Chapter 22
Old Account Was Settled Long Ago
Time went by a lot faster when you were in total shock, it seemed, because Ludwig didn't even remember reaching home, didn't sense the time passing, didn't remember anything at all until suddenly someone was slapping him across the face.
Timo, trying to wake him up and drag him to his feet.
He tried to screw his head on, and he and Timo grabbed Gilbert up and carried him inside. When they had kicked open the door and hauled Gilbert in, that was when Lukas and Magnus came roaring up behind them, and quite literally—Lukas was still shrieking, still screeching, and Ludwig wondered if he had even stopped in the long hours they had driven.
Magnus came trotting up, blubbering incomprehensibly, and all Ludwig managed to catch from him was, 'Is he alive?'
If Magnus had inadvertently killed his best friend's brother, he would have had some kind of mental breakdown, from the look of him in that moment.
Lukas was still screaming when he followed them inside. Was screeching then in Norwegian or whatever, and Ludwig was glad because he still wanted to beat the hell out of him and maybe it was better that he couldn't understand what Lukas was saying.
Berwald came tumbling down the stairs at the commotion, hair messy and glasses lopsided, eyes wide and breathing through his mouth, and Ludwig found his gaze in an instant. Ludwig opened his mouth, and lost his voice, turning his eyes back straight ahead as he and Timo lugged Gilbert in and threw him down onto Lukas' bed. Poor Lukas; his bedroom being on the bottom floor made it a magnet for trouble.
As soon as Gilbert was settled, Timo clapped Ludwig's back, and said, "I'll go get the doctor. I'll be back, quick. Don't worry. It's gonna be alright."
Needed to believe that.
Timo was gone, and Ludwig sat down on the bed beside Gilbert, ever pressing his wound as he watched the chaos through the door.
Magnus and Berwald and Lukas, Berwald utterly lost and trying to figure out what was happening, Lukas still bellowing, Magnus standing there between them speaking softly and gesturing a bit.
Lukas just wouldn't stop.
Shouting. It was hurting his head, and Ludwig stood up just long enough to slam the door shut and try to block out some of it.
He tried to focus on Gilbert. Was gonna live. For sure. Gilbert was invincible, had always said so, and if Ludwig could survive such a worse shot, then this would be nothing for stronger Gilbert.
He knew it.
Shortly after, Lukas literally kicked the door open, and Ludwig jumped up in a fright, thrusting himself in front of Gilbert, afraid that Lukas was going to kill him. But no—Lukas just stalked around, took up a bag, and started throwing his belongings into it.
Oh...
He was so mad at Lukas, but god, he didn't want him to leave, didn't, because they were supposed to stay together. Ludwig watched him cramming everything into his bag, and then he came over, shoved Ludwig out of the way, yanked open the chest, and began tucking away all of his cables and wires.
Ludwig's face fell, and so did his head.
Magnus came in, and began pleading to Lukas, desperately, whispering and murmuring and coaxing away in Danish, and Lukas didn't once answer him. Magnus looked on the verge of tears, and at one point actually clasped his hands together and begged, but Lukas primly ignored him.
Ludwig sat on the edge of the bed shortly after, as Lukas finished up, and didn't say a word.
Loud, heavy footsteps, and then Lukas was gone, Magnus on his heels. The front door slammed. More footsteps, running out after Lukas. Magnus, no doubt, trying desperately to cling to his one partner. Could hear Lukas screaming again, but this time very far away and from outside. And then nothing.
Just silence.
Ludwig didn't need anyone to really say it, because he glimpsed Magnus walking past the door, face buried in his hands, Berwald behind him and looking dazed, and he knew.
Lukas was gone.
Timo came back at last, doctor in tow, and didn't seem too broken up at all to realize Lukas was gone. Ludwig looked up and saw his wide, slanted smirk. Happy as hell to be rid of the thorn in his side. Ludwig couldn't worry about it, any of it, keeping his gaze entirely on Gilbert as the doctor tended him.
A long hour, as the doctor fussed and cleaned, and then he stitched the wound up, and Ludwig knew that Gilbert was going to be alright, just from the carefree look on the doctor's face.
Was gonna kiss Magnus on the lips for his shit aim, he swore it. Just not right now, with Magnus mourning Lukas' departure.
The doctor left, clapping Timo's hand as he went, and Ludwig lied down beside of Gilbert, arm over his chest and burying his face in Gilbert's neck. Still couldn't believe he was really here, and it was quite overwhelming. Having Gilbert back, when he had known in his heart the moment he boarded that train that he would never see this man again—no words for that.
Just wished it could last, that wonderful feeling.
Berwald came in at last, no doubt having been brought up to speed by Timo. He sat himself on the edge of the bed opposite Ludwig, stared down at them, studying Gilbert quite intently. Could see in Berwald's flitting gaze that Berwald was trying to see similarities between Gilbert and Ludwig, but that was pointless because there really weren't any. No one would have known they were brothers had they not been informed prior. That had always made Ludwig a bit more self-conscious. Looked up to Gilbert so much in childhood and could see none of himself there in him.
After a thick silence, Berwald just reached out and rested his heavy palm on the side of Ludwig's head, and Ludwig tried damn hard not to start crying again.
Berwald sat there with him until he fell asleep, and didn't say a word.
When Ludwig woke again, well past dawn, Berwald was gone and Gilbert was still unconscious. Rather, it was Timo who sat there on the edge of the bed, looking rather exhausted, having no doubt spent all night coddling Magnus and trying to keep him from having that mental break that had seemed imminent.
Timo held Ludwig's gaze, and said, quietly, "So, what do you want us to do?"
Ludwig turned his eyes to sleeping Gilbert, still clinging to him as he was, and exhaled.
What could he do?
Timo tried, "When he wakes up, you two can have your little reunion. Say what you need to say. Whatever. Just, you know... You gotta make sure he never says anything or tries to figure out where we are, or we're dead, one way or another. Can you do that? If you want him to stay a few days, that's fine. You guys can have some time together, explain to him that you're gonna be a goner if he opens his mouth, and then we can drive him back. He can go right to the Germans, no problem."
That sounded great.
There was just one big problem.
Took Ludwig a long time to gather the courage to say, weakly, "When he wakes up and realizes I'm alive... When he finds out what I did, it won't be the other rebels I have to worry about killing me. He's gonna—" A squint of his eyes, a momentary collapse of his composure. "Oh. He's gonna hate me, Timo, you don't even know. He's gonna— If he's able to, he'll shoot me, once he finds out what I did. I don't know what to do. We can't send him back, either way. Either he looks for me and gets me killed, or he sends someone to kill me. I don't know what to do."
The crinkle of concern in Timo's brow.
A lower tone.
"Let's tie his hands, then. Just in case."
Ludwig could only nod.
It was the worst feeling, lying there atop his brother's chest as Timo took rope and tied Gilbert's hands there above him, because Gilbert wouldn't be safe to be around when he was conscious. Gilbert would try to bring the house down when he knew, and everyone in here along with it.
If they thought Ludwig had raised hell...
They didn't know Gilbert.
Timo looked worried, and Timo was so rarely worried anymore, so confident as he always was, and when Magnus came in shortly after, he saw Gilbert's binds.
A weak laugh.
"Guess he's not gonna be as friendly as you were, huh?"
Magnus was staring at Ludwig quite desperately, as if he were worried somehow that Ludwig was never going to speak to him again. How vulnerable Magnus must have felt in that moment, Lukas gone and having shot his best friend's brother. Magnus must have felt the noose around his neck.
To comfort him, as best he could for his own nausea, Ludwig retorted, gently, "Who could ever be as friendly as me? I was angelic to you guys."
Magnus' halfhearted smile.
"That's right. I forgot. You were a perfect gentleman."
Felt ill.
Before he left that day, Magnus uttered, so deeply, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."
Just as deeply, Ludwig replied, "I know. It wasn't your fault."
Magnus seemed glad to hear it, and trudged off.
All Ludwig could really do now was wait, and try to prepare for the storm, because it was going to be violent and inescapable. But Gilbert didn't come to that day, ever sleeping, and that night Berwald slept on the floor beneath Ludwig, to keep him company and murmur to him until he fell asleep.
Yet again, in the morning, Berwald was gone. Ludwig kissed Gilbert's cheek, and whispered to him. Afternoon came, and that was when Gilbert started moving a little. Deeper breathing. Would wake up before long.
As Ludwig fretted over the inevitable confrontation, someone suddenly cast a shadow over him as they blocked the door.
Ludwig glanced up.
Lukas stood there in the doorframe, dark circles under his eyes and lips pursed and hair sticking out to high heaven, the black eye Timo had given him quite stark, cheeks glinting with stubble, and Ludwig just gave him a tired stare and then looked away. Lukas stood there for a long time, and didn't say a single word.
Ludwig didn't bother asking, 'I thought you had left?'
Who cared? Lukas was here, and that was all. Why he had come back was inconsequential.
Other things to worry about.
Ludwig started pacing shortly after, back and forth, too scared to sit still, and then he threw himself into the chair when pacing made him dizzy. Lukas just stood there yet, quietly observing.
His head was killing him.
He stood again, and paced more. Felt as if he were going crazy.
Gilbert made noises often, and it was clear that before the day was over he was going to wake up. And that terrified Ludwig.
He sat down in the chair, stared at Gilbert unconscious there on the bed, and began tapping his palms upon his knees as that awful fear and nausea rose up. Oh, god, Gilbert, what was he gonna say? Couldn't face him, just couldn't—
Ludwig bolted upright then, so fast that Lukas actually jumped in alarm there in the doorframe, and turned on his heel, stalking out of the room and straight back to the kitchen. Lukas followed him as he went, and he could feel Magnus watching him, but Ludwig was one wrong move away from vomiting and wrenched open the cabinet to pull down a bottle of vodka.
His hands were shaking so terribly when he poured a glass that he was surprised he didn't drop either of them to the floor.
Lukas was at his side, staring over at him as intently as always, but Ludwig just put the glass back straight, and then another one, and then one more for good measure. He put his hand over his mouth when that last one threatened to come back up, and Lukas' hand was suddenly on his back, running up and down as Ludwig hung his head and damn near burst into tears.
Was so scared to face Gilbert. Was so ashamed.
Lukas didn't say a word, just stood there with his hand on Ludwig's back, and Ludwig figured that everything was gonna haveta be behind them. In the past. They could only ever move forward, and it wasn't the first time that he and Lukas had ever stood on opposite sides, not the first time they had tried to hurt each other, although it had certainly never been that intense.
Lukas was here now, they were all alive, and it was done.
Took him a long while to straighten his face and open his eyes. He poured one more glass, when the last finally settled, and Lukas snorted a little then, and teased him, gently, murmuring, "I'd say slow down or else you're gonna be in the bag by the time he wakes up, but I think that's the point, huh? That gonna be enough for ya? Need me to go out and get another bottle?"
Ludwig, wincing as he struggled to swallow against his nausea, finally barked a laugh and looked over at Lukas.
"If I send you out, it's gonna be to get me something a lot stronger than this. I'm not gonna wanna remember a damn thing come tomorrow."
Damn—almost lost the battle with tears again.
He loved Gilbert so much, but in the end, when everything was said and done, Ludwig was terrified of Gilbert, absolutely scared to death of him, and couldn't really fathom facing him now, after it all. To stand before proud Gilbert and admit what he had done.
Lukas' face softened, just a little, and it was one of the strangest moments in his life, when Lukas took the bottle from his hand, set it aside, and hugged him. Not one of those tight, exuberant embraces he sometimes gave after they had had rough times. Just a hug. Gentle, slow. The way a mother might have hugged her child. Lukas pressed his face into Ludwig's shoulder, and Ludwig immediately buried his own into Lukas' neck and started cryin', because he was pathetic. Hadn't been hugged like that since he had been a little kid, and felt like one then, scared of his big brother and so overwhelmed.
Lukas held him there for a long time, silent and still, and let him cry it out.
When Ludwig calmed down a little, if only because he was already tipsy, Lukas finally spoke up, and Ludwig was so certain that his voice was a little thick, a little shaky, but that could have just been the alcohol.
"We used to be friends. Sometimes I just forget that. Sometimes, I just want to help my country so much that I think I'm willing to become everything I'm afraid of. All of us. Something's wrong with us. But I— I hate you sometimes, but I love you. All of you guys. Even Timo, if you can believe it. You guys mean more to me than that."
They were crazy, all of them. He and Lukas pointed guns at each other one day and hugged the next. The war had made them all lose their marbles. They weren't the people they used to be not so long ago.
So Ludwig just sniveled in Lukas' shirt and mumbled, "Likewise."
Lukas seemed satisfied, and he pulled back, jostled Ludwig until he looked up, and when their eyes met, Lukas kissed Ludwig's forehead and said, in a very dangerous whisper, "If you tell Timo I said that I swear to god I will shoot you."
Ludwig snorted, but felt a little better, as Lukas no doubt had intended.
A clap on Ludwig's arm for courage, and Ludwig finally went back into the bedroom, the bottle of vodka coming along with him for the ride. He sat there in the chair, taking swig after swig until the sun was low and his anxiety was lower. His hands shook, but he couldn't say whether it was the alcohol or the nerves that made them so unsteady.
By the time Gilbert started shifting and breathing more irregularly, Ludwig was already drunk as could be. Couldn't even see straight. The bottle was empty, and Ludwig threw it aside.
Couldn't face Gilbert stone-cold sober.
He staggered to his feet, nearly fell on his face, and somehow he made it over to the bed, collapsed upon it, and he curled up onto Gilbert then, burying his face in Gilbert's chest and pretending he was a little kid again. Felt like one, sure enough, so snuggling up to his big brother hardly seemed shameful. Too drunk to be embarrassed.
The click of the door, but Ludwig didn't look up to see who it was, clenching Gilbert's shirt.
The scent of Gilbert was remarkably comforting. His heartbeat. That familiarity. Family. Wished Gilbert's hands hadn't been bound then, so that he could have thrown Gilbert's arm over him. Couldn't untie him; not safe. Once Gilbert knew...
Oh. Felt sick.
Gilbert was the proudest soldier Ludwig had ever known, brave and fearless. Ludwig defecting would hurt Gilbert so much more than him dying had.
Deep, guttural moaning. A sharp inhale. Shifting and restless motions. Ludwig could only lie there atop Gilbert's chest and wait, clinging to him and preparing himself for the outburst. Couldn't, however he tried. Couldn't brace himself in the way he needed to.
A scrunch of Gilbert's face in pain, and then, at long last, he opened his eyes, just a crack. No movement then; Gilbert just squinted at the ceiling, clearly trying to come back into some sort of clarity. It seemed to take him a while to realize that he was actually awake.
Ludwig didn't twitch or speak.
Nausea. His throat clenched up as his bravery collapsed.
From there, it was only a few more minutes before Gilbert's head started to clear, and his eyes opened ever more. Gilbert realized then that someone was on top of him, and he at last turned his head. Those eyes once more pinned Ludwig down. A crease of confusion in Gilbert's brow.
Ludwig was seeing double by then, which actually made his anxiety rise because now he was gonna have two damn Gilberts trying to murder him, shit.
An inhale, and then Gilbert rasped, weakly, "Hey. Lutz?"
Ludwig very aggressively cuddled against Gilbert then, because he knew this would be the last time. Tried to drag it out, tried to delay the inevitable, tried to revel in this moment for as long as he could.
Gilbert's arms moved, as he tried to lift his hand but found them bound.
It surprised Ludwig that the first thing Gilbert was concerned about wasn't his tied hands. Instead, he looked straight at Ludwig, those beautiful eyes running endlessly over his face, and then he broke into a smile.
"God, Lutz. Am I dreamin' or what? Did I die? Is that really you?"
Hurt.
Ludwig lifted his head high enough to kiss Gilbert quickly upon the lips, as Gilbert always had him, and he somehow found his voice long enough to utter, "It's me, Gilbert."
The smile turned into a beam, half-dead though Gilbert was.
Ludwig just counted the seconds.
"Holy shit. This is real? You're alive? Really? I can't— How? What happened? They told me you were dead. Oh, Christ, you don't know, when they came looking for me, I swear I coulda died. I didn't know I could fuckin' cry so much. I—I took my leave, I went home, and I had to go and watch them chisel your name there next to mom and dad, and..."
Gilbert trailed off, voice thick and eyes bleary from something other than trauma, and he shook his head as Ludwig ran his hand over Gilbert's cheek. Gilbert pressed into it, as if still trying to confirm to himself that Ludwig was, indeed, actually real and alive.
His hand was warm, and Gilbert seemed satisfied at that.
"You're alive. Oh. I missed you so much. Standin' there in that cemetery, I... I just wanted to see you again. I was alone. Everyone was dead, so I didn't even see the point. I tried to— You'd be so mad at me, if you knew how many times I tried to get myself killed. I'm so fuckin' happy I failed now, god, knowing you're still alive. Oh, Lutz, you're really alive! I don't know what to say. I still don't know if I'm dreamin'."
Ludwig felt the burn on his face. Not drunkenness so much as shame.
Gilbert rolled over onto his side, still ignoring his bound hands, and their faces pressed together then, as Gilbert kissed his cheek, his forehead, his lips, his nose, everything. Gilbert nuzzled him so hard that Ludwig thought he might have caused a nosebleed. Just couldn't seem to stop, and Ludwig just clenched Gilbert as tightly as he could to his chest the entire while and tried not to dissolve into a drunken sobbing mess.
They spent long minutes like that, Ludwig too drunk to really focus and Gilbert too high on this earth-shattering revelation to realize what was really happening. Didn't Gilbert realize yet what was going on? Why wasn't he asking questions? Why didn't he seem to care about his bound hands? Why wasn't he pressing Ludwig for more information?
Oh, he didn't want to say it. He wanted Gilbert to just magically figure it out on his own so he wouldn't have to say it.
Gilbert kissed his lips one more time, pushed their foreheads together, and whispered, earnestly, "I love you."
His entire life, Ludwig had loved hearing Gilbert say 'I love you', even as he had never been able to say it himself. His favorite moment, and even though he could never say it, Gilbert had always known how he felt, because he tried so hard to show it. Even if he fell short, Gilbert always knew, as a good brother would.
Ludwig nearly fell apart, so nearly, and did sniffle a little, as he struggled with those encroaching tears.
And maybe Ludwig would have just put it off forever, would have pretended everything was alright, if there hadn't been a heavy step on the floor then. The creaking of the floorboards drew Gilbert's attention, he pulled back, and his eyes lifted over Ludwig's head.
Even through his intoxication, Ludwig could see the dilation of Gilbert's pupils, the inhale, the pulse in his neck hammering, and he watched in dismay as Gilbert came out of the elation of walking with the dead. In a bad way. Gilbert jerked upright, sitting himself up at the waist with a pained wince, eyes wide and focused, pumped full of adrenaline, and Ludwig sat up clumsily with him, looking over his shoulder and trying to focus long enough to see.
Berwald and his twin, standing there in the doorframe, and Ludwig hated the sight of it, and that was most unfortunate because Berwald having a twin any other time would have been spectacular.
Damn. Guess the game was over.
It was then, seeing Berwald, that Gilbert finally and truly realized that his hands were bound, as he twisted them restlessly, looking very quickly around the room and taking in his surroundings, suddenly very alert and very aware. Already plotting.
Gilbert's movements then were just too fast for drunk Ludwig, his shifting and observing, and all Ludwig could think of to do was just crawl clumsily forward and wrap his arms around Gilbert's neck.
Was absolutely hammered by then, completely in the bag, under the table, and was well beyond rationality. Knew he needed to tell Gilbert the truth, to tell him where he was at and why, but all he wanted to do then was cling to Gilbert stubbornly and bury his face in Gilbert's neck. Didn't want to let him go, because once he did, it was forever.
Ludwig thought that maybe if he nuzzled Gilbert furiously enough Gilbert would just calm down and forget Berwald was there.
Hardly. Gilbert suddenly lifted up his bound hands, clenched Ludwig's sleeve to yank his arm down, and the next thing plastered Ludwig knew Gilbert had somehow shoved Ludwig behind him, facing Berwald very bravely and very aggressively.
Berwald took another step forward, and jumped a little when Gilbert very abruptly screamed at him, in that intimidating voice, "Hey! What's going on? The fuck are you? You Russian? I ain't scared of you, you big ugly son of a bitch! I'm not tellin' ya nothing, so don't bother! Get outta here! I'm busy!"
Berwald seemed shocked, and then slumped a little and looked disheartened.
Sad.
Ludwig tried to distract Gilbert, but Gilbert just twisted at the waist, pushed his head into Ludwig's shoulder to try and maneuver him farther behind him, protectively, and his voice lowered to a whisper.
"Hey— I get it. You got caught. They caught you. I get it now. That's why they thought ya were dead, 'cause they couldn't find you."
What Gilbert said next made Ludwig bow his head in miserable shame.
"Oh, Lutz. I swear, if I'd known you were still alive, I woulda looked for ya, I swear. Oh, you gotta believe me, I swear I would've looked. I wouldn't have given up 'til I found ya, even if I had to break rank and go on my own, I swear. I'm—I'm so sorry I didn't try to look for you. I never even thought about it, they said you were dead, and I just believed it. I'm sorry."
Gilbert still didn't seem to notice that he was bound and Ludwig wasn't.
Berwald shifted his weight, and stood patiently silent. Waiting. Watching. Keeping guard, in case Gilbert turned violent and hard to handle. Which was an absolute guarantee. Would rather have had all four of them there, honestly, to subdue Gilbert when his rage finally broke. Berwald alone wasn't going to be enough.
Ludwig tried to steady himself, about to topple over the edge of the bed as he was in his stupor, and he clenched the back of Gilbert's shirt, and tried to speak at last.
"Gilbert. Listen. It's not—"
"Don't worry," Gilbert interrupted. "We'll get outta here, no matter what. I've got you back now, so I'll keep going. Hell, guess I don't need to die after all. Fuck this—I'll get us out of here. What are the chances of us being captured together, huh? It was meant to be. We can do anything together. We always have. I'll take you back home. You'll be a hero, you know. Christ, how long's it been now? Three damn years. Three years. I can't believe I didn't even look. I feel so damn stupid."
Ludwig felt his face crumple, but he somehow gathered himself and lifted his eyes, found Gilbert's gaze, and managed to whisper, "I can't go back home, Gilbert."
His voice was slurred by then, and he'd be surprised if he sounded as coherent to Gilbert as he did up in his head.
Gilbert scoffed, butting his head once more into Ludwig's in his fervor.
"Hey! You forget who I am? Don't worry about it! If anybody can get out of this, it's us, right? I promise, I'll get you home again. Whatever it takes. I'll get you back home, where you belong. You're stayin' there this time. I won't let you out of my sights ever again."
Ludwig pressed his forehead back into Gilbert's and just wished, above all else, that he had just followed after Timo when he had run that night, and that he hadn't looked back. Shoulda just did what he was supposed to. He always got everyone into trouble, it seemed, no matter what he chose to do. Whatever path he took, he only seemed to bring disaster.
Ludwig took Gilbert's face in his hands, and tried again.
"No, Gilbert, I... I can't go home. You don't understand. They caught me because—"
"It's not your fault," Gilbert interrupted, playing the role of big brother and protector yet again, "It's not! Don't even worry about it, you're not—you're so brave, you know? You're so fuckin' brave, just like me. It's not your fault."
Not listening. Gilbert never listened.
"No, Gilbert, please—"
"Just sit tight. I'll think of something."
No use.
Gilbert just ignored Ludwig entirely, and seemed content to reaffirm to Ludwig that this capture hadn't been his fault, that they would get out, that they would escape, be together, as they always had been and promised they always would be, and no matter how hard Ludwig tried to speak Gilbert just overrode him.
As he always had.
Drunk and tired and frustrated and devastated, Ludwig just pressed his face into Gilbert's collar, hands still gripping Gilbert's face, and finally started crying. Couldn't get him to listen, and wasn't brave enough to say it. Gilbert whispered in his ear, reassuring him, and Ludwig wanted nothing more than to sink down into some black hole and die.
Seeing the impasse they were at, Berwald finally took another heavy step forward, opened his mouth, and said, sternly, "Just tell him, Ludwig."
It was hearing Ludwig's name coming from Berwald's mouth that somehow seemed to quiet Gilbert at last. Gilbert snapped his head over, breaking free of Ludwig's hands holding him, and stared at Berwald through wide eyes, as if he were offended in some way. As if Gilbert thought it ghastly and horrifying that Ludwig's 'captor' knew his name.
Oh—
Ludwig lifted his head, steeled the slivers of his will, swallowed, and managed to say through his tears, so lowly that it almost didn't come out at all, "I don't wanna go home, Gilbert. I can't. I won't."
Gilbert's head whipped back around to Ludwig, that same expression still on his face, and Ludwig hated having that awful look directed at him. He tried to stop crying then, because this was already humiliating enough and he didn't want to just writhe around in the dirt any more than absolutely necessary.
When he gathered himself, as well as he was ever going to, Ludwig carried on in that heavy slur, as Gilbert's gaze threatened to set him on fire.
"They caught me because I was out— I was gonna jump off the fuckin' train, Gilbert. I couldn't tell you! Not you! I waited until we got into Sweden, and I was gonna jump, but I didn't have time, and they took me, and... I just stayed with them. I didn't know where else to go. We fight, we do. I still fight, Gilbert, I really do. I tried to make you proud, so I kept fighting."
Gilbert's jaw clenched, his pulse started racing, his brow lowered and he started breathing heavily through his nose, and Ludwig knew he was just a moment away from the eruption of the volcano. Could see the gears grinding away relentlessly in Gilbert's head, putting all of the pieces together, finishing the puzzle, and the picture that was becoming clear to Gilbert was utterly infuriating to him.
He spoke then, and his voice was low, deep, forced and gruff.
"So, you— You weren't captured. You just turned? Is that what you're saying? You just waited for the chance to become a traitor? You're fighting against us— That's why you were there. You're... All I this time I thought you were dead, and you were just out here, betraying us all? Sabotaging us. You jumped. You're fighting for the Reds? You were there. That explosion. That was you? Ha. I cried for you. For months, I sat there and cried for you, and you were—"
Gilbert cut off abruptly, made a strange, jerking moving, and Ludwig realized that Gilbert had tried to punch him but had been impeded by his bound hands.
Oh, no, please, not this, knew it was coming, had always known, but hearing it just hurt too much, couldn't stand it.
Traitor. That word cut so deep.
"Please," Ludwig beseeched, thickly, as he grabbed in vain at Gilbert's bound hands and tried to plead with him, to reason with him, to make him understand, if only a little, "Please! I couldn't stay! Gilbert, I couldn't, not after—"
Ludwig made the mistake of reaching out then and trying to take Gilbert's face once more in his hands, and hell, Ludwig was too damn drunk to even really know what happened, too slow to keep up with Gilbert's fast motions, but somehow Gilbert had maneuvered himself around and kicked Ludwig in the face and right over the edge of the bed and onto the floor.
He fell hard, and Berwald actually gasped aloud, rushing forward and kneeling down behind of him, grabbing him under the arms and sitting him up straight as blood poured from his nose.
Ludwig was too dazed to feel the pain, at the least the pain from his nose because he sure as hell felt his heart breaking, and he stared up at Gilbert miserably. Berwald muttered under his breath, twisting Ludwig's head in his direction and inspecting damage, and Ludwig didn't need to be sober to realize that his nose was more than likely broken.
Ludwig broke away from Berwald's hands, sat up straighter and pulled himself to his knees, and though it was very risky, he grabbed the edge of the bed and crept forward. Berwald was directly beside of him, clearly ready to intercept any foot that came flying, but Gilbert made no more moves.
He just straightened up, lifted his chin proudly, set his face into utter stoniness, hardened his eyes, and, at long last, Gilbert said those words that Ludwig had feared above all else :
"I wish you'd'a died instead. I was proud of you that way."
And that was that.
Gilbert would speak no more.
Ludwig pressed his forehead into the edge of the mattress, squinted his eyes, and whined, pitifully, "I'm sorry. I just couldn't stay after that night. That was it for me, Gilbert. I'm sorry. I tried so hard to be like you. But I'm not. I just wanted to make you proud, but— If I had stayed after that, I woulda thrown myself off of the bridge. I thought about it every day after that. But I didn't wanna hurt you like that, so I just jumped off the train instead."
Gilbert would rather have had him jump off the bridge, though, wouldn't he, and Ludwig just took one shaky breath then and burst into tears.
Gilbert was immobile, and unmovable. Unreachable. Untouchable.
Gone.
Gilbert wished that Ludwig had died on the train.
Ludwig had wished once that he had died that night.
It had been raining.
Not at first.
The skies had been clear early in the day.
Ludwig had stared out of the window, chin in palm and feeling another one of those random bouts of sadness. Gilbert had been gone all day.
Most days now consisted of Ludwig staring out of the window and wringing his hands, feeling anxious and restless and always on edge, jitteriness fighting with melancholy. Couldn't decide if he was nervous or devastated at any given moment. His mood swings had never been unknown to him or Gilbert, but they certainly had been getting worse.
Couldn't sleep.
Harder and harder every day to fight off the rising panic, as he watched the world around him shift and change and become something he no longer recognized.
Gilbert loved it; it terrified Ludwig.
They had just come back down south the year before, having spent the three years prior at the Danish border for one of Gilbert's fancies. There, Ludwig had been able to go to the beach and pretend everything was alright. Stare off into the sea and drift away in his head.
Couldn't do that anymore, back here at home.
Walking down the street and seeing those signs on the doors, barring entry to non-Germans. Turning his head and seeing old men being forced off of the sidewalk and into the gutter, because they were Jewish. Glancing over, to see a happy family on a bench, which proudly proclaimed that it was for Germans only.
Gilbert always walked with his head high, one arm behind his back and so commanding, so sure, so confident. A brave soldier, as always, as Ludwig walked beside of him and stared at the sidewalk, because looking at the sidewalk made him feel less sick. When he looked down, he couldn't see the shop signs and the benches and the people in the gutter.
In school, every few months it seemed that one of his classmates just...vanished. Never came to school, and never came back. Ludwig stared at the empty desk, silently, and wondered if his desk would one day be the empty one.
He wasn't right, and if Gilbert ever found out—
Steadily, Gilbert's friends became increasingly more dangerous. Men in brown shirts that always carried guns, that drank so much, and Gilbert drank all of the time, too, and sometimes they came into the house and Ludwig was so certain that they were all cranked up on some kind of drug. He hid upstairs in his room, listening to them shouting and laughing below. Sometimes, in the moments Ludwig couldn't escape, their eyes would follow him, as Gilbert blabbered away obliviously, and Ludwig would feel the hairs on his arms stand up. Paranoid that they were on to him somehow. Had nightmares about himself behind barbed wire. Pink triangles. So many people just disappeared these days.
Terror.
Every year was worse and worse, and when Ludwig had turned seventeen in October of '38, he decided to join the army, too, because Gilbert looked so untouchable and impervious, so proud. Gilbert didn't see anything wrong, didn't think twice about what was happening, and Ludwig joined because he wanted to be like that. Wanted to be like Gilbert, wanted to feel that assurance. Didn't want to be so nervous and sick and sad all the time. Everyone said things were great, and he wanted to feel that way, too.
Was that so much to ask?
Gilbert never looked uncertain or afraid.
Ludwig had walked to the store one weekend and had seen some of his classmates there on the street, laughing and shouting, and he had looked over to see them coming up to an old woman who had sat down upon a bench in exhaustion, and they taunted her, berated her, because she had sat on the German bench as there were no others in sight. She wasn't 'German'. Ludwig froze still, staring over in horror, unable to look away if only for the sheer audacity, as one of them reached out and took her cane and threw it into the middle of the street. They shouted at her until she stood up, and she was forced to limp along, and god, that awful look on her face, that humiliation and heartbreak and hopelessness. Ludwig wanted more than anything to run into the street and grab her cane and give it to her. That burning sting in his eyes. But he blinked it away, and walked on. He didn't do anything, because he wasn't brave, and he wasn't right.
Just wanted to be like Gilbert, oh, because he couldn't take anymore of it.
When he stood there before Gilbert that day and told him that he had signed himself over to the army, Gilbert's pride had been unrivaled, after the brief surge of panic and anger. Gilbert had been angry at Ludwig for not asking his permission, but had been so proud and so happy afterwards that Ludwig had felt at long last a bit of that comfort he sought.
Ludwig just lied in bed every night and waited to be summoned, praying it would be soon because every single day was harder. Needed to feel like Gilbert did, because he could find no justification in getting out of bed otherwise. When he was alone, he stayed under the blankets and sometimes cried himself literally senseless, until he fell asleep in exhaustion.
A few weeks later, in the beginning of November, Ludwig found himself sitting sideways on the couch every day after class, staring out of the window and feeling so low. Had no motivation. Didn't want to go out. Didn't want to move. Just wanted to lie there and sleep all day. Didn't even want to go to school anymore at all, but Gilbert dragged him out of bed and shoved him along every morning.
But that day—
When Gilbert came back home that day, the sun was low in the horizon, and clouds had started rolling in from the west. Thunder, in the distance.
A jingling of the doorknob.
Ludwig turned his head in time to see Gilbert bursting in, wild-haired and bleary-eyed, his gruff, dangerous friends in tow.
Unfocused eyes settled on his own.
"Lutz! C'mon! We were out having fun. Hey! Come on, get out of the house for once, eh? The city's havin' some fun tonight! Join us. You're so boring all the time! Stop wastin' your life away in bed. Come with me. I'll show you how to be a soldier."
Before he could even open his mouth, a hand on his arm yanked him up.
Alcohol on Gilbert's breath. Gilbert's pupils were so dilated that his eyes were almost entirely black. Wasn't in his right mind then. Was in one of those highs, whatever it was, and his grip on Ludwig's arm had been inescapable. His friends were behind him, laughing and looking amped up, those men in the brown shirts, and Ludwig had been petrified.
What kind of fun had they been having? Didn't wanna know, and Ludwig dug his heels into the floor, eyes darting between Gilbert and his friends. He didn't want to go, didn't, but those men terrified him more than anything, and their guns were always gleaming in their belts.
Wanted to say no, but, just like with everything else happening around him, Ludwig wasn't brave enough, and stayed silent. He stood passively still, as he always did, as Gilbert stood him up straight and put a jacket on him and then shoved a gun into his pocket.
Could have thrown up right there, and his hands were shaking so badly that even clenching them into fists wasn't stopping them.
Still, when Gilbert led him to the door, he put his boots on, and didn't say a word.
Those men were watching him, staring at him, studying him, and he was so scared that if he put his foot down and said he didn't want to go out, that they would openly question Ludwig's loyalties and masculinity there in front of Gilbert, and then Gilbert would start thinking, and then—
He'd disappear, too.
He stayed silent.
Gilbert dragged him out into the grey streets, as the last of the dim daylight faded. The distant thunder was as ominous as anything else, and with every street they passed, the quiet was broken by sounds of distant chaos. Shouting. His heart hammered so quickly that he was dizzy, and he just couldn't get out of Gilbert's tight grip, and Gilbert was smiling away, eagerly. Looking for trouble as always.
They reached the main streets of the city, and it was as if everything in Ludwig shut down in a moment of absolute terror. Felt stupefied. Numb. Walking into the middle of a riot, and the constant lethargy and apathy and gloom he perpetually felt these days was washed away with horror.
Couldn't move, helpless, and just let Gilbert pull him into the middle of it all.
People everywhere, some laughing and some shrieking. The glow of a fire in the distance. Loud noises, banging, and the sounds of fighting off somewhere and all around.
Gilbert shoved him forward into it all with a brisk laugh.
"Go on, Ludwig! It's alright. We're just havin' some fun! You're a kid, but you never have any fun. Come on, live a little. You're young! Have fun!"
Panic.
Ludwig froze, motionless and feeling so helpless, as Gilbert's friends drifted away and raised hell all around him.
Shattering glass. Noise all around. The world spun, too fast for him to keep up with. Too much goin' on, too much noise, too many people. Screaming. Laughing. Gunshots, somewhere in the distance.
Sirens.
Ludwig tried hard to focus, to understand what was happening, and it took his slow brain a long time to grasp that men were destroying Jewish shops. Breaking windows and ransacking everything within, others were setting fires and burning whatever they grabbed, and people were screaming.
He stood frozen.
Policemen were standing there on the corner, arms crossed over their chests and looking on, but they made absolutely no move to intervene. Ludwig looked around more and more, and saw more police here and there, some soldiers, and no one did a thing. They just chatted with each other, some of them smoking, and pretended nothing at all was happening.
So dizzy, and Gilbert just kept yanking him along when he saw that Ludwig was just standing there and not engaging. His flight response couldn't even kick in, he was so overwhelmed. He just seized up, helpless and pitiful like a deer, and let Gilbert drag him along down the street.
Glass crunched under his boots.
The gun felt too heavy in his pocket. He hadn't even started basic training yet, why had Gilbert given him a gun—
"Gilbert," he finally managed to utter, "I want to go home."
Gilbert didn't hear his weak voice over the ruckus. Couldn't seem to find it again.
A man ran down the street, screaming for help, as other men chased him and threw bottles and cans at him from behind, laughing.
His chest kept closing up. Couldn't breathe at all.
Gilbert happened to drag them by one window that hadn't yet been smashed, and took it upon himself to right that wrong, lifting up his leg and kicking the window with enough power to shatter it, clinging to Ludwig's arm for balance.
He was going to be sick any minute now, he knew it.
Finally, he managed to speak again, and grabbed Gilbert's shirt, saying, in a high-pitched whine, "Gilbert, please, I wanna go home, Gilbert—"
Gilbert just shrugged him off, neatly ignoring him, too enthralled with the rioting to even notice his sick, terrified brother.
Couldn't see anymore, from the awful sting of tears suddenly in his eyes.
The rain started falling.
Oh, he didn't wanna see any of this, he didn't, made him so sick. Gilbert looked so powerful and in control, and maybe that was the first time, taking everything in, that Ludwig wasn't so sure that he wanted to be like Gilbert after all.
A woman was screaming for help, and Ludwig turned his head, bristled and jittery, and saw a man there hitting her, over and over, and then she fell to the ground, shielding her head, and the man started kicking her. Would no one do anything? Would he? Ludwig made an odd lurch, because he wanted to help, but Gilbert just started walking again and Ludwig, god help him, fell lax once more in his brother's hand and let himself be dragged.
Tried so hard then to pretend that this wasn't real. He was just having a nightmare.
A nightmare.
They passed more policemen, and Gilbert held out his other hand and clapped theirs as he passed, uttering greeting.
In front of those policemen, right there on the other side of the street, a man was being beaten by five or six others, pleading and crying. By the time Gilbert had dragged Ludwig onward, the man had stopped moving.
The policemen chattered.
They came to darker streets then, and Gilbert had slung his arm around Ludwig's shoulders, nearly strangling him in his enthusiasm, and said, "Come on, let's find you something to do."
His greatest fear, and he could scarcely breathe then, and not from Gilbert's arm.
He was pulled ever along, and then suddenly, from out of an alley came rushing two figures, blurry and moving too quickly for dumb Ludwig to process.
Just saw a flash of steel as they nearly crashed into each other.
"Whoa!" came Gilbert's immediate cry, so high on adrenaline and who knew what else that his reflexes were like those of a jungle cat, and he pulled his gun out and up so fast that Ludwig didn't even realize what was happening.
When his hectic mind could grasp some clarity, he realized that they were standing in front of a man and woman, young, and they were both holding out guns, breathing heavily and eyes wide. They had been running away, no doubt, trying to escape the violence, and had turned the wrong corner and right into the worst sort of trouble.
Gilbert reached out to punch Ludwig's side, and Ludwig knew that Gilbert was telling him to put his own gun up. He did, but only barely, nearly fumbling it from his pocket to the ground, and his arm was shaking so badly that he couldn't have hit anything he felt should he have tried.
An awful, breathless impasse, as Gilbert and Ludwig held their guns out and so did the man and woman. It was the man who stood in front of Ludwig, and he had never been so scared in his life, never, couldn't think, couldn't focus.
Just stared into that man's eyes.
They were terrified, that much was obvious, and surely Ludwig looked the same. He glanced over, but Gilbert was as confident as ever, sneering away and stance very commanding. Gilbert wasn't scared, never was, and oh how Ludwig envied that.
It was obvious that these two were Jewish, were trying to get out of the way, trying to avoid becoming like those being beaten in the street, and the man reached over to grab a handful of his girl's shirt, to steady her, because she was shaking as badly as Ludwig was.
Gilbert scoffed, and suddenly his stance relaxed, he looked so casual, his shoulders dropped and so did his chin, and Ludwig felt hopeful, thought that Gilbert was just going to turn a blind eye to them and carry on. Let them get away. Why not? They hadn't done anything to anybody. They didn't want to get hurt, and didn't want to hurt anyone in turn.
Just let them go.
Ludwig's gun started lowering, so slowly.
Had been hopeful that he would escape this awful scenario with no altercation. The girl was crying by then, and Ludwig wished he could have cried right along with her. But with the lowering of Ludwig's gun came the lowering of hers, which was foolish perhaps because she stood in front of Gilbert, and Gilbert's gun was very steady, despite his slouching stance.
They stood there, the four of them, and stared at each other in the rain, lit up by the glow of the gaslight.
And then, in that awful silence, Gilbert suddenly said to Ludwig, in the Jutland dialect, "Shoot him, Lutz."
What?
Ludwig froze up again, this time so furiously that even his shaking hand was perfectly steady. He looked over at Gilbert in horror, but Gilbert merely glanced at him, raised his brow so loftily, and seemed so easygoing.
Again, at Ludwig's hesitation, Gilbert said, "Shoot him. What are you waiting for? Huh? Are you gonna think twice in the army when they give you an order? You wanna be a soldier, don't you? I'm your superior, and I said shoot him. Shoot before you get shot. That's the rule out there."
Ludwig's eyes flew straight ahead back to the man before him, clueless as to what they were saying, and maybe he saw the fright on Ludwig's face, but he misread it perhaps as safety, because his braced shoulders became less tense.
Oh, no—
Gilbert became impatient at Ludwig's immobility, as always.
"Shoot! That's an order, soldier. He's holding a gun on you. Shoot."
No, no, he wasn't a soldier yet, not yet, and this wasn't a war. This man held Ludwig in his sights only because he was terrified and didn't want to die, and Ludwig didn't wanna die, either, and he was terrified, too.
"Shoot!"
Couldn't, impossible, he couldn't do it, this man hadn't done anything wrong, had done nothing to Ludwig, he didn't even know this guy, didn't, and it wasn't right.
The rain was falling harder.
Irritated and angry, Gilbert's loose stance stiffened up again, his voice deepened into that commanding boom, and he gave Ludwig the final order.
"I'm going to shoot her, and so you better shoot him, because he's going to kill you the second I fire. Got it? I'm countin' down from three, Lutz, and then I'm shooting her. Get it together quick, or you won't live to see the army. Three."
No.
Wouldn't do it. Couldn't. He wasn't a murderer, he wasn't. He wasn't brave, no, he wasn't any different than everyone else that just pretended nothing was happening, but he wouldn't hurt anyone. Had never wanted to.
He hadn't joined the army to hurt people. Had just wanted to feel confident like Gilbert, had wanted to think that maybe he was protecting his home, people he cared about. That was why he had joined the army and not the SS or the SA. Didn't want that brown shirt, didn't want that life, had just wanted to feel better about himself without hurting anyone in the process.
"Two!"
He'd watched everything around him change, and he'd gone along with it, had just flowed down the river because he was a coward, had never lifted his hand to help even though he'd spent nights just crying himself to sleep. Had never been brave, but this was his chance, maybe, maybe, to finally put his foot down, to say 'no', because this wasn't who he was, wasn't who he wanted to be, didn't want to do this, didn't want to hurt anyone, didn't want to wake up every day with this hanging there over his head.
Wouldn't do it—
"One!"
The sound of the discharge, loud and deafening, as Gilbert pulled the trigger. Another shot, too loud and too close. Ludwig had squinted his eyes at Gilbert's final number, knowing that he was dead, that he had been shot, that the man had fired at the very second Gilbert had.
His hand was shakin' so bad—
He opened his eyes then, and immediately they locked once more onto that man's.
And that was when Ludwig realized that the second shot hadn't come from him; it had come from Ludwig. From Ludwig's gun. He had pulled the trigger. Hadn't felt it. Hadn't realized. Hadn't been a conscious effort. He hadn't meant to do that.
Why had he pulled the trigger? He hadn't meant to—
A meeting of eyes on his own. A silence. Incomprehension. And then the man fell before him, there beside the girl, and Ludwig coulda fallen, too. Oh, no, no, no, hadn't meant to do that, hadn't, hadn't wanted that, hadn't wanted to hurt anyone, hadn't even remembered pulling the trigger at all.
He inhaled, a breath away from tears, and clenched his shaking hand in his soaked hair, breathing through his mouth as Gilbert knelt down and quickly took the guns from the ground. He turned the girl's gun this way and that, and then scoffed, and muttered, to himself, "A fuckin' toy."
The world felt like it ended then.
When Gilbert opened up the man's gun, the gun that had pointed at Ludwig, it was empty. Nothing inside. No bullets.
No bullets.
He'd pulled the fuckin' trigger and the man hadn't even had bullets.
Murderer.
Gilbert tucked the gun away, stood up, and he marched furiously on Ludwig then, as Ludwig stood there and was very close to hyperventilating. Gilbert reached out and clenched Ludwig's collar in a rough hand, and hissed, over the rain, "What're ya thinkin', huh? Are you stupid? What's the matter with you? You're gonna get yourself killed! Is this how you're plannin' to go to war, huh? Waitin' 'til the last fuckin' moment to pull the damn trigger? You're gonna die out there! You're so stupid! When someone gives you an order, you follow it immediately and without thinking! Got it?"
A sharp slap to his cheek. He didn't feel it.
They were still, there on the sidewalk. Didn't move. Didn't breathe. He wished that they would have just stood up. Would have done anything in the world, if only they would have stood up.
Gilbert slapped him again, and yet still Ludwig's eyes were glued to them.
Wanted to say, 'Please, please, please get up.'
Get up.
They didn't, and Gilbert slapped him one more time just for the hell of it before he finally started dragging Ludwig backwards. He felt as though he were standing still yet. The puddles rippled in the gutter. Water dripped from his soaking bangs. Gaslights lit up the street. Red, leaking into the stream.
They didn't get up.
He was pulled away, he was led home, Gilbert shoved him inside and slapped him one more time, he stumbled up the stairs, he fell down on his bed, soaking wet as he was, he tried to sleep, but up in his head he was still standing in that street.
Numb.
Time had stopped in that moment. Something had broken.
He was a murderer.
He lied there in bed that night, and knew at last that he never wanted to be like Gilbert, and that he never wanted to be 'right'. He couldn't do it. He stared at the rain pouring down outside, and began planning his escape that very night.
Years later, even to this very day, he still found himself in static in his nightmares, slouched with a gun in hand and bangs in his eyes.
Rain fell.