Full summary-

Gilbert Beilschmidt and his younger brother, Ludwig Beilschmidt, are new in town and have moved in to the old house downtown. Gilbert is a guy who has some mental issues-tons pills a day for anxiety, depression, insomnia, and anti-psychotic. Don't ask yet, it's a long story.

Ludwig is the only one that knows of Gilbert's illness, and they hope to keep it that way. But then there's a pretty girl by the name of Elizaveta Hédévary And Gilbert is willing to make her an exception.

But does Liz want to be an exception? Does she even know what she's dealing with? Drama strikes all around town, and it all seems to connect to Gilbert.

And there's one person in his way to get Elizaveta.

And his name is Roderich Edelstein.

Gilbert and Ludwig know how to deal with crazy but this is a whole new level. Now Gilbert is taking more pills and insisting he feels better. Or he'll take no pills and get worse. He feels like Elizaveta is his new drug-Or is she just making it worse? Will she actually return the love Gilbert feels for her?

It's a screwed up world, and, unfortunately, Gilbert and Elizaveta are on the bad half of it. Gilbert can't fight his inner demons anymore, Ludwig is steadily learning more and more about his brother, and Liz and Roderich and everybody else in town are starting to get wary and curious of it's newest inhabitants.

Drugs, money, and a dangerous love game turn the fairly quiet town upside down and it becomes turmoil and chaos-Just what Gilbert needs. More chaos in his life. More things to drive him crazy.

Gilbert is crazy, but is it really a good kind of crazy? Or should Liz be scared?

But sadly, Liz isn't scared. And that might just be the death of her.

Liz has always wanted a sort-of-crazy baby but that don't mean they're ever sane.

And Gilbert is the one who's going down.

(Warning: Mentions of rape, depression, drug use, boyxboy, girlxgirl, extreme medical conditions, suicidal attempts, underage drinking, etc.)

Chapter One-New Town, New Start

"Lookat the house," Gilbert heard Ludwig say optimistically as they stepped over the threshold. He set his bag down, looking around at the dark corners in the hallway, his eyebrows contracting together. Dust floated around and a large staircase that led upstairs looked rickety and dangerous. The house was at least a hundred years old, "We'll get all of our furniture in and it will look like the one back in Berlin."

"Since when have you been the optimistic one?" Gilbert asked, trailing his finger on an old, abandoned book case and looking at the dust that gathered on his pale pads. He wiped his finger on the front of his jeans, frowning at the light-colored squares on the wall where picture frames used to hang. The windows had once been boarded and the ceiling had been half-caved in, but the repairmen fixed the ceiling and put in new panes in the window frames, as well as replaced the old, out of date wiring of the house. Hopefully the painters would come soon to make this place look a bit nicer.

"Well...I figured one of us has to be the optimistic these days," Ludwig sighed, scooping up Gilbert's bag and following after the older albino. Despite Gilbert being older, it didn't actually look like he was four years older than Ludwig. His clothes hung off his body and frame even though they were a size small, and his shoulder and hip bones jutted out sharply. Despite this, his red eyes were still lightened and his skin was vibrant. Ludwig was four years younger but much more muscular and well-built, with eyes the color of a blue Icee and blond hair slicked back. He was considerably more healthy, mentally and physically.

"I don't need you to be optimistic," Gilbert said, glaring up at a large and dusty crystal chandelier, "Tell me what you really think of the house."

Ludwig frowned at the back of Gilbert's head. With anybody else he would have gotten angry and agitated, frustrated, but his older brother was a special case. Ludwig had learned to be patient with him-Going through great lengths to not lose his temper.

"I think the house is fine," Ludwig said in a loud, clear voice, as he unzipped Gilbert's bag and pulled a few antidepressants out. When his brother's shoulders hunched like that, it was never a good sign. These things worked like magic on Gilbert, surprisingly. Within a half hour, Gilbert would be smiling and considerably lighter than he had been before, but until then Ludwig would have to deal with the depressing thirty minutes before the drugs kicked in. He wouldn't be needing his anxiety pills at the moment, as they wouldn't be leaving the house for a while, and certainly wouldn't be in public. At least, Gilbert wouldn't be leaving the house for a while. But if a panic attack struck while Ludwig was out, Gilbert knew where to look.

"Catch," Ludwig said, and tossed the pills in the orange container to the albino. He caught it easily and looked down at the label, and his nose wrinkled in disgust. Prozac and Zyprexa. Depression meds for sever cases.

And in his bag was a bottle of Xanax and Olanzapine. He hated the fact that he to rely on drugs to supply him with false happiness. Depression was not an easy road, as both brothers knew first hand (Gilbert being the victim and Ludwig the brother of the victim) but at least he wasn't cutting or overdosing. Yet Ludwig and his doctor still seemed to want him to take these stupid medications. He hated the labels they slapped on him.

'Depressed.'

'Insomniac.'

'Psychotic.'

'Anxious.'

'Neurotic.'

The worst part was when his doctor declared him to have Senile Squalor Syndrome. Displaying cases of apathy, depression, social withdraw, and self-neglect. Gilbert didn't want his depression to have a name. He just wanted to be depressed, dammit.

"Here's some water," Ludwig offered Gilbert a bottle of said liquid. Gilbert gave a sour look as he took two Prozacs and one Zyprexa, placed them far back on his tongue to make them easier to swallow, tipped his head back, and took a gulp of water. When Gilbert slumped limply on the bottom step of the stairs, burying his face in his hands in defeat, Ludwig went outside and began to unload the moving van. The work was hard, as the boxes were extremely heavy.

Ludwig had unloaded ten boxes plus his desk when Gilbert exited the house with a solemn look on his face. He began to help Ludwig out, and Ludwig flinched every time his brother lifted a box. He looked ready to collapse underneath the heavy boxes, frail as he was.

But luckily, he didn't fall. They had half of the truck unloaded when Gilbert eased himself onto the hammock hanging on the wrap-around porch and allowed himself to let out a sigh of content. Then a giggle that suddenly turned into full-blown laughter, hands clutching his sides and the hammock swaying. Ludwig had learned months ago to ignore this behavior. It occurred only when Gilbert took both Prozac and Zyprexa, and left him giddy for a short period of time before becoming semi-normal and semi-happy. However, as a side effect of the antidepressants, Gilbert suddenly found every aspect of himself awesome. It got extremely annoying at times, but Ludwig tolerated it. Just as long as Gilbert was happy.

Gilbert barely remembered the the last time he was truly happy. It was a few months before his nineteenth birthday, four years ago, before his father was killed. He had had awesome friends and a music teacher that was almost like a second father or an uncle to him, whom he called Old Fritz. He had received an amazing early birthday present (a silver flute that currently sat abandoned in a box somewhere, gathering dust). He was the top kid in his athletics and history class, had a good enough GPA rating, and a crush that was slowly becoming something more. His name had been Matthew, and he had been one of the nicest people Gilbert had known. Then everything bad seemed to happen all at once.

Stress caused his GPA rating to drop dramatically as he failed to turn in homework assignments, and Old Fritz quit his job due to his lung cancer getting steadily worse. Old Fritz died just weeks after Matthew moved away back to Ottawa. Gilbert was steadily getting sadder and sadder but there had still been hope that he would get better.

But the death of he and his brother's father was the icing on Gilbert's insane cake. Gilbert broke.

Whenever Ludwig read a book that described a character as "broken", Ludwig had always questioned how somebody could possibly look or be "broken." It just didn't make any sense to him.

But now, whenever Ludwig looked at Gilbert's face, his cheeks hallowed, and his eyes shadowed, Ludwig knew. He knew Gilbert was broken.

Gilbert didn't like to talk about his depression. Or the medicine. Or the Senile Squalor Syndrome, because that was just slapping an effing label on him. If he and Ludwig had to talk about it in public, they referred to it as Gil's "little problem."

But it used to be much worse, believe it or not. Gilbert had quit the last two months of his senior year in high school and Ludwig had to drag him screaming out of bed every morning to take him to a therapist. Then Gilbert's first drug was prescribed;Xanax. Anxiety. The Xanax didn't work at first. Ludwig would still wake up sometimes to find Gilbert huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth with tears streaming down his face as every awful image and thought he had ever seen or imagined raced through his mind in a blur.

Once Gilbert had a massive panic attack in the middle of a grocery store, and that's what started the whispered rumors of the oldest Beilschmidt boy not being right in the head. Once it became apparent that it wasn't just anxiety that was messing with the albino's head, Ludwig took Gilbert back to the doctor's, much to his dislike.

The doctor's, Gilbert's therapist, and Ludwig all suspected something else had happened that he never told any of them about. But the boy wouldn't crack. He wouldn't take of his clothes and curled up like a prude. He was getting skinnier and lankier every day. The bags under his eyes were terrible and he cried at random times, though more often than not it happened when he and Ludwig were alone. It was then that he was prescribed Prozac.

It was usually taken along with Zyprexa, but the doctors said that the case wasn't severe enough for that yet. That Gilbert would be okay and just fine if he continued taking his pills and ate one square meal a day continuously. Ludwig hated every single one of those effing, lying doctors.

Locking himself in his room was not 'okay.'

Being able to see each and every one of Gilbert's ribs through his shirt was not 'okay.'

Putting a gun to his head and threatening to pull the trigger on himself was not 'okay.'

Ludwig would like to hear the definition of the doctor's version of 'okay', because it sure as hell wasn't his effing definition of okay.

Thank god their neighbor ripped the gun from Gilbert's hands when he did. He had been weak anyways.

News of Gilbert Beilschmidt's attempted suicide spread like wildfire all around and Ludwig found himself caring for his brother more like a mother than a younger brother. He missed days of school to nurse his brother back to health, force-feeding him soup and making sure Gilbert took his pills (which now included Zyprexa.) But Gilbert was getting worse. Ludwig could see all of his ribs, collarbones seemed to be jumping out of his skin, and his shoulder and hip bones were dangerously sharp, his fingers bony and fragile. It was disgusting.

Gilbert was too young to be like this. He was too young to die. But oh, he wanted to.

It seemed nearly impossible that Gilbert Beilschmidt would ever get better.

But miracles happen sometimes.

His doctors added Olanzapine to his medication to help with his insomnia, and Gilbert was slowly starting to eat again. It first, it was tiny bites of his dinner. Then, he began to eat whole slices of bread and bowls of cereal. Soon, he was at least eating half of his plate. He had began to go outside and in public again, though making sure he was medicated on Xanax. Gilbert started to look less like a walking skeleton and more like a twenty-three-year old man.

Ludwig spent two years making his brother feel better and wasted away his junior and senior years of high school. He completely dropped out towards the end of his senior year. And now, here they stood, in a brand new town, where nobody would recognize the Beilschmidt brothers. They were getting the fresh, brand new start they so desperately wanted and needed.

And now Gilbert sat in the hammock, his silvery hair ruffled in the heavy wind that was beating against the house and it's wooden exterior relentlessly. It was extremely old, and over the years weathering and erosion had turned it's once-shining state into this. It wasn't in the prime of it's days, but at least since Ludwig and Gilbert purchased it, the people who used to own the property had the decency to fix it up sot hey weren't living in a miserable three-story shack that would fall over at any given moment.

Not that it was the only old or big house in town, but it was one of the few that still stood standing since the 1600's. Most people would be wary of buying an big old house like that, but to Ludwig, it was fascinating. All the history that could have gone down in this house...

"I want to go to town," Gilbert said, snapping Ludwig out of his stupor. Frowning, Ludwig set down the box labeled KITCHEN and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Why?"

"Why not?" Gilbert turned his head to face him, his red eyes specks, a sure sign that the drugs were kicking in and working their magic on him.

"Well...I would think you would want to settle in first," Ludwig said cautiously, careful not to tread on touchy subjects, but Gilbert just beamed and stared up at the ceiling fan that was spinning slowly in the wind, an easy, not-quite-there smile on his face. Ludwig carried the last box into the house and when he came back out, saw Gilbert was still in the hammock, still with the distant smile.

"The college a few cities over is pretty good, I hear," Ludwig said, trying to start a conversation as he sat down on the porch, staring at the patches of grass surrounding the brand-new mailbox. The nearest neighbor was a five-minute drive and they were surrounded by green forest on all sides.

"And?" Gilbert sighed, sitting up and staring at his toes-He had taken off his boots a few minutes before. Ludwig took off his own shoes and tossed them aside as he thought carefully about what he would say.

"Well...Of course, I am going to be taking a few courses," Ludwig kept his voice light, "And I was thinking...Maybe you should too."

"School," Gilbert said sourly, leaning back once again in his hammock and giving himself a little push to keep it swaying. The lines on his forehead deepened as unpleasant memory after unpleasant memory formed, "Yeah. Like I wanna go back there."

"It will be different than high school," Ludwig encouraged, "I can take English and Art and Math like I did in high school...And engineering. And You can play the flute again!"

Gilbert didn't respond-He only continued to stare at the ceiling. There was a long cobweb trailing from a corner of the porch to the ceiling fan. After a moment he turned his head to stare at Ludwig with slight disinterest. He was getting bored.

"I want to go to town," Gilbert repeated, before eyeing the woods. On a good day, he'd have to explore them. Right now it looked like it was about to rain.

"Well..." Ludwig thought of ways to make his brother change his mind but eventually sighed in defeat, "We need groceries anyways...And I might as well apply for the college while I'm at it."

The younger brother made sure the older had taken his anxiety pills and drank a bottle of water before getting in the car once again, asked twice whether or not he was absolutely sure he wanted to go to town, and then took off as Gilbert's choice of rock music blasted through the speakers.

Elizaveta Hedevary was sure that there was no bigger idiot in the entire town than her boyfriend Roderich. And no bigger prude, prick, stuck-up, stick-shoved-up-his-ass richie-rich kid than him. Of course, she still loved him, but seriously. Denying their one-year-anniversary date so he could attend a piano concert was a whole new level of Oh my god seriously.

It started when Roderich didn't seem to remember the fact that they even had an anniversary, so Elizaveta began to drop subtle hints. She winked at him whenever they passed by a flower shop or said the words October Thirtieth with empathized importance, and even once looked at a teddy bear and said "What a great anniversary present!"

When Roderich didn't seem to be picking up on her little hints, she confronted the Austrian in his living room. Despite having dated one year, they still had yet to move into one another's house. When Elizaveta asked him if he planned to do anything special on the anniversary, he had smiled and nodded.

"I'm going to a piano concert," He had said.

"Oh? Can I come as well?"

"Well...No, I only have one ticket."

Elizaveta had leaned forward with a frown on her face, her brown hair, which was usually loose, kept tied back in a ponytail.

"But...What of our anniversary, Roderich? You can't just skip out on it like it's not important or anything!"

Roderich had adjusted the collar of his shirt nervously and adjusted his glasses as well, eyeing Elizaveta. She had continued to stare at him as she felt betrayal slowly spread through her and make her go numb.

"Well...L-Liz, I had p-planned on going for a wh-while now..."

A lot of angry shouting, an aggressive frying pan, a thrown fruitcake and a slammed door later, Elizaveta sat in her apartment thinking that every German man in the world was stupid and ridiculous. So far the brunette had dated two Germans and now two Austrians, plus an Australian with Swiss ancestry, but they had all cheated on her or treated her unfairly.

Her most recent boyfriend had upright got up and left town three years ago without ever calling or anything, so Elizaveta wasn't even sure if he was alive or not.

Maybe she was just cursed to never find Mr. Right. And it's not like she was desperately seeking a man to marry, anyways. Her best friend, Yekaterina Braginskaya, a girl with abnormally large breasts from Ukraine, had set her up on a date with Roderich in return of the favor of loaning her a thousand dollars to help pay her rent. Elizaveta was also good friends with Yekaterina's little brother and sister, Ivan Braginsky and Natalia Arlovskaya. (She had always found it funny that they all had different last names despite being siblings, but whatever.) Ivan was native to Russia and Natalia was native to Belarus (their parents had moved around a lot and they were all at least six years apart in age differences).

So now, here Elizaveta sat, fuming, and in a coffee shop while she ranted angrily to one of her childhood best friends Feliciano Vargas, who ran the coffee shop while his elder brother, Lovino Vargas, ran the Italian joint down the street.

"I agree with you-a...It's a bit a-selfish that he's a-going to the concert without taking you-a, but maybe he can a-change his mind?" Feliciano said cheerfully, handing her a Dark Chocolate Peppermint Mocha. The Italian began making himself a Vanilla Latte as he watched Elizaveta sip her drink with a concentrated look.

The coffee shop was nearly empty, as it was near closing time, and the sun was sinking golden beyond the horizon. The city had a population of almost three thousand people, which meant it was quite small, and besides, anybody who was anybody was in town square listening to those rich Scandinavian kids who lived further north in town sing and dance. Why they were popular, was easily recognized-They shone like stars in the city.

"I don't think he'll change his mind, Feli," Elizaveta sighed, setting her drink down and rubbing her finger on the counter top that Feliciano worked hard to keep spotless, "I mean, you know how Roderich is. Once he has his mind set on something, he won't budge."

"But a-sometimes, he does," Feliciano winked at her before settling down in a bar stool behind the counter and pulling a sketchpad out from under it. It was the beginnings of a sketch of what looked like a person. The wild curl on the right side of the person's head gave away who it was almost instantly. It matched Feliciano's own curl, except Feliciano's was on the left.

"You're drawing Lovino?" Elizaveta asked, tracing her finger along the lines of the drawing. Feliciano nodded happily, amber eyes trained pridefully on the sheet of paper.

"Don't tell-a him though, please? I a-want it to be a surprise-a. It's a project for our art a-class."

"You're pretty good," Elizaveta said warmly, smiling at her best friend. They went a long way back, and it was good to see the kid smiling these days. She had only just turned twenty-four last week, and the nineteen-year-old Italian had been working hard lately with the death of his grandfather and all. The door to the coffee shop opened and in came Lovino. Feliciano hastily shoved the sketch pad underneath the cabinet.

The brothers were nearly identical-There were a few differences though. Lovino had his hair part a little to the side, unlike Feliciano, and his hair was certainly darker than his brother's, with green eyes as opposed to amber, and, of course, his wild curl was on the right side of his head. No matter what the brothers did, it seemed, they couldn't keep their curls down and they always kept popping back up.

"Ciao, Lovino,"Elizaveta greeted, and the Italian glanced at her before allowing a small smile. Unlike his brother's bubbly personality, he was sharp-tongued and prone to more vulgar language. He saw the world as black and white and certainly didn't trust outsiders. Elizaveta felt accomplished to be one of the few he did, in fact, trust.

"Hé, Elizaveta," Lovino said back, greeting her in Hungarian, her native language. Elizaveta smiled once again and they turned to face Feliciano, who was already making Lovino's favorite-Oreo Frappuccino. Feliciano knew everybody in town's favorites like the back of his hand. If you were to pull a random name out of your ass, he'd tell you that Alfred Jones from Baker's Street liked the Apple Pie Frappuccino, but preferred a coke. Or that Arthur Kirkland from Welsh Lane in Summercreek just a few minutes out of town liked just plain green tea. And that most often Lukas Bondevik liked his coffee black, but sometimes liked to mix butter inside. He knew everybody like they were he himself.

"How's the restaurant?" Elizaveta asked the older Italian politely. He shrugged and leaned forward on his elbows, watching his brother add vanilla bean powder.

"It's alright-a, I guess," He shrugged, "Business could be a bit a-better, but with the new-a guys that a-moved into town...Maybe they like-a Italian food, eh?"

"That's what we're all aboot, eh," Elizaveta said with a grin, nudging him in the ribs with her elbows.

"Oh my god, shut up-a," Lovino poked her sharply in the stomach, which caused her to wince.

"Jézus Krisztus, Lovi, you poke hard," Elizaveta pouted, lifting her shirt up slightly to see if he left a bruise, "Oh great, how will I explain this Roderich?"

"Why should I a-care?" Lovino asked, but he was interrupted by the tinkle of the bell, followed by two combined laughs-

"Ohonhonhon!"

"Fusososo!"

"Oh shi-"

"¡Hola! How are you, Lovino~?"

"Ciao, Antonio!" Feliciano greeted happily, "But just so you guys a-know, you have to a-pay for your drinks, I can't a-keep giving hand-outs like these-a!"

"I have money," Francis said, holding up a few wadded up dollar bills.

"White Chocolate Mocha?" Feliciano asked, already making his way to the flavors, but Francis shook his head, his shoulder-length blond hair tied back in a small little ponytail today.

"Non, I'm switching it up today, mon ami. Pumpkin Latte?"

"Si," Feliciano nodded, reaching for the cinnamon, "And 'Tonio, same as always?"

"Extra caramel, please!"

"Si!"

"This place is a-suddenly swarming when I a-show up," Lovino threw his hands up in annoyance, "That's it-a, I've officially decided I'm a-cursed."

"Don't speak like that Lovino!" Antonio laughed, and the Spaniard swooped down and practically squeezed the life out of the poor Italian, Francis joining in. Elizaveta raised an eyebrow and took this as her sign to leave-Lovino would blow up and she didn't want to be a part of that.

So she took her leave early, thanking Feliciano for the free drink ("How come she gets her drink free?!" Antonio pouted against Lovino's cheek) and made her way to the bar. She would be an hour early, but whatever made her boss happy. The whole town was full of foreign people-People hailing from England, America, Russia, Italy, everywhere. It was like a town from immigrants. She herself was from Hungary, though she hadn't been there since she was fourteen. Everybody was interesting and everybody had a story to tell, and that was what made her love everybody.

But hadn't she heard Lovino mention new people? Who were they and where did they live? She'd only lived in this particular town for seven years but she knew it inside out. Perhaps in the newer apartments near town square, where her own was located? Or the older houses and lofts in the outer skirts?

Elizaveta didn't have much time to think about it as she entered the bar. It was already fairly busy-She guessed the performance of Mathias whatsit and his friends was over.

"Merhaba, Lizzie," A voice said, and Elizaveta knew who it was at once. Only one person in this entire town called her Lizzie.

"Sadiq," Elizaveta greeted simply to the Turk as she turned slowly, looking up at his mask. It concealed the upper half of his face. Why he wore it, she didn't know why. The man was a mystery to half of the town. But he gave her a charismatic smile and shook her hand. At least her boss was a good man, thank god.

"Listen, I need you to work the counter tonight," Sadiq sighed, glancing towards the karaoke stage where a drunken Cameron Kirkland was singing something in

a language nobody even knew. They weren't even sure the Scottish man knew what language he was speaking. "Heracles went on strike. Again."

"Surprise, surprise," Elizaveta sighed, crossing her arms and shaking her head. Heracles was prone to do that whenever Sadiq cut his pay, but to be fair, Heracles should have been fired a long time ago. Heracles was a nice man at heart, but he slept on the job and spoke so quietly almost nobody heard him over the noises of the bar.

"So...Yeah. Thanks," Sadiq have her another smile before clocking out. He usually went home at this time, anyways.

So Elizaveta put on her little apron, swept her hair back, and began to work the counter.

The first few hours went by normally. Giving the regulars their normal round of shots, occasionally having to shoo an underage from the bar, and enduring the, for the most part, terrible drunken singing. But the happy atmosphere was what made her enjoy her job. The people in this town didn't usually get into drunken fights, and that made it much easier.

There was the tinkling off a bell and Elizaveta glanced up to see a newbie had entered the bar, somebody she had never seen before. And, god, did he look awful. His skin was pale, pale, and paler, and his hair was silvery. His eyes were red and wide and he was shaking all over. Sweat matted his hair to his forehead and he was rather skinny. While Elizaveta wouldn't exactly call him anorexic, he was still pretty thin.

"Wo bin ich-Wo ist-Bruder, ich brauche-das Medikament-" Spilled over his mouth and he looked close to sickness, leaning against the door wearily. Elizaveta couldn't understand everything he was saying, but she knew enough to figure out it was German.

(Where am I-Where is-Brother, I need-the drug-)

"Sir?" Elizaveta walked around the counter towards the German-speaking albino, but he suddenly seemed to realize where he was and stepped backwards, eyes going wider still, looking scared.

"Wer bist du?" His breathing was becoming erratic, "Wo ist bruder? Ich brauche...Ich brauche...Krank. Sehr krank."

(Who are you? Where is brother? I need...I need...Sick. Very sick.)

"Sir, please calm down," Elizaveta reached out to touch his shoulder, but he flinched away, before staggering to his feet and stumbling out the door, looking extremely sick. Elizaveta shot a look to the only other coworker there tonight, her friend Kiku, before following the albino out the door. He looked to be a bit younger than her, and certainly in no condition to walk as he was on his hands and knees, retching. Elizaveta began to wonder if he was perhaps drunk or needed a hospital.

"Warum..." He looked up at her, eyes wide, bile dribbling down his chin, "Demons...Wer bist du?...Ist bruder..."

His hand was clawing at her.

"Sir, I don't speak German," Elizaveta said, reaching out to comfort him, but as soon as her hand was a few inches from him, he shrieked and practically threw himself backwards, away from her hand. Frowning, Elizaveta crept forward slowly. The man seemed to be struggling to string English words together.

"I...Brother...Please..."

"I don't-"

"Gilbert!" A new voice cut in, and Elizaveta looked up to see a man younger than her but much taller and more muscular, with blond hair and blue eyes, looking down at the man on the ground who was still shaking violently.

"Oh crap...Gilbert..." The man said, before kneeling down and placing a hand gingerly on the smaller man's shoulder. Gilbert retched again before slumping over and the blond man caught him just in time. Elizaveta realized she had been watching with bated breath and stood up, helping the man get Gilbert to his feet.

"Who is this guy?" Elizaveta asked, giving him a once-over before turning his attention to the blond, "And who are you?"

"We're new in town. Ludwig Beilschmidt, guten tag. This is mein older brother, Gilbert. Uh...He's drunk," Ludwig said, sighing and giving his brother a sad look, before looking back at the brunette, eyes finding her name tag and struggling to read it in the poor light provided by the street lamps, "And you are...Elizaveta?"

"Igen," Elizaveta confirmed, nodding, and brought a hand up to her face to brush a few locks of hair behind the flowers just over her ear, "Do you need help with him?"

"Nein, but danke. He's a very strange drunk," Ludwig said a bit hurriedly, "I'm going to drive home. Danke again. Take car."

"Where do you live?" Elizaveta asked, not meaning for it to come out creepy in any way. Luckily, Ludwig understood.

"At the old house just near Summercreek," Ludwig explained, pointing in the general direction of the house, "Surrounded by the woods. Just a few minutes from here."

"Near Drummer's Road?" Elizaveta asked, thinking back to the centuries-old house that resided there. Ludwig nodded. Elizaveta smiled brightly and held a hand out for the German to shake, "Good! Do you mind if I go check in the morning to see if you're brother is alright? He looks pretty shaken up!"

"I...Er, I don't think that's advisable," Ludwig said, casting another wary glance to his brother's limp form slumped over him, "But thank you, for the concern. You have a good night."

"You too," Elizaveta said with a smile, watching the German carry his brother over to a black truck that had seen better days, but was still nice-looking, compared to the old models most of the town drove. Elizaveta watched them drive away before returning inside.

It had certainly been a very interesting day.