Dro: Sorry about the length, guys. I had to move all my crap back into my dorm room today. I didn't get there until 7:00 (after last minute shopping for necessary stuff), and I didn't have time to write until an hour or two ago. I was going to add another scene here, but I'll make it next chapter instead.

Chapter Summary: Alfred tries to cope with Ludwig with being an SS officer. He doesn't do so well.

Warnings: Language

Disclaimer: The usual.

Alfred gripped the hammer with all his might. He imaged his knuckles had turned white from the pressure, indentations forming on his fingers in the shapes of the rough-grained wood. He wasn't going to let it go though. It was a viable weapon. He actually preferred it to a gun, and when he'd found it after shuffling around in the drawer of the nightstand—the skin of his burnt arms stretching painfully—he'd nearly wept for joy. A hammer was something he could blindly swing all he wanted until he came in contact with his target. No aim required. Which was a plus for him considering he was completely and utterly blind to the world around him. All he would need to was use some hearing cues and heave the hammer around until the head met his head.

He would kill that God-damned son of a bitch SS Nazi if it was the last thing he did. Who did that fucker think he was fooling? Alfred had almost—almost, though he would never admit it—been fooled by Ludwig's sympathy act. Now he was completely convinced it was all a lie. He was SS. Alfred had heard enough rumors to know these bastards were bad news. They carried out secret missions. They protected Hitler personally. Who knew what kind of shit they usually did? Torture, he imagined. Assassinations. Spying. Massacres. All of the above and more were on Alfred's list. Ludwig had to have some sort of plan for him. He wanted information. Or something else. Alfred wasn't sure what else, but there were probably ten reasons Ludwig was leading him on like this, and he'd be damned if he let the Nazi continue to trick him.

Of course, he had doubts about killing the man. Ludwig was, after all, the man who was feeding and taking care of him. Even with a sinister purpose for doing so, he was keeping Alfred alive. If he managed to kill Ludwig, where would he get food from? He couldn't even take himself to the bathroom, much less find his way to a market to buy food. If he went through with this, he would probably starve to death, if he didn't die of a rampant infection from the burns that Ludwig was keeping clean. He gripped the hammer harder. He hated this. He hated being dependent on others for such simple tasks. He wanted to be up and about and God damn it, he wanted to see! Why was God being so cruel to him?

He whipped the hammer from underneath his sheets and pounded it into the wall, ignoring the flaring pains in his arm. He screamed at the empty room for the seventh time that day, cursing his weaknesses, cursing life, cursing God. Why couldn't this all just be a nightmare? Why couldn't he just wake up tomorrow morning and be back in his little home town in his little old house and with just him and Matt? Why had life morphed into this monstrosity?

"What are you doing?"

He gasped, whirling the hammer around to point in the direction of the voice.

"Where did you get that?"

"None of your fucking business!" He spat back.

Ludwig said nothing for several moments, then, "This is because I am Schutzstaffel, isn't it? You are paranoid. You think I come here to fool you."

"Because you do, you bastard!"

Ludwig sighed deeply. "I knew I should not have told you. Things are now too complicated. I should have just left you ignorant." He sounded frustrated, and at the sound of approaching footsteps, Alfred raised the hammer high again. Ludwig, however didn't seem deterred. "Please put that down. I am not planning to harm you in any way."

"Like I'll believe the word of a fucking Nazi!"

Ludwig groaned. "Please, Alfred—"

"Who gave you the right to use my name?" He shrieked. Ludwig kept advancing, and Alfred's burnt arms were starting to give from their lack of energy. He held onto the hammer with both hands now, his weak muscles causing his fingers to shake. "Stay back!"

"Please, Herr Jones—"

"Don't use your fucking German on me!"

"I can do nothing right by you, can I? Just because I am Schutzstaffel." Alfred could almost picture the man shaking his head.

"Don't try to fool me! I know you're up to something!"

"The only thing I am up to is attempting to get you safely home. I obligate myself to nursing you back to health. I take time from my day to sneak you food. I risk my life for you. If I was to be found out, both of us would die. They would come here and interrogate you before shooting you. Would you prefer that instead? It is what would've happened if I had reported you to my superiors."

Alfred felt his voice catch in his throat. Either Ludwig was the best actor in the world, or he was telling the truth. The man sounded incredibly choked up. Alfred couldn't have faked that emotion in his voice if he tried his hardest, much less this flawlessly. Something was up here. Was Ludwig really telling the truth? Was he honestly risking his own life to protect Alfred? It was senseless. It was ludicrous. Why would a man this entwined in the German government want to risk anything for a random American pilot? There had to be more to this story. Curiosity clawed at Alfred's brain, inching its way forward into the forefront of his thoughts.

So he gave in and asked, "Why?"

Ludwig said nothing.

"I want to believe you. I really do. I want to believe that somehow, some way, I crashed in the view of the one single good-hearted Nazi that would take care of me and help me. But the odds of that are astronomical. It doesn't make any sense. Why would that one lucky person be me of all people? How stupidly optimistic could I possibly be to believe such a ludicrous story on a whim? You get what I'm saying, right? You understand why I keep panicking? It doesn't make sense to me that you…Please. I need to know why!"

He heard what sounded like Ludwig's knuckles cracking, and he felt a chill run down his spine. "I will make you lunch." The floorboards creaked loudly as Ludwig stomped out of the room.

"Ludwig!"

He paused, silence consuming the room for a split second. Then he spoke. "The last time I allowed someone like you to die, I ended up losing something irreplaceable." He resumed his sullen march. "I will not make that same mistake again."

Alfred was left alone then, the hand holding the hammer now limp on the bed.

Neither spoke as Alfred ate his meal, a simple sandwich. He didn't allow himself to complain. He'd sat the hammer down safely in the windowsill. He ate and drink silently, Ludwig making no sounds whatsoever. Alfred's head spun. Something had obviously happened to Ludwig in the past, something that scarred him. Alfred couldn't help but imagine all sorts of scenarios that could possibly lead an SS officer to risk his life for a fallen American pilot. Some of them were totally implausible; some just seemed too mundane. It must have been something incredibly traumatizing.

On the other hand, Alfred could safely say he at least partially believed Ludwig was really there to help him. He doubted the man had no ulterior motives, but he at least felt safe enough to sit near the guy without a hammer pointed at him. Enough being the key word. Ludwig still worked for the SS, and as far as Alfred was concerned, that meant he was dangerous no matter what the situation. He took another sip of water. After feeling the space around him long enough, he'd started getting a hang of where things were. This time, he sat the glass back in its place on the night table and continued eating without problems. Maybe one day, he imagined, he could be self-sufficient again.

He took another bite of his sandwich.

"I sent a letter to your brother."

He choked.

"W-what?" He managed in between coughs.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine! Now, what the hell did you just say?"

"I said, I sent a letter to your brother."

"How?" What kind of connections did this guy have?

"I have my ways."

Oh, that didn't sound ominous at all.

"Uh, so, what did the letter say? And how did you know where to send it?"

"You told me you had a brother named Matthew. I did some research and came up with 'Matthew Williams,' who had 'Alfred Jones' listed as a brother."

"How did you research Americans from here?"

"…"

"Ah, right. SS." He murmured lowly. "So, what did it say?"

"Hmm?"

"The letter."

"That you are alive."

"That's it?"

"Was it supposed to say something else? I did not want to concern him with your condition. I figured telling him you are still living was enough to give him hope. Did you want him to know of your injuries?"

Alfred paused. Did he really want Mattie to know he was blind and burned like this? The obvious answer was "No." What good would it do to have his twin know he was suffering like this? All it would do would make Mattie worry more, and Matt needed to keep himself together on the field. If he got too worked up over Alfred's disappearance…Alfred didn't want to consider the possibilities. He swallowed the last bit of the sandwich and turned toward the window.

"Thank you."

Ludwig grunted in response.

"I mean it. Don't get me wrong. I still don't really trust you or anything, but I really am grateful for you telling Matt. I can't imagine how he was feeling after he heard…about what happened to me." A flash of violent fire flickered through Alfred's mind, and he bit his lip, willing it to away. Every time he dared to give his…experience…a single thought, something like this happened.

"Do not think of it. You will trigger the memories."

"Yeah. I think I got that. You know something about it?"

"Something, perhaps."

"Right." Alfred felt around for the glass and finished off his water. "I guess I'll see you later, then."

Ludwig didn't move until he spoke. The plate and glass were quickly swiped away, and Ludwig trudged back toward the door. "I will come back again at the usual time."

"See you then." He whispered as the door closed behind the lumbering German. "See you then." He repeated, pressing his forehead against the cool windowsill. Matt knew now. Matt knew he was alive. Of course, that was all he knew, but Alfred imagined Mattie was a lot more relieved than he had been. He knew everyone considered him dead. How could they think otherwise? He went down in flames after getting shot to pieces by German fighters. Mattie had probably been told he was dead and gone ages ago. He shuddered at the thought of someone telling him his brother was dead. He wouldn't have been able to bear it.

He sighed. Now he was grateful to the Nazi bastard. Wonderful. What was next?

Dro: If only he knew...

Next Chapter: Ludwig tries to deal with his conscience. It would be a lot easier if his ass of a brother would stop bothering him.