A/N: Hey, everyone! Break's over, so back to the weekly updates! Sorry this isn't super long and is a little late in posting. It originally was almost double the size, but I edited out a section for another chapter. It just didn't fit 100% here. Like always, thank you again for all the reviews, favs and alerts! DD and I are always overjoyed to see them!
Here's chapter nine after a long two week wait!
- Seb
There were a lot of words to describe Gilbert. Cocky, obnoxious, self-centred... The typical douchebag only other douchebags could possibly hang around without trying to claw their hair out in rage after a set amount of time. He was brash and irresponsible. Childish and somewhat snarky. He could be nice to get what he wanted, and he could make you feel faint just by a simple hair flick and casual grin. He was flirty and greedy. Forwards, yet cautious. Rude and far too curious.
However, he was not stupid.
Almost instantly he knew something was wrong. Not even that, he could just sense there was an abnormal occurrence going on around him. The reason for such emotions was unclear. Maybe it was how Alfred poised himself in the doorway, partly leaning against it in what might be a casual manner, but far too stiff to be comfortable. Or perhaps it was how the blond's smile seemed too forced. Too wild.
Gilbert didn't know why such dread washed over him all of a sudden. He'd felt nothing but adrenaline the entire way to the house, like an animal hunting its prey, knowing that it was close and practically in his reach. He hadn't experienced any fear or worries. For weeks he'd wondered about the double Alfreds, and now he was facing what he thought would be the answer to everything and he froze up, scared.
"Wow, Gilbert, this is a shock! How did you find out where I lived? I bet it was Jessica, wasn't it? Yeah, I can tell. She's always so eager to gossip, it's really a bad habit of hers..."
It was those seconds before the door opened. Yes, that had to be it. The short moments that lasted hours when he rang the door bell and, while listening to the sound of the pretty chimes, heard something large hit something hard over and over and over again.
"So how are you doing? No work today? What'd ya come over for? It can't be because you wanted to visit me. That would be pretty gay, you know." Alfred's laugh was painfully hollow.
What were those noises from before? And why was Alfred talking so fast? Yes, he was constantly making noise, but never at this rate.
Was he nervous?
Was he trying to avoid something?
"Hello? Anybody in there?"
Gilbert looked up and for a moment he thought he saw a flicker of fear in the blue eyes that stared so damn intensely at him. This was not the gaze of an innocent man, he decided. This was the posture of someone who was hiding away a secret. Someone who was trying to find a way to distract the conversation from turning in the wrong direction.
"Do yoh have somevon ohver?" Gilbert's tone was lacking in oblivious curiosity. He didn't feel up to faking anything right now. Not after coming this far. He was going to find out the truth today.
Alfred's smile faltered. "What? No. I live alone." A pause. Then a soft, timorous whisper, "Why?"
"I dought I heard someding." Gilbert craned his head upwards, not because he wanted to see what was over Alfred's shoulder, but whether or not the blond would react.
Indeed, Alfred did. He moved with Gilbert's wandering stare and tried to pass the action off as a coincidental shift in his posture, smiling the slightest after he moved. "Nope, just me! I live alone, after all."
"Really?" A gleeful head nod in reply. Gilbert narrowed his eyes. "Cahn I come in den?"
Unsurprisingly, Alfred tensed. "Uh, that's... I—"
"I saw him, Ahlfred. De oder... yoh. I saw him at de schtore und I saw yoh pull him into yohr cahr." Gilbert pointed to the exact same blue Toyota sitting in his 'friend's driveway, remembering the way the quieter Alfred's eyes met his the moment before he was shoved roughly into the passenger seat of the vehicle. All that fear, that despair—it was too vivid to forget. "Dat cahr."
Alfred said nothing. Gilbert's gaze never left the man standing before him, keeping him out from all the answers to his unsolved questions. What was there to say? He'd been caught, and here stood the one person who knew. The one person who somehow found a way through the veil of disguise. The one person who, despite never stepping foot inside of the United States before in his entire life, figured out the mystery of the two Alfreds before anyone else even realized they saw a mistakable double.
Alfred took a step back, hand brushing against the door's edge. "You'd better come in."
Inside the house of Alfred was exactly how Gilbert imagined. The decorations were plain, there were little dorky action figures sitting here and there trying to stand out against the pale wallpaper (Seriously, who even used that shit anymore?), and it wasn't all that big. When you worked at a Salvation Army the income wasn't exactly mind blowing, so Gilbert's surprise didn't escalate too much at the sight. From his standpoint at the entrance he could see into a living room in the left archway, a kitchen to the right, and a set of small stairs leading up to what was probably a single bedroom.
Or perhaps two, if Gilbert's hunch played out positive.
However, the albino's predictions fell short when his eyes left the upwards direction of the place to the ground, because he was not expecting to see crimson smeared on the base of a wall.
Little shards of blue scattered themselves on the floor, their sharp edges tinted deep red either from cutting open whatever animal it had been wielded against or simply from laying in the warpath of the blood puddle. Had he looked closer Gilbert would have seen a slight indent in the drywall where a man's head was smashed into the house more times than necessary.
"Vhat... de hell happened hier?" Gilbert turned, face incredulous, and was met with an uncharacteristically serious and quiet Alfred. "Did yoh do dis to him?"
"I had to." Alfred blatantly avoided eye contact and instead stared blankly at the blood, face expressionless. "He was jeopardizing himself. I had to do it."
'Jeopardizing' was not a word in Gilbert's English vocabulary. Nonetheless he understood one thing clear enough. There was definitely another man. And it was that man whose blood had been spilled in this hall.
"You've gotta understand." Alfred stepped closer, watching Gilbert with large, crazed eyes. "He'd be killed out there. They'd know what he is! They'd take him away and leave me and... I'm fixing him, don't worry. It takes a bit, but I'm fixing him."
"Vhat ahre yoh talking ahbout? Vhat ahre yoh fixing?"
"He's... he's..." Alfred stuttered and curled his lips back in an unnaturally revolting expression. His nose wrinkled, his eyes darkened. He was disgusted, and Gilbert didn't understand how someone as cheery as Alfred could bring himself to make such a face let alone harm a person this badly. "He sins, Gilbert. He sins because he desires men. He's—"
"Gay."
Alfred choked on a reply. He rubbed his face in an attempt to rid himself of the rage and humiliation that bubbled inside him from hearing the single word that labelled his brother, but nothing helped. "I've been trying so hard to fix him. He just won't listen. He never tries to repent. It's always me pushing and pushing and him never helping... I don't know what to do."
What was this? Gilbert could hardly believe the conversation he was having. Alfred might have just killed a man over the religious belief that homosexuality was a one way ticket to hell, and now he was blubbering about his problems and stresses to Gilbert as if the German were some kind of therapist. "Ahlfred." Gilbert stepped closer to the blond, noticing the unstable way the American grasped a handful of hair and flinched at some memory or thought. "Vhere is he? Vhere is de oder yoh?"
"I can't tell! You'll hurt him because of what he is. I'm the only one that loves him, I can't let you hurt him!"
"Ahlfred, I von't hurt him. I vant to help."
Alfred kept his fingers dug deep against his scalp, stare flickering to new places every few seconds while a silence lifted between them. He was losing his composer. Fast. And all this stalling wasn't doing anyone any good. That kid, the one with the scared eyes and broken stance, was somewhere in the house bleeding to death and they were just sitting here doing nothing except talking about their fucking feelings. How did you get a nutcase's mind on topic? How did you ask them to do what you wanted without having them blow up or go psycho? He should have listened to Elizabeta when she talked about her job at the hospital. She was always going on about crazy people and how to deal with them.
Gilbert pointed to the blood on the wall, never letting his eyes stray too far from Alfred's face. "Vid dat much blood gone he might die. Ahnd yoh'll be all ahlone. I cahn help."
Thankfully 'alone' seemed to do the trick. Alfred's hesitation was clear, but not strong enough to stop him from giving in. He nodded at Gilbert, lowering his hands away from his head, and started towards the staircase. The idea of his brother dying and leaving him all by his lonesome was terrifying. Even Gilbert could see the concept bothered him. More so than the fact an outsider was about to learn of Alfred's worst secret.
But Gilbert wouldn't tell anyone. He wouldn't run around spreading the information throughout town.
He could trust Gilbert. Gilbert was a friend. Maybe the first one Alfred's ever truly had.
Originally, Gilbert thought they would be going up the stairs. From his view at the door he couldn't see the basement entrance that was hidden beneath the edge of the railing, almost too similar to the walls to be noticed. When Alfred bypassed the staircase and touched a tiny handle that hardly protruded a centimetre out and tugged open an old sliding door, Gilbert's stomach dropped instantly.
They were going into a basement.
A creepy, dark basement.
This was the beginning of all horror movies. Where the guy you know is cracked in the head leads the main character down into the depths of his house, promising something that doesn't exist, and strikes from the shadows.
Gilbert almost stepped away from the entrance. Alfred turned though and gave him a look of questioning. In the short seconds he turned away from Gilbert his personality did a full one-eighty, going from losing his sanity to completely normal in an instant. "What's wrong?"
"Noding..." Alfred shrugged his shoulder, shifted, and headed down into the darkness of the basement, making the wooden stairs creak obnoxiously loud with every step.
Gilbert watched as the shadows swallowed the American whole and waited until he ceased to hear Alfred stomping down to the ground floor. "Is dere a light?" he called down.
A muffled reply, "Just hold on a second." Then a click and a dull yellow hue glowed along the curve of the basement stairs.
Gilbert followed them down, weary. They were wide with not much length and they curled a bit towards the end. He could make out Alfred's upper body as a shadow in the light moving around, shuffling a few things and cursing under his breath when something small tinkled to the floor. He wasn't really sure what he thought would be down there. A mutilated video-Alfred with a knife in his chest? Maybe a leg-less corpse? Perhaps he had no tongue.
The blond looked nothing like any of those. Alfred had stepped over his crumpled body without so much as a second glance and was now clearing a spot off an old ping-pong table, humming under his breath. The other Alfred was on his side, arms eerily limp over top each other with his eyes closed and his mouth partially opened. He had blood drenching the side of his face, creating dark trails over his cheek bone and nose. A tiny river was running towards his parted lips, threatening to drip onto his tongue. He looked deathly pale with an unnatural lack of movement. Gilbert wasn't sure he was even breathing.
"Scheiße..." The albino crouched on his knees, ignoring the way the blood on the hard concrete floor began soaking through his slacks. He reached out to place a hand on the video-Alfred's belly, turning him over onto his back before he did so. For a moment Gilbert couldn't feel anything. His palm remained stationary. Immotile on the unresponsive diaphragm. Then his fears dissolved as his hand was push up by a slow, but steady breath. "He's alive."
"What?" Alfred materialized behind Gilbert, his shadow casting a cold spell over the European. "Is he okay? You can fix him, right?"
'Not the way you want.' "I have noht looked aht his head yet. Vas dat de ohnly place hurt?"
"I... I think so..." Alfred rubbed through his hair distractedly. The same spot as before. "I mean he hit the wall pretty hard. He's so clumsy..."
Gilbert wanted to gape in shock. Clumsy? Clumsy? This was his work and he called the other blond clumsy? Gilbert highly doubted the second Alfred took a blow to the head with God knows what kind of an object, then got most of the damage inflicted by clumsily hitting the wall. Alfred's insanity was growing more obvious with each passing second. The kid was so normal in the real world (Aside from the whole religious fanatic thing, of course). How could he be this messed up and not notice anything?
And how could this other guy stay around? He had tons of chances to escape, didn't he? All those Sunday trips to the movie store, the hours Alfred worked. Why didn't he run for help? Why did he let himself stay?
Gilbert slipped one arm beneath the other blond's shoulders and another under his legs. Without much effort he lifted the unconscious man up off the cold ground and over to the ping-pong table. Warmth was pressing into his left forearm. Sticky warmth. When he pulled back he saw blood coating his white dress shirt. Soaked straight through to stain his skin. Great. He'd have a hell of a time explaining that to Ludwig.
Despite the nagging voice that told him he'd get scolded, Gilbert ignored the urge to waste time by rolling up his sleeves and placed his hands on the blond's face, turning it towards him so he could see the wound on his head. It was a mess of cuts and deep scratches made by some kind of sharp object. Probably whatever shards were laying in the hallway by the blood. Alfred made a noise of queasiness when Gilbert pressed his fingers into a larger cut to check the severity. "Goh get some vater und, uh... Vhat ahre does dings called? Dey clean liquids."
"Uh... paper towel?"
"Noht paper, de oder von."
"Towels, okay, got'cha." Alfred rushed up the stairs, weight practically rocking the staircase as he took it three at a time. He returned not long after with an armful of blue and red towels, along with some white dish clothes and a small Tupperware of cold water. "These are the clean ones. Think it's enough?"
"Ja." Gilbert grabbed one of the dish clothes and dipped it in the water. "Vhat did yoh hit him wid?"
"A lamp." Alfred grinned wickedly, like a child with a better present. "Should'a seen the way he went down. It was awesome."
Awesome sounded so wrong coming out in that sentence. It would never mean the same after this. "Yoh're fuckin' nuts, yoh know dat?"
Oh, whoops. Was it good to call crazy people on their insanity? Gilbert stilled, hand poised inches above the other Alfred's head, waiting for some kind of response from the man looming behind him. All he got in response was a pat on the back and loud, boisterous laugh. "Yeah, everyone at work says that! It's okay though, 'cause no hero is normal!"
Hero. Right. Gilbert dabbed at the cuts, trying to clean the blond strands of hair and the scalp beneath them as best he could without getting right in there and causing more pain. A vase couldn't cause infection, could it? But what if it was really old and gross. Worse, what if the kid hit the wall hard enough for a concussion? What if his brain was having a seizure and totally just ready to blow at any moment and all they're doing is fucking cleaning him? What if he really did die?
For the first time in his life, Gilbert wished Roderich and Elizabeta were there to help. They at least knew something about doctor stuff.
By the time Gilbert finished cleaning (Or attempting to clean) the wound and wrapped it in the softest towel, it had been well into a few hours. Alfred was busy hunched over at the head of the table, wiping off the dried blood from his lookalike's face almost lovingly. He hummed as he worked, never mumbling the lyrics or anything. Just humming. It was starting to grate on Gilbert's nerves.
Another question was bothering him though. A question about the mystery man's name. It was time to give him an identity aside from 'the other Alfred'. "So, who is he?"
"Huh?" Alfred snapped his head up more from being torn out of his daydreaming state than fear or shock. "Oh, he's... He's my brother."
Brother?
"Brothers are always cool to have..."
"They're nice company, and kind of like a living memory book. You have to love them and take care of them. Even if they have flaws..."
"Even if they're not right in the head and do things, act like things, they really, really shouldn't, y'know?"
In his mind it clicked. The awkwardness Alfred got when Gilbert brought up siblings. The rants he released, talking like he knew everything and yet nothing all at once about brothers, when he claimed to have none. It made sense. He had a brother. He had a brother who was gay—completely against everything Alfred believed in. But Alfred didn't hate him. He was ashamed of him, and kept him under lock and key.
"He'd be killed out there. They'd know what he is! They'd take him away and leave me and... I'm fixing him, don't worry. It takes a bit, but I'm fixing him."
"I can't tell! You'll hurt him because of what he is. I'm the only one that loves him, I can't let you hurt him!"
Alfred didn't understand that you can't beat the gay out of a person. He was... training his brother. Trying to change him, to 'fix' him into a normal person.
And this brother lived with it? Was he insane too? Did he think this was normal, that this was right?
"Gilbert?"
Gilbert tore his eyes off from the spot in the wall he'd been staring at to Alfred. "Vhat?"
The Christian stared at him, gaze dark enough it felt he was reaching into his soul. "You can't say anything to anyone. If they learn about Mattie, they'll take him away and he'll be alone. He hates being alone. He wouldn't last without me."
Alfred started stroking 'Mattie's cheek, unaware he was doing so. "I trust you, Gilbert. You have to promise me you won't say anything."
"I..."
Alfred curled his hands into fists, now clutching his brother's front desperately. His eyes were dampening. He looked like a child. A scared little boy who was doing all this wrong for a twisted sense of right and justice and feared being left alone. "Promise!"
Gilbert knew it was sick. As he nodded his head silently and looked down at 'Mattie', he could feel the sense of wrong curling inside him like a storm brewing. He'd just signed his own warret for a shitty future. He knew it. His uncle would shoot him on the spot if he knew what was going on. Gilbert tried running away. He tried hiding in America, to shake off all the crimes he'd been apart of. He tried to escape the grasp of hell and succeeded for awhile.
But somehow it always found a way to wriggle its disgusting fingers into his life.
