"Asche zu Asche, Staub zu Staub."

And like that, the casket of his grandfather was closed.

It was sunny, sunny as it had been for a week. Sun pouring in through windows, beaming down so brilliantly and feeding the world and heating the ground for the life that basks in its nutrients. A sun had forever immortalized the last image Gilbert would ever have of his grandfather- half his face in shadow, the other in light, his eyes of steel closed and rivers of deep wrinkles still dark across his forehead.

Gilbert suddenly couldn't remember his grandfather any other way. It was like his entire memory of him had been replaced by the final image he would ever really see. Memories of childhood games before the fireplace and riding bikes through the German hills of Bavaria were suddenly filled with a sickly, gaunt old man, the life leaving his eyes, his lungs struggling to breathe.

"Say goodbye, Gilbert," Ludwig whimpered, who was still so young that his blonde head of hair only came up to Gilbert's elbow, "Say goodbye to Opa."

Gilbert felt his throat go pinhole tight as the moment of silence prevailed. His vision grew blurry, but he blinked back whatever tears dared well in his eyes. There was no reason to cry, no reason to even say farewell. He had already done those things, away from all these people, most of whom he'd never known. It seemed like everyone was staring at him with their glistening, tear-stained eyes, wondering when he'd fall to his knees and beg God for a reason for leaving him and his brother alone in this world, why, God, why?!

But Gilbert knew why. Opa Gerhard was old, and the old must die sooner or later.

Gilbert nudged Ludwig with his elbow, a notion for him to shut his damn mouth around all these sickeningly mournful people. He wondered if any of them really knew him.

The silence broke with the prayers done, and people began to mingle about, weeping into each other's stiff shoulders, their dresses sweeping behind them in the wind, their stiff collars hiding their beet red faces, like a turtle into its shell. Some strolled around the cemetery to stretch their legs and ease their hearts, but Gilbert remained in place, and likewise, Ludwig by his side.

Ludwig had gotten quite good at crying quietly, Gilbert noticed, because he knew the boy was blubbering and bawling without looking at him, but hadn't heard anything else. The two stared at the casket for a few, silent moments, and Gilbert found interest in the design of the wooden box that housed a body but no man. Someone else had picked out the casket, likely because no one would trust him enough. Who would trust a twenty-two year old college student with the last thing his grandfather would be seen in? They'd probably choose Ludwig over him any day.

Gilbert pretended not to see the man approach him from across the lawn.

But from the corner of his eye, he looked the man over. He was rather tall, with lanky legs like a crane and round, beady blue eyes- his suit was too short for his legs, and too small for his rotund stomach, but he looked remarkably more put together than Gilbert felt.

The man stopped right in front of Gilbert and extended his hand. However, Gilbert was still interested in pretending he wasn't there in an effort to get him to leave. The man, however, clearly wasn't having any of it, and cleared his throat loudly.

Gilbert lifted his eyes to meet the man's, and came face-to-face with the pleasant expression of puppy-like droopy cheeks, a pointed, Romanesque nose, and a head of wild, stringy, grey hair.

"I'm Herr Zollern," The man declared, nodding to his hand. Gilbert accepted it reluctantly. "Might you be Gilbert and Ludwig Beilschmidt?"

Before Gilbert could deny their identity, Ludwig piped up, "Yes, sir."

He smiled gently, "I'm very sorry for your loss."

Gilbert said nothing, dead set on staring this man down with a glare that could bend iron until he left. Ludwig thanked him quietly.

"You see," Herr Zollern gestured for the two to follow him along one of the gravel paths. Gilbert would've stayed in his spot had it not been for Ludwig, who obediently began striding after him. That boy needed to learn his limits.

Herr Zollern continued as they strolled, "I was a friend of your grandfather throughout his life. We met at the University of Munich after the war. We parted ways after school, but kept in touch through letters about our lives, our families. I've heard a great deal about you two." He pointed to Gilbert, "You, Gilbert, who finds trouble where it often does not exist and the beauty in things, where others cannot see it. And you," He turned to look down at Ludwig as Gilbert practically steamed with fury. Who was this man to claim what Gilbert could and could not see?

"Little Ludwig, the fastest runner his age and the brightest in his studies, too."

Gilbert inwardly gagged. Yes, it would seem his brother could get recognition for practically anything. The kid could avoid stepping on an insect and he'd get a pat on the back, an award from animal rights groups, and God himself would descend from Heaven to congratulate him on existing.

Nonetheless, Ludwig beamed through his watery eyes, his voice wobbling like a top, "Th-thank you, sir."

"How old are you, now?"

"I'm twelve."

"Very good," Herr Zollern answered, "If it would be possible, I'd like to take you boys out for a coffee, beer, lunch… whatever you'd like."

Gilbert finally had had enough, and spat, "Why?" He shoved his hands in his pockets, "Why would a complete stranger want to take us out for a drink? Don't you think that's a little weird?"

"A little, perhaps," Herr Zollern gestured to a decrepit grave, shrouded almost entirely by grass, "But I'm sure Herr.." He squinted at the stone, trying to decipher its lettering, "...Rothschild wouldn't mind a nice beer right now."

"What, are you trying to say that life is too short not to drink?" Gilbert folded his arms closely to his chest.

"No, I'm saying it's too short to pass the time in a cemetery."

Gilbert didn't know what made him agree to it, but the next minute, he was in a car worth more than he would probably ever make, and Herr Zollern was driving into the town center like he owned it. Maybe it was because Ludwig would be moping around, clutching his grumbling stomach later that made him say yes to this free meal, or maybe it was the fact that this man hadn't yet given Gilbert a chance to properly defy him and make him look like a fool, but nonetheless, in ten minutes they were outside a nameless bakery.

Ludwig oggled each one of the rolls, the sweet ones, the seeded ones, and eventually settled on a Schoko-croissant, flakes crumbling over his plate and lap as he chewed away at the pastry. Herr Zollern ordered a small square of strawberry cake, and Gilbert might have actually ordered a beer if they had been anywhere else, but instead, settled on a coffee.

"Aren't you hungry, Gilbert?"

"No." Gilbert stirred the sugar into his coffee aimlessly, watching the steam roll off the top in wispy clouds. His head was beginning to pound with the early signs of a headache, and the light overhead wasn't easing it at all.

Herr Zollern took a bite of his cake, then talked to both boys directly, "Now, you two, I wasn't merely your grandfather's friend, but I was his lawyer, as well. Likewise, I've taken you here because there are matters to discuss."

He paused for a moment to take another chunk out of his cake, and the break made Gilbert's stomach do flips, "What… kind of matters?"

"Mm. This is very good cake." He swallowed, "A few financial things that shouldn't be too tricky, but most of it is regarding the custody of Ludwig."

The floor seemed to drop out from beneath him and the walls spun as Gilbert's jaw dropped, "He'll… live with me, right? Ludwig isn't going anywhere."

Ludwig looked up to Gilbert, chocolate filling on his quivering lips, eyes beginning once more to fill with tears. Gilbert looked away.

"Tell me, Gilbert, are you in college?"

"Answer the question," Gilbert demanded shakily, "Will or will I not get custody? We don't have any other family- there's no where else for him to go. And you can bet your ass he's not going to some random family a hundred miles away from me." He slammed his fist on the table, getting him a raised eyebrow from the baker, but Gilbert ignored it.

Herr Zollern seemed more interested in his cake than Gilbert's outburst, "Are you in college?"

Ludwig had begun to cry again, but especially quietly this time, so much so that Gilbert would've never known had he not seen the tears streaming down his brother's face from beside him.

"Yes, I'm in college," Gilbert finally admitted, "University of Munich, actually."

"Your course of study?"

"History."

Herr Zollern seemed taken aback, "Really? History?"

Gilbert flushed and looked down into his coffee. He hadn't touched the liquid, and it was so still he could see his own reflection in it. A long sip from it washed away what he could see of his face. Of course Herr Zollern, like anyone, would scoff at his choice of a major. Even his own grandfather had been hesitant to let him pursue that course- granted, he could become a teacher or a professor, maybe write a book if he played his cards right, but really, there was no where to go with that one.

"Yes," Gilbert muttered, "History."

A great grin broke out on Herr Zollern's face, doubling the amount of wrinkles on his cheeks, "Why I love history! What a pleasant coincidence! Any time period in particular?"

With the attention turned on him, Gilbert flushed again despite himself, "Sorry, but don't we have other things to talk about?" Ludwig whimpered at the notion, his pastry sitting half-eaten on his plate. Taken a chaste glance at him, Gilbert sighed, wondering if his brother would ever grow a backbone. It wasn't that he thought emotions were something to be ashamed of, it was that they shouldn't be overwhelming during times of crisis.

Herr Zollern was unfazed, "Of course." His cake was gone by now, leaving a plateful of crumbs behind, "First, we must discuss finances. Gilbert, I understand you're working part-time on a campus restaurant."

Gilbert nodded, though he felt anxiousness bubbling up in his gut. Personally, talking about money right now was the last thing he wanted to do, besides being here with this man after a funeral. He had things to do, an entire essay to write, and Herr Zollern looked like he was having too much fun with this.

"I'm not going to ask you how much you make, because unfortunately, I doubt it's a lot. However, as you would guess, your grandfather left you a great deal."

Gilbert scoffed and leaned on his elbow. His will, of course. After his and Ludwig's parents died, the only family remaining was Gerhard, and it was only natural that Gilbert would now be responsible for everything. Gerhard was relatively secretive- who knew how much money he had saved up? Did he have enemies? It was an immense prospect that Gilbert was hardly willing to take on. It didn't matter if they inherited a fortune to set them up for life- he knew what money did, how it could screw you over and be tricked out of him by a suave businessman if he wasn't careful.

"We don't want it," Gilbert answered definitely.

Ludwig gasped, wide-eyed, "What? It could support us for a long time."

Herr Zollern's eyes softened, "Gilbert… don't you want to hear how much it is?"

"Not at all."

"Well," Herr Zollern said, remarkably still calm, causing Gilbert's blood to boil, "It has to go somewhere. Would you like me to donate it to charity?"

Gilbert almost shouted yes, then would've stood up and left, but took one look at his brother, small and very nearly shaking with fear and prospects of the future. That was probably the biggest difference between the two brothers- Ludwig took on the worries, while Gilbert found no point in panicking.

He swallowed harshly, "Put it in a trust fund for Ludwig."

"Okay," Herr Zollern's eyes bore into Gilbert's, strong and piercing, and he found he had to look away. "I'm going to let you make that final decision on paper next week, when we meet up again. But not a poor idea, considering our next point of topic."

Then it hit Gilbert like a flying brick. Without any reasonable means of support, how could anyone give a twenty-two year old custody of a twelve year old? The inheritance could help, surely, to convince the courts he was capable of caring for his brother, but there was no way to know.

"You're an adult, Gilbert, and likewise, eligible to be legal guardian of Ludwig, should you prove capable," Herr Zollern explained, "I'm assuming you'll be living in the home here in Munich your grandfather owned. Likewise, your salary from your job will be paying for the utilities, food, and other expenses."

"Correct." Gilbert declared.

"I'm glad you're so decisive," Herr Zollern smiled, "I will arrive at your home next week at six in the evening so we can sign the papers in regards to the inheritance and your brother's trust. It is then that we'll schedule the court hearing for your custody of Ludwig."

"I'm glad we talked to you," Gilbert spat, "Herr Zollern. Come on, Ludwig," He gestured to his brother, who obeyed and began inching his way out of his seat.

"I'm glad I talked to you, boys. Can I give you a ride home?"

"No," Gilbert yanked on Ludwig's jacket and began dragging the resistant boy outside, "We live a few minutes away from here."

Outside of the bakery, Ludwig dragged his feet as they began walking in the direction of their house, "It's not a few minutes away, Gilbert. More like twenty."

"I don't care." Gilbert seethed, practically stomping his way along the sidewalk. The center of Munich was a decent train ride from where they were, but they lived in the quiet outskirts, where vines grew on houses and the buildings were clean and quaint. "That man is going to try and take you away from me, Ludwig. He's going to take us to some stupid place where no one knows us and decide whether or not I can take care of you."

"If you would accept the money, then maybe I can stay with you." Ludwig said, a bite to his voice.

"Technically, the money is going to you, so don't be ungrateful. You're young, so you won't understand this, but with money, comes a lot of problems. Opa probably had a lot of enemies who are more than willing to dig up some dumb law or just use their power to take it from us. We're better off without it," Gilbert explained, quickening his pace so that Ludwig had to nearly jog on his short legs to keep up.

"Opa wouldn't have any enemies!" Ludwig cried, his voice starting to waver again, "Is it such a risk that you won't even keep me?"

"Money creates enemies, stupid. I'm not going to inherit enemies just for some money. And it doesn't matter if we have the money or not. They will take you away."

Ludwig hiccuped, and Gilbert watched as his brother's eyes filled with tears once more- it was funny, how emotional he could be around his brother. Around anyone else, he was stoic and silent, an old man in a child's body. "How can you be like this? Opa just died! Don't you care at all?"

"Of course I care," Gilbert snapped, leaning in close to his brother and grabbing his collar, "I'm just more sensible than you. If you ever want to stay here with me, you're going to have to shut up and be a man. If you're weak, they'll snatch you up like a hawk, got it?"

They walked home in dead silence, the clouds covering the once sunny skies for the first time in days. Gilbert's fury mellowed as he stalked down the street, enraged, ignoring his brother's moping gait. They were a sorry sight, in their suits and ties, walking through the crevasses of town. When they returned home, the rooms were eerily silent. Ludwig stormed up to his room, the slam of the door echoing throughout the house.

Gilbert ripped off his tie and jacket furiously, collapsing on the couch. He rubbed his temples in anguish, and lay there for a minute in silence, a foreign feeling building up in his chest.

His phone buzzed.

When he looked at it, he very nearly threw his phone against the wall.

Sorry to hear about your loss.

-Roderich

That stupid, infuriating music major who just wouldn't leave him alone for a damn minute thought he could offer any consolation? It was none of his business who died and he certainly didn't want to talk about it with some rich kid who treated his piano like a pet.

Gilbert turned off his phone and sunk into the couch. From that angle, he could see a framed photograph, something he hadn't looked at in a long time, perched upon the shelf.

It was he and Ludwig, when the latter had not yet started school, and Gilbert himself was just beginning to look like a man himself. Between them sat Opa Gerhard, a wide grin on his face and his eyes twinkling brightly.

But Gilbert couldn't look at the picture any longer, because his vision was blurred by tears and it was then, finally, that he allowed himself to cry. He cried because Ludwig would inevitably be taken from him and raised far away, he cried because he was too stubborn and scared to accept what was likely a fortune of money, and he cried because that stupid Austrian kid thought he was some kind of consolation.

But most of all, he cried because the only person he could go to when the world seemed to stop around him was gone forever.

A/N: Thank you for reading this first chapter and I hope you'll stick around for some more. :) Ludwig is a little more open only because he's young and both he and Gilbert have just had a traumatic expirience. Leave a review if you can, because it really helps.