Just as Feliciano promised, he received the ticket to the train station the next day. He didn't know where he was going other then some part of Italy. He had packed all his clothes, unsure of what to bring.

He didn't go visit Spain. He couldn't bear to see his face and not tell him what he was doing. He was scared; scared of what Feliciano would be like and what he would do to him.

He sighed and wheeled his bag out to his car. He got in and sighed. He began to have second thoughts on this new choice. The others would surely think that he was joining Feliciano's side. He should probably tell them what he was doing. But if they tried to convince him not to do it, Romano feared that he could be talked out of it. He didn't want to go but he felt that if he didn't, that he would be dooming Feliciano to be attacked by the others. He couldn't let his sweet younger brother get hurt, even if he deserved it.

Putting his own problems beside, he turned the car on and turned the radio on loud so that it could mask his thoughts. He gripped the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white and drove to the train station. He quickly handed his ticket to the ticker man. He barely was aware of anything until he stepped onto the train's platform and waited for the train. He hated waiting. That was when all his thoughts came back to him.

What if Feliciano had changed too much ? Would he hate Romano ? What if everything he said about missing him on the phone was a lie to get him to come to him so he could kill Romano ? Romano knew he wouldn't have the guts to kill Feliciano and Feliciano must know it too. But surely since they were both Italy Feliciano wouldn't hurt him, much less kill him.

Luckily, he didn't have much time to wait before the train chugged into the station, blowing smoke. Romano waited until it rolled to a stop before he boarded the train. He took a seat. Feliciano had been kind enough to buy him first class but that again could just be a ruse to get Romano to trust him. Romano didn't particularly like trains. Trains were noisy and bumpy. Granted, he hadn't been a train in a very long time. This train was fairly smooth and wasn't as noisy unless it blew its whistle.

Romano uttered a string of Italian curses. He was probably walking right into a trap. How stupid was this ? Feliciano was probably sitting back where he is and laughing his butt off thinking of what a gullible idiot Romano was. Romano wouldn't stand a chance if Feliciano started fighting him. He stood up about to get off. Just as he did so, the doors shut tightly and the train creeped forward, steadily picking up speed. Romano groaned and watched the scenery go by.

Well, he was screwed now. He'd have to go on with it or somehow try to sneak out after he got off the train. He sighed.

What if this wasn't a fake ? What if Feliciano really did miss him? Romano didn't want to admit it but he missed his fratello as well. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to go. If he went and Feliciano did kill him then at least he died trying to make a difference.

Romano sat back down in his seat. There was only a few other people in the same cabin so it was quiet. Romano looked out the window at the passing scenery. No doubt, Feliciano represented Italy's beauty. Everyone always commented on how cute Feliciano was. The only one who ever thought Romano was cute was Spain and that seemed too biased since Antonio raised him.

Look at the bright side, Romano thought, if you die then no one will have to put up with my loud swearing or angry temper any more. Everyone will be happy.

Romano leaned his head against the seat, getting more depressed the more he looked at the beautiful scenery. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"Excuse me, sir?" a polite voice asked a few minutes later. Romano blinked his eyes open, grumbling incoherently.

"What is it, bastardo?" he snapped. The woman, dressed in a work uniform, blinked in surprise.

"Where's your ticket ?" she asked trying to stay polite even though Romano could tell she wanted to say something smart to him.

Romano rooted through his pocket and brought out his ticket. He gave it to the lady who thanked him, even though it sounded fake or even sarcastic to Romano. The bad tempered Italian just grumbled and leaned back in his seat. He soon fell asleep and the trip flew by in the blink of an eye.

Romano woke up as the train stopped. He looked out the window and noticed the train had stopped and was at the station. He stood up, stretching from his nap and picked up his bags. The doors were already open so he just walked out. According to the letter that had came with the tickets, Feliciano had sent some of his followers to go to the train stop and pick him up.

Romano set his bags on the ground and looked around. Feliciano had said that they would find him. Sure enough, a group of big men wearing suits were standing by the sides. They spotted the Italian and walked over.

"Lovino Romano Vargas?" the one man asked gruffly. Romano gawked at how tall and muscular they were.

"Y-yes." He stammered. He internally swore at himself for sounding so small and incompetent. The men allowed a small smile.

"Very good. Mr. Vargas has been looking forward to seeing you." One man said, "My name is Gosto."

"And I am Fosco." The other man said. Romano just stared at them, not knowing what to say. He picked up his bags.

"Are we ready ?" he asked.

"Let me take your bags, Mr. Vargas." Gosto said bending down to take them from Romano. Romano glared slightly but gave them up. He still didn't feel confident that Feliciano wouldn't hurt him but he'd just have to wait and see.

"A -alright." Romano said, mentally beating himself again for stuttering.

Fosco and Gosto smiled. It kind of creeped Romano out, "There is no need to be nervous."

"You wouldn't say that to yourself if I was smiling in the creepy way that you both are now." Romano snapped.

"Mr. Vargas was right about his temper." Fosco said.

"Yes. It's very amusing." Gosto laughed. Romano growled.

"I'm not amusing, you dumb bastardo!" Romano snapped. Fosco and Gosto only laughed at him more. Romano growled and balled his hands into fists, wanted to show them both not to laugh at him.

"Sorry, Mr. Vargas. Let's go. Mr. Vargas is probably getting impatient." Fosco said. All the Mr. Vargas was confusing Romano.

"Just call me Romano." The Italian grumbled.

"Yes, Mr. Vargas." Fosco said. Romano sighed and slumped his shoulders.

"Kill me now!" he grumbled lowly.

Romano arrived at a quant house. When the car rolled to a stop, Romano stepped out and went to the door without waiting to hear any instructions from Fosco or Gosto. Those two had been driving him insane the entire half an hour car ride. He knocked on the door as Gosto came up carrying his bags. Fosco was driving the car to the garage around the back.

Another man answered the door. Gosto shouldered past Romano. "Show him to Mr. Vargas." Gosto said to the man. The other man, much taller then Gosto and more muscular too. Romano gulped as the man looked down at him. The man turned and around and went into the house. Romano decided that must mean to follow him. He walked inside, closing the door behind him.

He gasped at the interior of the house. The wood floors had been polished and were shining in its pristineness. Beautifully crafted mahogany tables and desks were in some of the rooms and fragile vases stood on pedestals near the wall and frescos and paintings hung from the wall. Everything was absolutely stunning.

"This way." The man said in a deep voice. Romano quickly hurried after him, going up the stairs to the second floor.

"Mr. Vargas?" the man said.

"Yes ?" Romano heard Feliciano's voice say from a room.

"Your fratello is here." He said.

Romano heard a chair leg move on the hardwood floor. Feliciano came to the door way and grinned.

"Fratello!" he greeted him warmly. Part of Romano sighed in relief while another part stayed on guard. He forced a smile to his mouth.

"Hello Feliciano." He said trying to sound happy to see him.

"Come in. I'm sure you're tired from the trip." Feliciano said motioning him into his office. Romano came in. He was surprised at the huge mountain of paperwork on Feliciano's desk.

"Wow! You sure got a lot of work!" Romano commented.

Feliciano shrugged, "Everything comes with a price, yes?"

Romano smiled, "I guess so." He sat down in a chair. Feliciano smiled at him happily.

"I'm so glad you've decided to join me! You don't know how excited I am. You won't have to do any of the paper work. You'll just be in charge of our allies and you'll run the missions. I might attend but I'm only planning to go to the big ones." Feliciano said.

Romano sighed in relief. So Feliciano wasn't planning to kill him after all...that made him relax. "Ok. So who are our allies ?" he asked curiously. Realizing now that Feliciano had allies made curiosity knawl at him.

"Yes, of course we have allies. We wouldn't be able to win this on our own." Feliciano said. He chuckled. "Do not worry. They might seem like good allies but like us, they are underestimated and determined. They have all passed my test and they will be excellent fighters. You shall meet them very soon." Feliciano said.

Romano withheld a gulp. If they were as good as Feliciano made their allies out to be then the others might be in some serious trouble. Maybe he should have contacted them and told them what he was doing so he could tell them what Feliciano was planning. He was beginning to think that he couldn't change Feliciano's mind, especially after Feliciano put forth so much effort into his plan.

"Are you ok, fratello? You don't look so good ?" Feliciano asked. Romano nodded.

"Si. I feel fine," Romano said, "Just tired."

"Oh. I should have thought that. I'll let you take a nap. We can talk more later." Feliciano smiled.

"Grazie." Romano said getting up.

"Your room is the one at the end of the hall to the right. Make yourself comfortable; what is mine is yours." Feliciano smiled. Romano got up and left, not bothering to say anything. Feliciano could just think he was really tired. He found the room and laid on the bed. He sighed.

Please God, let me convince Feliciano to stop.

Romano was more tired then he thought and fell right asleep.

~*~*~

After returning to the hotel, everything had passed in a blur. He could barely recall when he had fallen asleep, only noticing sleep when horrific, detailed images painted his dreams.

Over and over again, he saw Alfred's body get blown up. He was again overwhelmed by emotions; panic, a minuscule hope and grief of the inevitable that he didn't want to face. He felt himself fall to his knees. Sobs ripped through his throat. He gripped his hair with his hands and squeezed so hard that his knuckles were as pale as a ghost.

"Stop! Oh please God; make it stop!" Arthur sobbed quietly. He looked up, hoping that, somehow, he had been taken out of the field.

His heart sank to the hard ground seeing the same grassy field with the tree line. This time, Alfred was standing still and facing him. The look on Alfred's beautiful features caused Arthur's heart to twist in pain.

Alfred's beautiful azures looked at him sadly, accusingly. His posture was defeated, opposite of his usual confident stance.

"Why ?" Alfred asked in a whisper. When Arthur didn't respond he continued. "Why didn't you stop me? Why would you let me run ahead like that ? You promised me when I was young that you wouldn't let anything hurt me!"

Arthur was confused. He never said anything like that.

"What? Don't you remember?" Alfred asked harshly.

"...I -I..." Arthur stammered quietly.

"I should have known you wouldn't remember; you don't love me." Alfred sighed. "I had a nightmare and you told me you'd never let anyone or thing hurt me. You broke your promise and I'm dead." Alfred spat venomously.

Arthur quickly scrambled to his feet and took a step forward.

"I'm so sorry, Love. You know I love you! If I could, I would take all your pain!" Arthur said desperately. He couldn't let Alfred believe he didn't love him.

"Your already too late for that. I know you knew something bad would happen but you let me go anyway. You let me die!" Alfred said. Arthur felt his heart beating rapidly on his chest, reverberating in his head.

"N -no. I didn't!" Arthur said in a whisper. He could feel his own eyes widen. Desperation flowed through his veins. Alfred, I didn't kill you!

"Yes you did!" Alfred yelled angrily. His beautiful azure eyes darkened in anger. His face grew beat red in anger, "You killed me, you murderer! I hate you, you lying, backstabbing, piece of crap!" Alfred yelled in rage.

Arthur stumbled back, his palms covering his ears. He shook his head slowly. "No. No no no no no! I didn't kill you; I love you." he said quietly. His closed his eyes. This is all a dream! It's not real!

"Stop saying that! If you truly loved me, you wouldn't have let me die!" Alfred said. He paused then continued, angrier then ever. "Look at me, Arthur!"

Arthur looked at Alfred timidly. He screamed loudly. Alfred's body, still standing, was covered in blood and grime. His beautiful golden hair was now tinted red. His blue eyes were dull and bloodshot. His pristine face was streaked with scarlet blood from deep cuts all over his body.

Arthur fell to his knees again and crouched low, gripping his head. "No. Please! No no no no no!" he sobbed loudly. He heard an explosion and felt a warm liquid splash against his cheek making him scream and jump away with suck force that he fell onto his back.

Keeping his eyes closed shut; he felt a firm grip on his arms. Someone was holding him down. Panic choked the air from Arthur's throat so his screams were muffled and forced.

He then realized the person holding him pinned was speaking to him. The voice was that of a mans and was low; soothing Arthur's worries and comforting his grief. He noticed that the touch wasn't sharp or painful but rather forceful yet gentle; as if the person was trying not to hurt him.

Arthur snapped his eyes open out of his dream. He was immediately met with blue eyes. For a moment, Arthur thought it was Alfred and that everything had been a dream but then he noticed long curly blond hair and no Nantucket.

Unable to hide his emotions and still shaken by his dream, Arthur started sobbing again. He closed his eyes again, not wanting to see those kind eyes that reminded him of Alfred's.

Francis gently pulled the Brit into his chest and wrapped his arms around his back. Arthur immediately responded by hugging the Frenchman tightly and grasped the fabric of his shirt so tight that his knuckles turned white. Arthur allowed himself to imagine it was Alfred holding him so tenderly. His heart ached when the Frenchman started singing a song. Though it was meant well to comfort him, it only reminded Arthur that Alfred wasn't the one holding him?

His heart seemed to ache almost physically, the pain almost too much to bear for him. He never knew how great his love for the American was until he was gone. If only he hadn't let his pride get in the way so many times. Then he could have told the American how much he loved him. If only he had stopped Alfred and ran ahead himself. Then Alfred would still be alive.

Francis gently rocked him. Arthur cried until he couldn't cry anymore. His arms slackened and his grip weakened. His body sagged into Francis'. Arthur was only aware of the sharp ache in his chest.

Though the pain was great, he still felt dull. He couldn't bring himself to focus on the world around him. What was the point now that Alfred was gone from his life ? Arthur had to live the rest of his long existence without the American laugh and his smile and his touch.

Francis leaned him back, not that Arthur noticed. His awareness was still trapped within his mind.

Stray tears continued to leak from the Brits dull eyes. Arthur, though he didn't react, felt Francis' hand gently wipe his tears. Electric pulses shot through his body at his simple touch. How could suck a simple action mean so much ? Arthur's heartbeat accelerated and thumped against his chest though his facial expression remained stotic.

"I'll be back, Angleterre." Francis said gently. Arthur didn't blink or make any movement to acknowledge him.

Francis' footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving Arthur alone in the room.

Why didn't you stop me? Why did you let me die ? You said you would protect me? Why did you lie to me? Don't you love me?

Alfred's haunting whispers echoed in his head. He knew it wasn't really Alfred but the truth behind the words was just too real.

If he had a bad feeling, then why didn't he not let Alfred run ahead ? If he really wanted to protect him, then why didn't he protect him? If he really loved Alfred then why did Francis' touch make his body feel as if tiny electrodes were racing through his veins ?

Arthur felt as though he was detached from his body. He wanted to get up and make some tea to comfort his nerves but his legs wouldn't budge. He wanted to thank Francis for everything he was doing for him but the words died on his tongue.

Maybe it was better this way. Whenever he came back to his senses he always broke down. Just when he thought all of the tears were gone, fresh tears would ambush him. The grief was still too raw. His heart ached and his arms longed to embrace his boy but Alfred was never coming back.

Why couldn't it have been himself instead of Alfred? Why did Feliciano want to kill them? Why did it have to be Alfred of all people? Alfred had the strength and the guts to end all their problems yet he was ripped from them all so suddenly.

Thoughts like these reverberated through Arthur's head until Francis returned.

Francis came in and surveyed the room quickly. His gaze scanned Arthur's quickly. Arthur's thoughts re-grouped to Francis. Where had he gone? Did he go see the other countries ? Did they discuss their next move? Arthur wanted to voice these questions but his lips wouldn't form words.

The sound of rushing water emanated from the kitchen, shattering Arthur's thoughts and catching his attention.

Francis came back into the room holding a cup of water.

"Have a drink." Francis said. His tone was soft like that of a mother to a sick child. He gently nudged Arthur's lips with the cup and tipped the cup. Arthur slowly drank the liquid. He tried to move his arms to hold the cup but his arm wouldn't budge. He stared straight ahead at the blank wall in front of him.

When Francis was satisfied by the amount of water he drank, he set the cup down. He used his hands to fix Arthur's hair. Before any of this mess happened, Arthur would have yelled at the Frenchman or at least worry about what he was doing to his hair but Arthur felt more trust towards the French country. His face remained stotic yet he adored the feeling of Francis' soft touch in his hair. His fingertips occasionally brushed against his forehead, sending involuntary shivers down his spine.

When Francis finished, he smiled and gently cupped Arthur's cheek with his hand.

"Don't loose yourself."

Then something about him changed. Almost by the drop of a hat, the Frenchman's eyes narrowed to slits. His eyes shut tight and his mouth gaped in a silent scream. Francis' hand clutched his chest and he collapsed to the floor

Fear gripped Arthur's chest. He was immediately snapped out of his trance. He scrambled from the bed, to where Francis was writhing on the floor. His hand clasped around the Frenchman's hand, which was already pale and clammy. Francis squeezed it tightly.

Arthur's heart beat rapidly in his chest. What was happening? His heart jumped into his throat making it hard to breathe. He didn't want to loose the Frenchman too. His shattered heart broke further. Poor Francis was in so much pain. His entire body was rigid and trembling. His skin was extremely pale. His facial features reflected the agony of whatever he was going through; his eyes shut tightly and his mouth parting only to allow the pained gasps out. Pained gasps were all he could manage.

A dread loomed over Arthur. Francis' free hand was tightly clutching his chest. Memories of the bombing in London flashed in his mind. Could Francis have been bombed ?

"Francis?" he spoke softly at first. When the Frenchman didn't hear him he spoke louder; his words laced with fear and forcefulness, "Francis?"

Said man cracked his eyes open. His sky blue eyes warmed ever so slightly to see Arthur.

"Bienvenue a la maison, en Angleterre." Francis croaked out weakly. He closed his eyes, all strength ebbing from his body as unconsciousness consumed him.