Dro: -yawn- Here you go, guys! Lots of stuff happening in this chapter. Can't wait until it gets really intense. (Pssh, like it's not already.) Anyway, have at it! And drop a review, if you please! I'm looking forward to hearing your opinions on Feli in this chapter. I have a feeling some of you will notice something very interesting about him.

Chapter Summary: Feliciano and Lovino talk about what's happening, and Feliciano makes a surprising request. Meanwhile, the nations are brutally attacked.

Warnings: Violence; Language

Disclaimer: Ha ha! Yeah right! With as much as I've spent in the last few weeks, I'll be lucky to have enough to buy books next semester!

"And here I'd thought I'd heard everything." He stirred the sugar into his coffee. "But Resurrection? What's Russia going to come up with next? Ascending to godhood?" He sipped the steaming beverage. "I wouldn't put it past him at this point."

Feliciano swung his feet around carelessly. "Ve, I don't know. I just heard Yao talking about him. So he's back, and since this all started with magic, I'm assuming it went from there." He eyed his fratello curiously. This Lovino was far more subdued than his own. There had been no random outbursts of rage or strings of curses. He could just see it teeming in those green eyes, hiding beneath the surface, but this version of his brother had absolute control over himself. In a way, he preferred this Lovino. He didn't have to cringe at the yelling and swearing every few minutes. But on the other hand…it was a little too quiet.

"So, all your friends have met up with this world's nations?"

"Supposedly." He answered, glancing out the window. They were far from the city they'd started in now, and they'd hunkered down in a little town near the border. As far as Feliciano knew, everyone was still in Germany, so he'd figured their best bet was to head there. Of course, traveling was kind of complicated at this point. Lovino's picture was all over the news. It seemed the government had decided not to mention the actual assassins and just go with the standard "he broke out" response. Though Feliciano didn't entirely blame them for that. The last thing the European governments wanted to do right now was incite mass panic. A story about mysterious assassins showing up to assassinate another assassin—one that worked for and betrayed Russia—was probably not something that would help keep people calm. Of course, neither was saying a dangerous assassin had escaped.

"So, finish telling me about your harrowing escape from Yao's men." Lovino took another sip.

"Ah, well, ve." He felt his face flush. Lovino was highly skilled. He'd probably laugh at how amateur Feliciano had been. "I, uh, got separated from Gilbert when the bombs went off. I tried to help him because he was knocked unconscious, but the police showed up and thought I was…" He frowned sourly. "Thought I was the other me."

Lovino paused mid-sip. "Oh. I see." His gaze was contemplative. "Continue?"

"Well, they shot at me, and I had to run away. Then I got lost in Berlin because it's different from the one at home. That's where I ran into Yao's men. They ambushed me, but I managed to escape." He wrung his hands, avoiding his brother's hard gaze.

"Unscathed? Impressive."

He blushed harder. "Not exactly."

A brown eyebrow shot up. "You're injured?"

"Not that bad. I took care of them myself."

Lovino set his cup down on the table. "Gunshot wounds?"

"Um, no…knife."

Lovino pursed his lips. "Let me see them." His demeanor had completely shifted into something akin to concern, but like all of his emotions, it seemed…off. Feliciano slowly rose to his feet and unbuttoned his shirt until the bandage was visible. Lovino slipped around the table and quickly unwound the gauze, revealing an aggravated but healing stab wound. "You said 'them.' There's another?" He nodded and hesitantly tugged one side of his pants down until the bandage on his hip was visible.

"It's okay though. I took care of them. Ve, you don't have to worry!" He tried his best to smile, but he could tell he faltered. It was hard to smile when talking about something he really wished to forget. As far as he was concerned, what had happened in Berlin was in the past. He didn't want to the think about the rain or the guns or the explosions or the knives. He'd been in a very bad state of mind there, and he was just beginning to get over it. Having Lovino to talk to had helped him a lot, and he really wanted to steer clear of this subject.

"Well, they look all right. You bandaged them yourself?"

"Well…since it was just me at the time, um…"

Lovino's face was unreadable. "You're a lot stronger than you pretend to be, aren't you?"

Feliciano swallowed nervously. "I…I'm not weak, if that's what you mean. I can fight if I have to. I just don't like to." His brain berated him, calling him a liar. He'd killed a lot of Yao's men, so how he could claim to hate fighting? He shivered at the prospect.

"I see." Lovino sank back down into his chair. "But everyone thinks you are, don't they?"

He froze. "Ve?"

"Weak. Everyone thinks you're weak. That's why they left you with Gilbert, right?"

"…Just…can we not go there?"

"I think we should. If you really want to help defeat Russia, then you need to be in top condition. When you saved me back in the jail, you knew what you were doing and you did it well. But I've noticed—and trust me, it's obvious—that every second you've been around me, you regress further and further into this mock 'helpless' state. Whether you hate fighting or are scared of it or are just a pacifist, it doesn't matter. If you honestly want to help here, then you will have to fight. I, for one, will not do all the work for you while you cower at the sidelines."

His hands shook. "I…I wasn't suggesting you do that…"

"But weren't you?" Lovino tapped his sugar spoon on the table. "It's what you always do, isn't it? It's why everyone thinks you're weak, right? You abhor fighting, so you refuse to do it even in the face of danger. Instead of doing the dirty work for yourself, you let others do it for you, and this makes you come off as useless in combat. But you're not, are you?" He kept tapping the spoon. "No, you're smart and skilled and have a ton of potential, but you're letting your inhibitions get in the way. And don't get me wrong. I do not, under any circumstances, want you to turn out like my Feliciano. But if you want to prove your worth to those people you call your friends, then you will have to stand up and fight with them."

Feliciano refused to meet his eyes. He stared at a chip on the wood of the table, biting back tears. He knew Lovino was right. When he'd been in that city all by himself, he'd let his body stifle his hatred of fighting and let his instincts take over. But that was just it. He was just afraid of his instincts as he was of fighting in the first place. He didn't want to become like the assassin bastard. He didn't want to become like the countless people he'd seen smiling and grinning and laughing and cheering on the battlefields of the past. He wanted to be happy because good things were happening. That was how he'd always operated.

But, out of jealousy and fear, he'd hitched a ride to this soon-to-be-hell, and now he was stuck with a impending war on the path before him. So what was he to do? He was terrified of the him that had emerged in Berlin, but if he didn't embrace that side of himself, he would either die or get his loved ones killed. Standing back and letting Ludwig do all the work wasn't going to happen this time. Ludwig was just as liable to fail as anyone else. If they were to defeat Russia, they would need everyone. Including him.

"O…Okay."

Lovino raised another eyebrow. "Okay…what?"

"Train me."

"Train you…?"

"Train me to fight!" He clenched his pants' legs and bit his lip anxiously. "Please?"

Lovino seemed stumped for a moment, but then he understand. He nodded. "All right then. I'm not sure how much I can teach you before we actually end up in a combat situation, but I will try my best. First off, though, finish your story about Berlin. You said you ran into Yao's men more than once?"

"Ve, yeah. They caught me trying to use them to find Ludwig and the others, but I got away from them." He fidgeted.

"How?" Lovino drained the last of his coffee.

"I, uh…tricked them into following me into an apartment…"

"And…?"

"And made a gas oven explode."

Lovino snorted. "You really are a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for, you know?"

Feliciano really couldn't think of a way to counter that one.

Alfred tied the towel tightly, trying to ignore the screams of his counterpart. Artie was yelling at him. Arthur was yelling at him. And this was a really bad time to be yelling at him. Another explosion wracked the ground behind them, and Alfred grabbed onto the handhold as the car shook. He kept applying pressure to his other self's shoulder, and he looked the man over. His eyes were glazed, he wasn't coherent, and Alfred was deathly afraid that he was going into shock and there was nothing he could do about it.

It had come out of nowhere. They'd been sitting down, enjoying a meal and watching the continuing carnage in Berlin on the news. Then, there had no longer been a room. The explosion had been so loud that one of Alfred's eardrums had burst, and he currently only had hearing on his left side. There were splinters stuck in a thousand places in his skin, and he had a pretty nasty head wound, which he was pretty sure was causing his vision to waver. Either that, or his eyes were injured too. Which he seriously hoped wasn't the case. His poor double had been impaled through the shoulder with a massive wooden beam, and though Alfred had layered two towels and was holding pressure as hard as he dared, he wasn't sure Al would make it to the hospital.

He wanted to scream at the two Arthurs, but they weren't in much better shape than himself. Both of Arthur's legs were bloody, one of them bent oddly. And of course, Artie had the same wounds he did. Half of his own had probably originated from the man. And that was just the injured in their car. All the guards had grabbed them and rushed them to the onsite vehicles, but they'd been split up in the chaos. Alfred had no idea where Mattie and Matt were, and he could only hope they were somewhere nearby. He'd seen both of them running for the vehicles, so he knew they were alive. At least they had been when the cars had starting hightailing it out of the area. Alfred had never even seen the people who'd attacked them, but he knew they were pursuing them. Every now and then, a blast would erupt somewhere nearby. They were getting more infrequent, which was a good sign, but Alfred wouldn't count Russia's men out just yet.

It wasn't until they pulled into a hospital thirty minutes later that Alfred finally sighed in relief. Doctors and ER staff rushed out and took Al first, finally taking his life out of Alfred's hands. They were escorted on foot into the facility, and Alfred mumbled a tired "see you later" and let himself be guided into a wheelchair. He was rolled into a CAT scan room, where they confirmed he had a nasty concussion. A identical concussion to the one that Artie would have. He berated himself. He was the one who had gotten the head wound. After that, his vision began to waver more, and he felt himself begin to lose his grasp on consciousness. He caught only glimpses of the world around him: a nurse telling him to relax, a IV being inserted, a flashlight being passed over his eyes.

And then, nothing.

When he woke up several hours later, his head pounding and his hearing still distorted, a nurse was in the room. "Hey…" He muttered, his throat dry.

She paused and smiled at him. "Good evening. Do you need anything?"

"W...water?"

She nodded and poured some into a paper cup, lifting it to his face and carefully letting him sip at it until it was gone. "Anything else?"

His mind was hazy, but he managed to remember enough to ask the only questioned he needed to. "Everyone else…are they okay?"

She smiled sadly. "Most of them are, yes. I know your brother," she paused, "both of them, are okay. They just needed some outpatient procedures."

"Who…who isn't?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid Mr. Beilschmidt isn't doing very well. He's comatose right now. His brother is in slightly better shape, but he's also in the ICU."

Alfred swallowed nervously. "Did…did anyone die?"

She hesitated for several moments before nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry, but we couldn't save all of them. Some of them are still in surgery, but we're doing our best." She turned out the light. "You should rest right now. You've been through a lot. When you wake up tomorrow, I'll be able to tell you more, okay?"

He was sleep before she'd closed the door.

Dro: Aw, poor Alfred. I do the worst crap to him, don't I?

Next Chapter: Feliciano's first day of training is...interesting, to say the least. Meanwhile, Alfred awakens to the resulting carnage of Ivan's latest attack.