Expect the word "Ow" to come to mind.

Warning: Anarchy, battle situation, death by glass and grenade

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

Germany

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert

Gunfire erupted as Gilbert stood in the Reichstag's north functions hall, staring out at the makeshift front set up just a hundred yards from the large glass windows. Tanks and men armed with guns were the only things that separated him and the rest of the officials from the terror of the people.

The people. It shamed him to even think that the only way to counter their rebellion was to kill them. When the initial revolt broke out, many big wigs were killed, and the rest—including him and his brother—retreated to the only intact government building in the area. The military (or rather what was left of it) had been called in to protect the remaining leaders, and it had warned the public that it would not hesitate to shoot them down if they tried to lead an attack. Now, here he was, feeling as alone as ever and frozen where he stood.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump.

"Relax, brother, it's just me." The familiar voice of Ludwig comforted Gilbert.

He turned to him, eyeing him seriously—which he honestly hadn't done but a handful of times before. "Ludwig, how are they holding?"

Ludwig met his gaze steadily. "They have somehow annexed tanks and weapons of their own and are taking out the remaining troops in a blitzkrieg."

Gilbert lowered his eyes. "I thought I'd never live to see the day when our own strategy was used against us by our own people."

"Me neither," Ludwig sighed as he put a hand on his shoulder once more, coaxing their eyes to meet again. "We can't stay here, East."

Gilbert swallowed dryly. "No sane man can."

"That's not what I mean." Ludwig said. "The Bundestag demand our departure."

Gilbert pulled away from him, whipping his head around to peer out the window as the sound of planes roared overhead. "Are those our planes?"

"Oh Lord help us," Ludwig said slowly.

They gave startled shouts as the floor beneath their feet rocked with the sounds and explosions of bombs dropping outside the building. Some of the ceiling began to crumble.

Just then, the President of the Bundestag came running in, pausing to catch his breath before he yelled over the rumbling, "They have planes… and they're dropping bombs on the building!"

Before the brothers could respond, the ground shifted as a bomb exploded with a loud boom on the north side of the building.

The President lunged forward and snatched up both of their wrists, tugging them toward the door. "You must leave. Now!"

They certainly didn't protest as they were led out through the lobby and out into the hall.

"Where are we going?" Gilbert shouted over the almost constant booms.

The President didn't stop in his running. He didn't even bother to turn around. "To one of the government's planes!"

They entered the dome room next, running quickly through. Gilbert peered up through the glass as he ran, watching the annexed planes soar overhead.

"Incoming!" he shouted and pushed his brother to the floor, throwing himself on top of him, and covering his own head with his hands.

There was a deafening screech as the massive cupola shattered into a million pieces, the shards of glass whipping like bullets through the air and lodging themselves in any solid object they hit. Gilbert bit his lip as his back and hands were imbedded with the sharp projectiles.

When their ears stopped ringing, Gilbert picked himself slowly off of his brother, helping Ludwig to his feet. He looked around for the President, and his heart sank when his eyes rested upon the crumpled man, his throat and sides impaled with glass. Gilbert assumed he must not have heard his warning.

"No…" Ludwig breathed almost helplessly.

"It looks like we were lucky." Gilbert observed, pointing out the undetonated shell sitting in the middle of the room. He grabbed his brother's wrist. "We need to go."

"But the President—"

"Stays here. He won't feel anything anymore." Gilbert replied. "Come on."

Ludwig nodded, and Gilbert could see he was struggling to rebuild his composure. "Let's go."

With that, they exited the now destroyed dome room, Gilbert wincing with the pain in his back. The shards were deeply buried; too deep in to come out on their own. He'd have to pick them out later. Now he settled with getting them out of his hands… but they hurt like a bitch.

They ran until they heard it—the sound of the plane engine on the east side. The brothers flew past the soldiers and captains and exited the building via the committee room.

Outside, the remainder of the Bundestag and the Bundesrat were gathered close together beside the plane, surrounded by armed soldiers. As they approached them, a member broke away from the group (much to the displeasure of the soldiers) and hobbled toward them.

"Where's the President?"

Ludwig seemed as if he couldn't answer, so Gilbert did it for him. "He's gone."

The member's face twisted into shock, then grief, then determination. "Get on the plane."

"Why should we leave when you must stay behind?" Ludwig asked.

"It is too late for us." the member replied hopelessly. "But not for you. If you live on, then a whole new generation of the Bundestag and the Bundesrat will take our places."

"It isn't right," Ludwig snapped. "I won't allow it."

"Would you rather end up like the President and the Chancellor? They won't be of much help now, and you won't be either if you're dead."

"He's right, West." Gilbert put a hand on Ludwig's shoulder, and realized he was trembling. Ludwig was not one to break under stressful situations. But then again, this wasn't your average riot.

He could almost hear the wheels turning in Ludwig's head. It was strange—normally Ludwig was so experienced with dealing with a crisis, but now he seemed almost… at a loss. He did the only thing he knew how to do, that was nearly instinctual and dated back to Prussia's strict military history: obeying your superiors and trusting in the experience of someone else.

"Yes, sir,"

"Then you will depart to the United States. It is the only place we could contact."

The member gave him a small smile and led them toward the plane. When Gilbert shuffled past the soldiers, he could hear them gasp and mutter worriedly. Oh God, how bad were his injuries?

As they climbed the stairs into the cabin, the members waved them off. They sat side-by-side, Gilbert's arm wrapped securely around his little brother's shoulders.

The pilot steered the plane around the south side of the building so that they were facing the front. It had fallen back nearly halfway, the angry citizens overwhelming the trained missionaries with their numbers and arms. Above them, planes were zooming around, and Gilbert bit his lip, tightening his hold on Ludwig, hoping to God that none of them would decide to take aim.

The plane picked up speed as it ran across the hard-packed earth toward the line of fire. They actually passed through it, and Gilbert turned away when he saw a soldier blown to bits by a grenade. People were firing at the plane, and they were actually gathering a mob as they sped down the makeshift runway, but they were too fast for them to shoot at. Gilbert could hear the growing hum of other planes approaching behind as they neared their takeoff point. It looks as if they've figured us out.

They were pushed back into the seats by their sharp ascent, and they were quickly rolling around in the air, dodging the annexed planes as they were closely followed. One was coming up on their side, and Gilbert's heart leapt into his throat as it got closer and closer to the wing. It was going to crash into them. In fact, Gilbert noticed, that seemed the exact intent of all the other planes in the alliance, as they all picked up speed and encircled them in an effort to make them lose control and crash into the group.

Why aren't they firing? Gilbert wondered. He'd rather be blown up in the air than dive to the earth and slowly burn to death in the wreckage. Then he realized, They must want to capture us… He wasn't sure to be relieved or frightened of that.

There was a sudden swoosh then the sound of crunching metal. At first, Gilbert thought they had been hit and braced himself for a slow, fiery death, but it never came. Puzzled, he looked outside.

There, flying like bullets through the air from every direction, were the government jets. They shot off heat-seeking missiles that tailed the opposing planes until they were nothing but fiery bits of metal and smoke. Gradually, the planes began to fly dangerously close to the planes surrounding Gilbert and Ludwig until, finally, the enemy pilots were forced to pull away to avoid collisions and to deal with the sudden onslaught.

Gilbert didn't stop squeezing Ludwig (nor did he notice it) until a good ten minutes later, when they could no longer hear the bombs at the Reichstag and Ludwig muttered, "East… you are hurting my arm."

"Oh, sorry," Gilbert withdrew from him, realizing that the strength of his grip was enough to cause bruises. I'll have to take a look at that later. He thought.

"Don't you want to rest, East?" Ludwig asked, looking at him strangely. It was only then that Ludwig noticed he was sitting with his back awkwardly turned away from the seat.

"No, I'm fine."

"Let me see your injuries."

"What! Why do you always suspect—"

"Because you're stubborn, that's why." Ludwig snapped and spun him around. Gilbert could feel Ludwig's fingers dig into his shoulders as he assessed the damage. "The cupola… why did you cover me?"

"Do I really need to answer that for you?" Gilbert asked incredulously. "I'm your brother, West. These kinds of things are instinctual."

"Shut up," Gilbert cracked a smile as he heard a hint of amusement in Ludwig's voice. Only Gilbert could get Ludwig to come mildly close to laughing. Mildly. "I'll need to pick these out."

"I know," Then in a mocking, childish voice he whimpered, "Please, be gentle with my awesomeness."

"Gilbert?"

"Yes, dear brother of mine?"

"Shut up before I decide to push them in deeper."

"Love you, too, Luddie."

Italy

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

It was so scary! All the gunshots, all the shouting… it was truly terrifying.

Feliciano huddled in the corner of his living room, hugging himself and crying. He had cried for so long now, that he had no more tears to cry. He hadn't left his corner for three days—which explained his dehydration and weight loss.

But he didn't care. He was too scared to leave, to even look in any other direction but at the wall. His lungs heaved and his chest was sore with crying, dry hiccups still falling from his cracked lips, his face still hot with the effort.

He flinched as his cell phone rang across the room, unusually loud to his sensitive ears. Feliciano whimpered and covered his ears as it continued, almost mocking him. He couldn't answer it. His fear wouldn't allow him to. He was afraid the bad people could track him if he answered, so he remained where he was, in his little corner, curled up and breaking in his cries to hold his breath as closer gunshots rang out.

He didn't know what he'd done wrong! Feliciano had made so many white flags and stuck them around the outside of his house, that he was sure someone must have seen them. Why weren't they working, then? Didn't they know he'd given up?

He cried out as the wind began to pick up outside. Feliciano covered his ears and cried, fearing the worst as the low roar continued.

There was the sound of footsteps and then a pounding at the door.

"Feliciano! Feli, I know you're in there!"

Feliciano didn't answer, only curled more into a ball.

"Please, open the door, Feli!"

"Go away!" Feliciano cried. "You'll hurt me!"

"Stupid bastard, listen to me! Do I sound like someone who would hurt you?"

Feliciano blinked. No… it couldn't be, could it? After all, he'd assumed he was dead when he was reported missing from the entire country. Cautiously—and with much effort—Feliciano crawled over to the door and unlocked it slowly. As soon as it was, the door flew open, and Feliciano threw himself to floor, curling into a fetal position and shouting, "Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me, please!"

"Idiot," came the familiar voice. "Why would I hurt my own brother?"

Feliciano peered up and breathed, "L-Lovino?"

Lovino rolled his eyes and offered Feliciano a hand. "Yes, dammit, now get up."

Feliciano smiled as he took his hand, bringing himself to his feet. Immediately, though, his legs buckled and felt like jelly as they crumpled beneath him. Lovino lunged forward, catching Feliciano as he fell.

"Wow, that's weird." Feliciano blinked in confusion at his immobile legs. "I can't really feel my legs. They're kinda tingly!" he laughed weakly on the last part.

"Oh, no…" Lovino held him as he tried to examine the damage. "That's not good, Feli. What have you been doing?"

Feliciano looked guiltily down at the floor, as if he had just been found with his hand in the cookie jar—which definitely wasn't a good thing to be caught for, he knew from experience with Austria. "I… I've been sitting over there." He motioned to the corner.

Lovino glanced at it before looking sternly back at him and asking, "For how long?"

"… three days…"

"Three days?" Lovino nearly shouted, gripping Feliciano hard around the shoulders. "What is wrong with you, idiot? Have you eaten at all?"

"… no…"

"Had any water?"

"No…"

"Bathroom?"

Feliciano began crying again. Lovino shook his head. "Stupid bastard…"

"I'm sorry, Lovi! I'm sorry! Please, help me!"

Lovino sighed and hugged his brother close, cradling his head against his shoulder. "Of course I will help you, idiot."

Feliciano silently cried as they stood there (or rather, Lovino stood and held him) for a few more minutes before a gunshot reminded them of the danger that lurked outside.

Lovino pushed Feliciano off of him so that he could meet his eyes. "Have they seen you?"

Feliciano shook his head, hiccupping pitifully.

"Do they know you're here?"

"I don't know…"

Another gunshot.

"We need to get out of here." Lovino said and pulled Feliciano toward the door.

"Wait, Lovino!" Feliciano dragged his feet, unable to walk. "How?"

Lovino turned around so that Feliciano could clamber onto his back. "The helicopter, idiot. Didn't you hear it?"

Feliciano didn't have time to answer as another gunshot forced them to move. Lovino ran as fast as he could out the door and around the backside of the house where a helicopter hovered overhead. He stopped and waved at it until a ladder was dropped down. He began his ascent, and Feliciano gripped him tightly as Lovino struggled to pull both their weights to the top.

Then, something whizzed past Feliciano's head, and he screamed, nearly strangling Lovino in the process. Lovino choked a bit before glancing over his shoulder. They were only halfway up the ladder. "Dammit! They've spotted us!"

What Feliciano realized were bullets zoomed past them, and he began to cry. Lovino grunted, "Feli, I need you to crawl around to my front."

"What?" Feliciano sniffed.

"Go,"

"But I'm scared!"

"Do it, dumbass!"

With a whimper, Feliciano clambered around until he was clinging onto Lovino from the front, head buried in his brother's shoulder.

"Come on, dammit!" Lovino grunted as he continued to move up the ladder. Feliciano could feel his muscles straining as he did so. "Almost there!"

A bullet shot by and sliced through the thin fabric on Lovino's sleeve, making him hiss with pain. Feliciano screamed as he saw blood well from the light scratch.

"Stop squirming, dammit!" Lovino growled.

The bullets continued to fly, gunshots sounding louder than the blades of the helicopter. Finally, Lovino managed to make it to the top of the ladder, muttering for Feliciano to climb into the cabin. As soon as he was in, Feliciano reached for him, grabbing his right hand.

Then, there was another shot and Lovino gave a pained shout of, "Fuckdammit!" Feliciano was forced to brace his weakened feet against the inside of the cabin as Lovino dropped his left arm from the rung of the ladder, half his body weight being held by Feliciano. It was only after a few more heated curses from his brother and the blood welling beneath the fabric on Lovino's shoulder that Feliciano realized he had been shot.

"Lovino!" he cried, tugging with all his strength, slipping ever closer to the edge of the helicopter.

Lovino peered up at him, shouting, "Idiot! Let me go!"

"No!" Feliciano began to cry as he pulled helplessly at Lovino.

"Feliciano," Lovino met his eyes for a moment that felt like a decade. "Please. I didn't save your ass just to have it killed!"

Feliciano shook his head. "I'm not giving up!"

"Bastard…" Lovino growled, allowing himself to be pulled up by Feliciano.

With all the effort in his already weakened body, Feliciano tugged Lovino up the rest of the ladder and into the cabin. Lovino flopped like a fish on the floor until he had fully scrambled his way in and shut the door behind him.

He rounded on Feliciano who was still sprawled on the floor and trying to catch his breath. "You idiot! Why did you do that?"

"I thought you were… I didn't want you to…" Feliciano started crying again.

"Idiot," Lovino sat down beside Feliciano and held him close. "You truly are a stupid bastard."

Feliciano cried into Lovino's chest as he rocked them both. Lovino peered out the window as the pilot steered them out of Venice and toward the Mediterranean Sea. "I just hope that conditions in America will be better than this. Maybe he might still be alive. Maybe the others will be."

Feliciano glanced up at his brother's face as he sniffled and saw a single tear trail its way down Lovino's cheek. "I just hope…" the older muttered.

No translations!

A Word From the Writer: Romano actually grew some balls. Bet that was a surprise. What will come more of a surprise is finding out where he was during the start of the Uprising. You'd think he would have been with his brother, but...

Onward!