Soluble Chapter Ten: Calling in the Cavalry

"I'll be awake if he finds us
needless to say
I'll stand in your way
I will protect you
and I...

I'll take the shot for you
I'll be the shield for you
needless to say
I'll stand in your way..." - Shot, The Rasmus

What happened last chapter: The Wall has crumbled, and East and West have been reunited - sort of. Gilbert might be back in body, but his mind is far away, trapped in his memories of being a Teutonic Knight. He doesn't know who his own brother is, and he can't understand what anyone is saying. Russia seemed far too relaxed about letting his German toy escape his fingers, and that can't mean anything good for the Prussian...

Warning: There's a good deal of swearing near the end of this chapter. Gilbert doesn't play nice when people come to visit.

"Ludwig, you've got to eat something." The other nation's voice was soft – very soft – but insistent. "You need to look after yourself as well, you know." The shadowy man moved to stand next to the seated German nation, putting a hand on his shoulder. "This is killing you. He wouldn't want –"

"It's not like he would care." The blond's voice was ragged. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of many nights of lost sleep. "He doesn't even know who I am."

"You can't know that. He was confused – I'm sure once he wakes up, he'll be –"

"I know. That's what he said to me. There wasn't any recognition in his face when he looked at me. I'm just a stranger to him." Ludwig ran a hand through his hair, furious at his inability to do anything more than sit here, listening to his brother's labored breathing.

The white haired nation was laying in the middle of the bed, sheets piled around him. His skin was so pale he looked like a corpse – and the fact that his thin chest was hardly rising and falling didn't help. The Prussian nation looked far worse than Germany could ever remember seeing him, and he couldn't escape the gnawing guilt that it was all his fault for letting them hand his brother over to the Russian.

"Ludwig." A thin hand reached down and carefully pried his fingers from where they had curled around the sheets. "Ludwig, I'll stay here for a bit. Go have a shower, get yourself something to eat. If anything changes, I'll let you know right away."

"But I –"

"Germany." The nation's usually soft spoken tone sharpened. "If you don't start looking after yourself, you'll end up in the same condition. Letting yourself waste away with guilt isn't going to help your brother. When he wakes up, he needs you to be strong." And then Ludwig found himself being pushed out of the chair. He moved across the darkened room like he was half dead, each step dragging until he reached the door.

"The moment anything –"

"Yes, I'll let you know. Don't worry. Go."

Matthew Williams watched the European nation leave, shutting the door quietly behind him, and only then did he allow his rigid posture to slump. There were circles under his eyes as well, and his hair curl was limp. The Canadian hadn't slept much more than the German nation for the past week, and it was getting harder to hide the symptoms of exhaustion. Fortunately, Ludwig himself didn't have eyes for anything other than Gilbert – and Roderich hadn't been able to get away from work yet.

"Come on, Gilbert," the quiet man murmured, reaching out to take a pale hand in his own. The albino's skin was like ice; they had given up on trying to figure out what was going on with his body. His overall temperature was below normal, and yet he was burning with fever. "Come on. Wake up. Even for a little. Ludwig's going to kill himself with worry if you don't, and –"

The Prussian nation didn't respond at all; his labored breathing painful but constant.

Matthew stared at him for a long moment, expression blank, before leaning forward, burying his head in the crook of his elbow. The comforter on the bed ticked his nose, but the Canadian didn't even notice.

"Please, Gilbert." He hadn't even really known Ludwig's wild older brother. But he had become friends with the younger Germanic nation and Matthew hated watching him – both of them – waste away in front of his own eyes. "Fuck, Gil. You've got to wake up. You just have to." He could feel tears forming in the corners of his eyes, and he tired to blink them back furiously, lifting his head slightly –

– just as the hand he was holding onto twitched.

The Canadian nation blinked, eyes wide, and looked down. He willed himself not to hope – there had been too many close calls during the past week. The fingers twitched again, stronger this time. That wasn't his imagination. Matthew allowed himself to raise his eyes slowly, towards the head of the bed –

"Stop being such a damn pansy. Let go of my hand." The Prussian nation's thin face was anything but impressed, and his hand jerked again as he tried to make the muscles in his arm cooperate with his brain.

Matthew could only stare in shock for a moment. "G – Gilbert?" His voice came out as a strangled squeak.

His eyebrows angled down even further. "Who the fuck else would it be?" Slowly, the head turned on the pillow, the simple movement requiring obvious effort. "Now, where the hell am – "

"LUDWIG!"

The albino's entire body jumped – well, jerked, as the weight of the blankets prevented much movement – as Matthew shouted in the loudest voice he had ever used. The Prussian's mismatched eyes stared, wide, at the other, trying to figure out why this stranger was grinning so widely at him.

"Gilbert, you're awake! Are you feeling alright? Does anything hurt –"

The albino let his eyes slide around the room, trying to tune out the other. The window's shutter was drawn, and in his current condition there was no way he'd be able to break through what looked like solid wood.

"… Gilbert?" A note of uncertainty had crept into the voice, and the albino's mismatched eyes flicked back to peer at the thin face. "So you are paying attention."

"Where am I?" Gilbert finally said, once he was reasonably sure that his voice wouldn't grate too much. "How did I get here?"

He hadn't spent years in court deciphering the slightest facial twitches like the Austrian had, but even the Prussian Empire could tell that the frown on the blonde's face wasn't good news. "You really don't remember? Ludwig brought you here after you collapsed in the –"

Both of their heads snapped around as the door opened, sending light spilling into the dark room. Gilbert's eyes narrowed almost to slits as his good eye struggled with the unexpected brightness from the landing beyond.

"Gil?" A new voice – the deeper one he remembered from his times of semi-consciousness, the one that was irritatingly familiar but he couldn't place. "Gilbert…"

"Yes, I know who I am," the Empire snapped, suddenly annoyed with the way these people were treating him. He mustered up what energy he could – trying to ignore the painful twinges on the left side of his chest – and forced himself into a slightly more raised position. "Now what I would like to know is where the hell am I?"

The taller man – also blonde – who had just entered the room took a few more steps inside, half closing the door behind him. "You're in my room. Yours was still a bit… dusty, and we didn't want to aggravate anything…"

Gilbert just stared blankly back, privately frustrated that they were doing this song and dance again. "Is this Ivan's idea of humor?" he finally asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. It certainly seemed like something the Russian would cook up – give him the illusion of freedom, only to turn it into some twisted mind game.

"Gil, Ivan… Isn't here. You're safe, back in West Germany. The Wall is gone. You've come home." If the Prussian wasn't mistaken, there was a note of desperation in those words, however garbled they might have been. It was curious, though – while he couldn't understand either of these men, their words sounded completely different from one another, as if they were speaking different languages themselves.

"I'm not going to fall for this shit again," the Empire said at length, resorting to the only thing he could possibly assume was going on here. "Do whatever you want to me, but I'm not going to break." He could feel a pounding growing in the back of his head again, but this time he fought against it, fought to remain conscious.

The other two men shared what seemed to be a confused look. "Maybe… you ought to go back to sleep, Gil," the one beside his bed said at length.

The Prussian's eyes narrowed, and he tried to keep them both in his working sightline – difficult, as the taller of the two was moving off to the other side of his bed, fading off into the blackness that filled his vision there. "Piss off," he said, lip curling. "The both of you." The pounding was getting worse, and he wondered if these two had anything to do with it. Probably. "I was fine before some idiot decided I needed to come here, wherever the fuck here is." Silently, he cursed the heaviness of his limbs, his inability to make them move the way he wanted.

"You really don't know who I am, do you?" The tall one again, staring at him with that look like a kicked dog – a dog he had kicked. Gilbert wished he understood exactly what he had done to deserve such a look, because last time he had checked, he hadn't ever seen this man in his life.

"There's something familiar about you, though…" he muttered to himself, not realizing his voice was getting fainter. His body, upon realizing that it was no matter of life and death, was starting to relax, to slow down. Now that he didn't need to be aware to survive, his brain was taking the opportunity to shut down as much as possible.

The kicked puppy look brightened slightly, and the Empire was struck with the disturbing thought that they could understand what he was saying.

Gilbert's brow furrowed, even as his eyes started to flutter shut, even as he wondered if this was all some fever-induced dream, and he was really lying on the floor of his battered ruin of a house. He focused on that face, that irritatingly familiar yet strange face; as if someone's features he had known had been stretched, aged –

It hit him, then. Why those sky blue eyes – dark though they were for some reason – reminded him of someone. He struggled to get his brain to make his jaw move, to form the words before he collapsed back into his comforting darkness.

"Holy… Rome?"

"What'd I tell you?" Ludwig's voice was slightly muffled by his hands, which were covering his face. He leaned his elbows on the kitchen table and let out a long sigh. Though he loved his brother dearly, some part of him hadn't been able to stay in that rom anymore, watching the other take shallow, ragged breaths. Not after that.

"Germany, you can hardly take anything he says right now seriously. His temperature is high even for one of us –"

"And feel his skin, and it's like ice. It doesn't make sense, Matthew." Ludwig peered around his fingers, watching the younger nation puttering around his pristine kitchen. "You can't tell me this is normal. He thinks I'm a dead nation from his past."

"Don't you find it curious, though? That he called you Holy Rome? I mean –"

"I don't have time to be curious right now, Canada. I don't care who he thinks I am, just that he starts remembering that I'm his brother. Once Gilbert's back to normal, then I'll start asking questions."

Matthew fell silent for a long moment, too tired to be offended at the other's brusque tones. Eventually he heaved a sigh, and leaned back against the counter "You know – Arthur and Francis said that he would have reverted to his time as a Teutonic Knight, right?"

"What of it?" Ludwig lifted his head out of his hands, running his fingers through already mussed up hair.

"Well –" Matthew chewed on his bottom lip, weighing something. "Then it stands to reason that he doesn't remember us. Neither of our nations were around at the time, so why would he? But if we could get someone to come who he would know… maybe it would help?" He tugged on his curl absently. "And if not, it might make him just a little more comfortable. And maybe less willing to go disappearing out of the nearest window once he figures out that we've been drugging him."

Ludwig sighed, looking more distressed than ever. "You know we had to," he said, his voice smaller than Matthew was used to. "He was just going to hurt himself if he kept thrashing around like that…"

The Canadian nation shook his head. "I'm not accusing you, Germany. I know the reasons, and they're sound. I'm just saying, from what I gather he's already suspicious of us because we're strangers to him. Once he realizes that we're actively preventing him from being able to move – well, he's not going to be happy." A ghost of a smile flickered across Ludwig's wan face at that, and Matthew echoed it. "So a familiar face around the house might make him less anxious."

"Yeah but who's going to come? Gilbert's a pain to deal with when he's normal, and it's not like he has many friends. Elizveta isn't in any shape to begin helping anyone but herself, and…" Ludwig's voice trailed off as realization struck. Matthew, seeing that the German nation was finally seeing where he was going with this, nodded.

"We need to call Roderich."

Brrrring…. Brrrring…. Brrrring….

From under the covers can a very pungent stream of swear words that a rational individual would have been shocked to hear coming from the mouth of the normally polite Austrian. The lump on the bed struggled for a long moment, as the phone kept on ringing insistently, and eventually a head surfaced.

Roderich Edelstein looked anything but pleased. His hair was sticking up in defiance of gravity, and at some point in the night the ever-present curl had bent itself into awkward angles. He glared, bleary eyed, in the general direction of the phone. He'd thought, originally, that simply ignoring the call would have been enough. But no, either he was suddenly extremely popular – unlikely – or the individual on the other end of the line was singularly determined to get hold of him.

Brrrring…. Brrrring…. Brrrring….

"I'm coming, you –" The man muttered a few other choice words, before grabbing for the phone on his night table. Without his glasses, it was a bit of a trial to judge the distance properly, but after a few mishaps – resulting in a painfully bruised hand – he managed to grab hold of it.

"Are you aware of what time it is, you idiot?" The Austrian glared at the wall opposite, as if that would help. "It's three in the morning, and I –"

He paused for a long while, the angry expression on his face slowly draining away. By the end of what appeared to be a lengthy explanation, his face was almost white and he looked anything but sleepy.

"Y – Yes, I understand," he said slowly. "No, isn't any trouble at all… No, no, don't worry about it. I have my ways... Yes, Ludwig. I'll be there as soon as possible… No, I'm leaving now… Don't worry about it… Goodbye."

He hung up the phone with a shaking hand – missing the receiver several times, and making his hand throb even more. For a long while he simply sat there, staring off into space, with a vaguely bewildered expression on his face.

"Come on," Roderich muttered to himself eventually, pulling himself out of the warm embrace of the bed. "For once, he's the one who needs you, and you're not going to let him down because you're tired."

It only took a few moments for the Austrian to grab what essentials he thought Ludwig wouldn't be able to provide, throw on some appropriate clothing, and make his way out into the darkened streets of Vienna.

"There isn't anything we can do about it until we know more, and you know that. There's no sense charging in there blindly; we hardly know what the situation is!"

"You remember as well as I do what he was like – do you really think they'll be able to snap him out of that? As far as we're concerned, he's been a raving lunatic for how many years? Even you have to admit, no one has ever stayed locked in their own head that long. It was hard enough getting you out of –"

A third voice cut in, sounding uncharacteristically frustrated. "Look, will someone just explain what's going on? All you've done is go on and on like a bunch of old women."

The other two speakers turned their heads and simultaneously glared at the speaker, but even the combined look of disapproval had no effect.

"Come on, Francis. I'm not little anymore." Alfred leaned forward in his seat, expression serious. "You too, Arthur. Your looks of death don't scare me, and I want to know what's going on. I have a right. My brother's involved in this, Lord help him."

Francis sighed, and the look drained away. "America," he said softly, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "it isn't that simple. These sorts of things don't happen very often, and –"

"I get that he's gone all ancient knightly warrior on us; I'm not as thick as you think I am. I just don't understand what it is the two of you keep arguing about." Alfred fiddled with the frames of his glasses. "Iggy keeps preaching on about it like this is the end of the world, and I just want to know if Matty's in any kind of danger."

Arthur frowned, but his stony expression didn't otherwise waver. "Your points are all moot anyway, Francis," he said, as if he hadn't heard Alfred speak at all. "It's not like any of us have the strength to do that all over again, not to mention there's no hunger for it now. The most we'll do is ruffle a few feathers for a couple decades. Then everyone will forget about it."

"You call what you're suggesting ruffling a few feathers?" Francis turned back to England, eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hair. "England, I think the Blitz jarred a few things deep in your brain – obviously you're not in your right mind. If you think that his brother will ever forget that –"

"It's reasonable. None of the news I've heard from Matthew has been good. There's been no improvement, no sign of anything approaching a return to the Gilbert of –"

The French nation's laugh was slightly hysterical. "If you're waiting for that Gilbert to return, I wish you good luck. Our friend the Soviet crushed him long ago, if you'd forgotten that little bit of history. Whatever they manage to bring back, I guarantee it won't be close to what any of us remember."

"You're biased anyway, you –"

The sound of a chair slamming into a wall startled both of them out of their argument. The two nations turned to stare back at America, who was standing by his overturned seat and a newly formed dent in the faux wood paneling.

"Look," he said, voice sharp in the sudden silence. "I don't want to sit through this. I've got work to do. Just answer me a few questions. Is there a chance of this all going south? That it won't work?"

Francis shifted uneasily in his seat, but eventually nodded. "Oui. There is always that risk."

Alfred nodded, leaning down to right his chair. "And if it does, will Matthew be in any sort of danger?"

Again, the Frenchman nodded. "…oui. He was – very volatile. And if he learns that they have been… sedating him… he will not be… friendly."

"Is there any way of knowing? If he won't ever go back to normal?" The North American nation shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Well… that's the problem, you see? He may take some time to adjust –"

This time it was Arthur who interrupted, his expression still cold. "No. It could be a week, three months, fifteen years – regression doesn't happen often, and we don't understand it well enough to be able to make any guesses."

"And obviously the two of you are trying to figure out what to do with him if he doesn't stop thinking he's in Teutonic times." Alfred matched Arthur's stare without flinching. "Do you really have any idea what you're doing?"

"We haven't reached a definite –"

"There's only one solution, if he remains locked in his bloodthirsty past." Arthur pointedly avoided looking at Francis as he spoke. "Bonnefoy's been a friend of his for a very long time and just doesn't want to admit it."

Alfred shifted. "If he gets to that point, he'll be a danger to my little brother. What's this solution of yours?"

Something dark flashed through the Englishman's eyes, and he lifted a hand to stay France's protests.

"We'll have to kill him."

"So, you honestly think I can help him?"

A very ragged looking Roderich had arrived on Germany's doorstep not ten minutes ago. Ludwig had wasted no time in getting him inside and caught up on everything that had been happening thus far. Their voices were hushed, trying not to wake Matthew, who had drifted off to sleep an hour ago. Ludwig didn't have the heart to wake him; the Canadian had been running himself off his feet looking after Gilbert and his own country.

"Ludwig?" Austria snapped his fingers in front of the taller nation's face, eyebrows raised. "Are you in there?"

"Wha – sorry." Germany blinked, running his fingers through his hair. "Yes. You can speak Russian, right?"

Roderich grimaced. "Well, yes. My accent is terrible, and it's a bit rusty, but –"

"But you can hold an actual conversation with someone who only understands Russian, yes? I don't care what you sound like."

The shorter of the two offered a shrug. "If that's all you're looking for, then yes. Are you sure he's not just messing around with you? I wouldn't put it past –"

Ludwig's expression was, for a moment, haunted. "I can understand everything he says, but he never once replies to anything we ask him." He paused for a moment. "He looked at me today and called me Holy Rome."

Austria's eyebrows rose again, but he simply pressed his lips into a thin line, and nodded shortly. "Alright, then. Show me. Keep in mind, Ludwig – he may not be pleased to see me."

The look the German man was wearing was not encouraging. "Any sort of reaction would be an improvement."

While they had been talking, Germany had been leading the way up the stairs, towards the closed door at the top of the landing. He put a hand on the knob, and hesitated.

"You'll be – careful with him, Roderich?" His voice was very small for a moment.

Austria considered the blond nation, head slightly tilted. Without replying, he moved forward and pushed Ludwig lightly away from the door. The other did little to resist him. "I will do whatever I need to in order to get through to him, Germany." With that, Roderich seemed to collect himself, and pushed open the door.

It was only when the door was shut again that Ludwig realized that Austria hadn't answered his question.

He heard the door open, but he couldn't be bothered to turn his head to see who it was. Likely it was that short, quiet mannered person whom he could never really remember, bringing him something to eat.

"You look like shit, Gilbert. I must say, it's an improvement."

The familiar, pretentious voice convinced Gilbert that perhaps struggling into a sitting position was worth the effort. His chest throbbed painfully at the movement, and he felt his lungs tightening in protest, but he managed to fight free of the sheets. After a bout of coughing, he pushed his sweaty bangs back from his forehead and glared at the figure standing at the foot of the bed.

"Fuck you, Roddy," he snapped back, voice rasping.

"Oh, so there is some life in you. I'd heard you were dead." The Austrian considered his nails, looking completely bored with the entire situation. "I suppose I'll have to cancel the celebration, then?"

Gilbert couldn't help but grin, the muscles in his face complaining as they rearranged themselves into the unfamiliar expression. "Like anyone could kill this much awesome. The Russian didn't stand a chance."

"Apparently so. And yet he's walking around, and here you are, lying in a bed like an old woman."

"I am not –" Gilbert leaned forward, the protest catching in his throat and coming out as a wracking cough. He saw Roderich leaning forward in concern out of the corner of his good eye, and managed to wave the other off with his free hand. "Don't," he hissed out when he was finished, wiping his mouth on a corner of the bed sheet. "Not you too. Everyone around here treats me like I'm on my deathbed. I've got complete strangers edging around me like they're afraid I'm going to crumble to dust if they breathe too loud."

"Well, you have to admit… you do look like shit." Some of the pretention had gone out of the Austrian's tone, and Gilbert grinned again.

"Ah, see, I knew you cared about me deep down in there. Even you can't resist my charms."

Roderich's only response to that was the turn around and wrench open the shuttered windows to the room. Gilbert let out a strangled yelp as the bright light blinded him, raising his hands to cover his face.

"What the hell?" he said, eye watering madly. "Why'd you –"

"You said it yourself. Everyone's acting like you're on your deathbed. So let some light into this room, would you? There's no use locking yourself up in the darkness." Roderich frowned at him.

"Well excuse me, Austria, but I can't exactly stand up to open the window myself right now." Gilbert glared at him the best he could with one eye that didn't work, kneading his only useable one with the heel of his hand. It was starting to hurt a bit less now.

"Russia really did do something to you, didn't he? The Gilbert I knew wouldn't be sitting there and whining, he would already be back outside planning his revenge, or something equally as uncouth and stupid." Roderich snorted. "You're pathetic."

"Look who's calling who pathetic, you sissy. At least I don't parade around in girly clothing all the time." Gilbert continued to glare.

"Look who can't even get out of bed. And you think you're powerful. Feh. You probably will crumble to dust the minute someone touches you."

That did it. He wasn't going to sit down and listen to Roderich of all people tell him that he was being pathetic. With a growl that was more animal than human, Gilbert mustered all of the strength that he could find, and threw the rest of the heavy blankets off of his legs. The rush of cold air that greeted him was almost a relief. With another growl, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and threw his weight onto them in one smooth motion.

For a moment – a glorious moment – Gilbert found himself standing for the first time since waking up in this strange place. He lifted his head to mock Roderich, when his brain finally realized what he had been doing, and the room swirled around him in dizzying whorls. He got the faint impression of movement somewhere in front of him, before the world went black.

"– think you'd stand up, you thick headed –"

"Did, though," Gilbert muttered as the world came back. His head was pounding, but he forced his good eye to flicker open. "Now g'off me."

"I'm hardly on you. If it weren't for me, you'd be on the floor right now."

"Be less embarrassing," the Prussian grumbled, as Austria carefully let him sink back onto the bed, feet still planted firmly on the cool hardwood.

"Gilbert, you've been through a lot. No one's blaming you for needing some time to recover."

Gilbert looked up, then, and tilted his head. His eyes had adjusted to the light, and as he considered Roderich, he wondered when the other had become so adult looking. Surely he had been younger the last time they had talked. "Why can I understand you?" he asked suddenly, wincing as another throb of pain went through his skull. "'veryone else just sounds like – well, sounds."

For a moment, the Austrian had a faintly – Gilbert could almost swear it was a pitying look on his pointy features, but it passed before he could really be sure. Eventually Roderich just shrugged. "I couldn't tell you. Maybe whatever it is that lets you understand languages isn't working. You did get whacked around quite a bit, from what I hear. You probably just need some time."

Prussia fixed him with a doubtful stare, but dropped it after a moment. There wasn't any point in worrying about it now – for the moment, he needed to figure out how to get out of here. "Can you at least tell me where I am? They keep on babbling at me, but –" He shrugged helplessly.

"You're at –" Roderich paused. What could he possibly say that would make sense to a man locked away in his past, who had no concept of what Germany was, or who he himself really was. What he had done. "You're safe. Away from the Russian." The only look he got was a withering one. With the scar on one side of his face, it made the Prussian even more imposing than usual.

"You really think that shit's gonna fool –" Gilbert had started forward, eyes narrow, but his words caught in his throat again, and the white haired man leaned forward, coughing violently.

Roderich moved out of pure instinct, moving to grab the other's shoulders, rubbing his back slowly, keeping Gilbert from keeling right over onto the floor. The spell lasted longer than the others had, and the Austrian was beginning to fear that the other would start choking when the shudders running up his back stilled.

"… What the fuck is wrong with me, Roddy?" The Prussian's voice was strangely quiet, with a harsh edge to it.

"Nothing's wrong with you, Gil. You just –" Roderich's mouth tilted down into a tiny frown, not liking the other's tone.

"Just what? Need some time? I don't have time. I've got that… damn Lithuanian to deal with… people to pull together, feed… look after, and 'm sure… there's a huge pile of… paperwork tha' I need… t'get on with… burnin'." By the time he was finished speaking, the Prussian's voice was sounding breathy again, and he was reduced to coughing once more.

This time Roderich didn't let him speak again. When the coughing fit had subsided, the Austrian firmly pushed the other back onto the bed, with a promise to annex several regions to the Knight if only he would swing his legs back onto the bed.

"All you need t'do is cluck, Roddy… and you'd be a perfect… mother hen." Gilbert's words were getting fainter, and even Roderich could see the thin film of sweat beading on his upper brow. Ludwig had told him that he had been suffering from a near constant temperature, but –

"Gil, you're burning up." The Austrian held a hand half a foot above the other's forehead, and could still feel the heat rising up.

"Tell me something… I don' know." The Prussian's eyes fixed on the only face that had been remotely familiar to him. The only person who he could understand in this sea of strangers. "I know… they're drugging me," he whispered, as the Austrian leaned in to tug the blankets into position.

Roderich drew back, eyebrow slightly raised. "A bit suspicious, aren't you?"

Those same eyes rolled weakly, and Gilbert managed a snort. The exhaustion had crept up on him quickly. Five minutes ago he had felt slightly better than dead; now all he wanted to do was curl up and disappear. "'M sick, not stupid… I dunno what it is… stronger than the crap… my men use. Don' mind, though… jus'… don' tell them… Roddy."

The Austrian bit his lip, before nodding. The other's eyes were already sliding shut, and he doubted Gilbert saw the gesture anyway. This really wasn't good. If Gilbert of all people was admitting to needing narcotics… Gilbert, who he had known to refuse everything but a bottle of brandy before proceeding to sew up his own leg. Who had reveled in the pains from his injuries the way some children reveled in the feel of sunshine on their skin.

He stood there for a long while, staring at Gilbert. The other looked so lost within all of the blankets, his thin frame drowning in the bed. It was a startling contrast to the Gilbert he remembered seeing all those years ago - ragged, yes, and slightly bloody, but not this. Not this pale, slowly dying thing. It wasn't the way he had ever pictured the great warrior going. Surrounded by those he loved, unable to remember any of them because he was locked away in his own mind. No, Gilbert Beilschmidt was supposed to have gone out in a blaze of glory, laughing madly all the way.

"He broke you." The words startled Roderich, but he could not deny them. They had handed him to the Russian, and the Russian had found a way to crush the man they had all thought to be incorrigible. AT his sides, the Austrian felt his hands curling into fists. And I didn't even show up the day they handed him over. I was too busy licking my own wounds to give a damn about him, and when I started to, the Wall had already gone up. It was all I could do to get a scrap of news, and even then it was hardly anything...

"It's alright, Gil. For once, you can rest." Roderich reached out to brush a stray strand of limp white hair off of his forehead. Never before had that white hair been anything but fierce; now it made the man look ten years older. "We're here for you this time. I'm here for you this time. I owe you enough. He won't come near you ever again... no matter what you've become."

Matthew was awake by the time Roderich came tripping back down the stairs, his face slightly paler than it had been before. The Canadian made a faint noise of sympathy.

"It's hard, isn't it? He looks so different." He pulled a chair out for the Austrian, but the taller man just shook his head, looking at him curiously.

"I didn't think you knew Gilbert. Before all this, I mean." Roderich glanced sidelong at Ludwig, who was slumped over the kitchen table, eyes half open.

The Canadian nation chuckled in that quiet way of his. "Yeah, it's funny how many people seem to think that. I mean, it wasn't like we were close, but… well, he took notice of me. He was one of the only ones who ever bothered to speak with me." He looked away, abandoning his grip on the back of the chair to start puttering around in the kitchen again. "Does anyone want any breakfast? It's a bit late, but…"

"Breakfast would be nice," Roderich said, slightly wistfully. He had barely touched anything on the way here, but seeing Gilbert – he found himself suddenly drained, and wanting for something to eat.

"Right. Crepes, I think. Pancakes are too heavy –"

Ludwig lifted his head as Roderich finally took the seat, the Canadian's voice fading into the background. "So?"

Roderich sighed, shoulders sagging. "I don't know what to tell you. He knows who I am. He treats me the same way he always has." Though he hasn't called me Roddy since I took Elizveta into my house all those years ago… "But I think he's suffering from more than a cold compress and soup can fix. That cough of his… that isn't natural. When the humans sound like that…"

"They die." Matthew had appeared at his elbow without a sound, placing a bowl of freshly washed berries in the center of the table. "I know. When I was little… a lot of the explorers who came would start coughing like that. Most of them died soon after."

Ludwig shook his head, too exhausted to form a more vehement protest. "Gilbert isn't going to die. He's a nation. He can't."

"What nation, Ludwig?" Roderich's voice was soft, and he wasn't looking at the German. "East Germany ceased to exist when you broke the Wall down. That was all he had left. Without that, there is a chance that he'll…" The word was unspoken, heavy in the air, and none of them wanted to say it.

"Can you stay for a while?" The question came from Ludwig, who wouldn't meet his eyes when Austria looked up. "He's – well, you're the only one who can talk to him. You're the only one he's recognized so far."

"Are you sure he doesn't know who you are? I can't really tell where in the past he's gone and locked himself. Sometime when he was having troubles with Toris, but in those days, there was scarcely a year where those two weren't at odds." Austria reached out and snagged a berry in his long fingers. He considered the fruit for a long moment, before popping it into his mouth.

"He called me the Holy Roman Empire." Ludwig's voice was flat as he stared at the Austrian. Somewhere in the kitchen came the sound of running water.

Austria froze in the middle of swallowing. That would explain a lot, he thought to himself. Strange, how I never noticed the connection before. I suppose we were all so wrapped up in ourselves at the time… there were so many new nations popping up everywhere, it wasn't as if there was time to wonder at the similarities between a dead boy and Gilbert's new toy…

"Roderich?" The German's voice jerked him out of his thoughts, and the Austrian realized he had been staring.

"Oh –" He hastily swallowed, nearly choking himself. "Sorry. Holy Rome? I wouldn't put much stock in that." It isn't for me to tell you, Ludwig. "You do look quite a bit like him, but – well, he died when he was young. He's just a forgotten name in textbooks now."

"Oh." Ludwig stared emptily at the fruit in front of him. He looked like he hadn't eaten in days. "You never did answer my other question."

"Which other – right. Yes, I can stay for a while. I'll just write a letter, and have all my paperwork mailed here for the next little while." Roderich took another berry, but rather than eat it, began rolling it around in his fingers. "Ludwig," he said after a pregnant pause, "are you sure… are you that you got all of him back from the Russian?" He couldn't bring himself to say the huge nation's name.

Ludwig glanced up sharply. "All of him? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I can understand that you missed it… he's barely been awake, and in the dark at that whenever he is…" He had squeezed the berry too hard. The tough skin had split in two, and there was sticky juice running down his fingers now, red and vibrant. "Only… I opened the curtains in his room today. And I couldn't help but notice... his scarred eye is still red. Cloudy, but red. But the other one…" Roderich stared at the crushed berry sitting in his palm, the red pooling around it in a sticky mess. "It's the same colour as the Russian's are."

He could sense the German tensing without ever looking up. "What's that supposed to mean?" the blond ground out, showing life for one of the first times since Roderich had arrived on his doorstep.

"I've known Gilbert a good deal longer than you have. And while he curses just like he always used to, there's something different about him. I didn't need to talk with him for more than a few moments to figure that out. He's missing..."

"He's missing everything that made him Gilbert, Roderich. I know. You think I can't see that? He might not be able to understand me, but I can understand him."

The Austrian looked up, curling his fingers in a loose cage around the ruined fruit, and shook his head. "The fact that he has been..." broken hovered in the air, but Roderich didn't say it, "wasn't what I meant. I know that. I think, perhaps… that the Russian... has done something else. Has found some way around the reunion of East and West that we have yet to notice. I think that whatever came back across the Wall… while it might look like and talk like him... is not entirely Gilbert."

A/N: If you feel like killing me, you're entirely justified. I know I took far too long to get this chapter out. And part of that was reality sticking its greedy little fingers in the way, part of it was also because I just couldn't get back into the mood of writing this.

I don't really know where it's going. I have a vague impression of a final moment that I want to get to, but everything else is going to be trial and error of me hashing my way through.

To those of you who read to the end of this note... thanks for sticking around with me. I really appreciate it.

If you've read, please review!

Pheleon.