A/N : Yeah. Long time, no see. You hate me, I know. I'm sorry. That's all I can really say. I finished the other two, so this is the last of the holy trinity. Here's the deal; I have about twenty days before the borders here open (if they make up their mind and stop pushing it back) and I can start moving again, therefore I will be on limited time and when I make it back home, I can't guarantee anything from there. So. No promises, but effort will be given, as long as I can stop screaming at my computer screen about how stupid these guys are. ...it's a problem.

Chapter 20

Understand Your Man

Nightmares.

They had always been a curse of his, those awful nightmares, and probably always would be until the day he mercifully died. He suffered as much when he slept as he did when he was awake. Had his entire life, and he had accepted he would never be rid of them. This time, though, the nightmares had stopped. Gone. Vanished. None this time. No sleep, no nightmares. Hadn't slept in days. Couldn't. And if he didn't sleep, then he couldn't dream.

No nightmares.

In fact, there was no nothin'. Blank space.

Reality almost seemed worse than nightmares these days, at least from what little of reality Berwald was actually aware of. Those days, the world was a blur. Couldn't see it, couldn't smell it, couldn't hear it. Couldn't grasp it. Ever since that moment, that second the snow had turned red, it seemed that everything had shut down. He had gone completely into autopilot. Had gone through those awful spells of deep depression before, where everything was numb and simple tasks were difficult, but had never once experienced such utter shock.

Had never once been catatonic, until that day.

He didn't remember how he had gotten back to town. Didn't remember how he had wound up there on that sidewalk. Didn't remember when everyone had gathered together in the street.

Berwald had just floated above them.

Could see them, could see Timo and Magnus and Lukas, but couldn't hear them when they spoke.

Berwald had watched as Magnus had stalked around in circles in a furious panic, had known from the expression on his face and the way he was waving his arms that he was shrieking, but the sound was gone. He had watched as Lukas, always so cool and prim, was wide-eyed and ruffled and waving his hands threateningly in Magnus' direction, fury there upon his face. He had watched as Magnus had shoved Lukas' chest in anger, had shoved Timo away. He had watched as Ludwig had rested so still upon the ground, outside of the first buildings of town, as far as Timo had dared drive before he had pulled over in fright. Berwald watched as Timo's Finns hovered over still Ludwig, and everyone, everyone, everyone was rushing, everyone was panicking, everyone was sprinting and running and hurrying.

Everyone.

Not Berwald.

He had just sat there on the curb, legs splayed out before him and arms resting in between, and watched everything passing in a blur. Slow. He felt no rush. Time was slow. Just watched everything unfold as it would as a bystander.

One of the Finns had been ordered by Timo to keep Berwald above the water; there were hands on his shoulders, sometimes there was a gentle slap to his cheek, and sometimes he was given a shake. Didn't register any of it. Just kept watching the scenery through the veil.

Ludwig wasn't rushing either; just inert there on the street. No movement. He hadn't moved once the entire time.

Magnus and Lukas were screaming at each other, on the brink of leaping at each other and throwing down there right in the street. Those two loved each other, but in that instant they truly looked like they were intent on hurting the other. When Lukas was angry, he bristled up like a cat, his legs splayed and his fists clenched, and it might have been the only time that Berwald could have said that Lukas downright terrified him, or would have, anyway, if he had been able to feel anything. When Lukas was angry, it was like staring into the abyss.

Why were they fighting? Why were they going at each other like that?

...didn't matter.

Shock and pressure and panic brought out the worst in a man. None of them were any exception, and when Magnus struck out, for the first time, and punched Lukas in the face, Berwald didn't even lift a brow or flinch. Brawling seemed so boring, so dull, against that bright shade of crimson that soaked Magnus and Timo.

Ludwig musta been bored, too, 'cause he sure as hell hadn't moved or talked.

Some part of him was aware when Magnus had snatched something from Timo's hands, when he had sat down on the dirty street right beside of Ludwig, when one of the Finns had taken off his belt and looped it around Magnus' arm, when there had been a gleam in the light, when Magnus had looked pale.

Lukas hovered above and away, watching on but no longer speaking, holding his bloody nose and looking oddly alarmed. Eyes wide as could be and breathing though his mouth. Ha. Funny, seeing Lukas like that. Woulda laughed, had he been able to find his voice or any sort of coherency.

Faint. In and out.

Ludwig was blocked from view then, as other men knelt before him.

Caught glimpses of metal glinting in the pale light. People passing things to the kneeling men.

Magnus kept getting paler. Started closing his eyes and lowering his head as if he were suddenly sick. Afterwards, the Finns had to hold him upright. Timo was holding something. Flashes of red. Magnus panting through his mouth and sweating. Lukas hovering, pacing relentlessly, the hair on his arms standing upright in the cold and looking so panicked, blood all over his face. Lukas stopped sometimes behind Magnus, and looked like he wanted to just grab him and throw him off the top of a building.

Join the club.

Timo darted away suddenly, to the edge of the street, and bent over. Lukas was white as a sheet, staring down at that obscured Ludwig, and seemed horrified by something and yet unable to look away.

The sun started going down beneath the horizon. Stars appearing faintly in the orange haze. Seemed so colorless. Bland.

Night.

That must have been why he felt so tired.

The next thing Berwald really knew, he was in a room somewhere, and he didn't know where or what time it was or what day it was. Just nothing. Everything was so quiet. Ludwig wasn't there. Alone.

Ludwig hadn't moved, not once.

No nightmares; woulda traded them, would have taken them all back, would have lived through them every single night for the rest of his life, if Ludwig would only have moved. Just once.

The clock stood still at midnight.

Catatonia.

His hands couldn't really work without Ludwig holding them.

Lights.

Thought they were fireflies at first, like they had been that night.

That night; seemed like a distasteful memory now.

Far away, blurry, orange. Glowing and shimmering from within the darkness. Distant, garbled sounds. Whirring. He felt as if he were hovering on some brink, the edge of some cliff that he couldn't see. The great precipice beneath his feet.

A long darkness, that he felt like he'd been walking through for years. Distant voices on the horizon and yet not a word of it truly audible. Shadows and glimmers of colored light. He'd been wandering for years, and nothing had been in sight. Glimpses of things from time to time. Sometimes, the feel of hands, but always gone before he even thought to look.

He lingered there above that ledge for eternity.

Whispering.

Sometimes one of those whispers would get clearer, and he could have sworn that it was Gilbert's voice. That old voice, that loving voice, that rough and crass voice that had always turned so soft when Gilbert had been speaking to him, and it was that voice, that memory, that kept him from taking a step forward and plummeting over the edge. That voice led him back. That memory led him back. He came back from the edge in search of Gilbert's voice.

Had wanted to hear another voice, had wanted to feel those hands, but couldn't get to them through that darkness. Something in the way.

Gilbert pulled him away.

Another step back. The cliff distanced itself from him.

He stepped back.

The fireflies suddenly came out in full force; everything was orange. Too bright. A great haze of light.

Not fireflies, after all; the lights shifted from orange to yellow, and then white, and then, suddenly, his eyes were hurting and so was his head, and his chest was very much on fire. The cliff had turned into acid. He came from the blackness of nothingness into absolute agony. Hurt so bad he couldn't even breathe. The lights were painful. Sounds were painful. Touch was painful. Being awake was painful. Thinking was painful.

Throbbing.

Beneath him, cool fabric. Didn't know what, didn't know where he was, didn't know why he hurt so bad, why he couldn't breathe, and beyond it all, he didn't know why he was suddenly so cold.

Freezing.

Consciousness came back before any of his senses, and he dug his fingers into the fabric beneath him and tried, with everything he had, to push himself upright. Got two centimeters before his vision went blacker than it already had been, his hearing was replaced with ringing, dizziness rushed up out of nowhere, those bright lights came back, and the next thing he knew, he was laying back down and hands were on his chest.

Had just enough awareness to know that he was lying down somewhere, and that he couldn't get up. Passed out trying to sit up. Didn't understand at first, but he realized it once his brain started whirring back up. That feeling. Stuck in place as it was, unable to move, and so cold.

So cold.

He was shivering, suddenly, so hard that it made that agony all the more unbearable. Couldn't stop shivering, even though the motion itself was killing him. Hurt so bad, so fuckin' bad, he was about to pass out again, he could feel it. Couldn't even really remember what the hell he had done to himself to feel this awful. He was dying.

Pressure. A crooning whisper.

He heard himself whisper, despite not consciously controlling his voice, "Where's Gilbert?"

Low murmurs and conversation. Couldn't grasp any of it.

Gilbert's voice had been there, he was so sure of it.

Familiar hands upon his chest. Just not the ones he had been used to feeling lately. Lately...? How long ago was lately? Felt like he had been gone for years. Dazed. Still lost in the dark.

The distant sound of a rifle.

Right. A gunshot; that was what had done him in. He remembered. The Red. He was far away from home, and Gilbert wasn't here. Somehow, that didn't even seem like the worst part.

A voice.

His brain was slowly able to process speech again, and words flooded in over the whooshing.

"Don't move. You gotta be still. Sit up and you're gonna pass out again."

A familiar voice.

A familiar voice, because he knew right off that it was Timo, and familiar hands, because he had very recently realized how similar those hands were to his own. Timo was above him, could feel him and hear him, even though he couldn't yet focus his eyes enough to see.

Timo.

Why was Timo here? He had left them. He had left Timo behind. Had left all of them behind, his brothers, and hadn't ever planned on seeing them again.

Once, he had loved the feel of Timo's hands constantly upon him. This time, as Timo ran a hand over his forehead, sweeping back his damp bangs, as Timo ran hands down his neck and whispered, mostly to himself, "You're still so cold," as Timo pushed a blanket down firmly above him and then sat down beside of him in an effort to give him warmth, Ludwig just wanted to squirm away from him, but didn't have the strength.

Go away.

Wanted Timo to go away, but he wouldn't, and Timo was suddenly all but laying atop of him.

Ludwig loved Timo, he really did, he loved that man as much as he loved Magnus, as much as he loved Gilbert, but couldn't seem to stand the feel of him in that moment. Couldn't stand the smell of his hair. Couldn't stand the mixture of cologne and sweat and distress, couldn't stand the scent of Timo. Couldn't stand the sensation of Timo's chest above his own.

Another hand was suddenly upon his brow.

The worst part of the entire bleary, painful ordeal was that, beyond anything, Ludwig just wanted it to be Berwald above him and Berwald's hand on his forehead, but even through his daze he knew somehow that Berwald wasn't nearby. Couldn't feel him.

Out of nowhere, then, his vision cleared. The dark receded. He could see again.

And suddenly there they were.

Those men.

Faces he had never thought he'd see again. Brothers. Friends. The only people he had ever wanted to be around and at the same time the people he never wanted to lay eyes on again.

His friends.

Just as he had already known, Berwald wasn't there; the hand on his forehead was Lukas'.

He felt dumbfounded then, completely at a loss for coherent thought, let alone speech, and just focused his eyes and glanced at them all in turn. Even moving his eyes at all hurt his head, as much as breathing was hurting.

A meeting of eyes, and Lukas was suddenly leaning down, a break of emotion over his face as he smiled enough to show his teeth and crinkle his eyes. A soft, eager, "Ah! Hey. There are you. Thought we lost you."

From the way he felt, Ludwig wasn't going to deny the fact that they still might. Felt closer to death than life.

Ludwig tried damn hard to get his brain working, but it was taking a long time, and he turned his eyes over to Timo, who was on his side and propping his head up with his palm.

Timo smiled at him, but not quite as amicably as Lukas had, and his voice was much lower and less gentle when he said, "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Time to wake up." A lower tone. "Well. If you wanted a break, you know, all you had to do was ask. Didn't have to get shot. I've never in my life had to see a fuckin' operation performed on the goddamn street in the middle of town. Never again. Honest to god, never again. I actually threw up, can you believe it? Me! I threw up. Can't remember the last time. You know the shit I've seen?"

Lukas murmured, rather drolly, "It was rather...gruesome. I've never seen an artery being clamped and stitched back together—"

Timo physically shuddered; Ludwig could feel it there above him, and Timo interrupted, spitting crankily, "Stop. Don't. I'm tryin' to forget."

Ludwig couldn't find his voice or his thoughts, and felt ashamed. Was barely lucid, hardly conscious, and was somehow able to feel that awful surge of shame underneath the daze, strong as it was.

Embarrassed.

Everything seemed quiet and awkward, suddenly, or maybe that was just the way his mind was making it seem. Lukas and Timo were smiling, but Ludwig felt so stupid and so humiliated all of a sudden that somehow their smiles only made him feel more shame.

Red drew his bleary eyes over. Fuzzy crimson, sharpening slowly into a form.

Magnus.

Brother.

Magnus sat in a chair in the corner, straddling it backwards and resting his arms up on the head, and the first thing that was noticeable about him was the sheet-white shade of his skin. Dark circles under his eyes. Cold-sweat on his forehead. Pulse hammering in his neck and shaking hands. He was using the head of the chair as a pillow, chin upon folded arms and staring over at Ludwig blearily. Looked like hell.

No doubt he and Ludwig looked very similar in that instant.

Couldn't seem to look over at Timo, but Ludwig opened his mouth and said to Magnus, or tried to say for his rough voice, "What the hell happened to you?"

Magnus seemed to perk up at the sound of Ludwig's voice, and Lukas' hand on his forehead flew up onto his hair. Timo's smile became real. Ludwig came back to them, and they seemed happy, whatever Ludwig was feeling, and Magnus had lifted up his head to answer Ludwig's question.

A long, slow incline of Magnus' head, and a weak, crooked smile.

"You. I got the short straw."

Lukas interrupted, "Bullshit. He volunteered. Couldn't anybody else even get a word in, since he was already stabbin' the needle in his arm."

It took a minute for Ludwig's tired mind to get it. Took him a second to understand what they were getting at. Everything had been red.

Ah. Yeah, that figured.

He coulda died, not just for the bullet, either, but still he closed his eyes and croaked, weakly, "Oh, man. I got your blood, huh? Of all people. No wonder I feel so shitty."

Despite the obvious dizziness, Magnus burst into laughter, and buried his face in his folded arms, groaning, "God! Shoulda killed off your sarcasm first before I brought you back to life."

Ludwig could only lie there, and didn't know what else to say. What could he say? 'Thanks for saving my life, Magnus, but hell, if you hadn't told me the truth I wouldn't'a got shot in the first place.'

Didn't know what to say.

Magnus had saved his life. For the next few weeks, Magnus' blood would be running through his veins. How strange. Brothers now more than they had ever been. Connected. Gilbert was gone; Magnus was blood now. Ludwig didn't want it, hadn't wanted it, didn't even want to be here, but he didn't have a choice in the matter and it was already done. Magnus had saved his life, and Ludwig didn't have a choice but to be in his debt, whether he wanted to be or not.

They all had saved his life, not just Magnus, but all the same Ludwig would eventually leave them behind. Maybe he would try to teach Magnus to shoot, something stupid like that, just to feel like he had accomplished something, and then he would run again.

Soon, one way or another, another blood brother would be gone.

So, finally, Ludwig heard himself whisper, "Thanks."

No answer.

Magnus just stared at him from over those awful veils of exhaustion, and looked so sad. So distraught.

Things got quiet.

Magnus looked up a while later, the smile gone off of his face, and he whispered, "I was sure ya were dead. I kept thinkin'... We didn't know what the hell we were doin', you know? I coulda killed ya, tryin' to save ya. If we weren't the same type, I coulda killed ya. You got so lucky. I—I got lucky."

An odd trailing off, as if Magnus had something else he wanted to say, but he stopped there, and fell still.

Timo's hands were on his chest again, and Ludwig squirmed. Why was he so uncomfortable at Timo's touch? He never had been before.

Oh. Yeah. Ha. Because Berwald loved Timo. That was why. Because those hands were the ones someone else wanted to feel. Berwald loved Timo. Berwald had always loved Timo, because Timo was worth it. He had just been too dumb to see it. Too blinded. Too close to the situation.

Damn. Just wanted to go back to sleep.

Timo's hands wouldn't let him.

Everything was quiet, painfully so in fact, and maybe Timo was far more awkward than he looked, because eventually he stood up, removed his warmth from Ludwig, and took his leave. Lukas followed him. Then it was just Ludwig and Magnus, and Magnus tried hard suddenly to stand up, but only made it a few seconds before he tottered back down, looking dizzy and pale.

As forced into immobility as Ludwig was.

Finally, Magnus said what he had wanted to say earlier, and god, Ludwig wished he hadn't lived to hear that damn miserly tone of voice from Magnus, not Magnus, who always tried so hard to be cheerful.

"I felt so... Thinkin' that you were gonna die, and I gave you such a hard fuckin' time for wanting to fight the Reds, 'cause they're my guys now, like you said, and thinkin' that my guys mighta killed you, when you guys here are the only people that were ever nice to me— I ain't good for anything, you know, but you guys never cared. I couldn't stand to lose any of you. God, if you'd gotten killed 'cause of me, I don't even know. I'm not like you guys. I can't do what you guys do. I know how much it means to all of you, and I know I talk a lot, but I'd stop fightin' if you'd all let me. If just one of you guys would stop, I would too. You're all so brave, you're not afraid of anything, but I get so scared when shit like this happens. Oh, if it ever happens, when it happens, if one of you—"

He stopped short.

Magnus couldn't say, 'If one of you dies.'

Then Magnus looked at Ludwig, and muttered, miserably, "I never wanted anything to happen to you. I'm sorry, I was stupid. I shoulda got it all together first. I shoulda planned it better. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to mess everything up. You gotta believe me. I didn't... It was my fault. My fault that you got shot, that's why I had to do it. I had to. If you hadn't woken up, I don't even know what I would have done. I owed you that. We're even. Right? Please, tell me we're even. Don't hate me. I'm so sorry, you don't know."

Not Magnus' fault. His own, for being brash and stupid like he always was.

Not like you guys? Didn't Magnus understand that Ludwig felt that way, too? He hadn't ever wanted to fight in this war, hadn't ever wanted to be here anymore than Magnus did. He and Magnus were the most alike. Neither one of them really felt like they belonged.

And if Berwald ever by some miracle said he wanted to stop, Ludwig woulda stopped.

...would have. Didn't matter anymore.

Maybe he and Magnus should just go their own ways. Set off and see what happened.

Timo wouldn't ever stop, and if Berwald was following Timo, then what was the point? He and Magnus shoulda just gone off back to Sweden or somewhere and see what they could find. Neither of them seemed to be too useful out here. All they did was get others into messes. All they ever did was cause trouble and rile everyone up. They would get someone other than themselves killed, eventually. Ludwig might have been the one to bring down Lukas, inadvertently, and one day Magnus would get Timo killed.

They should go.

Wanted to say it, too, and when he reached out with clammy fingers to grab a hold of Magnus' sleeve, he opened his mouth.

Didn't get a chance; Lukas had come back into the door, and Ludwig fell still. Wouldn't say it in front of the others. Could only wait to get Magnus alone after he healed up, perhaps, and ask him if he wanted to join Ludwig on his next desperado run. Magnus shouldn't be here, either.

Lukas hauled Magnus upright with a grunt, carted him along and out of sight, no doubt to throw him back in his own bed, and just when Ludwig thought his suffering was over and he was alone, Lukas came right back.

Hovered over him, staring at him in that unnerving manner, and Ludwig shifted anxiously.

Why couldn't they just let him be alone for a while?

Saw Lukas' black eye, then, and wondered if maybe his foolishness had harmed the others in some way. Wouldn't surprise him.

The first thing Lukas said to him, when they were alone, was a quick, rather brutal, "You're really stupid, you know? You're really, really, really stupid." The words might have stung a little more if Lukas' hadn't said them with that lopsided smile he gave when he was content, and added, "I'm surprised you even lived to see your fifteenth birthday, you're so dumb. How'd a guy like you ever make it this long without dying, huh? I don't get it. You got some kinda luck."

And, well. Lukas was right, so Ludwig snorted, tried his damn best to smile, and somehow wound up groaning into his hand in an odd mixture of elation and misery, before muttering, with a gesture towards Lukas' bruises, "Likewise."

The same could be said of Lukas and he knew it, and then Lukas reached out and put his palm down yet again on the top of Ludwig's messy, dirty hair.

A more honest, "I'm glad you're alive, though. I guess."

Couldn't really say, 'me too', so instead Ludwig whispered, "Thanks."

And Lukas, sharp as anything, caught that, too.

A whisper.

"Well. Can't die yet. Think you owe Magnus one first. Pay that off before you try something stupid again."

Goddamn. Lukas had a point, and he knew it, and he hated Lukas for it. Hated that guilt. That shame.

He turned his head away, embarrassed, and tried to change the subject with a gruff, "So what happened to you?"

Didn't work as well as he had thought it would, because Lukas said, "Magnus and I had a little disagreement about you, is all."

Hadn't expected that, hadn't expected that Magnus and Lukas would ever physically fight. Timo and Lukas had seemed so much more likely to get into it these days, the way they had been tiptoeing around each other. The way Timo punched.

Breezily, Lukas carried on, with a matter-of-fact voice, "He didn't wanna wait to see if we could figure out what kinda type you were. I was a little scared, to be honest. Coulda killed ya, you know, him not wanting to wait and check, and I wouldn't let him do it so he clocked me one and did it anyway, but hell. Guess it's good he didn't wait. Don't think you woulda lasted until then. We got lucky."

Didn't feel so lucky. Felt sick still.

A stillness, and then Lukas' voice was ever lower as he said, in a bit of a chide, "I know you're still a kid, but maybe think about things a little better next time, hm? Work on that anger, a little bit. You're too impulsive."

Oh, that miserable shame he felt.

Lukas was right to shame him, too, because it had been Lukas after all that had been with Ludwig as he had been too proud in that forest and had gotten lost for it, and now Lukas had seen a second instance of Ludwig acting before thinking.

When Ludwig was silent, Lukas reached down and squeezed his shoulder, gently.

"Rest, now. Don't move around. You're not out of the woods yet. I'd hate to go through all of this trouble and then lose you. Don't even think about giving up, alright? I mean it. I'm watching you."

Lukas always was in some way, it seemed. The way Lukas was, it sometimes felt like he just materialized from shadows and was always hovering around even when he wasn't in the room.

What could Ludwig say to him, really? That he didn't plan on lying back and giving up and dying, but only because he owed Magnus? Couldn't say that, although Lukas already had. Couldn't admit that he would focus on recovering and pulling through, but only so that he could screw his head on and then run again.

Was it possible to die of humiliation? Guess not; he was still alive by the time Lukas left him alone a bit later.

Alone.

Time crept along, stuck in bed like that and hanging in death's door.

One person was absent.

Berwald still didn't show his face. Ludwig wasn't sure whether he should laugh or cry. Maybe it was for the best, the more he thought about it. What would he even say?

'Thanks for coming and saving me, but I wish you hadn't.'

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Sorry you can't have who you want, but I don't want to be a surrogate.'

Stupid.

Couldn't even look at Berwald. Wouldn't be able to talk to him. Anyway, Berwald probably wasn't coming because he knew he had been had and there was no longer any point. Ludwig wouldn't give him what he wanted anymore, so why bother with half-assed visitations?

Oh, how long would it be before he could walk? Had to get the hell out of here.

As he had years ago, all he could do was stay in bed and wait for another chance to escape.

Harder this time around; that time he hadn't been this bad off, not this bad, even after all of that. It would take him so much longer to get back on his feet after that bullet, and who knew how long he would be trapped here, having to avoid Timo's gaze and suffer Lukas' attention and silently grovel at Magnus' feet and pray that Berwald never showed his face and try not to die of humiliation in the meanwhile.

So embarrassed over the whole damn thing.

Oh, Timo—

Just wanted to pin this whole thing on Timo and call it a day, and couldn't have that either. Hated being only able to blame himself. Felt so much worse. Timo was Ludwig's favorite person, and was the one causing him the most strife, in every possible way. Timo had been the one man here that truly aligned with him, with every sentiment and every goal. Could always rely on Timo, could always turn to Timo, because he knew that no matter what Timo would always have his back, because they were all brothers, but he and Timo were countrymen in a sense. The closest they could get, and for that having Timo be the cause of this pain just made it so much worse.

Loved that miserable, cranky, temperamental, crass, charming bastard, so much, and couldn't wait to never see him again.

Couldn't wait to never see any of them again, come to think.

Wished he coulda told them all that, too, as they hovered over him.

They were so patient those days in the hospital, so quiet and so careful, and finally it was Timo, as always, that said to Ludwig, "We're gonna sit down and have a talk together, all of us, but only when you're better, alright? When they let you go, when we can take you home, we'll talk. Until then, just rest. Don't worry about anything else but getting better."

Talk. Didn't wanna talk, because there was nothing anyone could have really said that wasn't entirely demoralizing. Nothing could ever be said that would have made Ludwig feel like he hadn't proven himself to be the biggest failure in the history of freedom fighting. Nothing could ever be said that would make him feel less hurt, less pathetic, less ashamed, less guilty.

He'd been nothing but trouble for these men, since the very first day they had had the misfortune to encounter each other.

They had to have lost all respect for him. All admiration. Back to square one. Anything he had ever done with them must have seemed meaningless now, after all of this. How could they ever take him seriously again? How could they ever trust him with anything?

Couldn't, they couldn't ever trust him again, so he had to go, as soon as he could.

Felt so sick.

No talk they could ever have together would fix things. Wouldn't erase it, and above all else it wouldn't make the Finns in town forget. Timo's guys were integral to what role Ludwig played in this land, in this war, and if Timo's guys wouldn't accept Ludwig in their group anymore then his time was over.

Who was he kidding? Had been over the minute he had taken that car.

Time dragged in a merciless lurch, as faces came and went. Awaking sometimes to hands upon him, checking his temperature and pulse.

He had awoken to Timo's hands upon him, but the only hands he had ever really wanted were Berwald's.

He counted down the minutes.

Days passed before Ludwig finally saw Berwald, although he could never have accurately said how many.

Ludwig briefly wondered what the big oaf had been doing, and then promptly realized he didn't really care too much. Would rather not have seen him at all. He just looked up one dreary day, through that exhausted daze, and saw Berwald standing there in the frame. Ludwig felt his mouth open, but he thought better of speaking, and abruptly turned his eyes back straight ahead.

Took Berwald a long time to step through the door.

Ludwig wished he hadn't.

Berwald's appearance was a little more haggard than Ludwig had expected. Hadn't been sleeping much, that was obvious right off. Looked strangely vulnerable in that instant, his hair sticking out all over the place, his clothes as wrinkled as could be, skin pale and wan, cheeks dark with stubble, and even his glasses were crooked upon his equally crooked nose.

Berwald looked like he had just crawled up out of that ravine that Ludwig had nearly stepped into.

Still damn handsome, though, in Ludwig's eyes, and Ludwig hated him for that.

When Berwald finally opened his mouth and spoke, the first thing he said was, "Why did you leave?"

Or, at least, that was what Ludwig thought he had said.

Days of not sleeping and stress and apparently being half-dead had taken their toll on Berwald's speech, and his bad German went from just bad to downright horrible. Nearly incomprehensible. As if, in some way, Berwald just didn't even care enough anymore to even try to form actual words and was just making them up as he went along.

To be perfectly honest, Ludwig wasn't actually sure what Berwald had said, and so he just turned his head away, and tried not to let that hurt creep up. Should have been the bullet-hole that hurt the worst, that stung, that made his chest ache, but he was pretty sure that it was something else.

Berwald. Loved that man so much. Letting him go hurt. Letting Berwald go. Neither of them would be happy; Berwald wanted Timo, and Timo wanted Magnus. Ludwig wanted Berwald, and Berwald wanted Timo. How sad.

Berwald took another wobbly step forward, reaching out to grab the chair for balance, and he unsteadily sat himself down. And then he just sat there, sat there, silently, and stared at him.

For hours.

What the hell was he so upset about, anyway? After all, Timo was still safe and sound.

Bitterness, more than anything, was what he felt then. Not anger, not hate, nothing like that. Wasn't sure that he could ever have felt those for Berwald, not Berwald. Couldn't even have that, because the bastard had never lied to him. Couldn't hate him. Just felt a rather dull sense of distaste. Resignation.

Berwald had never lied; had never said anything at all.

They sat there in silence until nightfall, when Lukas came to collect Berwald and drag him away, to Ludwig's great relief.

That was the only time Berwald came.

It may have been three weeks later that they finally let him out of that tiny hospital. Had stopped counting days, and they really only let him go because there was such limited room and so few supplies. Other men needed it, and so now that Ludwig wasn't immediately dying he was shoved out of the door and left to his own devices. Just slapped him on the back and said, 'Good luck!'

Timo had no doubt been the reason they had even kept him that long, and Timo looked cranky and foul when they discharged Ludwig, and he muttered to Ludwig, as they picked him up, "Shoulda just risked trying to take you down to Helsinki. At least they'd'a kept you 'til you weren't half-dead."

A little late for that.

Couldn't even walk yet, so Timo and Magnus picked him carefully up under either arm and literally carried him home.

Ah—! Could it possibly get any worse? Was there no end to the shame?

As soon as they dragged Ludwig through the door and put him in bed, Ludwig quite literally crawled under the blanket and burrowed away. Couldn't even look at them.

And there he stayed, for days.

Must have been obvious to them how he felt, because they avoided him unless it was necessary, and sometimes Ludwig could hear that Berwald had opened the door and was trying to come in, but someone always grabbed him and hauled him back out with low words.

The humiliation truly was unbearable. Disgraceful.

The longest days of his life, he swore it, huddled up there under those blankets and trying so hard to vanish from the world entirely. Counting down every second until he could stand up and then get the hell out of here, but this time with a much clearer head.

Timo had promised they would have a 'talk', but so far there was only silence, but likely because Ludwig was ever huddled up under his fortress of blankets and pillows. Lukas must have been sleeping on the couch or with Berwald, because he never came in except to change his clothes, and in those moments he didn't say a word. The only interaction Ludwig received those days was when Lukas yanked the blanket back temporarily every morning to make sure that Ludwig was still actually alive.

Sometimes, he didn't even do that, choosing instead to poke at Ludwig gently through the blanket, relying on Ludwig's irritated swatting to alert him to life beneath blanket mountain.

Ludwig huddled there in that stale daze and wondered, dumbly, if he would even actually survive if he ran again. He was still clinging to life rather weakly, and there was absolutely no guarantee that he wouldn't just take a turn for the worse at any given moment.

A mercy, at this rate.

Late at night, when everyone else was asleep, Ludwig stood up and tried walking. He paced, as far as he could, and had passed out on four separate occasions upon standing.

Still, he pushed on, spurred on relentlessly by damaged pride and the flight response.

And still, no one made a conversation with him, and maybe in a way he grateful for that. Maybe they were waiting until he was better, until he wasn't cold sweating and pale and half-dead. Maybe they were afraid that having their 'talk' would literally make Ludwig drop dead, and for some reason they seemed to be striving hard to avoid that.

Glad they waited, because the time had finally come, one cloudy night.

When he was finally able to stand up without passing out on a consistent basis, two long weeks after coming home, Ludwig figured that was good enough, slowly got dressed and grabbed his bag, and tried to make for the door. Didn't know where he was going. Anywhere but here, really, and he planned on just walking off along the road until he reached the next town, and just winging it from there. Getting the hell out of Soviet Finland and into sovereign Finland for starters.

Wasn't exactly stealthy about it though, clumsy and unsteady as he was, and didn't get more than a few steps before Berwald was on him. Must have been camping outside the door this whole time. Came out of nowhere, it seemed. Materialized right out of the shadows.

Startled the hell out of him, to look up and see huge Berwald lumbering towards him in the dark. Hadn't seen him in all this time, in over a month, and it was enough to cause Ludwig to stagger to a halt there in the hall.

Berwald; how odd. Like seeing a phantom.

Honestly, Ludwig could have easily escaped Berwald, because if Ludwig was unsteady and dizzy and uncoordinated, then Berwald was practically just a tottering broomstick, feet dragging along and sometimes leaning so far forward that Ludwig thought he was going to plant face-first into the floor. Berwald was graceless by nature, but had never walked like that.

When Berwald opened his mouth to speak to Ludwig, he started speaking in Swedish. As if Berwald weren't really there at all in his head and was functioning entirely on instincts.

Felt so damn miserable and disheartened by that that Ludwig just fell still there by the stairs and let Berwald catch up to him. Why? He just wanted to leave, so why did he stop? His feet felt so heavy.

Berwald stopped before him, swaying as he was, and kept on blabbering away lowly in Swedish. Ludwig finally had to say, as his shoulders slumped in defeat, "I can't understand you, Berwald."

A long silence, as Berwald trailed off and fell still. Looked so lost. And Ludwig only felt worse when Berwald suddenly sucked in a great breath, squinted his eyes, hung his head, and looked an absolute twitch away from bursting into tears. Had never seen him like that, and it was the most pitiful thing Ludwig had ever seen, it really was.

Ludwig looked Berwald up and down, and realized what an absolute wreck Berwald was. Ludwig was the one half-dead, and yet somehow Berwald looked worse than he did. Looked as if he had stopped caring about everything. His clothes were wrinkled and mismatched, he hadn't bothered shaving in probably weeks, his hair was messy and tangled, longer than usual. His glasses were barely on his face, hanging off the bridge of his nose haphazardly.

A long, awful silence as Berwald attempted to compose himself and find a shred of clarity.

When Berwald finally found his voice again, after what was clearly a very intense mental struggle, he spoke in German, but only barely.

"What're ya doin'?" he asked, coming up and grabbing Ludwig by the arm. "Yer not supposed to be walkin'. What're ya doin'? Go lay down. Yer gonna hurt yourself."

Could hardly even understand at all what Berwald had said to him, because his German was so mangled suddenly, hardly comprehensible, as if forming words in anything other than Swedish was just too great a task for his shattered mind.

Ludwig just stood there and stared at him, still caught in that awful immobility. He felt like he stood there forever, Berwald's hand on his arm.

Couldn't stand it. The feel of it.

Somehow, he found enough strength to shake Berwald off, and say, as sternly as he could, "Don't touch me."

If Berwald was still then, as Ludwig took a few more wobbly steps, then it was likely only because he was too damn confused to really understand what Ludwig had said.

Berwald came after him again quick enough, and once more grabbed his arm. Irritation and anger began rising, and Ludwig once more shook himself loose.

Still, Berwald just didn't seem to get it, didn't seem to comprehend, and said once more, "Go lay down before ya hurt yourself."

Ludwig scoffed, and turned aside.

Berwald not getting it—story of his life. Had never gotten anything, the great big idiot, not a damn thing, and so here they were.

Ludwig took another shaky step to the door, and once more Berwald reached out to grab his arm.

This time, Ludwig twisted and shoved him back, Berwald stumbled a few paces and caught himself on the side of the staircase, and Ludwig made his voice harsh and deep when he said, "Get away from me! I'm leaving. Don't bother coming after me this time. I mean it. I'm gone. Good luck. All of you. But I can't stay. So—! Bye."

He turned and meant to flee, coward that he really was, and was actually shocked when Berwald disobeyed him and once more grabbed his arm before he could get to the door. This time, the grip was tight, painful, and Berwald wasn't easily shaken off.

Ludwig lifted his eyes then and finally gathered the nerve to truly meet Berwald's gaze, firm and strong, for the first time since he had learned that Berwald was in love with someone else.

And all he saw there was hurt.

Berwald's barely-comprehensible words were low. Dreary.

"Ya don't have to go. Ya don't, you can stay, just..."

Berwald trailed off, brow crinkled in confusion and looking dazed and lost, and Ludwig eventually pried himself yet again out of Berwald's grasp.

Felt awful, so Ludwig hammered the point home by reaching out to the corner and grabbing up his forlorn rifle. The point was clear :

'I'm leaving. For good.'

And that point must not have sat very well with Berwald, because the very second Ludwig had taken that rifle into his hands, it was as if the gates of the abyss had opened up there within Berwald and all of that confusion was replaced by rage.

Berwald's voice went high, nearly a shriek that was cracking with the effort, extremely terrifying, and Ludwig was actually rather glad that he didn't know what the hell Berwald was saying when he screamed at him then, as he had once more slipped into Swedish. Berwald reached out and ripped the rifle right out of Ludwig's hands, slamming it into the staircase and bringing it down upon the railing.

The hairs on his arms had stood up, at the sound of Berwald's voice.

The rifle hit the staircase with enough force that it broke neatly in two, the wooden handle flying across the hall as it dislodged from the steel. The glass in the scope cracked.

That rifle. Berwald had loved that rifle. Always had. Berwald's favorite.

Berwald's rifle. Ludwig's rifle. But not theirs. His or Berwald's. One or the other. Couldn't be both. They didn't have anything together. Not together.

...not theirs.

They weren't together. Never had been. There had never been any 'together' except for what he had created in his head.

Heavy steps suddenly on the stairs, and Timo came bounding down, messy-haired and wide-eyed and very clearly on the warpath at all of the commotion, thinking Ludwig was escaping. Behind him trailed a terrified looking Magnus.

When Timo saw that Ludwig had already been wrangled, sort of, he spoke to Berwald, low words, Berwald responded, and Timo reluctantly went back upstairs, pushing Magnus along, as Berwald no doubt told him the situation was under control although it was nowhere near finished.

Ludwig wasn't conceding that easily.

From the look on Berwald's face, however, when he suddenly marched on Ludwig, Ludwig was fairly certain he was about to meet the very same fate as that rifle.

Not too far off; Berwald took the bag from his hand, threw it aside, and then he grabbed Ludwig's collar up in his hands and pushed him back until he had slammed him up against the door that Ludwig had been trying so hard to reach. Violently slammed, actually, so hard that the wind was knocked out of him and dizziness came immediately up, and from the sudden warmth leaking down his chest he knew that his wound had reopened.

The world went black, the dots of light came back to dance across his vision, as Berwald throttled him there and tried very hard to shake what little life was left right out of him.

Berwald was giving him a very furious tongue-lashing then, no doubt, but the stupid son of a bitch was still yammering away in Swedish, and when Ludwig's vision cleared and his senses returned, however dully, he grabbed Berwald's wrists and shouted back, "Shut up! You wanna talk, huh? Let go of me! I'm so sick of you, I really am! Get offa me, and if you wanna talk then fuckin' do it where I can understand you!"

Berwald had not, in fact, shut up as Ludwig yelled back at him, and really they didn't accomplish too much then, screaming at each other in different languages and both too angry and dazed to really even know what the hell was actually going on.

But then Berwald gave him another slam, forcing him into silence again, and finally managed to scrounge up enough brainpower to find his bad German.

"So talk then! Ya always say I can't talk, and I know I can't, but you don't either! You never say anything either, do ya? Ya just run away! So talk! Why d'ya keep doin' this? Where're ya goin' now?"

Ludwig filled in the blanks to Berwald's mangled speech, pieced the words together in his head, and tried to wriggle out of Berwald's clutches only to fail miserably. Couldn't get away from Berwald on a good day, let alone like this.

It was true, yeah, and that was why he tried to escape then, because actually sitting down and talking seemed to be too hard for either of them. Childish, foolish, but that was just how they were.

Frustration was overwhelming when he just couldn't get free, and he heard himself utter, in a pitiful rumble that was hardly audible, "What do you want? Just let me go. What am I even doing here? I don't belong with you guys. I never did. I never had anything to fight for. Let me leave. You don't need me."

They accomplished nothing, and they never had. On opposites sides they stood, held together only by thin friendship. They had different ideals and different goals, different beliefs, and in the end they didn't matter to the world at all.

This stupid little group had only ever caused Ludwig strife, however much he loved them.

Berwald didn't need Ludwig, never had, anymore than the world needed Berwald.

Folly, all of it, and they just went along with it because it was better than sitting still and just waiting to see what would happen. Ludwig had stayed for Berwald, because being in love felt better, but there was no more point in staying now that that was gone.

Berwald shook his head, although his grip didn't slacken, and he said, so much more gently, "I do need ya. We all do. Ya can't go. Timo would—"

Hearing Timo's name coming from Berwald then reminded him quite harshly of how they had gotten here, and Ludwig struggled again, breaking Berwald off and forcing him to replant his feet and brace himself once more.

Another slam for good measure.

Damn—it was gonna be Berwald that actually killed him at this rate, and that time it was a bit too much, and Ludwig blacked out for a moment.

Ringing in his ears.

A hand pressed into his chest suddenly, and when the darkness had gone, Ludwig realized that he was slouched against the wall, sitting on the floor, and Berwald's palm was pushing against his wound.

Red.

Berwald tried to stop the bleeding he had started, staring at Ludwig as if Ludwig had somehow been the one to shoot him, and when Berwald spoke again Ludwig couldn't really hear him at first, so low was his tone and the ringing in his ears too loud.

"Ya can't go. If ya... Please. Stay. Ya don't haveta fight. I know I said it—but just stay. Stay here. Ya don't haveta fight, really, if ya don't wanna. Just stay."

Why? For what? For whom? Just sit here all day, every day, contributing nothing and hiding away from the world? Was that what Berwald was saying? How stupid! The others would never accept that, never, and especially Timo, whose passion was boundless and very overwhelming. If Ludwig ever said he didn't want to fight anymore, Timo would have never forgiven him and would have immediately cast him out.

Ludwig fought off the spinning stars long enough to grumble, bitterly, "Some leader you are."

Far from hurt, Berwald gave a very odd, breathless smile, almost hopeful in some way, and he quickly replied, "I'm not the leader. I never was. It's just— We talked about it, when ya were out. Timo's the leader now. He always was. He just has the title now. I was never the leader, really. Everyone always followed Timo."

Yeah.

Everyone sure did, and Ludwig tried so hard to meet Berwald's eyes then, knowing that his face was ever falling.

That didn't change anything at all, it really didn't, because, like Berwald had said, it had always been that way, and Timo taking an official stance, verbally taking command, was only a formality. Timo had always been the leader, love-struck Berwald merely trailing behind him in a daze.

Ludwig said, again, "Let me go."

Berwald just shook his head, looking so defeated suddenly, and he muttered, in the most pathetic voice Ludwig had ever heard, "Why d'ya leave, huh? I don't understand. Why couldn't ya've just talked to me? I don't understand. I don't. I thought you loved me, I did, and no one's ever... You can't go. Please, please, say somethin', I can't... I can't stand it. Talk to me, do what you want, but please don't go. Stay. Ya don't haveta fight. Just stay."

So hard to understand Berwald's slurred speech.

Just wanted to go back to sleep, suddenly.

All Ludwig could think of to say then was a very dreary, "I'm sorry. I know I kinda look like him, and I know you want that, but I can't stay. I want to be with you, but not like that. Sorry. I can't. I owe you guys so much, but I can't give you that. I can't keep letting you pretend that I'm him."

The stupidest thing to ever come out of his mouth, and by far the most embarrassing.

Berwald's brow scrunched up, as if he were trying to understand what Ludwig had said, shaking his head a bit to himself, and then he just rather sort of collapsed a bit. Slumped. He let go of Ludwig's collar, withdrew the hand covering the wound, and the next thing Ludwig really knew, Berwald had fallen backwards onto his haunches and Ludwig was clenched up against his chest.

Utter exhaustion was the only reason Ludwig lied there placidly still in Berwald's arms, face pressed into Berwald's chest as Berwald buried his face in Ludwig's hair.

Felt so damn good to be in Berwald's arms again, and that was rather unfair.

Berwald started speaking suddenly, and the voice that came out of Berwald's mouth, then—nothing quite like it. A rather sensational thing. Low and almost breathless, hardly a whisper, as if Berwald's rough voice had gotten so low that it had been forced upward by his chest rather than his throat. Half of whatever he was saying was lost to the atmosphere. In a way, the most beautiful thing he had ever heard, that tone. Berwald's words might not have made sense anymore, once more in that instinctive Swedish, but they didn't really need to; not when used in that voice.

Almost reminded Ludwig of those days in childhood, when Gilbert had hunkered down in bed with him and told him a story to get him to sleep.

That voice. Love, in audible form.

That was the voice that had brought him back from the edge of that abyss. Had it really been Gilbert? Not so sure anymore. Maybe that voice he had been desperate to hear had been there all along.

Long minutes of Berwald murmuring away in his ear, the most that silent Berwald had ever spoken in all these years put together no doubt. Didn't know if Berwald was lucid and comprehensible even to himself in that moment. Seemed rather dreamlike, a bit out of it.

It was in that moment that Ludwig realized he was done for. He caved in, just hearing that voice. Submitted. Couldn't have left Berwald then even if he had been physically fit for the challenge. Could never have turned away after hearing that voice.

Berwald had ruined him.

Ludwig reached up, clung to Berwald's collar, and collapsed against him. How had this man ever turned him into such a mess?

Eventually, Berwald seemed to calm back down enough to form sentences in mostly-coherent German again, he sat them upright, Ludwig on his knees between Berwald's splayed legs, and Berwald's bloody hand had fallen back down to the wound on Ludwig's chest. Pressure returned.

"You're crazy, ya know," Berwald suddenly griped. "Crazy. Never met someone as crazy as you. Not ever. And I really love ya for it. Please don't go. I love ya. How could ya have thought I didn't? I'm sorry. I shoulda said it, maybe. What else do ya want me to say?"

Pale and trembling, Ludwig still tried his best to give Berwald the old crooked smile. He was kinda crazy. Always had been, just a little. Berwald didn't help matters much, because if Ludwig felt crazy on a good day, then when Berwald was around him he felt pretty damn insane.

Trickling blood through Berwald's fingers.

Wasn't sure if he was dizzy then because of the gunshot or because he was in love. Both, maybe.

"Please stay," Berwald beseeched again.

Only Berwald had really been able to make him smile like that.

So, Ludwig spoke up, and asked, "Do you want me to stay?"

Just wanted Berwald to say it. Wanted all of this running around to end. No more dancing; just straight answers. Wanted Berwald to put his foot down, and settle it. Wanted to hear it. Wanted Berwald to open his mouth and tell Ludwig what was what. Wanted Berwald to be stern with him. Wanted Berwald to put him in place.

He did.

This time, there was no hesitation. No second-guessing. No choking. Clumsy Berwald knew what he wanted to say, and said it.

"Stay."

Not a question, not an option, not a suggestion. A command, stern and firm. Berwald ordered him to stay.

Stay.

And this time, Ludwig obeyed. He stayed.

Berwald pressed forward and kissed him, and suddenly, they were 'they'. Ludwig would stay put, and paid them all what he owed as best he could.

Berwald sat there and kissed him for a long time, and when he pulled back, the first thing Ludwig said to him was, "You owe me a new rifle."

His way of saying that he would carry on with them, and Berwald's smile was rather muted. Kinda sad. Wondered if maybe Berwald was tired and ready to go home, now that he had been deposed as leader.

Timo came down shortly after yet again, to check in surely and make sure that Ludwig hadn't evaded Berwald in one way or another. When he saw that Ludwig had been indeed contained, and in what manner, his arms fell lax at his sides, he shook his head, and then he muttered, roughly, "Guess we don't need the talk anymore. Ha—we're all gonna get ourselves killed."

With that rather morbid prediction, Timo tromped back upstairs and left them alone.

Yeah, they probably would all die, before it was said and done.

Love made men so stupid, and they were no exception. Disaster after disaster they had encountered and evaded, brought upon them by their own foolishness and inability to control emotion.

How much longer would their luck hold?

Love ran the world.