A/N : I have updated the warning section, since I now have a better sense of where everything is going. ALSO, everything has been (is being, rather) TOTALLY RE-WRITTEN! This is important. XD

Warnings! : AU. Human characters. Set in first World War era Europe. Language, violence, drug use, war, angst, arson, murder, angst, lots of boring diplomatic stuff, and did I mention angst angst angst? Plenty of misery for everyone!

Pairings : Main pairing is Prussia x Germany, with a side of Austria x Germany, and Austria x Hungary. Other characters featured are : Italy, Romano, England, America, fem!Japan, Canada, Russia, Rome, and possibly Lithuania and/or Finland.

This is not so much an action/adventure/war story as much as it is a chronology about everyday life for those involved, so it will probably not appeal to thrillseekers. Lol.

A note on Hungary : I am aware that the creator gave her the name 'Elizabeta'. However... This is an incorrect form of the Hungarian 'Elisabeth', the correct form of which is 'Erzsébet'.

Also also : Please do not be offended by any racist and/or sexist happenings in this should they occur. I mean, seriously. It's the early 1900s. You know.

Thanks for reading, and drop a line should you feel so inclined!

It should be immediately obvious which chapters have been re-written and which have not.

DEVIL TOWN

Prologue

Gilbert had never been patient.

Actually, patience usually became his downfall, one way or the other, and maybe he had too short a fuse or too bad a temper, but waiting just made his blood pressure rise like nothing else.

Waiting.

Waiting.

He couldn't stand it.

Clenching his fingers together in an attempt to push down the burning ire in his chest, he stared morosely across the table, the oblivious scratching of Roderich's pen driving him steadily further to the breaking point. Roderich, possibly taking much delight in his annoyance, raised his pen up, dipped it intentionally slowly into the ink, peering up for a fraction of a second through lidded eyes.

His tongue was poking out, in what was obviously glee.

Gilbert furrowed his brow, and began to drum his fingers on the desk.

Roderich started to scribble again, biting down on his lower lip as if deep in thought. But he wasn't thinking. He was trying not to laugh. Gilbert could see it, just in the height of his brow.

Bastard.

He cleared his throat, agitated, but Roderich either did not hear, or did not care, (probably the latter, he thought in annoyance) and did not look up, carrying on with his writing quite merrily.

Waiting.

"How much longer?" he inquired, tone less than polite, and finally, Roderich granted him the briefest of glances.

"Not long now," came the airy drawl, and Gilbert sighed.

This was not exactly how he had been intending to spend the better part of the teenage years of his life, stuck in a house that was not his own with a man who was not his father but acted like he was, in a place that was not his home and with people who were not his family.

This was not the grand dream that he had set out to find.

Not even close.

With another dejected sigh, he thunked his head against the table, making Roderich's pen slip, thinking back on the events that had led him here in the first place.

Six years ago.

How quickly he had dug himself into a hole.

He had started life in an excellent position, born to parents of considerable wealth and power in the Kingdom of Prussia. Well-bred. High-class. Influential. He had the best schooling, the best tutors, the best house, the best of everything.

Anything he'd wanted.

That life, however, had always held little interest for him, preferring the exciting life of the outside world rather than the boring existence of a rich kid, and when his father had told him at the age of thirteen that he was old enough to be sent off to a haughty boarding school in the lower part of Bavaria, he had set aside his heritage and slunk through a window in the dead of night.

The streets were much more interesting to him, at first, and when he realized that out in the alleys there were no rules, he became entranced. No tutors hovering over him, no overwhelming expectations, no path set before him. This was his calling, he was sure, and he learned quickly the art of pick-pocketing, as well as the art of lying, which was sometimes harder.

He had felt free.

Were his parents looking for him?

Maybe.

He hadn't cared much, then, and carried on with his dishonest outings, wandering further and further south until he had finally left Prussia behind. The years passed, one and then two, and he joined and dominated local gangs, leaving them behind for a new one when he grew bored. He commandeered abandoned building to his convenience, he took what he wanted without asking questions, he spoke without thinking, he leapt before he looked, and was completely comfortable in this lifestyle until he had turned sixteen.

Maybe he had been tired, or maybe he had been homesick, or maybe he had just been lonely, but whatever the reason, he had tried to return home. Weeks and weeks of wandering back up north, and when he finally stepped back into that old homeland of Prussia that he loved, he quickly discovered (with horror)that his house was no longer his own, and light snooping had uncovered the news of his parents untimely demise.

Oh.

His house was no longer home. A new family lived there now.

He had cried, just a little, and returned south from whence he came.

Months later, he reached Württemberg with sore feet and a sense of melancholy, and there he had caught sight of an elegant man, walking so loosely and obliviously that Gilbert had practically seen the proverbial 'x marks the spot' above his head. He kept turning this way and that, this way and that, here and there, back and forth, and it didn't take Gilbert too long to realize he was lost.

Ha. Easy.

Sneaking up stealthily behind was his specialty, and he had thought that he was home free when he liberated the wallet from the disoriented man's pocket.

He had been mistaken, and the man had turned on him with incredible reflexes, grabbing his wrist in a surprisingly vice-like grip.

A moment of silence, and disbelief on both of their parts. The man's for being robbed, and Gilbert's for being caught.

That was a first.

He tried anything and everything to pry himself loose, jumping, flailing, tugging, wrenching, even trying to bite, and yet somehow he still failed to extract himself, and he almost cried again, thinking for sure that the man would take him straight to the police.

And it would be game over.

However, the man had then made a curious proposition, and Gilbert had immediately hated his upscale, haughty Vienna accent.

He'd had enough of classy accents back home.

'Are you homeless?' the man had asked, and Gilbert nodded.

'Are you hungry?' he had asked, and Gilbert nodded again.

'Come with me,' he had said, and Gilbert, seeing no other option and relieved to be free of jail, obeyed.

He had been lonely, even if he'd have gone to his grave denying it.

It turned out that the obnoxious Austrian's equally obnoxious name was Roderich, and he was in Württemberg for diplomatic reasons (an ambassador or some such), and his temporary lodgings had become an asylum (of sorts) for misguided youths.

In exchange for menial tasks.

Well, no one could ever accuse him of blowing his budget. Why hire maids when you can just take in a few runts?

How...thrifty.

Gilbert had immediately put his foot down before Roderich and refused to do any sort of cleaning, and Roderich had shrugged a shoulder. That was okay, he said, he had a little Italian waif who did that. And, Gilbert had added, he had absolutely no cooking skills. But that was okay, too, Roderich had said, he had a Hungarian girl for that. Gilbert had eyed a stack of paperwork, and, through narrowed eyes, had outright refused to pencil-push.

Roderich had not responded, and the next day, Gilbert found himself writing and stamping the most boring of legalese, and cried a little more.

But it was alright, he guessed, and at any rate, he had food and lodgings, and he became fast friends with the Hungarian tomboy, Erzsébet, who was always happy to sneak out and cause mayhem with him.

He liked to pick on the Italian child, Feliciano, who was always laughing and always smiling. Nothing malicious or harmful; sometimes he'd spill something on the floor that Feliciano had just cleaned just to see his face of chagrin, but he always helped him mop it up afterwards. Sometimes he hid the broom or the duster, just to see Feliciano running around in a panic. Just little things.

He liked them.

He liked Erzsébet. He really liked Erzsébet.

She was interesting. Fun. Outgoing. Bold. Not like the classy, dainty girls he had grown up knowing.

She tapped on his window some nights, long after everyone had gone to bed, and they wandered the city streets looking for trouble.

He liked her boyish laugh. He liked the color of her hair. He liked that she was older than him. He liked her hands.

He settled into this new life, and being around Erzsébet made being around Roderich somewhat tolerable.

Somewhat.

Roderich really began to rub him the wrong way as more years passed, and to his chagrin, Erzsébet had grown more distant from himself and closer to Roderich.

How the hell had that happened? He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment the winds had shifted.

Maybe it had been the day that Roderich had come home with a bunch of flowers. He'd never given her flowers before, because he'd always assumed that she wouldn't like them, as crass as she was.

But she had fawned over them with a red face and eager hands. Roderich had beamed away, and they had just stared at each other.

And after that, Erzsébet really only had eyes for Roderich.

Coulda made him sick.

She didn't tap on his window anymore at night. She didn't sneak out into the streets with him. She didn't even seek him out anymore.

She just looked at Roderich from the corner of her eye, and the expression on her face was strange.

Her hands compulsively smoothed down her dress whenever Roderich was near.

They passed each other and sometimes went in circles, and sometimes Roderich bumped into tables when Erzsébet was walking by. Sometimes Erzsébet let food burn, as she stared off dreamily into whatever direction Roderich had gone.

Ugh.

It was then that Gilbert had realized that she had only ever considered him a friend, nothing more, and before he knew it Roderich and Erzsébet were engaged, and then, almost to the day he had turned eighteen, Roderich had brought home someone new.

Another turning of the tide.

This time it was a little German boy, whose parents he had either lost or had been taken from him, with hair so blond it was almost white, and piercing ice-blue eyes.

Gilbert would always remember the first time he'd walked through the door.

Quiet. Shy. Frightened.

Lost.

He did not speak to them at first, clinging fiercely to Roderich's hand and shuffling his feet as he tried to use Roderich as a human shield, and no matter how they pressed, he did not seem to know where he had come from or why.

Erzsébet had come forward and taken his hand, and led him into the living room where she had sat him down on the floor, kneeling with him and running her hands through his dirty hair.

He'd smiled, then.

Gilbert watched him, hands on hips, and he remembered Roderich saying, 'Found him looking through the trash for food.'

The boy just sat there with Erzsébet, and despite how dirty he was and how many holes his clothes had, how dark the circles under his eyes and how weak his frame, when she raised her hands up in the air, he did the same, placing his tiny palms against hers, and engaged in her patty-cake game.

Gilbert had fallen in love with him then. Poor little thing.

Once Erzsébet could finally be pried away from the kid, Feliciano quickly took her place.

Feliciano and the kid were about the same age and, as such, they took to each other instantly.

Inseparable.

Feliciano took the boy's hand, and walked around the house with him, leaning in close to his side and sometimes throwing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him in for a hug.

Roderich and Gilbert watched them interact, and Roderich held up a hand to his chin, thoughtfully.

Later that day, when he'd eaten, they tried to pry more information out of the child.

But he wasn't very helpful. He did not know his own name, and whenever they asked where he was from, he only shook his head, blue eyes perpetually calm and sad, and then he would just turn and wander off into Feliciano's waiting arms.

Huh. Wonder where he'd come from...

Well, he was very easy to like, that was for sure, so quiet and calm and easy to please, obeying without question and always unfailingly polite. Weird little kid. Gilbert woke up in the mornings, and found that he thought about him more and more every day.

And after only a week, the little boy was all he did think about. He adored him. And he'd never adored anything in his life.

Even Roderich, always looking for free help, did not make him earn his keep, taking him under his wing without receiving anything in return. Probably just because he'd found him in such dire straights.

Hell, even Roderich had a heart, somewhere under all that cravat.

At any rate, Gilbert found that the little German effectively filled the void left behind by Erzsébet, and then some.

He had even picked out a name for him; Ludwig, after his father.

Together (even though 'together' kind of stung to say) he and Roderich created him a family. They made up a birthday, which they could not completely agree upon; Roderich thought he looked like December, while Gilbert saw May. They made up an age, which they could also not completely agree upon; Roderich said eight, Gilbert, nine.

And they could absolutely not agree on a last name, both of them fighting over the right to christen him with their own.

Ludwig Edelstein?

Pssh, yeah right, over his dead body!

Erzsébet, playing peacemaker, said he did not need one, at least not for now.

Fine. Let him pick one when he was older. (Of course, Gilbert was confident, he would choose the much more regal name of Beilschmidt.)

Last name aside, Ludwig fell into the pace of things nicely, and began to speak. His voice was soft, quiet, and tranquil.

Gilbert had grown even fonder of him as the months passed, and started to call him 'brother'. Ha. He'd always wanted a little brother.

Even back home.

Ludwig seemed to enjoy being called 'little brother', breaking into a bashful smile and grasping his shirt in his hands, face red and eyes wide in excitement as Gilbert reached down to ruffle his hair. Ludwig even laughed, sometimes, when Gilbert chased him around the house in circles before finally tackling him (gently), writhing and kicking to get loose as Gilbert tickled him mercilessly.

Stuff real brothers would do.

He loved Ludwig.

But, even so...

Being so fond of Ludwig had its downfalls. Or maybe he was just too goddamn jealous. Because, God, it stung like a knife whenever he wanted to be with Ludwig and Ludwig wanted to be with someone else.

It wasn't Ludwig's fault; little kids had such short attention spans, and Ludwig always wanted to see what everyone was up to.

Mostly it was Feliciano, which wasn't really so bad, since it was kinda cute to see them sitting before the fireplace, hand in hand and crooning to each other, heads bumping together and cheek pressing cheek. Really cute, actually, and sometimes Gilbert would sit behind them on the couch and smile away when Feliciano suddenly leaned over and kissed Ludwig's cheek in a gesture of sweet adoration.

Ludwig just blushed.

That was fine.

Sometimes it was Erzsébet, which was okay, he supposed. She hovered over him like a mother would, tending cuts and bruises and soothing away bad dreams, and she would smooth back his hair when it came loose, straightening his clothes when they were disheveled and sometimes spitting in her hand to wipe a smudge from his cheek.

Ludwig yelped, and tried to pull away in mortification.

That was okay.

But a lot of the time, more than he would like, it was Roderich.

And oh, oh God, he hated Roderich. He hated Roderich. So it was the worst feeling imaginable, to see Ludwig trailing behind Roderich like a puppy, smiling up at him like he was looking at God himself.

It hurt.

He told himself, over and over again, that it was only because it had been Roderich that had found Ludwig, alone on the streets. Roderich had saved him. Roderich had brought him home. Roderich had given him a second chance.

But Gilbert loved him like a brother. Shouldn't that have meant more?

It was disappointing, any second that Ludwig was absorbed in Roderich, even if it was something simple or something fleeting, and it turned Gilbert even more against Roderich, which he hadn't even thought was possible.

Roderich, who had first taken Erzsébet, and now was taking Ludwig.

Couldn't Roderich let him have anything?

Any and all loyalty that he had ever had for Roderich from the day he had given him lodging dissolved the second that he had seen Roderich sitting at the piano with Ludwig one day, his slender hands on top of Ludwig's and laughing aloud as they plinked away at the keys.

Ludwig was smiling.

Roderich leaned down, voice cooing away in Ludwig's ear like a proud parent, as he took up Ludwig's tiny hands within his own and said, so eagerly and cheerfully, 'Here, come on! Let's play a Chopin, now!'

Beaming, Roderich lifted Ludwig's hands, positioned them on the keys, and they started to play away.

Ludwig was so excited to be 'playing' on his own that he was squirming.

They sat together for hours, laughing together. When they were finished, they stood up, and Ludwig looked up at Roderich and threw up his arms into the air. Roderich tilted his head to the side, and then reached down, grabbing Ludwig around the waist and hauling him up into arms, squeezing him to his chest in an enthusiastic hug.

Erzsébet watched them, and the expression on her face was no longer strange; Gilbert recognized it now.

Love.

Roderich and Erzsébet and Ludwig. They would have made a quaint, beautiful family.

And that left no place for Gilbert.

That day, Gilbert had decided that Roderich was no longer an acquaintance. He was an enemy.

He hated Roderich.

It was for this reason when, the next spring, Roderich announced that he and Erzsébet would be returning to Vienna indefinitely for their wedding, Gilbert had not been upset.

Quite the contrary.

He was glad to see Roderich go, wouldn't even miss the son of a bitch, and if he wanted her so badly, then he could take Erzsébet too, and Feliciano and Ludwig too. Let them be a pretty family out on their own.

Who cared? Good riddance. He didn't need a family.

He'd do fine on his own.

Plans were made. Dates set.

And that led him back to the present, as he sat here, head slapped down onto Roderich's desk and muttering to himself as he rode out the very last moments in Roderich's home.

Everything, all of it, had led to this moment.

He was glad. He wouldn't miss Roderich.

They weren't leaving until the end of the year, but Gilbert had decided to step out early. The sooner the better.

"Done?"

"Not yet," Roderich drawled.

"Hurry it up, won't'cha? Oh my God, I'm so glad! I hate this place so much."

"That's great," Roderich supplied, patiently, still scratching away, looking about as relieved as Gilbert felt.

It would appear that the hatred was mutual.

"Just another few moments, and you'll be home free."

"Good."

Now, Roderich glanced up at him with a distasteful eye, adding, "Where will you go?"

"None of your business," he immediately snipped, but when Roderich's eyes narrowed into slits and the pen creaked in his hand, Gilbert bit down his attitude, foundering, and mumbled, "Back to Prussia, I guess."

"What will you do there? Ah, for work, I mean?"

"Dunno."

"I can probably set you up with something."

"No thanks," he snorted, visions of more paperwork filling his head, and as proud as he was, the last thing he ever wanted was help from Roderich. "I can find something just fine on my own."

He smiled casually, but Roderich's face only fell into an alarming seriousness, and he squirmed in his seat when Roderich set down his pen and leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him very formally, murmuring, "This is serious. I have a great request to make of you, and I need to know if you'll be able to handle it."

"What is it?" he asked, cautiously, and Roderich looked around the room, almost guiltily.

Oh, God. He had a suspicion.

"Well. Ah. As you know, we'll be returning to Vienna, and I don't know if we'll ever be coming back here, and well... Erzsébet has requested, actually, ah, demanded that Feliciano accompany us. He's all alone you know. Doesn't have anywhere to go. I can handle that, I guess, but... Ah. What I mean to say is..."

Gilbert could only shift anxiously, knowing what was coming.

"Wherever you're going, you have to take Ludwig with you."

Silence.

The first basic, instinctive reaction he had was to say, 'Of course I'll take him—he's my little brother!' The first thought was to take Ludwig back home and to sit him down and tell him, 'See, Roderich didn't want you, so he's not all that great! I'm the one that loves you!'

His first thought.

And yet...

And yet it still hurt to the see the way that Ludwig smiled up at Roderich, the way he followed after him whenever he was home, the way Roderich fawned over him, and oh God, he hated Roderich so much.

He was too proud for his own good. Just too proud. Too stubborn. Too combative. Any chance to fight with Roderich, any at all, was worth it. He was too proud to admit how much it hurt that Ludwig admired Roderich more than himself, so let Ludwig go with Roderich.

Who needed 'em?

Roderich sat there, staring at him, waiting.

Gilbert let his frustration take charge.

"No way," he cried, leaping to his feet so fast that he knocked his chair backwards in an attempt to make a scene, "No way! How could you even ask me that? Aren't you the one that brought him home? Take him with ya, why don't ya?"

Roderich stood too, palms on his desk, taking Gilbert's bait like he always did.

A bristling, bespectacled, screeching, wide-eyed ball of fury.

"You—You! How can you deny him like that? Aren't you the one always running about saying, 'my brother' this, 'my brother' that? That you would even take him and stick him into the middle of our own personal resentments! Have you no shame? I ask this one simple thing of you—"

The audacity!

"You're the one that brought him into this, you big idiot!" he screeched back, as he stomped his foot, and Roderich looked absolutely appalled that he had dared to raise his voice to him.

Pompous ass.

"Why d'ya even ask at all? All ya had to do was just take him! Why even bother askin' me? He looks up to you doesn't he, so why don't you just take him to Vienna and raise him yourself and teach him to be a snobby prick just like you!"

Roderich's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out, looking more like a landed fish than an indignant ambassador.

Helpless sputtering.

"Y-you! How dare you! Why, you! You! I've—I've never been so angry, you— I can't even think of a word awful enough to describe you! As much as Ludwig loves you, and you'd toss him aside like so much trash!"

A twinge of hurt.

But he quickly shoved it aside, because Roderich was mistaken.

Ludwig loved Roderich. Not him.

"Yeah, maybe I'm awful, but so be it! You're the one that wanted Ludwig, so keep him! Just keep him! I'm no one's big brother! I could never take care of him on my own, and why would I even want to? He's just be a damn burden."

Roderich's smooth, long-fingered hand flew up to his chest, aghast.

"Burden?" Roderich's voice was a steadily rising shriek. "What have you done for him? I've taken care of him this whole time, all you do is talk, but you're never there when he needs you! Why don't you try to take some responsibility for once? Ha! Some brother you'd ever be! Just forget it! Forget the whole goddamn thing! I don't even know what I was thinking, askin' you to take him! That I could ever leave Ludwig with you!"

"So don't!" Gilbert retorted, angrily, arms flying out to his sides in a show of aggression, "Don't! Take him!"

"I will!"

"Good! I didn't want him anyway!"

"Good! He's better off without you!"

Gilbert opened his mouth, to say he couldn't even guess what, but before the confrontation could escalate further (possibly into a physical altercation), a voice from the doorway interrupted them.

A soft, calm whisper.

"Don't fight because of me."

They both turned to the door, mouths hanging open in shock and horror, and in a second all belligerence had fled, and Roderich's face fell like the sun had been extinguished.

Gilbert's shoulders slumped.

Ludwig stood in the doorframe, arms loose at his sides. Who knew how long he'd been standing there.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Ludwig shifted his weight from one small foot to the other, and tried to put on a brave smile as he met Gilbert's eyes with a high chin. "That's okay, big brother. I'll be alright on my own!"

A horrible silence.

Gilbert was too ashamed to even try to utter a response.

Ludwig straightened up as stiff as a board, squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, the very vision of dignity (even so young), and then turned on his heel and walked away.

He left behind a shameful dread.

Oh, he hadn't wanted that.

Not that.

"Goddammit," Roderich suddenly cursed, breaking the silence, and it was with pursed lips and a very stern brow that he reached down and grabbed up a stack of papers from his desk, walking around and shoving them angrily into Gilbert's chest. "Here!" he spat, "This is your freedom. Take it and go. If you want the job I set up, then go to the address. Or don't. I don't care. I don't ever want to see you again."

With that, he stalked towards the door and left, slamming it behind him so hard that pictures fell right off the wall, and Gilbert knew he had reached a point of finality. Grabbing his bag off the floor, he trudged out of the house forever, agitated and guilty.

Back in the streets again. Same old.

Alone.

He made his way back to Prussia, morose and disappointed in himself. He would never have said those things if he had known Ludwig was listening...

He hadn't meant it.

Roderich just brought out the worst in him. Hadn't been Ludwig's fault.

Well, too late now.

He pushed on.

Besides, maybe Roderich was right. Maybe Ludwig was better off without him. What he did know about being a guardian? Ludwig would be safe and happy and cared for in Vienna, where he would have a 'mother' and a 'father' in Erzsébet and Roderich, and a better 'brother' in Feliciano.

Better off.

Trying to put his past behind him, Gilbert buried it all and returned to Prussia tall and proud, chin held as high as it always had been. The paper that Roderich had given him was in the trash before it had even been read. He had his own methods of making money, and Roderich, God bless him, had taught him one very valuable skill : how to speak and read legal jargon, and he could (and would) use that to his advantage.

Manipulation was really the only true skill he had.

Ha. Good enough.

Thus, he formed his own highly successful, and completely illegal, business, posing here and there as a lawyer, getting the money up front, and leaving his 'clients' high and dry in the court.

Roderich's smooth tongue had taught him the eloquence needed for such a venture.

It was actually a really lucrative 'business', more than he had ever really thought possible, and yet no matter how many people he swindled, or lives he ruined, or the beautiful house he bought, the expensive clothes he wore, the fine things he owned, he could not push away the gnawing guilt in his chest.

Ludwig was always on his mind.

Regret.

He had loved Ludwig, and even so had let his goddamn pride get in the way.

Stupid.

He wandered the streets of Berlin sometimes, watching people pass by with half-hearted interest, and occasionally it seemed that he would catch sight of a little boy with platinum hair. He turned tail and chased after quickly with hammering heart, but in the end, it was always only a look-alike.

False alarm.

Spring faded to fall, fall to winter, and he found himself once again trudging out in the streets, pants wet with snow and shoes muddy. He passed the little shops, hands in his pockets and watching the white sky dreamily, bumping into people and not even bothering to say 'sorry'. A usual occurrence. What was unusual, however, was the sudden burst of light that caught his eye. He looked over instinctively, like he always did, and felt his heart leap in his chest, like it always did.

But this time...

Out on the corner, alone and looking completely lost, was a little child, skinny and thinly-clothed and dirty, looking back and forth as though waiting for someone to come to his rescue. Dazed. Confused.

Alone.

Gilbert could not ignore the resemblance (oh, God, what a resemblance!), but found that his feet were frozen still as he readied himself for another disappointment.

Couldn't be.

...could it?

He watched from afar, as the little boy walked unsteadily this way, stopped, looked around with a tilted head of confusion, and then walked back down the other way, and repeated the same actions.

He just stood there.

People passed by, not sparing him a glance. Homeless street children were all too common in Berlin.

Gilbert waited, breathlessly, and finally, mercifully, the child looked his way.

His heart jolted. A burst of adrenaline.

He'd never forget that face. He'd never forget those eyes.

He'd never forget Ludwig.

Even though it seemed so impossible, he could not help himself, and when he found his feet he darted out into the street, dodging vehicles and horses and people and leaping over to the other side as fast as he could.

"Ludwig? H-hey! Ludwig!"

But the child did not look his way, not even a glance, and he thought for a second that he was mistaken, that perhaps this was not Ludwig after all. His heart dropped. A horrible, horrible moment of devastation.

"Ludwig?"

He ran up, and when he was close enough, he reached out and grabbed the child by the arm, whirling him around, and there was no more doubt.

Lightening.

This was Ludwig.

Ludwig.

Wait. Ludwig?

How?

"Oh my God," he cried, falling to his knees before the child, his heart racing so fast he was sure he would faint. "Ludwig? What are you doing here? Did you walk here?" The child did not respond, looking at him with such confusion, and Gilbert grabbed his shoulders, shaking him as hard as he dared. "Did you? Did you come all the way from Württemberg by yourself? Are you okay?"

Ludwig only stared at him, pale eyes wide with confusion, and finally he spoke, that familiar old voice soft and calm, "Ludwig... Is that my name?"

What?

Gilbert fell back, aghast, and noticed for the first time the trickle of blood creeping down the side of Ludwig's face. Pulling himself forward, he grabbed wan Ludwig by the collar and yanked him in, forcing his head down so that he could part his damp hair and examine. A rush of panic came when he saw the gash underneath the blond.

"What happened?" he finally whispered, horrified, but Ludwig only shook his head, a strange look upon his face.

Like nothing was out of the ordinary.

"I don't remember." He was far too calm for Gilbert's liking, and smiled palely when he added, "I just remember coming here for...something." He scrunched his face in concentration, trying to recall a memory that was fleeing him. "Something. I woke up here yesterday. ...did I come to the right place?"

"Whaddya mean? Huh? Did you... How'd you get here? Don't you remember?"

Ludwig shook his head.

"Why'd you come here?"

A shrug.

"Where's Roderich? Huh? Why'd you leave Roderich? Why'd he let you go off on your own?"

A silence, and then Ludwig gawked at him through those pale eyelashes, and he whispered, "Who's that?"

Gilbert choked for a second, and finally stood back up.

His head hurt all of a sudden.

Who's that?

Good God, had he hit his head that hard?

Ludwig's hands were scraped and bloodied. Had he fallen? From where? How?

"You've...been out in the snow all this time?"

Ludwig nodded serenely, and, feeling his heart bursting in his chest, Gilbert reached down and took his hand.

"Come on. Let's go home. You hungry?"

Ludwig nodded and walked along, allowing Gilbert to lead him off with complete and unwavering trust, just like had to Roderich not so long ago.

Ludwig, so good-natured.

Glancing down at him every so often, keeping Ludwig's hand very tightly within his own, Gilbert felt the first burst of ego in his chest, and smiled.

So what if Roderich had saved Ludwig first?

Ha! Ludwig had followed Roderich around after that, looking up at him like he was a savior and a hero, because it had been Roderich who had found him.

Well, then, this was his chance. Ludwig would look up to him now.

What a feeling!

And what was more; Ludwig had not wound up in Prussia by accident. No way! Ludwig had followed him here, seeking him out. Ludwig had left Roderich behind and came looking for Gilbert.

Maybe Ludwig had loved him all along, after all.

He fully intended to make up for his mistakes, even if Ludwig didn't remember the awful words he had said.

He'd spoil the kid rotten.

He swore it.

As the snow began to fall again, he squeezed Ludwig's hand tightly, and the child looked up at him quite happily.

"Who are you?" Ludwig asked suddenly, and Gilbert's smile broke into a grin.

"I'm your big brother."