"Natalya, you're getting a bit too big for me to carry like this." Said Ivan, shifting his sister's weight onto the opposite hip.
Natalya just whined quietly and clung tighter to Ivan's scarf, burying her face in his shoulder. She'd clung to him this way since she'd been old enough to walk (it had gotten worse since they'd arrived at Apple Tree House), and she clearly had no intention of stopping anytime soon.
Ivan sighed, attempting to place his sister on the ground. "Hold my hand, da?" he asked, trying to untangle Natalya's fingers from his scarf and lace them between his own. The younger of the two shook her head, clutching the material tighter than ever.
"Carry me!" she demanded, stamping her foot.
With another quiet sigh, Ivan lifted his little sister back onto his hip, trying to hold most of her weight on his arm. Not that she was heavy, but at eleven years old, she was too old to be carried everywhere.
Rather pleased at getting her own way, Natalya smiled, leaning her head on her brother's shoulder. "I love you, Ivan." She mumbled, closing her eyes.
Ivan carried Natalya pretty much everywhere he went. No matter how much anyone tried, no one could get her to do anything without her older brother, which was a major problem at bed time. They both had a room to themselves and Natalya hated that. She hated that she had to sleep alone. She'd had many a tantrum about it, but rules were rules and the bedroom arrangement stayed as it was.
"So, what are we playing today, Natalya?" Asked Ivan, setting his sister down when they reached her bedroom.
Natalya rushed over to her doll's house, pulling it wide open and picking up two dolls, handing one to Ivan. "You can be Molly." she said, turning to her doll's house.
The siblings played quietly for about an hour. Natalya became bored and wanted to play something else. She set up her puppet theatre and aligned a teddy bear audience, pushing and pulling Ivan out of her way.
They never got a chance to start. When Ivan had finally managed to untangle his puppet, a knock came and Natalya's bedroom door. "Ivan," Yekaterina poked her head round the door. "Yao's here."
Ivan put the puppet down and left his little sister's room, hoping the eleven year old wouldn't follow.
Yao was a former resident of Apple Tree House and Ivan's best friend. They had shared a room before Yao moved out. Although Yao was bound to be busy with University work, he always made time to visit the home, he owed so much to the workers there, and some of the residents too.
When Ivan was out of sight, Natalya threw her puppet on the ground, folding her arms.
Yekaterina frowned. "Oh, don't be like that, Nattie." She said, walking into the room. She picked the puppet up, untangling it's strings and smoothing it's platinum hair back into place. "I'll play with you." She took hold of the handle and made the marionette dance. Normally, the creepy wooden dolls scared the hell out of the eldest Braginski, but for some reason, the set of puppets owned by Natalya made her feel a nostalgic sense of happiness.
"You're not Ivan!" Snapped Natalya, snatching the puppet's handle out of her elder sister's grasp. "And be careful with Yvonne, she's still hurt after what happened in Belarus!"
Yekaterina's eyes widened. She knelt down beside her sister, tucking a lock of short, blonde hair behind her ear. "You remember Belarus?" She asked.
Natalya didn't answer. Instead, she made Yvonne, the puppet answer, nodding it's head.
"Are you still hurt?"
Another nod. "I dream about it sometimes."
Yekaterina was doing all she could to stop herself from crying. It was difficult for her, at twenty three, to deal with those memories. She could only imagine what her baby sister was going through. "Can you tell me what you see in your dreams?" She asked, a hand coming up to brush through the youngest Braginski's hair.
"I see mama." Natalya murmured, making Yvonne dance, sweeping her tiny, wooden feet across the carpeted floor. "And I see that man. The one that took mama and papa away. Then he takes you and Ivan away. And then he hurts us. All of us."
With a quiet sigh, Yekaterina pulled Natalya into a protective hug. "You know Ivan and I would never let anything hurt you, don't you?" She said, gently rubbing circles on Natalya's back. "We love you too much. Nothing will ever harm our little Nattie." She placed a kiss on her sister's cheek, weaving one hand into her soft hair, the other still moving in a circular motion.
Natalya nodded slowly, wrapping her arms around Yekaterina's neck. "I... I m-miss mama and... And papa, K-Katy." She sobbed, clutching her sister's shirt tightly.
"I know." Whispered Yekaterina, getting to her feet and lifting her sister up, holding the weeping girl tightly against her chest, which was a little painful considering the size of her... Assets. But Natalya was more important than a dull ache. "We all do, sweetheart. We all do."
"I want... I-Iva...n..." Natalya wiped her face with the sleeve of her cardigan, hiccupping quietly.
Yekaterina couldn't help but feel a little hurt by that. She knew her sister's reason for clinging to Ivan, when their father had been alive, Natalya was daddy's little girl, and Ivan was almost identical to their father, however, when Natalya clung to Ivan and essentially brushed passed her, Yekaterina couldn't help but feel a little... Unloved.
"Alright," said the eldest Braginski, turned and heading for the door. "Let's go find him."
Feliciano sat at the table, a folding photo frame in front of him. Every now and then he'd glance up to drink in his model's appearance, before beginning to sketch again. He didn't get to sketch often these days. It was times like this, when Lovino was busy with their physiologist, that he chose to spend with a pencil.
"Is that your mother?"
The voice behind him made Feliciano jump, almost dropping his pencil.
Ludwig stepped back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you." he apologised.
Feliciano shot him a quick smile, picking up his marker and scribbling 'No problem x' in his whiteboard. He glanced back at the photo frame with a heart-rending expression. 'Si, that's my mama.' he wrote.
Ludwig took a seat next to the small Italian. "She's very beautiful." he noted.
'She's the most beautiful woman in the world!' Feliciano wiped his board clean and began sketching again. Ludwig watched him for a while, admiring his artistic skill.
After a while, Feliciano put down his pencil and started writing on his board again. 'Can I tell you something personal? Confide in you?'
Ludwig nodded.
'The night my parents died I begged them not to go out. I told them that I didn't want them to leave. They told me that they'd be back home very soon. But they didn't come back.' Feliciano showed Ludwig the bard, giving him enough time to read before wiping it clean with his sleeve and finishing his story. 'I was really mad at them for so long. First I was mad because they lied to me. Then I was mad because they died. Now I'm mad at myself for thinking that way.'
Ludwig frowned. "How old were you?" he asked.
'5'
"Practically a baby." said the German. "Don't be mad at yourself, Feliciano. Thousands of kids would have reacted the same."
Feliciano shrugged, tapping his marker against the board.
Ludwig sighed. "I don't even remember my parents." he admitted. "I can't remember anything since before I was eight."
Feliciano quickly scribbled his question onto his board. 'Why don't you ask Gilbert?'
"I've tried. Bruder won't tell me anything."
'Don't give up.' Feliciano's smile seemed a little more sincere than usual…
"Gilbert," Ludwig's voice cut through the silence in the Beilschmidt brothers' room as he glanced up from his book.
Gilbert looked up from his PSP with an arched brow. "Was?" To say he was shocked would be an understatement. His brother usually never spoke to him while he was reading.
"I've just been wondering," started Ludwig. He'd tried bringing this up before, but Gilbert always changed the subject or ignored him. "Why exactly did we end up in care?"
The elder of the brothers tensed. "Our parents were a pair of cunts, that's why." He replied, unpausing his game.
Ludwig put his book back on his bedside table. "Yes, but what happened? What did they do?" He pressed.
"Look Lutz, leave it. I don't want to talk about it." Gilbert snapped, raising his voice slightly.
"Bruder, there are five years of my life that I don't remember, I-"
"You're lucky!" Gilbert interrupted him. "Do you have any idea what I would give to be able to forget all those years?"
Ludwig sighed. "I just want to know what happened that was bad enough for me to have blocked it out. It's unfair that I don't remember!"
"Yes. You're right. It is unfair. It's unfair that you get to forget, while I have to live with the memory of what happened to us. I have to remember all the nights that my baby brother cried himself to sleep in my arms, or all the times that I had to lie through my teeth about the marks on our bodies. It's unfair that you can have a genuinely happy life, while I will always have to put up this damn façade and be plagued by nightmares every fucking night!" Gilbert slammed his fist into the wall, his entire body shaking. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Just count your fucking blessings that you don't remember, okay?" With that, he got up from his bed, tossing his PSP onto his side table (possibly breaking it, but he cared not) and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He leant against the door, clenching his fists, and for the first time in over ten years, Gilbert Beilschmidt cried.
End Note: So, we got a sneak peak into the Beilschmidt brothers' past here, as well as the Braginskis. Also, there's no Lovi in this chapter *sad panda* I've thought up 3 endings for this fic, and they're frying my brain! So, I'm probably going to write the alternative endings too, instead of trying to decide.
The song for this chapter is Bleed (I Must Be Dreaming) by Evanescence.
~Lolly xXx
