A/N: Hey! Sorry for the delay, I've been having some other things going on I had to take care of, but here we go! Back on track now, hopefully. But yeah! Thank you for all the support and reviews and such I received on the first chapter, I'm really happy to hear you guys are liking it so far! Enjoy!

The military lifestyle ran in the family. Ever since he was a kid, Alfred had blabbed about wanting to be a soldier. And when he turned eighteen, with bright eyes and a loud mouth, he joined the army. Even before that day came, he talked about it nonstop. And why not? After all, his father had been a soldier, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfather, and—

"Just wait! I'll come back a hero, too!"

And then, during basic training, he met Gilbert Beilschmidt. The guy was twenty-one at the time, with a mouth just as loud as Alfred's, but a brain more developed and feet more firmly planted onto the ground. He didn't have his head up in the clouds, and it was rather often that he yanked on Alfred's ankles to drag him back down to earth.

"War isn't what it's all cracked up to be," Gilbert had said simply, his loud and borderline arrogant demeanor fizzling out of him as he sat there, shining his boots. His eyes, colored a striking red that clashed violently against his snowy hair and pale skin, rolled up to look Alfred in the face. "You're a kid. You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

And honestly, Gilbert probably hadn't been more correct about anything in his life.

They wound up in the same division, the same team, becoming comrades and family and the best of friends all at once. Their tours together dragged on and on, and times of war slowly changed them both. Gilbert began leaning more and more on that loud, confident of his, always talking, laughing, smiling. Surely digging further into that façade was his coping method.

But for Alfred, it was the opposite, really. War changed him in other ways. He became more and more serious over the years, happiness and laughter seeming to evaporate out of his bones, leaving behind a shell. He became cold, distant, quiet, and by their third tour, he finally realized how correct Gilbert had been from the beginning.

He had never gone through something so difficult in his entire life. Even if the nightmare of the ambush did not plague his dreams, he couldn't escape the rest of it all. Everything was connected, spun in a giant web that he was tangled within. The littlest of triggers hid around every single corner. Even if he dodged the replay of that single event, the rest of the memories collapsed around him like dominos. And really, seeing ghosts of dead bodies and having groans in his ears were just as bad.

What was even worse was when it randomly hit you while you were awake, just minding your own business in a public place, and then your world was suddenly crashing down upon you.

He snapped out of his daydream as something cool and damp suddenly rubbed against his hand.

Jumping in his chair, Alfred instantly scooted himself backwards to look underneath the table. He then relaxed a bit as he found two bright brown eyes staring back at him. Gilbert and Ludwig owned a few dogs, and for whatever reason, the German shepherd – an absolutely beautiful one, no less – always took a keen interest in him whenever he was over to visit.

Another bump of the nose against his hand caused him to cave, proceeding to scratch the dog behind the ears before it curled up obediently at Alfred's feet.

His eyes roamed to Gilbert, who was standing near the kitchen counter, absently flipping over a grilled cheese sandwich inside a skillet. His back was to Alfred at the moment as he cooked, standing in there in what he often referred to as his 'chill clothes'. It was nothing more than a navy blue tank top and a pair of black shorts, both of which Alfred knew he felt more comfortable moving around in. Despite Gilbert's enormous amount of confidence thrumming in his veins, he didn't seem to have it in him to wear clothes like that in public these days. And really, Alfred could understand why.

His eyes fell slightly, absorbing the sight of the man's body. Gilbert had dropped an obvious amount of weight since they had gotten out of the service. His arms and back were still visibly firm with muscle, but the rest of him didn't seem so thick anymore, thinning out underneath his clothes.

His eyes absently trailed over the ocean of scars running along Gilbert's skin, colored a silvery white that somehow seemed so painfully obvious on his pale flesh. They covered the expanse of his back, webbing out from underneath his shirt, marks staining his powerful shoulders and arms, even biting down into the back of his hands. That was the reason he didn't dress like this in public anymore. That, and, well… Alfred's eyes absently lowered a bit further, stealing a glance at his friend's leg, taking in just how little of his limb was left, and of how much was equipment, with sockets and fake knee joints and—

"So, what's the plan here?" Gilbert suddenly asked, and Alfred quickly wrenched his eyes away to look at the man's face. With a bit of difficulty, Gilbert began moving the food to the table, hobbling as he went. In an instant, Alfred practically leapt out of his chair to help, not really wanting a repeat of what had happened last time. Gilbert mumbled to him in thanks before he collapsed gratefully into a chair. He cast a temporary glance at Alfred before he started putting a few sandwiches onto his plate to accompany the soup he had made. "You comin' with us or not?"

Alfred was quiet for a moment, seeming to be trying to think of what to say. He mutely grabbed a single grilled cheese, not really wanting to get another lecture from his friend about not eating enough. Then again, Gilbert didn't really have room to talk. During the first few weeks since they made it home, the guy practically had to be force-fed. Nowadays his appetite had come back with a vengeance. Back in the day, the two of them, after surviving on nothing but military meals, could stomach a gross amount of food whenever they got the chance. These days it was only Gilbert falling back into old habits.

"One thing you should probably know about me, kid, is that I have three simple hobbies: sleeping, eating, and fighting. That's about it."

"I… I'm not sure," Alfred started hesitantly, watching one of Gilbert's thin, snowy eyebrows arch heavenward in a puzzled manner. "I just…"

"You're just being indecisive and making excuses," Gilbert interrupted, rolling his eyes as he sank down a bit further into his seat. "Come on! You have literally nothing to lose, and like I said, I really think you need to get out here for a while."

"No, I don't—"

"Alfred, don't even try it. I'm not stupid, and either way, lying has never been your strong suit." Gilbert's face darkened slightly, rare anger evident in his eyes. He motioned to the blonde with one well-defined hand. "Look at you. I'm worried, Matthew's worried, Ludwig's worried. You won't eat, you haven't been sleeping, you're getting these trances and flashbacks constantly, and some guy bumping into you in the office nearly gave you an anxiety attack."

"I…" Alfred faltered for a moment, struggling to formulate an argument through his loss of words. It was true, of course it was; how was he supposed to argue with the truth? "I just…"

"Listen to me, Alfred. It doesn't make you any less of a person to need help. You do realize that, right?" Gilbert's voice was a bit quieter, facial features softening slightly. "You've gotta let someone help you. Anyone. And if this hurts your feelings, then fine, I apologize, but you need help. You're getting worse, you and I both know that, and the last thing I want to see is for you to become so far gone that no one can reach you anymore."

Not surprisingly, silence was the only reply he received.

"Come with us," Gilbert pressed, words almost sounding like an order. After cramming the last chunk of a grilled cheese into his mouth he sank back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you're not going to see a professional, then I want you to at least take one step here and give your brain a much-needed break."

Alfred hesitated for a moment, taking a rather large bite of his sandwich in order to stall for time. It suddenly felt like everything was moving too fast, and he didn't like it. He just couldn't keep up. He chewed absently, the food tasting stale on his tongue, and his stomach twisted into a painful knot. He could feel Gilbert staring at him, expecting any type of response. Finally, after a moment, his blue eyes rolled up to meet Gilbert's red ones.

"…Okay."

Gilbert's smile was blinding.

The next month repeated like clockwork. There were no changes and nothing new. The nights were either sleepless, or having memories drop into his mind like bombs, startling him awake. The days were simple repeats of one another. Cleaning up the apartment for Matthew, running errands, going to his physical therapy appointments, and hanging out with Gilbert.

It was, literally, nothing new. His life was merely some background track stuck on repeat.

Not even a week before he was set to leave, he caved and told Matthew about his plans. He would have to inform him regardless, at some point; it wasn't like he could just vanish from the apartment for a few weeks without a word. He would probably give the guy a heart attack if he pulled a stunt like that.

He was honestly a bit surprised to see Matthew smile when he told him the news over dinner one night. His twin didn't really smile too much anymore; the stresses of his life usually held him down, and Alfred's lifestyle surely kept him fretting as well. But, regardless, Matthew's face warmed in a small smile, and his eyes seemed to glimmer behind his round glasses.

"I'm glad you're deciding to go, Alfred," Matthew said gently, running a hand down the man's broad back. Alfred stiffened slightly as he stood there, elbow deep in the kitchen sink as he scrubbed down dirty plates. His head swiveled around to stare his brother in the face. Something twisted in his heart as he studied the relief and happiness invading Matthew's facial features. He felt sick. The guy was so desperate to help and to see him normal again that any potential path to him healing had the ability to make his entire being light up. "I'm really happy for you. I think it'll be good for you."

As a thank you gesture, or at least that's what Alfred assumed, Matthew invited Gilbert and Ludwig over for dinner three days before their trip. They spent most of the evening talking about plans; Gilbert did most of the rambling, not surprisingly. Alfred was interested, he wanted to hear what he was getting into and what was going on, but he found focusing to be nearly impossible. His brain kept wandering. Gilbert's voice sounded a million miles away despite the fact that the man was sitting right beside him, his words a jumbled mess that Alfred just couldn't understand. A simple three bites of his brother's pancakes made him nauseated, and he spent most of the meal just poking at his dinner with the tip of a silver fork. He failed to realize how much time he was spending wrapped up in his own mind until borderline shouts of his name snapped him out of it, and he found three sets of eyes staring worriedly back at him when he finally touched his feet back onto earth.

Embarrassment ran thickly through his veins, making a disgusting cocktail as it mixed with the anxiety and the sadness and the anger, and he, for a moment, felt like he was going to be sick. But even as he swallowed down the sensation, he couldn't shake the aches and uneasiness in his bones. And it was as he sat there, struggling to pay attention as Matthew and Ludwig talked about their jobs that he felt himself hit his limit. He proceeded to rise from the table in a rapid, clumsy stumble, hitting a kneecap in the process. Words failed him as he moved. A hush fell temporarily as he practically flew out of his chair, retreating to the hall and out of sight. There was a slamming of a door, and then, Matthew's face contorted into a look of pure embarrassment and shame.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, suddenly finding it hard to look the other two men in the eye. "I don't know what's gotten into him lately…"

"Why are you saying sorry?" Gilbert inquired rhetorically, sighing as he reclined back in his chair a bit, eyes trailing over the spot where Alfred was previously seated. "It isn't your fault."

"But still, I…" Matthew faltered for a second, before he shook his head. One hand absently reached up to brush a strand of curly hair from his eyes. "I'm his brother, and—"

"So what? He's in control of his own actions. And it's not like he's being easy to get along with these days. If he's not letting you help or giving you any answers, then there's only so much you can do, right?" Gilbert sighed, shoulders rolling in a shrug. It may have sounded harsh, but he wasn't really the coddling type. "I mean, yeah, we're all trying to help him out, but you can't beat yourself up if nothing works simply because he's too stubborn to let anyone in or actually bother to acknowledge that he actually needs help."

"Has he not been telling you anything either?"

"You're joking, right?" Gilbert let out a snort. "I've been trying to pry it out of him for months. I mean, granted, I was there. I'm pretty sure I know what all is going through his head. But that's not the point. If he doesn't talk about it or anything he's never going to let go of it. It bothers him, we all know it does, but I can't read minds and neither can you. So until he spills it, I don't…really think he's going to change. I'm trying, I really am, to get him to talk, but he never does. He just brushes it off like it's nothing. And I can tell you, it's not 'nothing'. Even after all the help I went and got once I came home, I still have a bad day too sometimes, or wake up in the middle of the night. It never goes away, but for God's sake, if I had pushed away help the same way he had I'm pretty sure both of us would be in the same boat."

"He's stubborn," Matthew added, sighing a bit as he rubbed his palms down his face in a stressed manner. "Really, really stubborn. He's a great guy, just hardheaded. He's been like that ever since we were little."

"I can tell. The kid's been stubborn as hell since the first day I met him back in basic," Gilbert replied, rolling his eyes. "I can't even tell you how many times that got him in trouble with the higher-ups. Or his mouth. I mean, I talk a lot, yeah. I know I talk a lot and that I talk loud, too, but he didn't know when to quit."

"Honestly, I kinda…miss him being really loud and not knowing when to shut up," Matthew nearly whispered after a brief pause. He shrugged his shoulders gingerly, a trickle of sadness flickering into his eyes. "I don't know. It doesn't even feel like he's Alfred anymore. I hate it, I really hate it."

"Yeah… I do too." Gilbert's voice had grown strangely soft. It wasn't a common occurrence; his speaking voice was typically boisterous, whether or not he was constantly aware of it. "Never thought I would, but I do, honestly."

For a few short moments, there was silence. For Matthew, it was normal. The apartment was typically quiet whenever he was home. After all, Alfred didn't talk much these days. Ludwig seemed content with it as well, but Gilbert seemed uncomfortable. He was constantly used to noise and talking; sitting in silence wasn't quite his forte. Right when he opened his mouth to speak, however, there was a slight banging sound from the other end of the small apartment.

"Lemme go check on him," Gilbert sighed out as he rose from the table. He stumbled a little as he struggled to regain his balance. He then wandered off down the hall, hobbling as he went. It wasn't that hard to memorize the layout of the apartment; it was a very small space, after all. He had easily soaked it in during his visits to see Alfred.

Peering into the bedroom, he blinked in surprise to find Alfred lying on the floor. Instantaneously, worry plagued his insides, and he hurried into the small room, doing his best to lower himself to the man's level.

"Alfred? Hey, what happened, did you fall?" he asked, linking his hands about Alfred's large arms. With quite a bit of effort, he managed to haul the blonde into a sitting position, using the bed to support his back. God, the guy was heavy. He frowned at the lack of response he received. He nudged Alfred against the bicep. "Hey, I'm talking to you. What's up?"

No answer. Gilbert frowned, a very bad feeling creeping into his belly. Alfred wasn't even looking at him. With a pale hand he reached out and let his fingers brush against the man's face, looking for some kind of physical reaction to his touch, but received none. He proceeded to wrap a few fingers about Alfred's chin, adjusting the angle of his head so he could get a better view of his face. Alfred's blue eyes seemed to stare right through him, a million miles away, completely gone. Gilbert froze, now noticing just how erratic Alfred's breathing was.

"Shit." He fumbled around for a second, one hand grabbing at Alfred's, just hoping touch would be enough to try to bring him back. He kept eye contact the best he could, but it was hard with the blonde seeming to be looking right through him instead. "Alfred. Alfred, you're in your room. You're okay. It's okay."

Honestly, he wished he could just say 'snap out of it' and have the guy listen to him, but that wouldn't work, and he knew it.

Alfred was starting to fight against him. He was squirming, and it was taking quite a lot out of Gilbert to hold him still. He had quite a bit of upper body strength, but Alfred was bigger than he was, and a lot stronger. Gilbert hooked his hands tightly about the man's arms, trying to halt his movement, and he found himself rapidly becoming desperate. Breaking out of a trance himself was hard enough; snapping someone else out of one was almost just as bad.

"Kid, it's alright! I'm here, it's okay!" Alfred's elbow knocked him in the jaw and Gilbert cursed rather loudly as he bit his tongue in the process, struggling to hold the blonde in place. He could hear footsteps coming down the hall; he was positive the commotion in the small apartment had sparked attention. "Jones! Jones!"

"Dammit, Jones, I said stay down!"

A pale hand practically smashed his head down into the dirt. Alfred coughed, the sand choking him as it clouded the air. His eyes were watering, his lungs burning. Blood stained his hair and his jacket sleeve and his knuckles. He struggled to breathe, and the added weight slowly settling on top of him was not helping. He coughed violently, uninjured arm rising to cover his nose as he struggled to get more oxygen into his lungs, and he remained sprawled out on his back in the sand.

Even with their close proximity, he struggled to get a proper view of the man's face through the thick haze, surrounded by nothing but smoke and dirt and dust. Gilbert groaned a bit, arms shaking as he slowly gave up, letting his body collapse atop of Alfred's. He was panting pathetically, body shaking. His face was wet with sweat, grime caking his skin, a pained and yet faraway look in his eyes as his body struggled to pump him full of endorphins to make the pain stop. Alfred felt something wet graze against him, and he picked his head up for one split second to look. The sight of Gilbert's pants being bright red instantly made him put his head back down.

"I'm tired." His voice was a whisper that Alfred barely heard over the roar. He could barely pick up the mumble against the whizzing of bullets and the sound of bombs and people screaming. And right now, all they could do was wait for it to stop. Gilbert actually laughed a bit, slowly putting his head down on Alfred's trembling chest. "Christ, I'm so tired."

"Don't go to sleep." Alfred's words were an instant reply. He fisted a hand into the back of his friend's jacket. His eyes were wet. Heat pooled behind his eyelids and he was suddenly sniveling as he struggled not to cry. "Gilbert, please, try to stay awake."

"Just for a sec," he mumbled, eyes closing. However, he let out a grunt as Alfred's hand suddenly snagged him by the strap of his helmet, jerking his head up. His red eyes blinked open. "Ow! Alfred, get off!"

"Why did you do that?!" Alfred was suddenly screaming, blue eyes flashing with anger. "Why did you save me?! Damn it, Gilbert, you should've let me go! Look what happened to you!"

"It's a wound." Gilbert's voice was simplistic. His snowy eyebrows drew close together.

"It's a lot more than that! You're gushing like a faucet; that's more than a wound!" Alfred was screaming. He struggled to sit up, weighed down with his gear, and Gilbert's body. Gilbert instantly shoved him back down with a bloodied hand, leaving a print on the front of his jacket.

"I told you to stay down!" Gilbert was shouting back. The noise was too much. They could barely hear one another now.

"Shut up!" Alfred bellowed, shoving at him violently now. The man let out a grunt as Alfred pushed him away, and he fell to the ground, going breathless at the agony that shot through him as his leg was jostled roughly. Alfred sat up, but remained hunched over, pressing his back to the quaking wall behind him. "You shouldn't have done that!"

"Done what? Gave you another chance to live?!" Gilbert screeched back at him, too weak to even try to get up. His skin was a ghostly white. "What did you want me to do, Alfred?! Just leave you there?! What kind of comrade would I be if I did that?!"

"I wasn't worth it!" Alfred felt the dam crumbling. "I wasn't worth you almost getting killed over! I wasn't worth you getting hurt like this over! I wasn't worth the fact that you're probably going to lose a leg! I wasn't worth it!"

"Shut the fuck up, Alfred! Quit talking nonsense!" Gilbert snarled, red eyes flashing. "What kind of soldier, what kind of comrade, what kind of person would I be if I had just sat back and let you die?! Huh?! You're important, whether or not you can see that! You're important to me, you dumbass! Now knock it off!"

He gagged, for a moment sounding like he was trying to vomit. Gilbert weakly rolled onto his back, sounding like he was suddenly struggling to breathe.

"It's not fair." Alfred mumbled, lowering himself down beside Gilbert. He ripped open his bag, lugging out gauze and tape and cloth. Gilbert's eyes blearily blinked back open, staring at him from underneath sweat-drenched hair. "Why them? Why not me? They had families, and kids, and…"

"Stop. Stop, Alfred." Gilbert shook his head weakly, groaning as Alfred tried to dress his injury the best he could, putting pressure onto the wound to try to get the bleeding to slow down. "Don't do that to yourself. There was nothing we could do. We just have to do our best from now on. That's it."

"Are you going to die, too?" Alfred asked quietly, vision blurring pathetically.

"From what? This?" Gilbert let out a barking laugh, before he dissolved into rough coughs. "Give me some credit here."

"Gilbert?" Alfred's voice was tiny. He suddenly choked, tears suddenly pouring out of him. They rolled down his cheeks and the dirt caking his skin began to practically melt off his skin as it dampened. "I'm sorry…"

"Me too." Gilbert coughed loudly, seeming to be choking on the dust just as much as Alfred was. "I'm sorry too."

"I'm scared."

Gilbert's eyes blinked a few times, before he sighed. He stared up at Alfred's face, watching tears course down his cheeks like tiny rivers, and he nodded absently.

"I am too, Jones."

"Jones!"

Reality seemed to slap him harshly across the face. Nausea crashed violently over him. His eyes blinked several times as his head struggled to move fast enough to observe his surroundings.

It took him a second to realize he was in Matthew's bed. And it took him even longer to realize that Ludwig was pinning him down, flat of his back, hands shackled about his arms, and knees crushing down on his thighs. He vaguely felt his muscles relaxing, weakness suddenly settling into his bones. Gilbert and Matthew were both hovering over him. Gilbert's cheek looked bruised, and Alfred felt his stomach grow cold suddenly.

Did I do that?

"Kid?" Gilbert leaned a bit closer to him, eyes wide and worried. "Are you back? Can you hear me okay?"

Ludwig slowly got off of him, but Alfred didn't dare to move. Three pairs of eyes stared down at him, but the only ones he could focus on were Gilbert's. For a moment, all he could see was haze and dirt and grime on the man's face, and he blinked multiple times, struggling to get the visions out of his mind. Heat rose behind his eyelids and he blinked blearily, tears suddenly swimming in his eyes. A small sob suddenly surfaced from the depths of his throat and he struggled violently to hold it.

"Alfred…" He heard Matthew's voice, and he cringed away from the hand that tried to settle onto his shoulder.

It won before he had a chance to fight back. Against his own control, Alfred felt the walls crumbling. A loud, pathetic sob bubbled from his lips, and he erupted, tears suddenly pouring out of him. Desperate and ashamed, he draped an arm over his eyes, hiding himself from sight the best he could as he sobbed loudly and pathetically. It had been a long, long time since he had properly cried. He was the one to hold it, and hold it, and hold it until his body just refused to allow it anymore. And this was one of those times. He just couldn't fight back anymore.

He could barely hear the voices over the sound of his own crying. He could vaguely hear speaking, but he couldn't understand what was being said. It took him a second to realize it was German, and as he dared himself to peek out from underneath his limb, he found that it was only him and Gilbert left in the bedroom. Ludwig and Matthew had vanished. Gilbert and Ludwig must have been speaking in their native tongue again. They had done that multiple times, and Alfred figured this time was simply so that he wouldn't be able to understand what was going on. Maybe to not upset him any further, Alfred didn't know.

Gilbert slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, not saying a single word, just letting Alfred cry for as long as he wanted. When the sobs died down to sniffles, Gilbert finally turned his head to look at him.

"You feelin' any better?" His voice was uncharacteristically soft and his eyes shone brightly with worry. "You seemed to have been in a really, really bad trance there."

"I guess." That was what he said, but deep down, he didn't feel any better at all. If anything he only felt worse. Not to mention he had broken down sobbing in front of everyone. His heart felt like a rock inside his chest. He couldn't keep his eyes off the mark on his friend's face. "Did I hit you?"

Gilbert blinked for a second, seeming genuinely lost and confused at that question. Then he noticed Alfred's gaze and he frowned, letting a hand gingerly trace the swelling bruise on his cheek. He hesitated, seeming to not want to answer.

"I did, didn't I?" Alfred asked, but his tone made it sound more like a statement rather than a question. A wave of anger suddenly thrummed inside his heart. What next? "I'm sorry. God, Gilbert, I'm so fucking sorry."

"You don't need to apologize. It's not your fault, Alfred—"

"It is too my fault! I'm the one that did it!"

"Okay, but even so, it wasn't you, Alfred." Gilbert challenged. He roughly shook his head. "You're saying this as if you straight up meant to do it, which you didn't. So don't worry about it. You couldn't help it. People do some weird things when they're in flashbacks. I know it and you know it."

For a long moment, Alfred was quiet. He sniffled a bit as he lifted his glasses to wipe at his eyes with the back of a scarred hand. He could feel Gilbert watching him.

"I didn't think I was this bad," Alfred finally mumbled. His voice was quiet, almost hollow, and he hunched over and hid his face in his hands. Gilbert's hand absently settled on his back, rubbing. "That it was all this bad. What the hell is wrong with me?"

"You've been through some nasty stuff, Alfred. That's what is wrong. And I honestly think you don't know how to handle it, otherwise, you wouldn't be suffering like this." Gilbert rubbed a pale hand along Alfred's upper back, sighing. "You need to let us help you. You're scaring us, and I can tell by looking at you that you're starting to scare yourself. You aren't going to get better until you let someone in. You know that."

"Yeah." Alfred's voice cracked and he felt his throat tightening as the urge to cry suddenly welled back up inside of him. He choked on an exhale and leaned over, hiding his face in Gilbert's shoulder. "I know. I just… I…"

"You don't have to explain if you don't want to, Alfred. And if you don't know how to, that's okay too." Gilbert sighed as he patted the man on the back. "Maybe you just can't talk about it with us because you know us too well. It probably feels weird for you, yeah? And I know you…honestly don't want to talk about it with me of all people, whether or not you'll tell me that to my face. It's touchy, I know it is. But Alfred, for crying out loud, you've gotta cut me some slack here and help me out."

"Sorry." He really meant it that time. He really, really did. "I just… I don't…know what to say. I don't know how to say it. I…"

"I know. It's hard, I know it is." Gilbert looped an arm about his shoulders and yanked him closer in a hug. "But you need to try a bit harder, okay? You're falling apart on us, kid. If you're having problems telling us, because you know us too well or don't want it to be weird, or whatever else, you could try looking at someone else, you know. Ludwig signing me up for that therapist was a great idea. And I mean, you could always try to find others your own age too, if that's more comfortable for you. I don't know. Other vets, or something, and I'm sure my buddies wouldn't mind listening or could somehow hook you up. You just need to work with us on it, Alfred, that's one major thing."

"Yeah. I know… I know…" Alfred mumbled, sighing. "I… Yeah. I just… I'll try. I'll see what I can do."

"That's all I'm asking for."

Chapter 2: End