A/N: I'm sorry for taking so long with writing this chapter. I hope it was at least mildly worth the wait and hope you enjoy it. Thank you for all your very kind reviews!
"Wendla Bergman was a wonderful girl, an archetype of innocence, purity and kindness," the pastor bellowed, his voice echoing throughout the large stone church. Hanschen pretended to listen, his face passive and expressionless, but his eyes were on the boy sitting two rows in front of him, whose eyes were wide, body language defensive and bottom lip was quivering. Hanschen clenched his jaw. He wanted to comfort Ernst in some way but they were separated, divided by their parents and family members who placed their hands on each other's shoulders and looked at the coffin with commiserations and pity. Hanschen's mother, however, was just as focused on Hanschen as he was on Ernst. She eyed him up and down, inspecting him as she always did down her long nose, waiting for him to make an inevitable mistake and embarrass her as expected. Hanschen let out a silent, exasperated sigh and focused his eyes back on to the pastor. "Let us focus on the joys and successes of her short life rather than its end."
"How did it happen?" whispered Georg inconsiderately.
"Anemia," Hanschen drawled, only to be shushed by his mother. The pastor paused but continued.
"Sadly the time has come for Fraulein Bergman to end this life and to pass on…" Ernst coughed painfully, obviously distressed. Hanschen couldn't help but bite his lip nervously at Ernst's anguish. The pastor looked at the small school boy, a mix of confusion and sympathy on his face. He sighed and turned back to his speech. "Although the time that Fraulein Bergman spent in this life has been brief…" Ernst let out another strangled wail. "We know that she is now with God in eternal…" Suddenly Ernst stood up with a loud screech of the wooden pew and ran out of the church. The door slammed behind him, echoing through the hall. The people inside began to whisper and gossip. The pastor tried to continue but their voices were too loud and he could not be heard. Hanschen instinctively deserted his family and chased after Ernst, leaving his belongings as he ventured outside. The rain which had forced them inside earlier poured down relentlessly against the cold gravestones and caused the grass to be soft and sink underneath Hanschen's feet. A short distance away stood a small, thin figure with its back turned to him. The figure's head was bowed and its shoulders shaking. Hanschen moved towards it and stood nearby.
"You're missing the ceremony," Hanschen said emotionlessly. Ernst turned around, surprised that anyone had followed him. He grabbed his quaking shoulders defensively and looked out across the hundreds of graves.
"Do you think it hurts…dying?" Hanschen paused, not knowing how to reply.
"I don't know," he finally said. He didn't like seeing Ernst like this. He wanted to comfort Ernst but he didn't quite know how. At least he could tell the truth and not gloss over the situation; he owed Ernst that at least.
"Remember this?" Ernst pointed at the floor overly casually and dug his hands into his pockets. Hanschen peered down and looked at the slate tombstone.
"Moritz," he said in a low voice. Ernst nodded.
"We were here so recently, mourning when Moritz…but he looks as if he has been here for years." Hanschen eyed the stone. Shrubs and overgrowth had already begun to crawl over it and the dirt and dust had turned to mud in the rain, making Moritz' name almost unreadable. "Nobody visits him anymore, do they?" Hanschen's silence was a good enough answer. "He's forgotten, Hanschen." He put his hand on Ernst's shoulder and turned the younger boy to face him. Tears were pouring down Ernst's cheeks as Hanschen caught his eyes which had been rubbed raw. He looked at the floor and took a deep breath, trying to stop crying, wiping his eyes with his sleeve cuff but it was pointless; the raindrops mixed with his salty tears, made it impossible to dry his wet face.
"Come inside," Hanschen said, fondling the fabric of Ernst's sleeve with his thumb as his hand rested there. "You're getting wet."
"So are you." Hanschen laughed. It hadn't occurred to him and, even now, he didn't care. He didn't matter, not now anyway; Ernst did. The younger boy looked down at the memory of Moritz, already suffering from decay. He moved away from Hanschen and dropped to his knees before the older boy could protest, pressing his knees into the soft mud. Hanschen watched as the boy lovingly wiped away the mud from the stone. "I won't forget you, Moritz," he whispered. Hanschen stood behind him as he, with his hands covered in the sludge, then attempted to tug at the shrubs and offending grass. The roots were strong and the reeds slid against his grasping fingers. "I won't forget you," he repeated, his failure making his attempts more frantic and desperate with each hopeless try. He bent deeper down in to the mud, covering his jacket and britches as he did so, determined to not let himself be beaten.
"Ernst…" Hanschen sighed worriedly.
"No, Hanschen!" Ernst shouted, "I won't! I won't!" Hanschen bent down and took Ernst in his arms, pulling the few reeds of grass from Ernst's trembling fingers. His shoulders shook and he lurched forwards, trying to pull away but Hanschen held tightly on to him, not letting him go. He shushed Ernst like a mother calming a child as their bodies pressed closely together. "We're all falling like flies, Hanschen," Ernst cried, "one by one. First it was Moritz, then Melchior and now…"
"Sssh," Hanschen interrupted, "we're not them. Who says we have to have the same fate?" Ernst tried to protest but Hanschen shook his head. "Look," he said, taking the younger boy's face in his hands, "I'm not going anywhere, alright?" His own heart twanged nervously as doubt rushed through his mind. He instinctively held Ernst's head against his heart protectively. Ernst wrapped his arms around Hanschen and pressed them firmly against his back in some form of trust. Hanschen bit his lip and breathing heavily, uttered the promise once more, trying to convince himself as much as Ernst, praying that he was speaking the truth; "I'll never leave you, Ernst, never."
