's out there, we'll find him."

No one dared to ask the question out loud.

What if he wasn't?

Dro: Wrote the next chapter today. Can't wait to post it.

Next Chapter: Poor Italy finds himself lost in Berlin with no where to go and no one to turn to, and he ends up confused and ambivalent over thoughts of Ludwig and his parallel self. Oh, and there's some fighting and some guns and some nasty stab wounds involved.