A/N: I'm really falling in love with this story. Not only am I getting to experiment with my writing style, but I'm getting to write all sorts of emotional stuff! ^^ Enjoy!

Chapter 3: Dead Men and Murderers

Feliciano jolted upright, drenched in a cold sweat and breathing as though he hadn't in ages. Across the room, his alarm clock was blaring irritably and possibly disturbing the people in the neighboring apartments. Still trembling, the young man picked his way out of his bed and strode over to shut the stupid thing off.

He stood there for a long time then, staring blankly at the wall as he drew his arms closer around himself. The dreams that had run chaotically through his head all night danced still on the fringes of his conscious, haunting him and prompting the formation of goose pimples across his tanned flesh. He had seen that stranger, the pale-faced, clear-eyed victim slaughtered by Ivan, body strewn across a blood-stained floor as stiff fingers seemed to reach for something and a dethatched head mouthed silently. His colorless gaze, though fogged with death, seemed to probe Feliciano for answers as trembling, scarlet tinged lips continued to move.

A sob bubbled past the young brunette's defenses and he felt his knees give way and send him crumbling to the floor. The dead man had been desperately asking him for something, but the single word he had shaped remained a mystery to Feliciano. The way he had parted his lips, then tapped at his front teeth with a drying tongue before puckering … he might have been saying anything: other, brother, mother. Even so, none of the possible words made any sense. Surely, no relation of his was known to the guard huddled there against the wall. Perhaps he had been saying "other", pleading for some more dignified death than being gutted and left to bleed out.

A cell phone (namely, his) rang, drawing Feliciano's attention to his uniform jacket where he had thrown it earlier that day. Pulling the device from the pocket, he pressed the receive button.

"Hello?"

"How was your first day, kiddo?" His grandfather's rich, deep voice was like a feather mattress, so satisfying to sink into without a thought.

"Nonno! I'm so happy to hear from you!" The tears in his eyes quickly became joyful as he wiped at his streaming nose. "Ah, it's going well… I hope that I can make you proud."

"Make me proud?" There was a low chuckle. "You make me proud everyday without even realizing it."

"Nonno…"

The older man seemed to frown, for his facial expression could be heard in his tone when he said, "Is everything okay there, Feli? You sound upset."

"I-I just had a bad dream." Feliciano tried to laugh it off, but failed miserably. "I'm okay, really."

"You come home if you're not, you hear me?"

"… Yes sir."

"Good." His grandfather exhaled gently. For a moment, the young man could almost imagine standing in his arms, being enveloped in the sort of affection only he could offer. "You take care of yourself, kiddo."

"I will."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

And when the brunette drew the phone away from his ear, he found that he felt even emptier, even more alone than before.

"What's wrong with you?"

The question broke just as Feliciano was convinced that the inmates had all fallen asleep, resigning himself to a quiet night of buzzing fluorescents and virtual solitude. Turning to face the man now seated on his cot, the guard struggled to don his usual grin. "Nothing's wrong, Ludwig. I'm just tired since it's so late."

"Something's on your mind," Ludwig shot back with all the rationality and cool level-headedness he'd shown before. "I can tell from the way your forehead's wrinkling."

"It's nothing."

"If you were comfortable with it, you… you could talk about it. With me."

"Um…"

There was an awkward pause punctuated by a particularly risqué comment purred by Francis as he slept. Both the men who sat awake just stared at the other, as though trying to grasp the situation. This was the second time they had held a normal conversation, similar to those held by the people who dwelled not in iron crates, but in houses and apartments and trailers even. These were not the sorts of verbal exchange to be passed between a guard and a prisoner… or were they? Neither man knew for certain.

"I'm sorry. It was a stupid idea." Ludwig turned away, again rendering himself not quite visible. "It's like a bad joke… counseling from convicts."

"Well, if you'd like!" Standing suddenly, the young brunette all but sprang to his feet in his desperation for company. "If you'd like, I could tell you. What's bothering me, I mean."

The murderer froze. "You could?"

"I will!" came the correction. "But… I hope you won't get scared or angry with me."

"I won't." With a low grunt, Ludwig shrugged listlessly and signaled for Feliciano to speak.

"Well, I've been looking up things about you guys on the internet and databases and stuff – about what sorts of… crimes you committed. I mean, I did for Francis and Kiku and Ivan, but not you, Ludwig. I don't know anything about you!"

This was taken silently by the listener, urging an anxious giggle from his guard.

"Anyway, I was looking up Ivan-"

"He's a dangerous man. Stay away from him."

Feliciano paused to blink at the intensity of the blonde's response, observing the shivers that racked the criminal's powerful frame. Fists tightened in overly starched sheets until blood blossomed on the material for gnawed finger nails having bitten all the way through the tough flesh of the palms. This time when Ludwig shot him a pointed look, Feliciano was able to snatch a quick glimpse of the other's eyes. They were blue, the color of forget-me-nots, and brimming with an untamable pain.

Finally, the guard nodded. "I know, I read his file and lots of articles about his crimes."

"Did you." It was a statement, not a question.

"Um… yes?"

The murderer sighed and threw his stained sheets away in disgust. "I apologize. Continue with your story."

"There was this one victim who really scared me… his death, I mean. It was just so awful, and he seemed so alive in the picture before it happened…" Feliciano smirked sheepishly. "It kinda scared me a little, I guess."

"What happened to that victim?"

"Um…" He didn't want to have to explain it – it was just too morbid, too disturbing to go into graphic detail. Picking carefully around the bits he desired to exclude, the man formulated his answer. "He had his head chopped off, and he was cut up really nasty. I couldn't really even look at the pictures or I would've gotten nightmares."

Ludwig's face was stony, but there seemed to be a mysteriously liquid element to his gaze in that moment. After a deep inhale through his nose, he whispered coldly, "That man was Gilbert Beilschmidt. He was my brother."

And the conversation that probably should have never taken place was killed just as effectively as Gilbert Beilschmidt had been in years previous. Both men lapsed into shock – one for having just admitted something quite traumatic, and the other for having heard it. It was not even ten seconds after the great unveiling that Feliciano withdrew from his standing position near Ludwig's cell in favor of collapsing into his chair with his hands over his eyes. All he could see in his agonized head was that albino victim's post mortem croak.

Brother… Brother… Brother…