|A/N| Greetings and salutations, my beautiful readers!

You guys want angst? Well the end's got some angst. And it's actually one of my favorite highlights of this chapter! Speaking of this chapter, I'm sorry the update's a week late; I was working on a later chapter (which was, originally, supposed to be this one) but it went to crap. Then I rewrote this one three times. But it was fun to have it morph into something different!

Alright, enjoy everybody. And, thanks to anyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed so far; it means a lot to me!

February 12, 2016

?-?-?, ?-?-?

Feliciano found himself walking down a long, white-painted hallway.

He had never seen anything like it before; it went on for as far as the eye could see, the doors dotting the sides spaced every few feet. Still, despite the oddity of it, the hall almost seemed...familiar? As if he had seen it as a child and the memory was only just resurfacing. He didn't focus on the overwhelming feeling of déjà vu, already feeling nauseous from it, and instead letting his thoughts melt into static as his feet lead him where they wanted him to go.

Every door he passed was different. That was something he couldn't help but to notice. Rotting wood or polished oak; painted pink or white with little designs; metal or opaque glass. It was fascinating, making a small part of the Italian wanted to yank one of the doors open and investigate. A bigger part of his conscious held him back, forcing him to keep a brisk pace; like he was late for a class.

Another thing was odd about the hallway, Feliciano noted, was that his footsteps didn't make any noise. Not even a shuffle or soft thump emanated from the glossy white floor. It wouldn't surprise the young man if he wouldn't be able to hear himself speak while in the hall.

The silence was deafening; even the inside of head Feliciano's head was quiet, an odd phenomena. Nothing about Feliciano was quiet, even his whispering was more of a hushed shout, so this change was almost disorienting. How long had he been walking anyways? A few minutes? An hour? He couldn't really tell. It felt like he was going both too slow and too fast. Everything was jumbled, wherever this was.

Feliciano found his eyes drifting to a door up ahead; it was redwood, a silver doorknob glinting from the unnatural light filtering down from the hall's ceiling. Quickening his steps, Feliciano's feet guided him towards that one door. As soon as he was standing in front of it, he felt the urge to pull the doorknob stronger than ever. His mind was giving him the okay to open up this one door, it seemed.

The silver was cold underneath Feliciano's grasp, sending a refreshing, tingling feeling up his arm. Feliciano swallowed, throat suddenly dry, as he stared at the door. A small carving was in the center of the wood, displaying a group of three birds in the midst of flight. It was almost peaceful, but the Italian felt something odd emanating from the minimalistic etching.

Shaking his head, Feliciano took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. Something was pulling him towards the door; it was probably important, no time for fear.

Wrapping his fingers around the doorknob tighter, the Italian sighed and slowly turned to knob. There was no use in hesitation; that was what his grandfather had always said when he or Lovino were afraid. Feliciano missed the old man...If he were alive, Lovino wouldn't be so stressed...No, Romulus wouldn't like Feliciano's train of thought. After all, people had to die sometime, right? This wasn't the time for him to mourn.

A blast of cold air hit Feliciano's face as the door swung open. It was dark inside, with barely anything visible to the naked eye. Feliciano took a tentative step inside, letting the dark cover him as he heard the door click closed behind him. He hadn't closed that...

"Hello?" He called out, not expecting there to be an answer. And there wasn't, only an echo of his own voice bouncing around the room. A few more steps forward; the room was suddenly freezing, causing Feliciano to grip onto his arms and shiver. His footsteps were louder, amplified by how cavernous the room seemed to be. "Is anybody there?" Feliciano tried again, hoping for a way to direct himself instead of simple drifting.

Something moved in the dark. The sound mixed with Feliciano's echoes, making it all the more creepy. It almost sounded like...chains? Yes, like large metal chains dragging on concrete, like ghosts in horror movies. The temperate took another sharp plummet; Feliciano could see his own panicked breaths.

More movement reached Feliciano's ears, something freezing wrapping around his wrist and prompting him to scream. Nails were digging into his skin like icicles, another hand(?) slapping across his face to mute his screeching. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! Do you want them to catch you?!" A voice echoed; had it been spoken out loud? Or inside of his head?

Light suddenly chased out the dark, shining from somewhere beside his attacker. Feliciano went quiet, finding himself looking into completely white eyes. The hands fell away, the person taking a step back and wiping a hand on his pants. "Very good." The voice said again as he nodded. Turning away, he motioned for Feliciano to follow him. "Come, we have a lot to discuss. And don't try to say no; I don't want to stay here long."

Feliciano rubbed his wrist, staring at the blue skin and grooves that the man's nails had left. That would leave a mark, wouldn't it? Feliciano frowned, keeping pace with the man and taking time to study his appearance: Blue vest, white long-sleeved undershirt, khaki pants; all of that paired with blonde hair and pale skin. He seemed average, stereotypical nerd, the only thing marring the illusion was his eyes. Who even had eyes like that? Those certainly couldn't be contacts...

"I suppose you're wondering who I am?"

Feliciano jumped, blinking stupidly at the sudden question. Slowly, he nodded, "Yeah. I'm Feliciano Vargas! If that makes you more comfortable with introductions. I knew this boy once who never wanted to tell me his name, but when I introdu-"

The man stopped in his tracks, sending the Italian a (supposed) glare over his shoulder. "I have no need for that. I know who you are already. Again, the faster we finish this the better it will be for us." Turning to face Feliciano, the man adjusted his glasses and stuck out a hand. "My name is Eduard. Eduard von Bock. I was an...Well, I suppose you can call me an old friend of your grandfather."

:

February 12, 2016

Marijampole, Lithuania

Green eyes stared at the immobile figure on the bed. Eduard had been "asleep" for an hour now and that was a worrying record; the Estonian usually liked to stay in the Plain for about thirty minutes. Toris sighed, standing from his seat at his cousin's bedside and grabbing the empty cup that stood on the nightstand. Quietly closing the door as he left, Toris made his way towards the cabin's kitchen.

He really shouldn't worry. After all, Eduard was anything but stupid, Toris knew that for a fact, but he couldn't help it! What with all the shit they'd been through, Toris had more than a right to fret about his little cousin. Eduard was the more powerful of the two of them, their line of defense against that damn "General" who just wouldn't stop going after them. Toris clenched his eyes closed, willing the image of a blood-spattered house from his head as he turned on the tap.

Water comforted him easily. It was constant, powerful, forbearing; able to chip away rock over hundreds of years with no end. Toris had always been drawn to it, ever since childhood, but it hadn't really made sense back then; the only water source he was exposed to was the bathtub and, occasionally, a small lake situated in the forest by his house. But, despite the limited exposure, he practically breathed the liquid. Of course, that wasn't the truth.

Toris smiled ruefully, staring at the glass in his hand as it filled to the brim. The glass started to vibrate in Toris' hands, sending tremors up his arms and coaxing a smirk to paint his lips. A flurry of shards fell into the sink and scattered across the countertop. Blood dribbled down the soft skin of the Lithuanian's hands, making Toris groan.

"You idiot." Toris' smirk morphed into a guilty frown. Running his hands underneath the stream of cool water coming from the faucet, his shoulders slumped. He really had to be more careful when testing out his ability...Eduard and he didn't have enough money to keep replacing glasses. He felt like he couldn't help it, though: That power kept blinding him. It was addictive; hard to control and impossible to give up.

After a few seconds of watching dull red swirl down the drain, Toris directed his attention to the flimsy calendar duct-taped to the wall. More specifically, the bold purple circle around February 17th. It was so close, with only five days between Toris, Eduard, and what they had been searching for, for what seemed like eons.

Toris let the stinging pain from his hands dull away, thinking about the only thing that really seemed to matter anymore.

We're coming for you, little cousin. After all these years apart, we're finally coming...