Chapter 14
Devil's Right Hand
Timo's wrath finally calmed, and his outings decreased.
Berwald was glad, but felt it had taken too long. Timo had put them all in danger, having no care that his desire for revenge would hurt those around him.
Hard to stay mad at him, though, when it was easy to understand how much it must have hurt him to see it all happening. How it must have felt to see a friend gunned down right in front of him. To see his home, under an iron foot.
The need to get even a little.
Timo was getting over it, slowly but surely.
Berwald couldn't remember having ever been so worried in his entire life as he was in this place. Every time he looked at the door, he wondered how long it would be before unfriendly faces stood on the other side. How long it would take before another mine was set off. How long it would be before the glass shattered, as a bullet took out one of the windows.
He worried about everyone, he worried about everything, he worried about Timo courting death, he worried being found out, he worried about the town being raided, but, god help him...
Kinda hard to keep his mind on it all the time when his bed wasn't empty.
Probably made him a terrible person, to let his mind get sidetracked so easily, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't focus.
Not when Ludwig was next to him.
It wasn't an every night event. Every night with both of them crammed into that poor bed might have eventually put them on the floor, so Ludwig only crept in once or twice a week. Maybe that was all he could manage without Lukas asking questions. Ludwig, bold as he was though, probably would have just said, had Lukas asked, 'Yeah, I'm sleepin' with Berwald tonight. See you tomorrow.'
Berwald would rather have had Ludwig beside of him every passing second, even more than every night.
That first night, he had been too stunned by the notion to raise up his arm and throw it over Ludwig's shoulder, let alone try to form words. He remembered, vaguely, waking up at some point in the night, and scooting himself closer to Ludwig. He opened his mouth, lifted his head, and had meant to say, 'Can we share the bed from now on?'
Ludwig's deep breathing and closed eyes had cut him short.
Ah, who was he kidding? Even if Ludwig had been awake, he still would have choked.
All the same, it had been nice enough just having company.
The next morning had gone as normally as every other, although he wouldn't lie and say that he hadn't been on cloud nine and jittery the whole day. He had thought that another border had been passed that night between them, that maybe Ludwig would start making bolder moves now, and yet...
Three weeks since then, though, and now things had become a little different.
Different.
He couldn't really put his finger on it, not exactly, but it was painfully obvious that Ludwig and Magnus had started spending more time together. And they had always spend an exorbitant amount of time together, so now it seemed that every time Berwald looked up, Magnus was stuck to Ludwig's side.
Couldn't say why.
But he knew that it irritated the hell out of him.
He couldn't figure it out. It was like Ludwig had just woken up one morning and decided that Magnus was better company than Berwald. He had gotten so used to Ludwig hovering over him every second these past months that it actually kinda hurt to see him doing the same to someone else. It had felt better when he had been certain he was the center of Ludwig's universe.
...egotistical, maybe, perhaps a bit selfish, but he had wanted Ludwig to keep paying attention to him.
Everyone else, on the other hand, seemed rather content nowadays, and that irritated him, too, because he felt that they should have been more in tune with his mood.
Yeah, sure, Magnus and Ludwig were always smiling, practically on top of each other every five minutes, motherfuckers, but he couldn't figure out why Timo was smiling with them. What the hell did he have to smile about? And Lukas— Well. Lukas was just Lukas. He didn't count because he always seemed to be in the same mood.
Berwald found himself brooding most days now, barely engaging himself in daily activities.
He picked at his food in the morning, sat alone on the back porch in the afternoon, and cleaned his rifle alone in the corner at night.
Hard to do otherwise.
He picked at his food in the morning because he could barely lift his eyes up for fear of seeing Magnus and Ludwig butting heads and whispering to each other. He sat alone on the porch in the afternoon because Magnus and Ludwig spent the day roughhousing and teasing each other inside like kids. He cleaned his rifle alone in the corner at night because Magnus and Ludwig shared the dusty loveseat to clean their guns.
His head had started hurting the other day and hadn't fuckin' stopped since. His mood had turned foul. Every minute of every day was spent glowering at the walls and plotting ways he could make Magnus look like a damn idiot and get Ludwig's attention back.
Childish?
Sure, but he'd acted far worse than childish in years past. Magnus should have counted himself lucky that he hadn't found himself on the end of Berwald's crosshairs yet. If the son of a bitch kept on touching Ludwig, though...
He sat at the kitchen table, one afternoon, brooding as usual, and hardly noticed that Lukas had stopped in front of him.
Only a poke in his shoulder got him to look up.
Lukas sent him a lopsided sneer, and said, suddenly, "Berwald, can you go out to the back and try to find the brush and bucket? This place is gettin' dirty again."
"Sure," he grumbled, because he was bored and agitated, and cleaning would be better than moping.
So he stood up, banged open the backdoor so hard that he was pretty sure he broke it, and started the trek up the hill to the ruined sauna where everything was stored.
His mind was always somewhere else.
He reached the top, grabbed the bucket that was by the side of the bathhouse, put out his hand, and pushed open the door without thought in search of the brush.
Steam was the first thing he noticed, and, fuckin' Christ, he shoulda known better than to ever listen to Lukas, because when the puff of steam cleared, what he saw was enough to actually make him gasp aloud. When was the last time he had gasped? Couldn't even remember.
Magnus had been out here for a few days now, messin' around inside, but Berwald hadn't actually ever thought he'd start usin' this damn thing, let alone convince Ludwig to join, oh god.
He caught a quick glimpse of Magnus and Ludwig, standing up and apparently in the middle of a bath, soaking wet and flushed red with the heat, and he was so grateful, beyond anything, that he had caught them before the towels at their waists had decided to drop.
Well! Well—wouldn't lie and say that seeing Ludwig like that was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Not nearly naked as he was, covered in steam and hair darker in the water, standing very much exposed. Maybe the towel dropping wouldn't have been so bad, after all.
Ludwig was a soldier, alright.
He'd glimpsed muscle beneath thin shirts and he'd been on the wrong end of Ludwig's wrath, but actually being able to see was a little different. It was easy to look at Ludwig and think of him as a kid when he was sitting there easily on the couch, clothed and relaxed and off-guard. 'Kid' wasn't exactly the first word that popped into mind though when Ludwig's physical physique was out in the open. Especially since the kid was in better shape than he was.
Strong thighs. Stronger arms. Firm stomach and wide chest. Muscle everywhere.
A trail of pale hair led down to his bellybutton.
No doubt, however, that Ludwig would have been more impressive still months earlier, when he had been fresh out of the army. Out here, he hadn't been doing much in the way of physical labor, and being a sniper wasn't really considered exercise. All the same, there probably wasn't a limb of Ludwig's that couldn't have killed someone.
Damn! He had let himself loose a little in these past years, and seein' Ludwig would have made him self-conscious if he hadn't been pretty damn mesmerized. Stupefied. The first time he'd seen Ludwig without the majority of his clothing. Worse things, that much was certain. Wouldn't cry about it if he had nightmares about this humiliation any time soon.
Magnus' mug kinda ruined the scenery, though. Coulda gone the rest of his life without seeing the bastard naked.
A long silence, as his brain tried to wake up again.
Magnus had dumped soap in Ludwig's hair and was scrubbing away.
Shock.
He remembered the bucket slipping from his fingers, and he remembered the horrific burn upon his face, and he was pretty sure that he remembered whirling around and raising a mortified hand to his forehead.
Oh, god. Fuckin' Lukas was a dead man when he got back in there and grabbed his throat—
"You okay?"
Far too loudly and far too stiffly, Berwald cried, "I'm sorry!"
A short silence, as Ludwig was no doubt staring at him in confusion, and then he asked, "For what?"
Hard to say.
It must have seemed strange to Ludwig, who had no doubt spent a great deal of time in less than private scenarios with his fellow soldiers, the way that Berwald had responded. And Magnus and Lukas no doubt had little qualms about stripping down in front of someone else, and Timo didn't, either. He might have been the only one here who would react with embarrassment. Hell, Ludwig hadn't even been naked—Berwald might have keeled over dead if he had been.
Not a death he would have lamented, to be fair. His gravestone would have read, 'I died, but it was absolutely worth it.'
He could hear Magnus behind, voice low and trembling as he struggled against the urge to laugh, as he muttered away to Ludwig in their private dialect.
Mortification mingled with something else. Something that burned and was exceedingly unpleasant, yes, but he wasn't going to call it jealousy. Had to be another name for it. All the same, when he reached down to grab the bucket again, it took an inhuman amount of restraint to keep himself from whirling around again and chucking the bucket right at Magnus' head.
Tempting.
Magnus suddenly burst into laughter, and Berwald finally talked himself into glancing back.
Magnus was leering away at him, teeth nearly stuck to his lip as he eyed Berwald lazily, and Ludwig had arched his neck back, chin tucked low as he studied Berwald curiously.
As if he were thinking, 'Jeez, what's your problem?'
If Ludwig was attempting to communicate with him, it fell on deaf ears.
He didn't understand.
Only one thing was exceedingly obvious to him; Magnus' fuckin' fingers, still scrubbing away roughly in Ludwig's hair. Every one of them seemed perfectly breakable suddenly.
It wasn't the steam then that was burning him.
Finally, Magnus heaved a sigh, shook his head in exasperation, and turned his eyes and attention back to Ludwig with a mutter. Ludwig opened his mouth as if to speak again, but his voice was promptly cut short when Magnus dumped a pail of water over his soapy head.
Feeling pretty terrible for some reason, Berwald took one last glance at them, and stomped off.
Now he was gonna mope, alright, and damn—had he ever thought that he had missed Magnus' company in a bout of group drinking? Because he sure as hell took it back. Nope. He wouldn't cry, wouldn't cry at all, if anything ever happened to Magnus.
When he trudged inside, he tossed the bucket irritably at Lukas and made a beeline for his bedroom, and when he threw himself in the bed, he rolled over onto his side and glowered at the wall for the rest of the day. And all night long, every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Magnus, fingers tangled in Ludwig's hair.
The next morning, Berwald woke up and realized that certain things had started irritating him.
A lot.
Maybe it was just being back in Finland, maybe he had just been in a bad mood lately, but goddamn it all if he hadn't suddenly seen Lukas with his arm around Ludwig's shoulder in the kitchen only to realize that he would have liked it better if Lukas hadn't been there at all.
Finland must have been putting him in a foul disposition. Exceedingly foul—he hadn't ever been mad at Lukas before. Not truly.
It irritated him when Ludwig's attention was focused on Timo, who often said stupid things and somehow got Ludwig to laugh for it. It irritated him when Lukas leaned down and whispered something in Ludwig's ear, and it irritated him more when a smile crept over Ludwig's face. It irritated him when Timo and Ludwig parted ways with a friendly bump of their fists. It irritated him when Lukas dragged Ludwig off into the solitude of his room. It irritated him when Timo fussed over Ludwig like a mother would.
And by god.
The urge to strangle Magnus had reached new, uncharted heights.
He couldn't ever remember hating Magnus so much. Not even back then.
Seeing Magnus now, it would have been more pleasant just to rip his eyeballs right out of his head than to sit there and feel that godawful burning in his chest.
To see Magnus walk up behind Ludwig and tackle him in a friendly embrace. To see Magnus reach out and ruffle Ludwig's hair with the other arm around Ludwig's neck. To see Ludwig standing before Magnus, placing money into Magnus' hand like a fuckin' banker, and to see Magnus grin at him so fondly the whole while. To see Magnus bump into Ludwig very intentionally and press their cheeks together like they were best friends (actually, they might have been just that). To see Magnus touching Ludwig, all the time, every moment he was able to.
Touching. Always touching.
Ludwig was guilty of touching Magnus as much as Magnus was of touching him, but that was hardly the point.
Friends? Bullshit—he didn't care if Magnus and Ludwig were best friends, blood brothers, real brothers, birds of a feather, fuckin' long lost cousins, Hamlet and what's-his-name, joined souls from a past life or whatnot. He didn't care what they were. Magnus touched Ludwig too much.
Berwald's fingers clenched so often around Magnus now that his palms had permanent indentations of his nails in a neat row.
Every single night, Magnus and Ludwig sat together on the shaggy loveseat.
And every single night, it burned Berwald a little more.
Smoldering.
Magnus had already taken Timo from him. He wouldn't lie and say that it was a completely rational statement, but it seemed like Magnus was tryin' to take Ludwig too, if only because he knew that Berwald liked him. Magnus had to have everything.
That was what he felt, childish or not.
Sometimes, though, when Ludwig looked up at him from above Magnus' head, he couldn't help but see the leer on his face and wonder if maybe Ludwig was fuckin' with him again. Maybe Ludwig was frolicking around Magnus so much in an attempt to make him jealous.
Jealous? Ha—for what? Nice try! He wasn't...
Ah, fuck it, just fuck it, he wasn't even going to bother anymore. Ludwig was around Magnus, and he was jealous.
There.
Actually, he was beyond jealous. More like infuriated. He couldn't ever remember feeling this way. This kind of rage had gotten him into trouble a long time ago.
He kept his gaze on them, always, and plotted.
Once, he had done everything in his power to distract Timo from Magnus. Now, he did the same with Ludwig.
As they had once tugged him back and forth, so they did now. No doubt Magnus' tugging was simply from the fact that he considered Ludwig a friend, and wanted to spend time with him accordingly, but Berwald couldn't help but think it was something else. Magnus already had Timo. What else did he want?
He was being childish, no doubt, but this bad mood just wouldn't go away.
Anyway, whether Magnus had any ulterior motives or not, he sure did seem thrilled that somebody was paying him the attention he no doubt thought he deserved.
Magnus said 'go', so Berwald said 'stay'. Magnus said 'left', so Berwald said 'right'. Magnus said 'up', so Berwald said 'down'.
Ludwig humored them, but Berwald found that unless he actually physically intervened, Ludwig would always heed Magnus.
Berwald found himself constantly restless. Agitated.
Maybe it was being trapped in the house that had him so foul.
Days came and went. The door seemed more appealing with every one of them.
They shouldn't, they knew it, but you could only be cooped up inside for so long before you wanted to go out, whether it could kill you or not. They had darted up to the sauna from time to time, quickly, but going any farther had been reserved for special occasions. Hadn't even left the porch unless necessary.
They crept outdoors, tentatively at first, and then grew a little bolder. Out in the distance, there might have been snipers, but they took their chances. Being inside every second was close to insanity.
Prison.
Going outside, although it was a wonderful feeling, was more of an instance of Berwald shooting himself in the foot, because Magnus and Ludwig, energetic as they were, just found more things to do.
Goddammit.
Together. Like always.
It pricked him more each day, and by the sixth consecutive day that Magnus led Ludwig to the front door and intended to drag him out to roll around in the leaves or whatever the hell they did, Berwald absolutely regretted ever opening the door in the first place.
If he had been foul before, he was just festering now.
Ludwig loved being outside, and that would have been great if it had been Berwald at his side instead of that loud-mouthed bastard. If Ludwig would have dragged him out the door rather than Magnus.
Berwald spent most of his time now in the kitchen, popped up on his toes and lifting the blind up with a finger as he glared through the glass at Magnus and Ludwig.
Maybe he had turned into a bit of a stalker.
Perfectly reasonable, surely—he didn't trust Magnus.
Whenever they trudged up the hill to the wooden bathhouse above and disappeared within, Berwald was fairly certain that he was one heartbeat away from having a coronary.
Felt more like summer, as hot as he was all the time.
The ninth day, Magnus stood on the porch, waiting for Ludwig, and Berwald managed to gather control of his hands long enough to reach out and grab a fistful of Ludwig's sleeve.
Ludwig fell still where he stood, quite tranquil beneath Berwald's grip, and waited patiently as Berwald tried to form words.
"Why don't ya just stay inside...today. For now. Erhm, that is, if you want."
Pitiful.
Ludwig's smile was a little knowing, and Berwald could only furrow his brow and hope that he hadn't made a fool of himself.
Magnus and Ludwig alone together was suddenly the most frightening thing in the world.
Ludwig straightened up, smile ever widening, and finally he said, "Well. I guess I could stay in. If you want."
Sure as hell did want that, and when Ludwig turned around and came away from the door, he had very nearly heaved a sigh of relief.
Tucking his hands in his pockets and lowering his chin, Ludwig waited for him to act. Almost like he had been expecting this.
Huh.
Berwald opened his mouth, and faltered, because what he really wanted to say was more like, 'If I see you hangin' around Magnus again I'm gonna punch both of you in the nose.'
Might not have gone over well.
Possessive? Nah.
...well. Maybe a little.
Seeing his immobility, Ludwig just sighed and shook his head, and then threw a heavy arm around Berwald's shoulders.
"Come on, then!"
Oh, god, the way his heart was hammering away coulda made him faint right there—
"What did you have in mind?"
He looked over, dumbly, and wondered if Ludwig would keep his arm there for as long as it took him to answer. Couldn't even think right, let alone speak, so he just stared at Ludwig and hoped he would lean over farther, maybe press their cheeks together as he did so easily with Magnus.
No go.
Ludwig just stood there, waiting for him to say something.
Waiting for him to say it, maybe.
It.
Saying it was exceedingly terrifying somehow, even though some kind of base had already been established between them. Ludwig kept staring at him, kept waiting, and yet he kept choking.
A sound at their side, as the door opened halfway.
Magnus poked his head in, and said, "Hey, Ludwig, come help me. I'm trying to fix up the backdoor. Keeps gettin' stuck for some reason."
...oops.
Without waiting for an answer he went back out, and Ludwig turned to Berwald.
"Well," he began, carefully, "I'll be back in a minute. Maybe you should think of something you want to do, and when I'm done, you can tell me."
Christ, if Ludwig were any more obvious he'd be beating Berwald over the head with a stick. And still, all Berwald did was nod his head. Ludwig left, Berwald moped, Ludwig came back, and Berwald choked.
In other words, a normal day.
Ludwig looked a little disappointed at his silence, but stayed there with him all the same that day. When this war was over with, maybe they'd be writing legends about Ludwig's inhuman patience. Sure as hell deserved as much study as any mythology.
Time passed. The trees stood bare.
Berwald found himself beside Timo one day, scrubbing clothes on the rippled board, and he glanced over from time to time, opening his mouth and then thinking better of it. He wanted to say, sternly, 'Listen here, you, keep your man away from mine.' The only problem with that statement, had he managed to say it, was that while Magnus was very much Timo's man, Ludwig was not his.
And another problem was that Timo didn't seem bothered by anything going on.
He didn't get that.
He didn't understand how Timo could sit there and watch Ludwig and Magnus all but nuzzling each other on the fuckin' loveseat and not get mad about it. He didn't get how Timo could listen to Magnus and Ludwig murmuring away in their own language and not feel a little threatened by it. He didn't quite comprehend how Timo could see them being together so often and not be irritated by it. How Timo could see Magnus keep an arm over Ludwig's shoulders and just not care.
Come to think, actually, Timo always just smiled, and sometimes he sent that smile in Berwald's direction. Timo must have seen something he didn't.
To be fair, though, lately all he had been seeing was red.
It was a lot easier to just want to murder Magnus than it was to try and figure out why.
It was probably around then that Berwald realized that Ludwig had turned him into a schoolgirl. Being jealous over absolutely nothing and glowering around corners. Rolling around in his bed in fits of angst. Whining in his head about how he was better than Magnus so by all rights Ludwig should be more interested in him.
He felt like he was sixteen years old again.
How embarrassing.
Next, he'd be scribbling love notes and shoving them under Ludwig's door.
In the end, he completed his clothes-washing without ordering Timo to tell Magnus where he could shove it, and tromped back inside.
...wonder how deep he could get Magnus under the dirt before he got caught. Couple of feet, at least. That damn hair probably woulda poked outta the ground and given him away, though.
Not the best way to spend his time, perhaps, and as it was, he wasn't the only one trying to murder Magnus. Soviet soldiers seemed keen on the idea as well, once they found their feet as a group again and started working.
It wasn't the first time he'd been to Finland, but it was the first time he'd been here that he had been responsible for the safety of someone other than himself.
Pressure.
None of them listened to him as it was, and to think that he would tell them to do one thing and have them do the opposite and get hurt for it was horrifying.
On second thought, it was more horrifying to think they'd actually listen to him for once and get hurt for it.
Timo stayed with them now, but still did very much whatever he wanted. Lukas came and went when he pleased. Magnus and Ludwig, of all people, were the ones who listened to him the most, but Ludwig had a tendency to embellish his orders a little and Magnus cropped off some edges.
He tried to keep them together in their own small group; Timo's friends, reckless as they were, didn't hold Berwald's interest. Let them do whatever. He'd be low-key and keep his men alive for it.
They spent most of their time nowadays just roaming the forests on the edge of the town, keeping an eye on the lines and making sure that no soldiers came calling. Odd jobs here and there, if Berwald found it to his liking, and once in a while they loaned themselves to towns outside.
The Winter War had officially ended, but many Finns seemed determined to drag it on for as long as possible. Sometimes they asked for help as group. Sometimes they only wanted one or two.
It was somehow worse, going with them by himself.
Worse still was sending Lukas or Magnus. Timo was an instigator here, but Lukas and Magnus went only because he told them to and because Timo encouraged them. Bad enough, but damn if sending Ludwig through the door didn't leave Berwald sitting there and feeling sick as a dog until he finally came back.
If anything happened to Ludwig, he was fairly certain that he would go and throw himself down into the damn lake. The thought of Ludwig getting gunned down with only strangers around him. Men who didn't know him, who saw him as more of a commodity than a brother.
How would they know that Ludwig wanted to go to the black forest?
For the most part, his constant fretting was for naught, and every time now that he had sent one of them or gone himself, they had all come back in one piece.
It was Lukas, of all of them, who got hurt first here in Finland. Actually, it was the first time since they had been together that one of them had gotten shot. Lukas, going out as he did without warning and without telling anyone.
Reckless.
It wasn't strange to wake up one morning and realize that Lukas wasn't inside, but he had been gone that entire day, and the night had fallen long before he actually came back. He stumbled through the door more than he walked in, and the stark shade of bright red stood out rather dramatically against the white of the coat.
A long, heavy silence, as they gawked at Lukas, nobody appearing to comprehend the scene.
It took a while to get moving.
"What happened?" was the first thing that Berwald managed to say, and Lukas just shook his head, looking foul and breathless and wincing when he struggled to get out of the coat.
Magnus rushed forward to help him pull it off, and Ludwig was already scrambling for their pitifully equipped first-aid kit. Timo grabbed the nearest rifle and ran out the door.
Berwald just stood there.
"Got spotted," Lukas finally grumbled. "Didn't see him 'til he was on me. Missed me though. I got him."
"Anyone come after you?"
Lukas shook his head.
"Missed my ass!" Magnus cried, when the coat was off and the blood pouring from Lukas' right shoulder was quite obvious.
All the same, Berwald felt his chest loosening, and he heaved a sigh of a relief. Just the shoulder. One shot, right below the collarbone. Nothing fatal. Could've been worse. So much worse.
He'd bitch at Lukas later. Not the right time now, and Lukas was as likely to whirl around and punch him than he was to talk to him.
How odd.
It was strange, to see Lukas covered in blood that didn't belong to someone else.
Magnus and Ludwig hauled Lukas down onto the couch, and Timo kept guard outside the door, just in case Lukas had been followed. Berwald, who probably should have been standing out with Timo, found himself rather fascinated with the happenings before him.
Drops of red dotted the wooden floor.
Watching Magnus gripping Lukas' arm in a vice and watching Ludwig poke at the hole in Lukas' shoulder was somehow exceedingly interesting. He couldn't say whether it was seeing Magnus and Ludwig working together for something so unpleasant, or whether it was realizing that maybe Lukas wasn't so invincible after all.
Maybe just getting a glimpse of what it looked like when their luck finally ran out.
A call of his name jolted him from his stillness.
"Berwald, get me a knife or something."
Ludwig was looking at him, expectantly, and it took him a second to react. He jumped a little and darted into the kitchen, opening drawers and searching for something useful. When he found a kitchen knife, a little dull but still functional, he brought it back.
Magnus took it, and doused it in alcohol before handing it to Ludwig.
Quickly, Magnus took a grip of Lukas' arm again, and when Ludwig and Lukas locked eyes, all Ludwig said was, "Please don't punch me."
Ludwig could see the irritability there, too.
"I'll try."
As an afterthought, Magnus took hold of Lukas' other arm, pinning them back.
With that, Ludwig suddenly dug the knife into the bullet hole, trying to dig the lead out, and Berwald was glad that Ludwig didn't speak Norwegian, because what Lukas called him then might have hurt his feelings otherwise. A minute of digging that felt far too long, gritted teeth and foul curses from Lukas, and then Ludwig finally managed to flick the bullet out.
No time to relax—Ludwig grabbed the alcohol and poured it straight into the wound, and even Berwald felt himself wincing a little when Lukas bit down to keep himself from screeching at Ludwig.
Were you supposed to douse an open wound like that? Oh, well. Ludwig had already done it.
Why couldn't they have ever come across a fleeing doctor?
And it might have been Magnus' firm grip, after all, that kept Lukas from punching Ludwig in the face, because he sure as hell was writhing and trying very hard to break free.
Berwald just stood there, and felt rather useless as Magnus held a squirming Lukas still and Ludwig did the best he could on the wound.
He looked down, at the bullet lying on the floor. Horrifying, to imagine such a tiny thing caused such destruction. If Ludwig ever got shot—
"I think that's as good as it's gettin'," Ludwig finally said, as he pressed the bandage as hard as he could against Lukas' shoulder, and Berwald could see the sweat on Lukas' forehead.
The crinkle of pain in his brow.
"Should you stitch it, you think?" Berwald asked, and Ludwig just pursed his lips.
"I don't know how. I'll probably make it worse. I think it'll be alright."
Magnus muttered, lowly, "You're such a lucky son of a bitch."
Lukas just smiled, a bit dazedly, and when Ludwig was done, he asked, "You're not gonna hit me, are you?"
A short silence, and then Lukas shook his head.
Magnus let go of his arms.
Lukas didn't punch Ludwig in the face, but he did lie a little; he jerked his left fist forward and dug it rather mercilessly into Ludwig's side, knocking the wind out of him for a second with an 'oomph'.
"I can't wait until you get shot," Lukas hissed, "'Cause I'm gonna have fun stabbin' you."
Ludwig, rubbing at his side and wincing a little, just smiled.
"Yeah, sure. You're all talk."
They left him there on the couch, took the bloody coat to the back, and Timo came in afterwards.
Berwald lifted his head, but Timo just said, "Clear."
A relief.
"Alright," Lukas finally said, a while later, and Berwald was pretty sure that he heard the smallest of tremors in his voice, "Somebody get me a drink."
Magnus tossed him a bottle, Lukas drank all night, and snow started falling soon after.
Five days later, Berwald finally gave Lukas the long lecture about going off on his own, and the whole time he felt a great sense of déjà vu, because he was pretty sure this was the sixth or seventh time he'd given this exact same speech.
Lukas just smiled, nodding his head even though Berwald's words likely floated out the other side, and before he knew it, two months had gone by and it was winter again.
Christmas was a little dreary, way out here in the middle of nowhere and without anyone other than themselves.
Magnus and Ludwig, usually so put together, had both looked pale and homesick as they sat huddled together on the loveseat, and that was the only time Berwald could recall that that fact hadn't bothered him.
At least not in the same way.
Bothered him that they looked so sad, yeah, but not that they were sitting together.
Timo and Lukas chattered about Christmases in their homeland, and Berwald just sat by himself and couldn't really even remember what the hell Christmas was.
A long time.
No doubt this was the first time Ludwig had been away from home for Christmas, and when he turned his eyes over and over again to the window, Berwald could only imagine that Ludwig was trying to see Germany all the way from here.
Depressing.
He caught Ludwig alone, later, and put a hand on his shoulder, but Ludwig's smile had only been half-hearted at best. Magnus probably coulda gotten him to laugh, though.
He felt sick, sometimes.
Days passed.
New years came soon after.
Sleet battered the roof.
Lukas' shoulder had healed up nicely. Ludwig was still sleeping in his bed at least twice a week. Everything seemed to be going alright.
That night, celebrating a new year and hopes that the war would end, everyone drank too much.
Far too much.
Lukas passed out on the porch, Timo could barely walk, Magnus leaned back into the sofa and found the ceiling exceedingly interesting, and Ludwig could hardly fuckin' talk he was so drunk.
Berwald wasn't too far behind them.
Magnus wandered off a while later, Timo disappeared somewhere, Ludwig probably couldn't remember where the hell he was, and suddenly it had seemed like a good idea to Berwald to haul himself to his feet and walk around.
As he passed the sofa, Ludwig reached out, maybe to grab his shirt, but he missed, and Berwald was too uncoordinated to actually make a turn then and go back.
It was hard enough tryin' to figure out what room he was in, let alone pull off a circle. He stumbled around, using the walls for support when he staggered, and when he rounded a corner, he found himself interrupting something intimate.
Very intimate.
Magnus and Timo, drunk as they were. Magnus was leaning down, murmuring away in Timo's ear, and Berwald had come in just in time to see Timo grab Magnus' belt and pull him backwards until they hit the wall.
Magnus tongue disappeared in Timo's throat soon after.
He froze where he stood, silent and still, as his shocked mind tried to comprehend the scene before him.
What he felt then was strange.
Discomfort, sure. Unease. Distaste, more than anything. Like he had eaten something that had left a very unpleasant aftertaste in the back of his throat.
But not jealousy. Not hate. Irritation, mostly. He furrowed his brow and felt the frown forming, and was irritated because it was pretty easy for his intoxicated mind to imagine Ludwig in Timo's place.
They'd been down each other's throats these past months (so to speak), so it wasn't much of a stretch to imagine that a drunk Magnus might just turn his affections to the next best thing when Timo was gone. If Timo hadn't been there in that moment when Magnus had stepped in, if Ludwig had been alone in the corner, it wasn't too hard to think that Magnus would have grabbed Ludwig instead.
His head was killing him all of a sudden.
Thinking too much.
He took a step backwards, meaning to retreat, but his clumsy feet betrayed him and he wound up bumping into the chair.
They looked up quickly, and Berwald was surprised at that because he had assumed it would have taken a good two minutes for Magnus to get all of his tongue back out of Timo's throat.
His restless feet were shuffling then.
The grimace must have still been on his face, because Timo was quick to give a mortified giggle and squirm out from under Magnus and make a break for the nearest bedroom as fast as his wobbly legs would allow.
Magnus meant to follow him, catching Berwald's eye as he went.
A long, scorching look.
Tipsy Magnus mistook Berwald's distaste for something else.
If ever Berwald had found Magnus mistrustful, Magnus found him to be in apparently equal standing.
Magnus spoke then, and what he said was nothing Berwald would have expected.
"Why do you still keep goin' after him, huh? I don't get you—you knew all along he didn't love ya, but ya still keep trying. Why can't you just leave him alone? He's not gonna fall in love with you, it's not gonna happen. Leave him alone. Timo never loved you."
On a normal day, his brain was slow enough to respond. Add on a few bottles of vodka, and he found himself standing there like an idiot, lips pursed and eyes squinted as Magnus berated him for no reason whatsoever.
Too dumb to speak up.
A year ago, this speech would have been warranted. But not anymore.
Magnus was confused. As irritable now as Berwald was.
Magnus had always been volatile. A drunk Magnus was a breath away from being completely irrational.
Insane.
"Leave him alone. Stop tryin'. Ha! For the good it would ever have done ya. The only reason anyone's puttin' up with ya at all is because we have to! Soon as this war ends, you can bet not a damn one of us will see ya again afterwards! Bein' around you is almost worse than runnin' into a fuckin' platoon. Can't wait to be rid of you. There's a reason you've always been alone. Always will be, the way you are."
The words hurt.
There had been a great misunderstanding between them, and Berwald found that he was just so damn angry that he couldn't even open his mouth and set the idiot straight.
He could have said, 'You can have Timo for all I care, you son of a bitch, just leave Ludwig alone,' but he didn't.
What he felt then was hard to explain, because he wasn't sure if it was hurt or wrath, or hate.
All three, likely.
He just turned his back then, and walked away. If it made Magnus uncomfortable, then let Magnus think that he was still after Timo.
Anything to make Magnus miserable.
It would bite him in the ass one day, no doubt.
At his back, Magnus spat, lowly, "Who could ever put up with you? I'll celebrate gettin' away from you more than I will the treaty being signed."
The fact that Magnus and Ludwig were so close made it sting all the more. If Magnus thought it, then who could say with certainty that Ludwig didn't, too? When they whispered to each other in their dialect, maybe this was what they said.
Because, nowadays, it was always Magnus and Ludwig.
Men of similar minds.
Magnus slammed the door behind him when he stomped into Timo's room, and Berwald somehow staggered to his own and threw himself down on the bed, palm pressed to his forehead.
Anger, throbbing in his veins.
Burning.
He didn't even have time to mull it over and calm down before Ludwig pushed open his door and leaned in the frame.
"Berwald?"
He just sat there, head rested in his hand, and did not respond to Ludwig's gentle voice.
It took him a second to gather the nerve to look up.
Ludwig was smiling at him blearily, and it was obvious that it had been a great struggle to make it this far.
Ludwig was drunk, that was obvious right off. Staggering around, he barely seemed able to see, and when he lurched forward and fell onto the bed, nearly taking it out, when he reached out and wrapped an arm around Berwald's shoulders, when he leaned in and pressed his nose into Berwald's neck, Berwald realized how out of it Ludwig was.
The smell of Ludwig would have been pleasing any other time.
Not so much now.
Ludwig was beyond drunk.
Blackout.
He'd never seen Ludwig this intoxicated.
Maybe that was for the best.
"I was looking for you. Where'd ya go?"
Berwald couldn't say, 'I was getting stomped by Magnus,' so he just stayed silent.
Ludwig didn't seem to mind much, and maybe somehow Ludwig knew everything, because he suddenly whispered, rather coyly despite the slur, "Magnus makin' ya mad, huh?"
The tone in which Ludwig said it made him think twice about everything that had been going on, and maybe if he hadn't been so knocked down by Magnus' words, he would have grabbed Ludwig's collar and taught him a rough lesson about the repercussions of intentionally trying to make him jealous.
Couldn't seem to get his arms working.
Ludwig only put up with him because he had to.
Nowhere else to go.
Even Ludwig nuzzling the side of his neck couldn't get rid of that voice.
Ludwig's other arm came forward, completing a loop around his neck, and suddenly Ludwig was pressing up against his side, closing any distance between them. Warm breath in his ear, a nose shifting strands of his hair, lips running down the side of his neck.
Fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt.
Heat.
The scent of alcohol.
Ludwig shifted his angle, repositioned his weight, and somehow managed to push Berwald far enough back onto the bed to start crawling on top of him.
He couldn't even move. His throat had clenched up.
The mattress sank in warning at the weight put upon it. Ludwig didn't heed it, and soon Berwald found himself completely underneath him, Ludwig's arms on either side of him as he sought balance.
Warm. Too warm.
A temporary situation. When the war ended—
Ludwig fell down on top of him, pushing him down with his full weight, face burrowing into his hair, and when Ludwig started whispering, purring out those 'r's that Berwald found himself so fascinated by, the heat was starting to become uncomfortable. The weight above him, that would have been a dream come true just a little earlier, was suddenly stifling.
Couldn't breathe.
Hands ran down the front of his shirt, and then underneath. Unbearable friction. Ludwig was trying very hard to incite him, and god, if only he could understand that it was working alright, but that there was just something nagging him.
Heavy breathing in his ear.
His heart was pounding so hard he knew Ludwig could feel it. He could feel him smiling in his neck, and his hands started roaming farther down. The whispering had turned rather husky, suddenly, and Berwald's non-fluent German couldn't pick up over half of what Ludwig was muttering, which meant that most of what he was saying was certainly nothing that would have ever come up in a civilized conversation.
The pit of his stomach tightened.
His hands flew up, and they would have grabbed Ludwig's waist if he hadn't caught himself at the last second and forced them back down to his sides.
Couldn't focus. Agitation.
The fingers under his shirt raked down, suddenly, nails dragging into his skin, and took hold of his belt. Ludwig's legs fell on either side of him then, and he found himself quite efficiently straddled, and even though this scenario had crossed his mind once or twice before, it felt wrong.
Wrong.
And not because Ludwig was drunk.
He felt sick all of a sudden.
If it had been a night earlier, just one night earlier, when Ludwig crawled on top of him, he would have sat still. It wouldn't have been right, nah, it would have made him the worst man in the world, but he would have done it all the same, because he wasn't a good person. When Ludwig put all of his weight against him and tried very hard to meld them into one, he probably would have grabbed his waist and ground him down harder. When Ludwig lowered clumsy fingers and dragged them down beneath the beltline of his pants, he probably would have lied there and let Ludwig undo the buttons. When Ludwig sank his teeth into his neck, he probably would have reached up and grabbed his hair and yanked.
He would have let Ludwig do whatever he wanted, just one night earlier.
He couldn't now. Not now. Magnus' words kept ringin' in his ears. Ludwig was only doing this because he was drunk.
...probably woulda grabbed onto the first person he laid eyes on.
Ludwig might lie in the bed with him some nights, but the second the peace treaties were signed, Ludwig would pack up his things and leave. Wouldn't even look back. He was just a loneliness fix, until the world was set right again.
Teeth grazed his neck. A soft moan of his name. Uncoordinated fingers tried to unclasp his belt, before getting irritated and the running below instead. He couldn't say when he had started holding his breath, but he felt himself grabbing Ludwig's arms and yanking them up out of his pants and back upright.
Ludwig slurred something unintelligible, and his smile held strong.
Berwald took Ludwig's wrists in his hands, pinning them still, and the bleary smile that Ludwig sent him somehow made his chest ache rather than burn.
Not fair.
Ludwig, misinterpreting his firm grip, squirmed on top of him and was apparently quite happy to think that Berwald was about to flip him over or force his hands lower, and, god, he could have fallen over and died for how awful he felt.
It didn't mean anything—never had. Just circumstances.
So Berwald flipped Ludwig over, alright, sinking ever lower into the collapsing bed, and when Ludwig was underneath him, he kept his wrists in a firm grip, and tried to slide himself to the edge.
It took a minute for drunk Ludwig to figure out that Berwald wasn't...doing whatever Ludwig had intended him to be doing.
He slipped his legs over the edge, found his foothold, and let go of Ludwig's wrists.
Ludwig sat up, after a tipsy struggle, and Berwald was quick to shove him backwards back down onto the bed. Not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to keep him from giving chase, at least until Berwald could outmaneuver him.
When Ludwig was trying to sit up again, Berwald bolted for the door. Ludwig gripped the blankets for support, and Berwald heard him slur, as he fled for the hall, "Wait, where're ya goin'? Haven't even started yet—"
Ludwig was too drunk to even get up to follow him.
He left Ludwig behind, stalked down the hall, and found himself outside.
The lake rippled below with the sleet.
His head was on fire.
Upside down. Nothing seemed right.
People did things when they were drunk that didn't mean anything. People said things without thinking that didn't mean anything. People put into stressed situations did things that they wouldn't have done otherwise, and it didn't mean anything.
And people fucked other people, even people they didn't really like much, and that didn't mean anything either.
Magnus and Ludwig, always talking.
He stayed outside all night, too afraid to trek back into the house even though Ludwig had no doubt passed out on his bed. He was glad that Ludwig was so drunk, because otherwise Ludwig would have hated him. He wouldn't remember this, and that was for the best.
Who knew? Maybe Magnus had been a blessing in disguise, because if Magnus hadn't said anything, then he would have let Ludwig do as he wanted, and when the morning came, when Ludwig woke up with a hangover, when Ludwig tried to figure out why he was so sore only to look over and see Berwald sleeping next to him, when Ludwig realized that Berwald had taken advantage of him in a vulnerable situation, then maybe the whole thing that he and Ludwig had built around each other would have crashed down.
He couldn't have handled that.
He would have gotten too attached, and it would have been devastating when Ludwig left for good.
Had to be this way.
Magnus was right.
Sometimes, in certain ways, Timo and Ludwig were so much alike. If Timo could never have loved him, then how could Ludwig?
He would always be alone.
Ludwig had come into his bedroom, and Berwald knew why; because Ludwig was lonely. This war was the only thing keeping Ludwig by his side. When it ended, Ludwig would leave. Ludwig's interest wouldn't linger afterwards, when the world was open to him again. An entire world, a handsome young man in the prime of life—what would ever keep Ludwig by his side?
He was nobody.
Ludwig had a bright future, and he wasn't anywhere in it.
What was the point? Keeping his distance from Ludwig was better, so it wouldn't sting quite as much when he finally went off on his own path.
'41 was suddenly well on the way.
Not fair.
The way Magnus and Ludwig spoke to each other.