1991

Germany

.

Gilbert sat beside Ludwig on his tiny, child-sized bed, his brother's blonde hair shining against his chest as the moonlight filtered in through the window. The front of Gilbert's shirt was wet with tears, wrinkled where Ludwig clung to it. "It's okay, Luddy." It must have been the fifth time he had said the same thing.

The response was the same each time. "I'm scared."

"I know." Gilbert stifled a yawn. He had been here for at least an hour, maybe longer, but he refused to let fatigue win out right now. Not when he was needed. "I've told you a million times, kid, what you see in those dumb nightmares isn't real."

Ludwig pulled his face away and looked up, blue eyes damp and shining. "How do you know?"

Gilbert lifted his chin triumphantly. "Ten-year-olds know a lot more than six-year-olds."

"Do not."

"Do too." Gilbert smirked and jostled Ludwig's hair. "Besides, even if those monsters were real, you better believe your awesome brother could wipe them out all by himself." He used his free hand to karate chop the air. "They're no match for me, Luddy!"

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of soft crying and anxious whispers, Ludwig broke out in a smile and giggled. "Promise?"

Gilbert nodded, all confidence and sincerity. "Promise."

"Okay." Ludwig's eyes were heavy-lidded now, without fear, finally befitting of a child who was far too innocent and kind for this panic. Gilbert felt both pride and relief. "I feel better, but… will you still play for me?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes and groaned as obnoxiously as he could, but his annoyance was obviously feigned. Ludwig giggled again and Gilbert patted him once on the back. "Sure, kid."

Ludwig watched with his eyes wide in anticipation as Gilbert leapt from the bed, walked to the side of the room and retrieved a smooth, black case from the floor beside his nightstand. As he sat back down, Ludwig leaned against Gilbert's shoulder, closed his eyes, and let out a soft sigh. Once the flute was to Gilbert's lips, his mind shut off. The song was a simple one, one of the first he ever learned, quiet enough not to wake Aldrich and slow enough to be soothing.

The notes floated in the air between them, monsters forgotten, time irrelevant, until Gilbert was certain Ludwig was asleep and he himself was too tired to continue. He did not even bother to make the journey of a few steps to his own bed. Gilbert fell asleep next to his brother, and right then, he was certain things would always be this simple. He would always be a King to Ludwig.

.

Ludwig really was trying to concentrate. He had paperwork to do, nurses to meet with, patients to treat… his to-do list was the length of his arm, and that was only for this morning. He barely had time to breathe, much less spend a second with any thought not related to work. He knew that, yet that was exactly what he was doing. Ludwig could not concentrate on the never-ending pile of paperwork in front of him when his traitorous eyes kept drifting, stealing too long, almost wistful glances down the very hall that would lead him to the psychiatric ward.

Before he had time to make another feeble attempt at getting something done, a familiar voice flooded his ears and erased any chance of doing that he had left. "Morning, Ludwig! The weather is amazing today, isn't it? The birds are singing and there are hardly any clouds and- wait, is something wrong? You look upset!"

Ludwig feigned an exasperated sigh, when in reality he felt as if the air had finally returned to his lungs. "Good morning to you too, Feliciano." He lifted his gaze just as Feliciano sat down, his scrubs wrinkled and a flurry of crumpled paper spilling from his bag as he dropped it on the floor. Usually his unapologetic disorganization would drive Ludwig to the brink of insanity. Today it was almost refreshing. "I'm not upset. Just a bit preoccupied, is all." It was half a lie, but some days there was no room for the truth.

Feliciano furrowed his brow, serious all of a sudden. Ludwig missed his smile immediately. "Are you sure? You've been staring at that piece of paper since I've walked in and it's upside-down."

"Oh." Ludwig spun the paper the right way and tried to read it, but nearly thirty seconds later he still had no idea what it said. He grit his teeth and tried not to scream in frustration. "Maybe more than a bit preoccupied," he said under his breath.

Feliciano tilted his head and smiled, much less manically this time. Ludwig focused his eyes on the stray curl that bounced from his mess of auburn hair as he spoke. "What's wrong, Ludwig? You know you can tell me anything, right? I told you why I was upset the other day when Lovino kept yelling at me."

Oh, Feliciano. Ludwig was quite certain he had never known anyone so innocent, so happy, so interminably optimistic… especially not a hospice nurse. Ludwig hadn't the gall to admit to himself that was likely what got him here every morning. In fact he barely had the nerve to continue speaking, but he pressed on regardless. "You know my brother, right, Feliciano? Gilbert?" He tried to say it casually, but the name singed his tongue.

"Yes, of course! It's been forever since I've seen him, though. How is he?"

Ludwig would not be surprised if Feliciano had forgotten. The Italian knew entirely too much about his personal life- it had gotten to be impossible to avoid as the years went on- but there were certain subjects he glossed over, certain subjects he avoided entirely. Still, he was sure he had mentioned his situation with his brother, even if it was only under his breath during a moment of weakness. "He could be better."

"Ooh." Feliciano's eyes suddenly darkened. His smile fell, his shoulders slumped, and Ludwig realized he should have given him more credit. He definitely remembered. "Oh, right, Gilbert has… right. Did something happen?"

Ludwig considered sugarcoating it or even distorting the truth all together, but realized he was far too tired to lie to a sympathetic ear. "I'm not sure exactly how all of this started, but…" He took a cleansing breath and allowed the dam to break. "Gilbert is currently in inpatient psychiatric treatment. He is right down the hall, actually." Ludwig lifted his shoulders in a shrug- perhaps in an attempt to dismiss it, perhaps to try and convince himself it was less of a disaster than he thought it was. He ultimately failed on both accounts.

Feliciano's mouth went agape in bewildered understanding. "Oh! Oh no, Ludwig! I'm so sorry! Have you spoken to him? Is he doing alright? Are you doing alright? What can I-"

Ludwig lifted a hand to stop him. Feliciano's over-the-top concern was touching, but if he let him go on for much longer there was a good chance he would never come off it. "I spoke to him the other day." Ludwig grimaced at the memory. "It didn't exactly go over well. I am sure he is fine, really. The staff in that department is excellent." The words felt like justifications, cover-ups. Ludwig was not even sure why he was trying to frame it this way.

Feliciano furrowed his brow. "How long has he been there?"

"I'm not completely certain." Ludwig could have told him down to the hour. "A couple weeks, I believe."

"A couple weeks?" Feliciano sounded almost personally offended. "Ludwig, that's like, forever! You have to try and see him again."

Ludwig closed his eyes painfully. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. He could not pretend he understood Gilbert, could not pretend he had a clue what to do with him. Suggesting that he go see him was akin to handing him a canister of gasoline and ordering that he throw it on a house fire. Ignoring him was just cowardly… not at all how his grandfather raised him to be. When he finally spoke, he could not be sure if it was out of exasperation or some kind of plead. "Feliciano…"

"Oh, Ludwig, I know it's hard." Ludwig opened his eyes when he felt Feliciano place his hand on his shoulder. That combined with his slightly patronizing tone should have irritated him to no end, but strangely enough he felt as if it was exactly what he needed somehow. "I know you are Gilbert don't always get along, Lovino and I don't always get along either, but he really needs you right now and I bet he really wants to see you."

Ludwig wished he could believe that. He mulled over his thoughts for only a second longer before the realization hit like an avalanche: This was ridiculous. There was no sense in sitting here, staring at paperwork he wasn't going to do, listening to Feliciano's pep talks and feeling sorry for himself. This was not Ludwig. Ludwig was the type of person that did what he needed to whether he wanted to or not, and he was not about to make this an exception.

"You're right, Feliciano." He slammed his hand on the table and stood. "I think I will head over there right now."

"Yay, Ludwig!" Feliciano practically squealed, jumped from his seat and embraced him. Ludwig returned it as hesitantly as he could. "Tell me how it goes, okay? Good luck, but I actually have to go now, bye!" Just like a tornado, Feliciano disappeared in a flurry identical to the one he entered in. Ludwig was left stunned, but this was a normal occurrence.

Ludwig's footsteps seemed to echo against the walls as he walked. He swallowed the lump in his throat, ignored the rush in his pulse, and told himself repeatedly that the butterflies in his stomach did not exist. For the love of god, Gilbert was his brother. There was no reason at all to be nervous. His quiets steps started to sound more like gunshots as he quickened his pace, full of purpose and no semblance of trepidation. He could do this. He needed to do this.

Ludwig repeated the words in his head like a mantra until he came to the sign that always felt like a smack to the face when he read it: psychiatric.

The mantra disappeared like water down a drain.

Ludwig froze, he stared, and he debated. Suddenly everything he was sure of a moment ago was ambiguous, every determined thought in his head sounded ridiculous. He commanded his legs to move but they refused. His eyes refused to move from the sign, his mind refused to make sense, his heart refused to stop pounding. When a soft voice cut in, his ears nearly refused to hear it.

"Oh, hello Dr. Beilschmidt."

"Dr. Williams," Ludwig regarded him with a curt nod and a straight face, as if there was not a single conflicting thought in his head.

Matthew drew his brows together, as if to wait for an explanation he was not receiving. A moment later he took it into his own hands. "Do you need something? I hardly ever see you in this department."

Ludwig wondered if Matthew even knew. After all, the only thing he shared with his brother was their surname. He and Gilbert did not look alike, did not act alike, did not speak alike. They did not talk to or even about each other. No… Matthew likely did not know. And in one cowardly, uncharacteristic moment that Ludwig would likely never live down, he decided there was no reason to change that now. "No, I was just passing through."

Ludwig walked away, and he did not look back.

.

Gilbert was not entirely sure why he decided to give Matthew his journal again. Come to think of it, he was not sure why he gave it to him the first time, either. Really, why was he even using it in the first place? He felt like a ten-year-old girl with a diary. Despite all of that, though, filling an entire page with words he could never say aloud and plunking it on Matthew's desk after their session felt completely natural- maybe a little nerve-wracking, but natural all the same.

The prompt that day hadn't been exciting. Something about writing a letter to your past self, or something. Gilbert wasn't sure. The only thing that had caught his attention was the word 'past,' and that brought him to the only positive thing about it he could remember- his flute.

So that was what he wrote about. About the day Aldrich brought that black case home, about the hours he spent practicing, about the few mediocre songs he wrote that felt like extensions of his soul when he played him, about the way his eyes shut and his mind finally fell quiet as the notes poured out. He left out the fact that he used to play for Ludwig… he did not even think about that. It was a lifetime ago, Ludwig was a completely different person, and Gilbert did not want to give Matthew that can of worms to open and deal with. Not yet, anyway.

Gilbert never thought that aspect of his life was a big deal. Matthew, however, sounded as if it was just about the most amazing thing he had ever heard. "Wow, I've never met anyone who can play the flute!" he said, Gilbert's journal lying closed in his lap. "That's quite impressive."

Gilbert felt an embarrassed flush creep across the back of his neck. He was not used to getting attention for this kind of thing- or positive attention in general, really- and he was not sure he even wanted it. "Yeah, well, you know," he mumbled. Maybe he should not have given Matthew his journal yesterday. Then again, the more he talked the faster he could get out of here and get back to his life, and he sure as hell was not about to say any of what he wrote aloud.

"I'm glad you allow me to read this, Gil. It really does help me figure out your treatment."

"Does it?" Gilbert was hardly surprised. It seemed like everything he did, everything he said, everything he thought somehow tied back to how sick he was, and there were endless ways to try and fix him. Somehow, he doubted any of them would work. He leaned back against the couch and looked Matthew in the eye, feigning interest. "And what did it tell you?"

"If you're thinking it means something abstract again, I'm afraid you're wrong." Matthew handed Gilbert's journal back to him with a half smile, and then shrugged. "All it means is that I would like to get you doing that again."

Gilbert felt an intense, sickening drop in his stomach and a tightening in his chest that made him thankful he was already sitting down. He could not remember the last time he had touched, much less played his flute. Too many memories lived in that stupid hunk of metal. "Uh, what?"

"It's a standard practice, really." Matthew spoke casually, as if there were not worlds of meanings behind this suggestion, as if Gilbert's stomach was not doing a rather interesting series of acrobatic moves. "It's usually beneficial for patients to have some sort of creative outlet for themselves, both during and after their stay. It's especially helpful if it was already a hobby of theirs beforehand."

Gilbert swallowed thickly and dug his nails into his palms. "Where the hell would I even get a flute?" He was well aware he sounded rude, far ruder than Matthew deserved, but he could not help it. It was either this or telling the full truth.

"We actually have a few instruments in storage a few doors down from the art room. You would be surprised how many tricks we have up our sleeves here, Gil."

Matthew was still smiling, his voice still light as air, and Gilbert immediately threw his gaze to the ugly rug beneath his feet and tried not to hear. "Oh. Well…" His nails pressed harder against his skin. "Do I have to?"

"Do you have to?" Matthew echoed. Gilbert was not looking at him anymore, but he could practically sense the dip in his shoulders and the crease in his brow. "Well, no, there wouldn't be any real sense in forcing you. But… can I ask why? You seemed so passionate about it in your journal."

Gilbert was passionate about it- note the past tense. He was passionate about it before he was too busy prying himself off the latest street corner he woke up on to practice, before he was he was just too sick and too tired to even think about picking the thing up, before every damn note tied back to Ludwig. He just did not have the time or mental stamina for passion. Dammit, he didn't deserve it.

Gilbert shrugged. "It's been awhile. I probably forgot how."

"I really doubt that," said Matthew. Gilbert raised an eyebrow, and Matthew visibly deflated. "Like I said, I'm not going to force you. But will you at least think about it? Please?"

Gilbert did not want to consider it. He did not even want to think about it, and if it had been anyone else who asked, he would have either laughed in their face or transitioned too quickly to react at all. But because it was Matthew…

A moment of eye contact, a second's consideration, a long, resigned sigh. "Yeah, I can do that," said Gilbert under his breath. Matthew just about beamed, and he supposed thinking about it wouldn't kill him.

Besides, how could he say no when Matthew said 'please' like that?

.

Gilbert had always hoped that at some point, the nightmares would stop really scaring him. Somewhere along the line they would just get to be irritating. When he awoke with a strangled breath later that night, the sheets twisted around his body like cobras and the bed next on the other side of the room inexplicably vacant, he knew he had gotten to that point- for tonight, at least. He still was not used to these dreams. But he was exhausted, mildly pissed off, and being scared just took too much energy. Besides, it would make sense that he was used to nightmares considering he now lived in one.

Usually, at a time like this, Gilbert would just try to sleep. Sleeping was one of the few safe things he was able to do. Because it was not scratching, it was not transitioning, and it kept the world away for a few hours. But today, Gilbert could not do that. He was too jittery, too on edge, too… awake, somehow. Maybe it was because he had actually gotten to be too tired to sleep, maybe it was because thoughts of Ludwig, Aldrich, Francis and Antonio were plaguing his mind, maybe it was because he was actively trying to pretend Matthew was not part of that group…or maybe it was because he heard something.

Gilbert had not considered that something beyond himself had woken him up, but the more he listened, the more he became aware of what sounded like a muffled voice coming from the hall. At first he thought this place was rubbing off on him and he was going crazy- or, rather, crazier- but he quickly realized that was not the case. If he was hearing voices in his head like Arthur, they probably would not be in a language he didn't know. Curiosity quickly replacing fatigue, he leapt out of bed and ventured into the hall.

Gilbert could not decide if the quiet, unmoving atmosphere the hospital was suddenly encased in was peaceful or disturbing. It felt as if he moved too suddenly, he would shatter it. He decided it was a bit of both- peaceful because no one was glaring at him, disturbing because his footsteps where echoing against the walls and it was too dark and goddammit where was that voice coming from? Cold sweat beaded on the back of his neck as he drew closer to it.

With footsteps almost too soft to make noise, Gilbert followed the voice and rounded the corner. There really wasn't a reason to be nervous. In spite of himself, his throat was closed, his heart felt as if it was being squeezed, his hands were sweating… but it ended up being for nothing. Gilbert lifted his eyes, blinked to make sure he was seeing properly, and let out the breath he did not realize he was holding when he realized this voice did not belong to a monster… though he was close.

Ivan had his head bowed, one hand on the wall and one clutching the receiver of the community phone. His words were a frantic stream of what Gilbert assumed to be Russian. Even if he did not speak a word of the language, something about Ivan's tone, his posture, the paleness in his face and the quiver in his voice told him this was far from a normal conversation. Why it was taking place now, Gilbert had no idea. It must have been urgent- or apocalyptic, most likely- whatever it was. The sudden change was unnerving.

Ivan managed one last sentence- this one in English, suddenly strangely calm- and hung up the phone with a forceful slam. Gilbert watched in complete silence as Ivan sunk to the floor, not smiling for the first time since they met, both ends of his scarf balled in his hands which were pulling, pulling like breath was the enemy, like the person who antagonized Gilbert at every turn was for some reason gone and long forgotten.

For a long moment Gilbert did not move. He was caught between amusement and confusion, bewilderment and agitation, unnerve and something sickeningly close to sympathy. Gilbert had never seen Ivan this way. He was usually all smiles and underhanded comments, the storm behind his eyes never quite reaching the surface, and now, without warning, he was a shaking mess. Gilbert wished he could take joy in seeing it. He couldn't.

Gilbert had already walked the length of the hall before he realized he had moved. There was no telling why he was doing this, but his conscience was refusing to be quiet, and he found himself standing over the very bane of his existence in this place and speaking as if they were friends. "Can't say I speak any Russian, but that didn't sound awesome."

Ivan did not look at him. He only turned away, obstructing what could very well be tears spiking his eyelashes. "What do you want?" Ivan spat the words. His voice sounded lower, deeper; his childlike cheeriness a distant memory. Gilbert felt a shudder at the idea all of that could have been artificial from the beginning.

"Hey, I come in peace." Gilbert leaned against the wall and shrugged, even though every part of him was screaming to run. He told part of the truth. "Couldn't sleep, so I'm here. That's all there is to it."

Ivan drew his knees into his chest, as if he was attempting to condense his tower-like form and fade directly into the white wall behind him. Gilbert looked down the hall at a buzzing light, his head swimming, until the strange silence was broken. "Is it you, Gilbert, or is it-"

Gilbert spoke quickly to stifle his panic. "I haven't transitioned today." Dammit, why was this being brought up? More importantly, why was he having this conversation with Ivan? Gilbert ignored the questions in his head and changed the subject. "So what's up?"

Another pause. Finally, Ivan mumbled, "I thought you did not like me."

That was far from inaccurate. Yeah, Ivan got on his nerves more than anyone outside of his family ever had, but Gilbert was hardly interested in starting a fistfight with the guy. He was only trying to be civil. Could Ivan make this any more difficult if he tried? "I don't. That doesn't mean I'm going to kick you while you're down."

Gilbert was not sure what he said, but in that very second Ivan lost the bit of composure he was holding onto. Ivan's eyes widened and then flashed with terror so pure it managed to scare Gilbert. His gaze fixed on something far off; something beyond this hospital, something that made his breathing grow labored and rapid and his already pale face go deadly white. His eyes watered, then closed, and finally he just held his head in unsteady hands. It did not take Gilbert long to figure it out.

"Ivan?" Gilbert waited for a response that part of him knew he was not going to get. Something about this felt familiar, too familiar, but he brushed it off. "Okay, panic attack. Awesome."

Panic attacks, fortunately, were not on Gilbert's laundry list of issues. He only knew the term through Antonio- happy, caring Antonio, the man who was the personification of sunshine ninety-nine percent of the time. But where there's sunshine, there's rain. Antonio had… bad days. Days Gilbert was unlucky enough to witness but smart enough to know how to deal with. He never thought he would be bringing that experience here, especially to help Ivan, for Christ's sakes… but it would be cruel not to. Gilbert could not bring himself to revel in Ivan's pain.

Gilbert separated his personal feelings from the task at hand. "Stand up."

Ivan opened his eyes only briefly before squeezing them back shut. "What?"

Gilbert fought the urge to slam his head against the wall out of frustration alone. "Oh, for the love of…" For a moment he hesitated. Then he sighed, gave up on maintaining any semblance of sanity, and acted on instinct. Ivan was on his feet his once powerful yank of the arm, then, with one good shove, against the wall. Gilbert probably did it more violently than necessary, but it was hardly of any concern to him. "It helps to have a flat surface. Just put your hands on the goddamn wall." Surprisingly, Ivan did so.

As Ivan attempted to steady his breathing, Gilbert leaned against the wall, tried to forget he had just done that, and allowed his drowsy mind to wonder. He could have walked away. He probably should have. But the longer he stood there, the more one intrusive thought kept him rooted to the spot. This situation did seem familiar, because he had dealt with late night panic in the past. It was not as severe, nor did it take place in a psych ward hallway, but he had dealt with it.

Ludwig. Ludwig when he was young, scared and naïve. Gilbert was not able to leave then, either. It was a sickening comparison. It was almost sickening enough to take him back to his room, but all he could think about was what he used to do in this situation, how long it had been, the way Matthew said please… Gilbert pushed himself off the wall. "Hold on."

Ivan spoke with his gaze fixed on the wall, breathless. "Where are you going?"

He almost sounded like he wanted Gilbert to stay, but he pushed the thought from his mind. It was just weird to think about. "I'm getting something." And he had no idea how he would do that, where it was, or even why he felt the need to find it, but this night was strange enough already. He might as well continue the madness. To keep things at least somewhat normal, he looked away and raised his voice. "What I'm about to do isn't for you, alright? I'm doing it for me. You're just lucky enough to spectate."

When Ivan glared back, just like always, it was almost a relief. "Do what you want."

So, Gilbert did just that. With only a single vague comment from Matthew to go off of, he wandered down the dark, silent halls, past the art room, and started opening doors. If there was a single thought in his head throughout all of this, it was that this hospital had entirely too many of them. Some were locked, some weren't, some lead to bedrooms or offices or storage, some didn't appear to have a purpose at all. But one did. Just as Matthew had promised, one closet several doors down from the art room held a small collection of cheap, obviously rented instruments. One happened to be a flute.

Gilbert did not allow himself time to think about it. He wrapped his hand around the smooth, familiar metal, slammed the door, and walked back to the phone.

Ivan had not moved from his spot. He was sitting again, hugging his knees to his chest again, but this time he did not look angry or terrified. He looked… empty. Gilbert sat down across from him and spoke without thinking. "It used to calm my brother down." Ivan looked up briefly, one eyebrow raised, and Gilbert realized he had unintentionally vocalized that thought. He quickly covered it with a near shout. "But this is for me, not anyone else. Especially not you."

Whether it was out of exhaustion or plain lack of interest, Ivan simply nodded without saying a word. They made eye contact, then broke it, and Gilbert turned his attention to the flute. Soon he forgot Ivan was there at all.

At first it was difficult, like the first steps after weeks in a coma. Gilbert was unconfident in the positioning of his hands, the way his lips rested on the mouthpiece, how the notes sounded when they first emerged and nearly startled him. At first he thought too much. But Gilbert stuck with, and soon he was away from this hospital, away from his nightmares, and back in a warm, safe bedroom in Germany. By the times his eyes closed, he was not thinking at all.

Gilbert did not open his eyes for what felt like a year. He barely noticed Arthur's arrival, or Mathias's a few minutes later. If they said anything, he did not hear it. He did not know what he was playing, if it sounded right of if his technique was flawed, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was that he was playing. Maybe it was one song, maybe it was twenty, maybe it was nothing but a muck of noise. He didn't know. He did not even care.

About an ice age later, Gilbert played one last note that felt like an outpouring of his very heart, opened his eyes… and it was not until then that he realized they were bleary.

Gilbert took a cleansing breath and lowered the flute, blinking away the inexplicable tears in his eyes as he slowly, almost reluctantly returned to reality. He then stared at the scene in front of him. Ivan, Arthur, and Mathias appeared to be sleeping- Ivan with the back of his head against the wall and his eyes closed, Arthur doing the same about a foot away, and Mathias curled up on the floor. It was… strange to look at, to say the least. These men had been nothing but unpredictable and hysterical since the moment Gilbert met them and suddenly they were as calm as tired preschoolers. The strangest part was, to an onlooker, it would appear that the four of them got along.

As suddenly as the moment began, it ended. Mere seconds after Gilbert stopped playing and the silence fell; Ivan, Arthur, and Mathias opened their eyes nearly at the same time, pried themselves from their spots, rose shakily to their feet and walked away without saying a word. Gilbert knew they would not speak of this in the morning.

Or ever, for that matter.

Then Gilbert was left alone, and for a moment he considered doing the same. But even now, he did not feel like sleeping or even going back to his room. There was only one place that could calm his heavy heart.

.

When Gilbert made the decision to walk past Matthew's office, it was more symbolic than anything, as pretentious as that sounded. Maybe if he was near the one place in this building he felt calm, maybe he could feel that way again. It was what he needed after this strange, dreamlike night that seemed to have no end. He was not sure what he expected to happen. But he did not expect to see a harsh ray of yellow light seeping under the doorway and into the hall, did not except to hear a quiet sigh from the other side, did not expect the near-painful jump in his chest.

He really did not expect him to be there.

Gilbert could not mask his shock. He could not mask the strange feeling in his gut that was almost excitement, either, so he made his hand into a fist and tapped the door. Might as well. It was not as if this night could get any more bizarre. "Matthew?" Gilbert cursed himself when his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and attempted to lower his voice a full octave. "Uh, you in there, man?"

The response was quiet, surprised. "Gilbert?" The word was followed by the sound of a chair being pushed back, a series of footsteps and the turning of the doorknob. Gilbert took an instinctive step back as it opened. His heart skipped far too hard of a beat for his liking when Matthew poked his head out, wrapped his hands around the edge of the door and looked up. Matthew did not appear to have the energy to even sound surprised. "What are you doing up?"

"I should be asking you the same thing." Gilbert saw that dark circles rimmed his eyes, that his hands were shaking, and suddenly his faint nervousness was replaced with sympathy. "Why are you still here?"

Matthew shrugged. "I had a few things to do."

Somehow, Gilbert got the idea 'a few' was a bit of an understatement. "God, what time is it anyway?"

Matthew blinked. He looked back into his office, surveyed the wall, and then looked back to Gilbert. "Around midnight, I believe."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "Shit, man, do you hate yourself or something?"

When Matthew smiled, it was slight, exhausted, but it still managed to look genuine. Never anything but genuine. "No. I just love my patients."

The words hit too hard; Gilbert's heart pounded far too quickly. He saw now, more than ever, how hard Matthew worked for all of them… for him. The thought felt like fire against his skin. "That must be hard." The words felt useless, empty. They probably were. There were too many thoughts in Gilbert's head, too many to manage, too many to convert any of them into words. He wondered why in the hell he had even come by here to begin with. "Well, sorry for bothering you. I guess I'll be on my way."

He almost managed to take a step before Matthew spoke, effectively rendering his legs useless. "You aren't bothering me." The door creaked further open. "You know, Gil, I think I'm tired of working. Do you want to come in?"

Gilbert could think of nothing he wanted to do more. "Uh, yeah. Sure."

It felt strange, being in Matthew's office without rhyme or reason. Gilbert almost expected Matthew to sit at his desk chair, cross his legs, smile placidly and start asking him questions. It should not have come as a shock when he simply sat heavily on the couch and sighed, but it did. Gilbert almost managed to shock himself when he did the same.

"So," said Matthew after a moment of silence. "What are you doing up so late, Gil? Couldn't sleep?"

That was one way to put it. "Yeah, just one of those nights." Gilbert chose to omit his dreams, his pacing, his run-in with Ivan, and of course his ridiculous impromptu concert. Why had he done that again? Oh well. At least it had gotten the four of them to calm down for once. Really, it was probably the first time they had all been in the same room for five minutes without it ending in someone being verbally, emotionally, or even physically assaulted. The thought passed, and Gilbert quickly changed the subject. "What about you? I mean, Christ, how much work do these slave drivers give you?"

"Honestly, not enough." Matthew glanced towards his desk, which was littered with paper and empty mugs of coffee. He let out a short laugh that almost seemed self-critical. "I do this to myself. I've gotten so far behind on planning that I really have no choice."

Gilbert did not know what to say. Matthew obviously worked himself like a dog, and even still, he sounded so damn self-deprecating. As if it was not enough. As if he was not the backbone holding this train wreck of a hospital together. "Give yourself more credit, man."

Matthew looked up and blinked, his violet eyes dull and glassy against the bloodshot whites and dark circles beneath them. "Pardon?"

This was getting to be too much. Matthew was far too kind, too genuine to treat himself this way. "Look at yourself, Matt. You're killing yourself." Gilbert motioned, perhaps insensitively, to Matthew's disheveled clothes. "I bet no one in this building works as hard as you do."

Matthew parted his lips immediately, likely hell-bent on denying that up and down. Maybe it was only out of exhaustion, but Gilbert would have liked to believe he had some part in Matthew smiling gently and saying, "Well, thank you."

"Alright, then." Gilbert was surprised at how relieved he felt. "So, what have you been working on? Must be one hell of a problem if you have to stay here all night to fix it."

"It's more of an organizational issue, actually. Phone numbers, transportation issues, figuring out everyone's schedule…" Matthew laughed dryly. "I swear, by the time family therapy is over, I'm going to need therapy."

Something about that sentence hit Gilbert's ear wrong. "Family therapy," he repeated, as if to convince himself of it. His throat felt suddenly dry. "What do you mean?" he asked if it the term was foreign. He knew what it meant, knew what it implied, but at the same time he did not want to.

Matthew did not seem to sense his tension. "You know, family therapy. We ask the loved ones of our patients to come in and have a session with us. Parents, spouses, siblings…" Maybe he trailed off, maybe he continued. Gilbert was deaf to all but that last word.

"Oh," he mumbled quietly, uselessly. "Sounds fun." Suddenly Gilbert was far quieter than he was used to sounding. It made him uncomfortable, but it was nothing compared to how he felt when Matthew continued to speak.

"Speaking of which, Gil, I've been meaning to ask you something." Matthew paused for a moment, and Gilbert caught himself holding his breath. He released it only to have the air stolen again. "You mentioned having a brother, but you never told me his name. What is it? I kind of have to know, if I'm going to contact him."

Even through a sudden zing of panic, Gilbert could not help but feel incredulous. Matthew had not figured it out yet. He was not sure if that amused, shocked, or terrified him. "Matthew," he said slowly, unwilling to finish right away. "Who else do you know with the surname Beilschmidt?"

Matthew blinked. "Who else do I know with…" He trailed off, his eyes flew open, and he finished in a breathy gasp. "Dr. Beilschmidt. Ludwig."

Gilbert was not sure what to say then. All he knew was that this was over. Even if he was stuck in this ward, it was the first time in years that he had gotten to exist without any ties to his brother. Now, it was all crashing down around him. It should have panicked him, devastated him, but instead all it did was boil his blood in a furious surge of anger. He stayed silent, because he knew how dangerous anger could be.

Except Matthew did not even seem to notice it. "I wasn't expecting that. Huh." He shrugged, as if this was not a big deal, as if Gilbert was still breathing. "Well, at least it'll be easy to get him here, then." Matthew laughed at that. Usually, that laugh would send Gilbert's heart soaring. Now it felt like being stabbed.

"No, just… don't ask him to come, Matthew. I don't want him here." It took a Herculean effort not to shout the words. After all, it was not Matthew Gilbert wanted to shout at. It was himself, his brother, his situation, his life.

"What?" said Matthew, innocent as ever. "I thought you said your relationship was fine."

"That was because I didn't want to talk about it!" This time Gilbert did shout, and immediately hated himself for it. He tried to reel himself back and just barely succeeded, his next words coming out in more of strained whisper. "Do you have any idea how much it hurts…" Scratching. Gilbert's arm burned. He ignored the pain, as well as Matthew's worried expression. "To be a damn psych patient in the same hospital your baby brother is a doctor in?"

"Being here is nothing to be ashamed of…"

"You know damn well it is."

Matthew began a stuttering response, faltered in it, and tried another. Neither ended up surfacing. Finally, he managed, "Gilbert, please don't hurt yourself." In that moment he did not even sound like a therapist. He sounded pleading, maybe even scared. Gilbert hated that he was responsible for that.

Slowly, Gilbert forced his hand away. He wondered what Ludwig would say about the marks. Maybe he would not say anything at all, and simply regard them with a flat, slightly exasperated expression and a roll of the eyes. That was what he had done last time. And Gilbert was ready to do anything to prevent it from happening again, even if that meant begging. "Please, Matthew, just don't ask him to come."

Matthew adverted his eyes. The silence was terrible. "I have to."

Gilbert nearly shouted again, but his anger dipped into something hopeless and resigned before he could stop it. Of course he had to. Gilbert could not hate Matthew for doing his job. Hell, he probably could not hate him even if he pulled out a knife and stabbed him. That was exactly what this felt like, after all. It was moments like this that Gilbert almost wished he would transition, if only to get away – but he didn't. The King always stayed away when he was actually needed.

"I'm sorry."

Gilbert pursed his lips. He didn't want Matthew to be sorry. He didn't want pity; he just wanted his cruel, confusing reality to stop. He wanted to be normal. And all this talk of Ludwig – his perfect, successful, normal brother – was more than enough to remind him he wasn't, and he never would be. "Don't be," he muttered eventually. Then Gilbert chuckled, because he was not sure what else he could do. "Hey, maybe he won't even show up. He hates me."

Matthew flinched. "Ludwig strikes me as a good man. I doubt he would hate you for this."

Gilbert could not help but laugh again at that. Ludwig struck everyone he met as a good man, because he was one. He was honest, reliable, kind… to everyone but Gilbert, at least, but he guessed he had earned that fate somehow. "Oh, believe me." Gilbert looked towards the door, and wondered momentarily why he had come here in the first place. "He does."

"Gil." Gilbert barely reacted to Matthew whispering his name, but his chest fluttered when he felt his hand on his wrist. Matthew ran his thumb over the skin, and the gentle touch soothed Gilbert's raw skin as it burned. It almost untied the painful knots twisting in his stomach. Almost. "I don't know much about you and Ludwig, but whatever happens, I'll help you through it. Okay?"

Oh, Matthew. Sweet, calm, perfect Matthew. Gilbert would give anything to believe him. But it seemed the innocent bird was already inching away from the ferocious bear, and if he wasn't flying away already, he certainly would when Ludwig showed up and Gilbert would be unable to hide just how bad he could get.

Even though it felt like jumping from the water to the fire, Gilbert pulled his arm away and stood. "Goodnight, Matthew."

To be continued...