A/N : Legend has it that if you pick a four-leaf clover after midnight, someone might not choose the stupidest possible option available to them. This should have 28 chapters btw, if everything goes to plan, but don't worry, you get to hate me every single one of them, i promise :')

Chapter 23

If We Never Meet Again

The days dragged.

Berwald's heavy arm slung over his chest couldn't get him to sleep at night. Lips in his hair and a hand over his neck. Whispering in his ear. Still couldn't relax.

Gilbert hated him.

Wouldn't even look at him. Wouldn't talk, wouldn't eat, wouldn't do anything at all except glare at the wall and scream. Fight. He was hostile to everyone and everything. Did everything he could, as Ludwig once had, to escape them. They had to keep him under constant surveillance, constant supervision, and every single one of them hated it when it was their turn, because Gilbert lashed out, physically and mentally, and made the experience downright miserable.

Gilbert was hell on earth.

Timo had tried to get Gilbert to drink, and had wound up with a bloody nose. Lukas had tried to keep Gilbert from wringing his hands right out of the rope, and had gotten a busted lip. Magnus had tried to keep Gilbert down after he had tried to break through the window, and had gotten a twisted ankle and a thumb popped out of its socket. Berwald had tried to keep Gilbert from rushing him, and had wound up with a limp and a cracked elbow.

And Ludwig got it the worst.

Anytime it was Ludwig's turn, Gilbert seemed to be determined to end him, in whatever way he could. He just walked through the door one day and Gilbert had charged him, slamming him into the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Luckily, he had been relieving Berwald of a shift, and Gilbert was tackled before he could cause any more harm. Other times, Gilbert just sat there on the bed as Ludwig sat in the chair, but oh, god, the things Gilbert would say to him—he sat there, staring blankly ahead, and knew he was crying despite his best efforts. Liked it better when Gilbert kicked at him and hurt him physically than when he said those things.

He was so bruised now that he felt like he'd gone back in time and was brawling with Magnus all over again. Could barely even walk without limping, couldn't breathe without wincing.

Gilbert was trying to kill him, he was sure of it.

Ludwig had shamed Gilbert, had dishonored him, and so Gilbert sought now to put an end to him, no doubt, to snuff Ludwig out and pretend he never was. Sometimes, in worse moods, Ludwig was almost inclined to let him.

But then he saw Berwald, and remembered that he had found a foothold in some life that didn't make him miserable, and to that he clung.

One tired night, as Berwald came lumbering into bed, limping, having been relieved of Gilbert-watch, he sighed, pulled Ludwig in, and asked, "What happened?"

Didn't need to ask what Berwald meant; Berwald had been standing there when Ludwig had broken down, and was curious as to what that 'that' was that Ludwig had referred to.

His greatest shame, his dark secret so to speak.

Ludwig told Berwald, told him everything, and Berwald just stared at him and listened. Ludwig only told Berwald because Berwald had confessed, after all, to killing someone before the war had started, so Berwald couldn't look at Ludwig and so easily declare him a murderer, even though he was. Told Berwald everything, all of those nightmares, those days in terror, crying himself to sleep, thinking so much about going out to the bridge.

Doing nothing.

Ludwig realized, thinking back on it, that he had wanted to jump off of that train because he hadn't ever wanted to kill anyone again. He had met these men, though, and suddenly his hands were so soaked red that they could never be scrubbed clean. Had become everything he had tried to run away from. Hadn't wanted to hurt people, and now killed them for a living.

The sad story of his life.

Maybe Gilbert really was the better man—at least Gilbert knew what he was. Had never pretended to be anything else. Held his beliefs proudly and never turned, not once, no matter how bad things may have gotten. Ludwig thought those beliefs were detestable, but at least Gilbert stood for something. Ludwig just wandered aimlessly and waited for someone to come pick him up so he could cling to them and their ideals.

Maybe it was Ludwig who was the terrible person, and had been all along.

Berwald didn't say anything as Ludwig spoke, and didn't say anything after. Just pulled him close, buried his face, and they tried to sleep.

In the meanwhile, all of them plotted and planned and tried to figure out what the hell they were going to do with Gilbert, being unable to send him back over to the Germans without committing suicide. Gilbert couldn't be set free here, and keeping him was becoming too dangerous as well.

Magnus griped, one morning, "You know, I couldn't see any resemblance between you two, but I sure as hell can feel it."

Everyone was sore and bruised and bloodied.

If Ludwig had been a viper trying to get away, then Gilbert was an absolute bear, and there had been three separate occasions now where all five of them had been needed to subdue him when he had tried to break free.

Gilbert bided time, gathered energy, made a huge tussle, and then repeated the process.

It had been five days, and no one had come up with any bright ideas. Lukas glowered at his bedroom door, and Ludwig could very easily see that Lukas desperately wanted to say, 'Let's just shoot the bastard.'

Surprisingly, he didn't, but only because he had come back after leaving.

Ludwig wracked his brain constantly, running a hand over his healing nose, and just couldn't see a clear way out. There was nothing he could ever say to Gilbert that would make him just let it go and leave Ludwig in peace. Even if Gilbert had ever agreed, Ludwig could never trust him. As soon as Gilbert returned to the Germans, he would seek to get even with Ludwig, one way or another, because Gilbert felt he had been wronged. Gilbert had said, after all, that he had been prouder when Ludwig had been dead.

They took shifts now with two at a time, because Gilbert raised such unholy hell and was so had to subdue once he got riled up. Lukas' bedroom was in absolute tatters, and Ludwig regretted that, but at least all of Lukas' belongings were safe, still in his bags.

Every day was one day too many.

When Magnus came trudging out of the room when he and Lukas were relieved of duty, he turned to look at Ludwig with bleary eyes, and said, miserably, "Ludde. God knows I love ya, I do, always will, and so I don't mean no offense or nothin', but I really hate your fuckin' brother. I hate him. I fuckin' hate him."

Ludwig just sat there, and hung his head.

They all needed to sit together and talk, but they couldn't leave Gilbert alone. Couldn't have a conversation like that in front of Gilbert, but needed all heads present.

Gilbert barely slept.

And, oh, Timo looked furious. Hadn't seen Timo that angry since he had been trashing the Soviet Union when they had left Estonia upon his friend's death. That awful look on his face. Sometimes, Ludwig wondered if maybe it would be Timo in the end and not Lukas who ended up shooting Gilbert.

It was only Ludwig's pleas that kept them all from taking Gilbert out back and putting him out of his misery. At times Ludwig wasn't entirely certain why he didn't just let them.

He loved Gilbert, whatever else could be said.

Timo fumed, and on the sixth day, Timo left before dawn, when he had been relieved of his shift. He came back hours later, as Ludwig and Lukas sat exhausted at the kitchen table over coffee. Gilbert had been cranky that morning, ready to get revved up, and so Magnus and Berwald had taken that shift, since they were the strongest.

Timo barged up to the table, pulled a glass vial out of his pocket, sat it down, and Lukas leaned forward curiously, always so nosy. Ludwig was too tired to be nosy, at least until Timo pulled a syringe out of his pocket, uncapped it with his teeth, and picked the mysterious liquid back up. Timo plunged the syringe into the vial, filled it carefully with liquid, as Ludwig watched anxiously, and when Timo flicked the syringe, Ludwig gathered the nerve to ask, "What the hell is that?"

Without batting an eye, Timo grumbled, "A sedative, for your fuckin' brother."

Lukas gave a long exhale of what could very well have been relief.

A pang, and Ludwig opened his mouth to bitch, but very quickly realized the benefits outweighed anything else, because they were all exhausted.

Timo squared his shoulders, looked them all over, and said, very sternly and very commandingly, "You guys are gonna hold the son of a bitch down so I can stab him with this needle. Let's go."

An order.

Had to give Timo that, he was a hell of a lot more aggressive than Berwald in giving orders, impossible to disobey, and Ludwig was feeling sick and guilty when they barged into the bedroom.

Magnus and Berwald looked up, but Timo's steely sights were set on Gilbert. A man on a mission, absolutely, and when Timo said, "Hold that bastard down," they all leapt forward before Gilbert could react.

Still, despite the surprise and the bad angle Gilbert was caught in, he still fought furiously and managed to kick Lukas in the stomach very mercilessly before he was pinned down.

As always, Gilbert tried only to cause harm to Ludwig then, but with the other three pinning him Gilbert just couldn't accomplish anything this time. Timo very quickly came forward, clenched the syringe in his fist, pulled it up over his head and stabbed it into Gilbert's thigh far more brutally than he needed to, and pushed the plunger.

As Ludwig shot Timo a foul look, Timo snarled, "God! That felt good."

Lukas, mouth full of blood, grumbled, "Mind stabbin' him again?"

Timo didn't, but did give the needle a bit of a tilt there in Gilbert's thigh.

Gilbert, too strong and hard and furious to be bothered, just kept attempting to assassinate Ludwig with his gaze.

Timo yanked the syringe out, and they sat there and waited, pinning silently seething Gilbert down. Didn't take long, thank god, because Gilbert's brutal death-stare was burning him. Ludwig turned his head, and looked away.

A few minutes, and then Gilbert couldn't keep his gaze focused. Still gave every effort to murder Ludwig with his eyes, until a few more minutes later, and then Gilbert started floating away, become disoriented, and the last thing Gilbert said was a very deep, slurred, "Lutz—where the fuck have ya been? I've been looking... You're grounded."

A pang of hurt.

With that, Gilbert fell unconscious.

They let Gilbert go, and backed off. Five or so minutes later, Timo nudged Gilbert with his boot.

Nothing.

The first taste of calm since Gilbert had been dragged through the door, and it was pretty glorious. They tied Gilbert's leg to the bed, just in case of course, and then finally trudged out into the living room, keeping the door open so that they could see Gilbert at all times.

They all plopped down on various surfaces in exhaustion, and relaxed. Felt great, and Berwald leaned his head back on the sofa and looked quite ready to just fall asleep.

After a long reveling in the silence and peace, they finally started conversing.

Lukas sat there, rubbing his stomach and wincing as he tried to swallow away the last of the blood that lingered in his mouth, and asked, testily, "What the fuck are you guys made of? You survive that train and that bullet, and now this bastard won't be put down. I thought they were bullshitting me when they told me how hard they fought to take you down, but now I'm startin' to think there's something to it."

Timo scoffed, "You have no idea. He was a nightmare."

"An actual nightmare," Magnus confirmed.

"Until this nightmare came along," Berwald added, "and now he doesn't seem so bad by comparison."

"Perfectly divine," Timo drawled.

"Absolutely saintly," Magnus monotoned.

Ludwig just sat there, more bruised and sore than they were, and finally grunted, tiredly, "I was always the good brother."

Another long, heavy silence.

Berwald sighed then, elbows rested on his knees, and finally muttered, "What the hell are we gonna do now?"

A very good question.

Ludwig stayed silent, letting his mind wander. Gilbert couldn't stay, that was outright obvious. He'd end up killing someone. Had to go. The only question, really, was where. Where could they send him? What could they do with him? Couldn't send him back across this border, so close to them. That was far too dangerous.

Needed to get Gilbert far enough away that he would no longer pose a threat, and that meant he had to be tossed out of Finland entirely. Wanted to get rid of him, but couldn't let him be hurt, either, and so that made things more complicated, because no doubt the others had many a good plan that they couldn't say aloud for fear of Ludwig punching them in the face.

Lukas in particular, no doubt.

And Ludwig understood, he did, it was just...

Gilbert wasn't a good man. Gilbert was a troublemaker, an instigator, a proud Nazi, a fighter for everything Ludwig hated. A killer.

But he was still Ludwig's brother, when everything was said and done, had raised him, and Ludwig fuckin' loved him, as much as he loved anything, and no matter what Gilbert had done, it only seemed right that Ludwig try to get Gilbert out of here safe and sound. Couldn't stand the thought of Gilbert being hurt, even if Gilbert hated him now.

However Gilbert felt about Ludwig, Ludwig still would have gone to the moon for Gilbert.

When no one had yet to speak, Berwald added, "He's gotta go somewhere far, and friendly. Any ideas?"

"Out of Finland entirely," Ludwig grunted.

"Sure," Lukas said, rather tiredly, as he rubbed now absently at the black eye Gilbert had freshened up the day prior. "The only problem is that tossin' him into another country from here would mean tossin' him right into the Soviet Union. I imagine that isn't high on the list. Unless you plan on going on a long damn trip north and giving him back to Norway. But that's still just too close, isn't it? He'd be too close."

Ludwig just scoffed.

Yeah, that was still too close. Just a day away on the train from Narvik, where Gilbert would inevitably end up should they have tossed him into northern Norway. Norway was the best place, but it wasn't safe enough.

Another long stretch of dead air.

Damn, why couldn't he think of anything? Why was he stuck in the worst possible place? Nowhere good to throw troublesome Gilbert.

"We can try to get a hold of the guys in Helsinki," Magnus finally offered, tentatively. "Maybe we can get him across the sea to Sweden? That's far enough away. I mean, I know it's not friendly, but, hell. What's the worst they'll do there? They won't shoot him, at any rate. Throw him into Sweden. Let him figure it out from there, the bastard. He can't just get out of there so easily and come right back."

The sea?

Ludwig inhaled, sat up straight, mind whirring away, and said, mostly to himself, "If I can get him down the coast of Sweden, I can try to get him back into Germany. I can get him back home."

An awful silence.

Magnus' voice was much lower and deeper and irritable when he grumbled, "That is not what I said."

"No, that's what I said," Ludwig snapped back, sick with adrenaline and shame and hurt and everything else.

Just needed to get Gilbert out of here and damn far away.

At last, Timo spoke up, to grumble, "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. We're not gonna risk any more than we need to."

It was stupid, he knew it, but the idea had already rooted itself there in Ludwig's head.

Loved Gilbert, even if Gilbert hated him, and the thought of getting him back to Germany was tempting. To get him to the tip of Sweden, then Denmark, at least there, if only just there.

Home.

Ludwig turned to Timo then, ever reliable Timo, and asked, "Can you at least talk to the guys in Helsinki? See if there's any way they'd be able to get him to Germany? We're allies. There has to be a way."

Timo sighed through his nose, pursed his lip, staring away at the floor as he hunched over, and after a long silence he finally lifted up his head.

"Alright. I'll ask. Guess no harm ever came from asking. Don't have too many choices here."

Timo looked around a bit, stood up, grabbed his coat, and left to go into town.

All they could in the meanwhile was wait.

Berwald was pale and ruffled, tired and bruised, and Ludwig hated that he had once more gotten everyone into a position they had no business being in. Gilbert was unconscious, Lukas and Magnus were here, and Timo probably wouldn't be back for hours, so Ludwig stood up, grabbed Berwald's hand there in front of the others, and pulled him to his feet.

Berwald seemed a bit stupefied. Just overwhelmed from everything. Run down. He followed blindly behind Ludwig when Ludwig led him out the backdoor and out into the snow. Even the cold air didn't really seem to wake him up.

He sat down on the back steps, watching the lake, and Berwald clumsily plopped down beside of him, and immediately Berwald leaned sideways and rested his head atop Ludwig's shoulder. Ludwig wasted no time in throwing his arm around him and pulling him in. Poor thing.

Ludwig was more trouble than he was worth to these men.

Snow started falling again shortly after, and they sat there in silence for hours, Berwald drifting in and out of sleep as Ludwig fretted.

A creak of the door behind them. Ludwig glanced back over Berwald's head, to see Lukas. A twitch of Lukas' head, and Ludwig knew that Timo was back. He reluctantly shook Berwald awake, and they trudged back in, feet heavy and hearts heavier.

Exhaustion. It was wearing away at him.

Timo was waiting for them, until they were all seated again. Timo stared at Ludwig for a long, long time, before he finally spoke.

Berwald was quite pale, foot tapping as he leaned forward, and Ludwig was well aware of his anxiety and hated it.

"Well. They say they can get him to Germany, they think, without too much trouble. But. Well. They say you'd have to come with them. They're riskin' a lot for you, so you have to go with them. They want a German soldier on board in case they run into a patrol boat."

If Ludwig thought Berwald was pale before, he suddenly seemed quite ghostly.

Ludwig, although he hadn't exactly expected it, somehow wasn't that surprised. It was a big favor he was calling in. Maybe it was only fair and appropriate that he go along. If he wanted other people to risk their lives, then he should be willing to risk his own as well.

After an awful silence, Ludwig just muttered, "Well! Good thing we saved that uniform, huh?"

No one spoke.

Ludwig had done a lot of stupid things in his life, and these men knew that better than anyone else. Still, maybe he could stand there and say that entertaining this notion at all was closer to absolute insanity. Smuggling an unconscious German soldier through Finland and across the sea, through endless mine fields and all the way back to Germany, and then the roundtrip.

After a while, Lukas spoke up. His silvery was rather low, and rough.

"Ludwig. If you do this, if you really do this, I'm honest to god going to think that you're the stupidest man I've ever met in my life. Not that I didn't already, but this will just make me sure."

Ludwig scoffed, and felt that one.

He knew it.

It was Magnus who said, "Getting him there will be hard enough. That'll take enough luck. And then coming back, on top of it? That's more luck than you got."

Timo was the one to scoff then, and gripe, "I'll say. As if you ever had much luck to begin with."

Knew that, too.

Berwald was so quiet.

That silence was awful, as Ludwig clasped his hands there before him, staring at the falling snow, and weighed his options. Weighing, in the end, how much Gilbert truly meant to him.

Once more, Timo tried, "Let's try to get him to Sweden instead, Ludwig. He'll get caught up there in diplomacy for a long time."

"Arrested, more like," Ludwig grumbled.

"Yeah," Timo snapped, "Exactly. That's what we need. That'll keep him out of our hair. He'll be safe. When the war's over they'll let him go. They probably won't even hold him until then. You don't make any sense. You want him safe, don't you? Put him in Sweden. He can't die there. Why send him back to Germany and into a war zone?"

Ludwig looked around at them, and thought for an awful second that his face was crumpling, and his voice was certainly a bit thick when he finally admitted, selfishly, "So maybe he'll hate me a little less."

Just that. So much trouble, just for the slight chance that Gilbert would maybe hate Ludwig just a small bit less if Ludwig took him back to the country he loved so much, instead of getting him locked up in a neutral one.

It really was the stupidest idea he had ever entertained, they were right.

But he loved Gilbert, and the slim chance of keeping Gilbert's pride intact seemed worth all of the insanity.

He wanted Gilbert to be safe, away from war, yeah, but that wasn't what Gilbert wanted. He had already been wounded enough, and Ludwig couldn't bring himself to have Gilbert torn away from fighting for the one thing he loved. Gilbert had always wanted to die heroically and young, and Ludwig knew that that was a very likely possibility if Gilbert were thrown back into Germany. Could have lived with that better, somehow, though. If Gilbert wanted to get himself killed and go out in that blaze of glory he had always wanted, then somehow it was easier for Ludwig to stomach if Gilbert did that in Germany. Home. Didn't want him to fall here, not here, not to some Red bullet so far from home. Didn't want him to fall in Finland, nor in Russia.

Germany.

Let Gilbert die there, and maybe that would be just enough for Gilbert to let it all go and die without hating Ludwig. To take Gilbert home would be Ludwig's final peace offering to Gilbert, although Gilbert may not have deserved it.

They saw him truly considering, and surely they thought he had at long last lost his mind.

Lukas, perhaps in a last ditch effort, murmured, "You're gonna be on a boat for days. If you run into trouble, you'll have to shoot while seasick. And then one more time, on the way back."

"You can't stay in Germany," Magnus said, as Ludwig stared ever out of the window. "You know you can't. He'll have you shot if you do."

Ludwig nodded, absently.

"I know."

Berwald had yet to utter a word.

A long silence, as they waited for Ludwig to change his mind, and Timo spat more than said, "We should never have brought him here."

And that might have been the very first time that Ludwig wasn't sure if Timo was talking about Gilbert or Ludwig.

Hurt.

It was decision time, then. Time to decide once and for all just how far he was willing to press himself for Gilbert's sake, how much he was willing to risk, how far he would go for a man that wanted him dead and had essentially disowned him. For his brother, bound by blood as he was.

It came down, really, to them or him.

Gilbert or Berwald. Berwald or Gilbert. Them or him. Figurative brothers or a literal one. Love or blood.

His head was pounding.

But Gilbert had said, 'I'll get you back home.'

Where they belonged. Home and country always called to men, and Gilbert heeded Germany's call always, and should have gone back.

It was the right thing to do, wasn't it? Not only for Gilbert, but for everyone else. Couldn't let any harm come to these men because of him. His brothers. Wouldn't let them fall because Ludwig made mistake after mistake.

So, with his mind made up and will very strong, Ludwig turned to Timo, his friend and leader, and said, sternly, "I'll go. Let them know."

Timo just sat there, brow low and arms loose at his sides, and stared at him for a long while. Lukas hung his head and muttered to himself, as Magnus buried his face in his palms.

Berwald looked mystified somehow.

That horrible silence, and then Timo pulled himself to his feet, nodded his head, and said, simply, "Alright."

Ludwig could only wait then, and see what clever Timo's clever guys came up with, and how long it would take to set out. Gilbert slept for the rest of the day, and Ludwig sat there and stared at him when he finally started coming around, close to dusk.

Gilbert, high and unaware, was approachable then, and Ludwig didn't waste the opportunity to cling one last time to his brother, as Gilbert whispered to him in slurred speech that was disjointed and made little to no sense.

Berwald stood there in the doorframe the entire while, and stared at Ludwig as if Ludwig had just kicked him in the chest all over again. Couldn't stand that expression, and so Ludwig kept his eyes on Gilbert.

Timo came back after the sun had set, when Gilbert was still lethargic and subdued, and he sat Ludwig down at the kitchen table over a map. The others hovered behind, quietly, as Timo set his finger on their location.

"So. The guys are gonna come to us. They know their way around these borders, and they have a vehicle big enough. From here, they're gonna take you down to Helsinki—" Ludwig just followed Timo's finger, obediently, and paid attention, "—and that's where you'll get your boat. From what they say, it's small, but it has a little cabin. That's where you'll stash him. It's gonna take about five days to get to the German coast. Needless to say, you can't have him raising hell all the time, so..."

Timo dug around in his pocket, and pulled out a vial of clear liquid.

"This is the same stuff I gave him. You gotta keep him sedated the whole time. I've got it written down, the doses and everything, so don't worry about that. You won't be giving him as much I gave him this time. He won't really be knocked out. Just calm and out of it. It should be alright. Hopefully, he'll be the least of your worries."

Timo's finger began dragging across the sea.

"You'll go straight towards Sweden to get into neutral waters as soon as you can, because the sea's a damn battlefield. You're gonna be going over a hell of a minefield. Your boat's too small to hit them, but running into other ships could be a problem once you get into more crowded waters. You'll go all the way down the Swedish coast, under Denmark, and then from there, straight down to here, Travemünde. There's a lot of traffic there, so the hope is that you'll just be able to sneak in without too many questions. You'll go down to a quiet place, find a little pier or something outside of the city. The second they see something that looks safe, you're just gonna throw him down there and then turn straight around. He'll be fine alone. He'll find his way around just fine, I'm sure. And then the same thing on the way back. Same route. My only worry is those damn mines. Soviet subs keep on laying 'em, all over. And I..."

A long silence.

Magnus looked rather ill there above Timo, staring down at that map, and Ludwig felt quite similar. Such a long trip on a boat, helpless in the water with no way to run away if he found more trouble.

Timo looked over at Ludwig then, and said, in nearly a whisper, "I worry about you running into patrols. You're a soldier, sure, but your uniform is so old. If someone looks twice... It just takes one person to notice, and then they'll board you. That worries me. I wish you'd just change your mind."

Couldn't be, and Ludwig could only stare into Timo's eyes, take a deep breath, and clap his hand heavily down on Timo's shoulder.

If Gilbert hadn't been sleeping during the attack, then Ludwig could have taken Gilbert's newer uniform and his problems would have been lessened.

They could only work with what they had, as always, and Ludwig stood up then, as determined as ever, and looked around at them all.

That silence was painful, so Ludwig asked, "When will they be here?"

Timo's grim face.

"Three days."

So soon. Three days left to spend with Berwald before facing potential death? Didn't seem like enough. Didn't seem fair. He'd made the choice, but somehow it just didn't seem like he should have had to. Gilbert should have just...

Too late.

Everything was awkward and quiet, as Timo's eyes fell back down to the map, and it was in that awful silence, so heavy, that Berwald very abruptly came forward from the corner, raised his voice, and said, "No."

They all turned to look at him.

Oh, the sight of him then hurt Ludwig. Was so pale, his brow crinkled and his lips pursed, his fists were clenched at his sides, his feet braced, and Berwald was staring straight at Ludwig when he said, again, "No."

Not this, not now, couldn't take it—

Timo's eyes fell yet again to the map, and he seemed to slump a little. Ludwig just stared at pale Berwald, and tried to say, weakly, "It'll be alright. I'm hard to kill, remember?"

Stubbornly, Berwald shook his head, jaw squared and looking so determined. Ludwig tried hard to stare Berwald down then, tried to intimidate him in some way, tried to keep him still and quiet, because Ludwig was already a mess up in his head and wasn't sure he could handle an outburst from Berwald.

Berwald paid no heed to him, and shook his head once more, messy hair shaking with him, and he took another step forward, saying, in a voice that shook, "I'll go."

What?

Timo once more snapped his eyes back up to Berwald, this time in shock, and Lukas shifted his weight.

Dumbfounded, Ludwig could only stare at Berwald in disbelief.

At the silence, Berwald pressed, weakly, "I can go. I can— Maybe, I can fit in that uniform, I can, maybe, I can... I'll go. Stay here. I'll go instead." Berwald's voice lowered then into a breaking rumble, as he uttered, "I like it when I know you're here. Safe. I'll go. I don't— Stay here, and I'll take 'im. You can't go. I don't want anything else to happen to ya. I'll go."

Magnus turned around, putting his back to them and staring off into the corner.

Timo seemed quite alarmed, but Ludwig just felt so nauseous suddenly. Was so certain he was about to throw up, at that awful look on Berwald's face. Hanging there in between hope and despair. Trying to smile and be strong, while looking like he was about to start crying.

At last, Ludwig managed to just shake his head.

Berwald's brow scrunched, his eyes squinted, but he fought it off, and said, one more time, "I'll go."

Couldn't be.

That time, Ludwig found his voice, and whispered, "I don't know how to tell you this, but your German is really bad. A uniform won't fix that. Don't think you'd get very far. Ha. You'd rip the damn thing anyway, trying to squeeze into it. That wouldn't look too good."

Timo tried to laugh, and fell very short.

Berwald was silent then, as if confused, and he didn't say anything else that long night, turning his eyes down to that map under Timo and very pale.

It was time to supervise Gilbert again, though, and Lukas and Timo took that shift, because, to be quite frank, they were the only two then who didn't look as if they were about to be sick. Magnus was ever turned away.

All Ludwig could do was lead Berwald upstairs for sleep, but Berwald just lied there and stared at him, and it didn't take long for him to start murmuring to Ludwig, trying to coax Ludwig into letting Berwald take his place.

Ludwig just buried his face in Berwald's chest and did his best to ignore him. Berwald pleaded for hours, until he finally drifted off in exhaustion.

Those three days...

Miserable. Wanted to make the most of them, to spend great times with them all, to sit together and drink and laugh as they once had, but it couldn't be, because Gilbert needed constant supervision and because everyone was just so quiet and down.

Magnus' eyes were so firmly on the floor that Ludwig was surprised he wasn't bumping into the walls. Timo and Lukas were utterly silent, staring off blankly.

Berwald trailed behind Ludwig endlessly, constantly, no matter where he went, and every few hours or so he would open his mouth and once more offer to take Ludwig's place. It was gnawing at him, wearing him down, and sometimes he had to change direction and walk outside, because he started crying and he didn't want the others to see. Obliviously, in that desperate daze, Berwald just followed him, as Ludwig broke down and pulled himself together and then broke down again.

Berwald was making it so much harder than it needed to be. It wasn't certain death, it wasn't, not by a long shot, but Berwald was acting as if Ludwig were about to take a swan dive over a great cliff, and so that made it feel that way. It wouldn't have been so dreadful if Berwald hadn't been in that strange state of premature mourning.

And god!

That last night together, before the day came—unbearable. Berwald clung to him, so tightly that Ludwig could barely breathe, and out of nowhere Berwald had just started talking to him. Just started out of nowhere, and then didn't stop for hours. Berwald had never spoken so much, and it was astounding.

Berwald told Ludwig his entire life story, from his very first memory up until the day they had met, and it was staggering, hearing Berwald speak like that. He couldn't seem to stop, as if there had never been anyone in Berwald's life that had cared to or wanted to hear about it, as if no one had ever wanted to get to know Berwald before, as if he had never had anyone to talk to at all. Now that Berwald had someone looking at him, seeing him, being with him because they wanted to be, it seemed as if Berwald was just telling Ludwig everything there was to tell, because he was afraid it was the last time he would ever have a chance to. Had Ludwig never come back, it seemed that Berwald thought he would never get to tell anyone ever again, because no one would ever care enough to ask or listen.

Berwald had always been alone.

Ludwig was glad his face was hidden in Berwald's shirt, because that made him feel less pitiful, sniveling as he was.

Ludwig had spent his life in terror, and Berwald had spent his drifting endlessly at sea, all alone and with no shore in sight. Ludwig had always felt so alone, so isolated, so cast aside, but it was hearing Berwald talk that night that he realized he didn't really know what loneliness was. Gilbert had always been there, for good or bad, classmates, friends, people he knew.

Had never known what it was to be completely and utterly alone until that night, when he listened to Berwald.

Broke his damn heart somehow, when he thought it had already shattered under Gilbert's words.

Had thought that Gilbert saying that he wished Ludwig was dead was the most painful thing he could ever possibly hear, and yet somehow, it was far more excruciating to lie there and listen to Berwald so breathlessly and eagerly relay his life to someone at long last, when no one on the Earth had ever before noticed he existed or cared to find out about him.

That desperate tone, under it all, to spill it all out quickly enough, because they would soon be saying goodbye.

Ludwig's resolve wavered, for the first time. Loved Gilbert so much, but he loved Berwald, too, and Gilbert hated him and Berwald needed him. Was it worth the risk?

Too late to turn back.

Morning came far too soon, as it always seemed to. It was a struggle for Ludwig to get out of bed, because Berwald's arms were locked around him and he stubbornly refused to let him go. Took a good hour of squirming and coaxing before he managed to wriggle to the edge of the bed and gain some leverage and free himself.

And even then, Berwald continued to follow him around as he had the days before, on his heels and relentless.

When finally Ludwig was able to go downstairs, Timo was waiting.

"I just gave him some sedative. He's quiet now. When they get here, whenever it is, it won't be a problem."

Ludwig saw there, on the kitchen table, his uniform, folded neatly and just ready to be put back into service. Oh, how sick that made him feel. Didn't seem right. He wasn't a soldier anymore. Had lost that right years ago.

Ludwig came forward, took the uniform up, and he and Timo stared at each other in silence, as Timo tried to smile and couldn't manage.

He somehow evaded Berwald just long enough to actually pull on that uniform several hours later, when noon came.

They had all gathered there in the living room as sedated Gilbert slept away, and oh, damn, it was so hard to step out then and walk into the midst of them. He felt as if he were made of lead suddenly, so heavy, and was clumsy with his steps.

So nervous.

They looked up when he walked in, and it was like going right back in time.

He stood before them in the final moment as he had in the first :

As a German soldier.

His boots felt too heavy. The collar was stifling. How surreal and bizarre he felt then, in that dark green uniform he had once been so proud of, for the briefest of times. He was so glad, above all else, that Gilbert was drugged then, because had he seen Ludwig donning that uniform he truly would have engaged in an upheaval so massive surely even all five of them couldn't have put him down.

Timo looked him up and down, and smiled, just a little, uttering, "Man! Does this bring back some memories."

Lukas grimaced at the sight, but was tactfully silent.

Magnus opened his mouth, gave only an odd noise, and then fell still. Looked lost, in a way, looked frightened and uncertain, as he often did.

Timo suddenly grabbed Ludwig's hand, and forced a paper inside. He clenched Ludwig's fingers around it, and then held his hand for a long while, meeting his eyes quite firmly. "I wrote down the name of the next town over. You remember it, okay, just in case. Something happens, you get into trouble somehow, and you get lost or— If you're lost in Finland, this is the next town over. Ask around, and someone will get you there. From there, it's just the one road here, alright? Just ask for me there, and someone will point you in the right direction. Okay?"

Timo's grip on his hand was tight. Painful.

Thought his voice was a little shaky, and Ludwig was swallowing more than he would have liked. Hated goodbyes, couldn't stand them. So hard, so impossible, to stand before these men and say goodbye, just in case something went wrong and he never came back.

It was only ten or eleven days. That was all. He wasn't even going to be gone for two weeks.

Why was it so hard?

Berwald wouldn't lift his eyes up from the floor, and Ludwig was certain that Berwald was a breath away from bursting into tears. Ludwig waited for Berwald to look up, to say something, to try to utter some weak goodbye, but he didn't. Just stood there, head hanging like that, swallowing and silent.

It took Ludwig a long time to get his arms moving for how damn heavy they felt, and when he finally took a step forward, he reached up, took Berwald's face in his hands, and forced him to look up.

Misery.

Had never seen such a look of misery as the one that was there upon Berwald's face.

A horrible stare, and Berwald whispered, in a trembling voice, "Please. Let me go. I'll go instead. I don't want ya to go. When you're gone, I— I get lost."

Had always been lost, Berwald, and Ludwig hadn't realized it until last night.

He held Berwald's face, firmly, and said, as bravely as he could, "I'll be back soon. It's only a few days. I promise, I'll do everything to get back here as quick as I can. And when I come back, I swear, whatever happens, anything, I won't leave again. This is the last time. After this, we'll do everything together. You won't be alone ever again, so don't... Please. It's gonna be alright."

Berwald shook his head yet again, as best he could for Ludwig's grip, and said one more time, "Don't go."

Dammit, please, needed Berwald to stop it, because it was killing him, it was, this was too damn much, seeing someone like Berwald like this. Had always seen him as so untouchable and strong, he had been the leader once. Wasn't right, seeing him like this.

Still, it had to be done, and Ludwig said, "I have to."

Just like that, Berwald's face crumpled like a piece of paper, he hung his head, and dissolved into tears. He had never seen Berwald cry. Had heard from Timo by now about his meltdown, but damn, seeing it was so much worse, too much.

The others stood there in silence, and looked away.

He didn't know what to do, what to say, so he just held Berwald's face as he cried. Should have said something, maybe, but felt so foolish.

Stupid—everything he did was so stupid.

Several hours later, close to sundown, they heard the vehicle coming up the drive. Berwald leapt to his feet, fists and jaw clenched, eyes wide and pulse racing, and Ludwig was startled by his quick movement after he had been dazed for days. Thought for a moment that Berwald was going to tackle him and either rip his uniform off and steal it, or just throw Ludwig over his shoulder and cart him upstairs and lock him up so he couldn't leave.

Lukas came up to Ludwig at last, and held out his hand. Ludwig took it, and Lukas said, in a whisper, "You're the dumbest guy I know. Luck favors idiots, I think, so I'm sure somehow you'll be fine. Seems like nothing can take you down. Stupidity is hard to kill."

Ludwig punched Lukas' chest, and griped back, "Guess that's how you're still alive."

Lukas just smiled, but only barely.

Magnus had yet to speak to Ludwig, and stared at him then, once more opening his mouth and once more foundering. Magnus always liked to pretend that the things around him weren't as bad as they seemed, weren't really happening, and maybe for that Magnus didn't want to say goodbye because doing so would make this very real.

Magnus stayed silent.

Timo's guys came inside then, and Berwald actually glared at them, as if they were somehow responsible for Ludwig's mess. Next thing Ludwig knew, the guys had picked up drugged Gilbert beneath his arms and had hauled him outside, and suddenly it was time to go.

Time to go? When the hell had that happened?

Berwald stood there, slumping more and more with every second that passed, and Ludwig looked all of them over in turn, giving them each a long stare to remember them, just in case, and then he turned and grabbed up Magnus' Soviet rifle. Not his; he left that where it was, because he was coming back. He was, and so there was no point in bringing it.

He went to the door, went out onto the porch, the others trailing silently behind him, and he could see the vehicle there down below. A van, and the back doors were open. Gilbert was sitting there on the side seat, slumped and barely conscious. The Finns stood out, getting in a few cigarettes before Ludwig came down.

Yeah... Time to go, alright.

He could do it. Had done such harder things than being on a boat for five days.

He took the first step down onto the path, and faltered.

He looked over his shoulder at them, all of them, his friends, and tried his best to smile as he uttered, gruffly, "Hey— You guys better all be here when I get back. Got it? All of you. No fighting. No splitting up. Wait for me. Understand? That's an order."

Timo's scoff sounded far too much like a sob, when he grumbled, "I'm the leader, you jerk. Ain't nobody takin' orders from a dumb bastard like you."

Ludwig's face crumpled then, so he had to very quickly say, "Goodbye," and turn away.

That was the longest walk.

When he was almost to the vehicle, Magnus called, "Ludde!"

Ludwig looked over his shoulder again.

Magnus lifted his fist in the air, and shouted to him, in the Jutland dialect, "Please— You gotta come back, man. Don't leave me here alone with these jerks. They scare the hell outta me. Got it? That's my order. You're my best friend, so don't die. I wanna raise hell with you when the war's over! Come back."

He blinked away the tears, gathered his voice, and managed to shout back, "You liar! You just want me to come back 'cause you still don't know where I've hidden your fuckin' money!"

Magnus laughed, for the first time in so long, and Ludwig was grateful for that.

The best parting gift he could hope for.

With that, he inhaled for courage, and pulled himself into the back of the vehicle, taking a seat in front of woozy Gilbert. The Finns finished up, shouted their farewells to Timo, shut the doors, and then, goddamn, they were suddenly lurching forward.

Leaving. Leaving those men, something he had wanted so many times and now couldn't stand. Ludwig glared a little at Gilbert, as Berwald had glared at those Finns, even though it wasn't Gilbert's fault, really. Gilbert hadn't wanted to be in this position any more than Ludwig had.

Ludwig turned his eyes then to the window on the doors, and saw them there one last time, the four of them, standing there and watching him go.

And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, Berwald took a step down, and then another, and then Ludwig watched as Berwald was suddenly jogging after the van, fast as he could, as if he somehow deliriously thought he was gonna just catch up and jump inside. Ah, shit—knew it couldn't be, wasn't going to be, but some stupid part of Ludwig wished that somehow Berwald really could catch up and manage to grab a hold of the van, that Ludwig could pull him up, that they could go on this journey together.

Not this time.

His job. His responsibility. Berwald would stay here.

An awful meeting of their eyes through the glass as Berwald chased after him, and then the drive ended, the corner turned, and Berwald was gone.

Ludwig couldn't really stand it, so he leaned back, shut his eyes, and tried to sleep. Just kept seeing Berwald's face.

He dozed in and out as the Finns turned onto bumpy back roads and they once more left Soviet Finland behind. The trip to Helsinki took a long while, careful as they had to be, and Ludwig just watched Gilbert and counted the hours. Every twelve hours, he dosed Gilbert according to the instructions Timo had given him.

Gilbert was beautifully cooperative. So quiet and calm. Perfectly serene. Just stared at Ludwig from across the way on the odd occasion that he lifted his head, sometimes he whispered nonsense and sometimes he smiled a little.

Wished Gilbert was always like this, come to think.

Hours dragged.

The Finns didn't speak German, so it was an interesting experience, trying to communicate with them. For the most part, they just prattled away, laughed, and then clapped him on the back and gave him a jostle here and there when he was looking down.

Ludwig just kept his eyes on drugged Gilbert, and felt dread.

Helsinki came, and so did the boat. The Finns had a fairly private pier, backed the van up as close as they could, and Ludwig assisted them in carrying heavy Gilbert onto the boat and down into the cabin beneath. When Gilbert was on the cot, it was time to go, and Ludwig's dread was ever mounting. The scariest part now, crossing the volatile sea of war and trying to get this miserable son of a bitch back home. Oh, what had he been thinking? Stupid.

Surely enough, an hour after they pulled out and began to head into the sea, Ludwig leaned over the railing and threw up. Seasick once again, and miserable.

The Finns laughed at him a little.

Those days were terrible, taking turns watching for patrols and Ludwig having to fight off constant nausea, and then keeping Gilbert sedated on top of that. The most wretched days of his life. Couldn't wait to never be on the sea again. Just needed to survive the rest of this, and then get back, and he swore to himself that he would never again find himself in a boat, never.

Days passed, without too much incident. Ludwig's anxiety rose higher, when, on the sunset of the fifth day, the final day, the Finns gestured enough to Ludwig to make him understand that he didn't need to give Gilbert anymore sedative.

They were close.

Ludwig went back down, to keep an eye on Gilbert, who would start coming out of his stupor slowly.

The sea was still. So quiet. The hour was very late. Midnight perhaps.

Gilbert was quiet too, asleep on the bed, breathing deeply and evenly. Would be rather alert when he woke up, having passed the heaviest stage of sedation. Hoped that they would find a safe place to drop him off before he became too alert.

Ludwig stood and meant to go back up on deck to see where they were exactly, when the calm was rocked by an explosion.

Came out of nowhere.

Knocked him over, as the boat suddenly listed, and Gilbert cried out in alarm, reacting instinctively. He hit the wall hard, damn hard, and Ludwig reached out, grabbed Gilbert's arm, and dragged him up the steadily tilting stairs. Made it onto the deck to see light, bright and orange. Fire, right beside of them. The smell of smoke, above the salt of the sea.

Their boat was capsizing, that was obvious, way it was tilting so rapidly.

Ludwig barely had time to look around and comprehend what had happened; a large fishing vessel that had been very close to them had hit a mine, no doubt, and the explosion had hit their little boat far too hard. Could hear the Finns screaming, calling to him, but couldn't see them in the dark.

Couldn't think too much about it.

He could only grab confused and limp Gilbert and slide from the slanted deck and into the black water beneath as the boat slid with them.

The sea was freezing—

The shock of it hit him hard. Merciless. Couldn't even breathe.

How he got his head above the water then, bringing Gilbert up with him, was a mystery.

Gilbert just looked around dazedly, shocked out of his lethargy by the coldness, and started panicking. Rightfully so, considering the circumstances, but his sudden thrashing didn't make it easy for Ludwig to keep his head above the water. Kept on sinking, struggling to break above the surface because he was clinging too stubbornly to Gilbert. Forcing Gilbert's head up even as his own lowered.

Every time he managed to surface, he cried out to Gilbert, trying to get his attention long enough to get him to stop struggling.

"Gilbert! Stop! Stop! Stop, you gotta stop! You're gonna—"

Water in his mouth as Gilbert yet thrashed.

"STOP! You're gonna drown us! Gilbert! Stop! Be still!"

Took a long, terrifying minute, but Gilbert finally stopped flailing, woke up more and realized where he was, came to a bit, and Ludwig was able to stay above the waves.

Gilbert, trying to figure out how to swim with numb limbs, made awkward treading motions as he looked around in utter terror. Must have been so horrifying for him, to have been drugged out of his mind and then be forced back into clarity by finding himself in the cold Baltic Sea.

A rough, breaking shriek.

"What the fuck— What have you done? Where are we? What's happening?"

Gilbert was threatening to thrash again, as panic rose up. Once more, Ludwig struggled to wrangle him, one hand tangled in Gilbert's collar as the other arm worked twice as hard to keep him afloat.

Couldn't keep it up, and the more Gilbert panicked the more Ludwig sank.

Yet again, Ludwig found himself pleading.

"Stop it, I can't— I can't stay up like this! Stop moving—"

All the water he was swallowing was making him nauseous, not helped by the terror.

Lights in the distance. The shore, so far away, so damn far.

The boat was gone, lost beneath the waves.

Hadn't even started truly swimming yet, and Ludwig was already exhausted. Too heavy—the uniform and boots and gun were weighing him down far too much. Expending too much energy. He let go of Gilbert for just a second, to slide his rifle off and let it sink beneath, and was quick to reclaim Gilbert and drag him back up.

Gilbert started twisting, turning, trying to see what was going on around him, so scared and confused, and in his daze he kept on unintentionally pushing Ludwig underneath the water as he tried to lift up a bit and gather his bearings.

He was gonna drown here, he knew it then, as he couldn't even get a word in, so frequent was the water above his head.

Gilbert happened to look over in his panic, and glimpsed an instance of Ludwig's head falling once more beneath the water for his thrashing. A hand snatched out and tangled up in his shirt, pulling him up, and Ludwig used the opportunity to sputter, "Be still! We're home, Gilbert!"

They stared at each other then, one hand tangled in the other's shirt and the other arm working together in a very clumsy tread, and Gilbert looked so lost and bewildered.

"What?"

Ludwig tried to get Gilbert to look over the shore, lifting his head and hissing, "That's Germany! I brought you home, you stupid bastard, so fuckin' swim before you drown us both!"

Gilbert saw the lights far off, the shore, and Ludwig didn't know if Gilbert knew that he was home or not, if he understood, and it didn't really matter; the second frightened Gilbert saw that distant shore, he made a break for it, swimming towards it as hard as he could. Ludwig was quickly left behind, because Gilbert was stronger than he was and a far better swimmer.

That bastard, was gonna leave him here to drown—

The waves were brutal, the tide was strong, and it was probably luck more than anything that kept Ludwig afloat then, or maybe he completed that swim because he'd be goddamned if Gilbert survived and he didn't when Gilbert was the only reason he was here. Anger probably fueled him.

The shore they reached wasn't shore at all; just rocks, beneath the shelf of land, above which lied a road. Gaslights, in the distance. Gilbert managed to get his balance there on the rocks, getting high up enough to get out of the surf, but he couldn't reach the top.

Ludwig was dashed upon the rocks far more times than he was comfortable with, getting banged around and cut up as he tried to grab hold. It was only when Gilbert looked back and saw him that Ludwig was saved, when Gilbert spit a curse and then grabbed his arm to yank him up. Wanted to be hopeful, but Ludwig knew that Gilbert had only dragged him up because he needed Ludwig to help him up this dirt wall and onto land. It was dark and they were lost, and trying to swim down the coast a bit to find an easier way up was simply not an option.

Ludwig coughed up water, and then he rasped to Gilbert, "Lift me up."

Couldn't lift Gilbert up first; was too scared Gilbert would walk off and leave him down there below. Without a word, Gilbert maneuvered him around, grabbed Ludwig around the thighs, and lifted him up as high as he could. Gilbert had been drugged up for days on end, but it was funny how strong adrenaline made even the weakest man.

Ludwig grabbed hold of the guardrail above, hauled himself up after a good struggle and pushes from Gilbert, and then he leaned over and extended his arms. Hauling heavy Gilbert up like that was exceptionally hard, and he had nearly dropped the bastard before Gilbert managed to get his boots up on land.

They toppled over into the dirt and snow beside the road, pitiful and freezing.

Ludwig coughed up water long after he was on dry ground, on his hands and knees, retching and gasping for air. Gilbert lied on his back, staring up at the sky and panting, although from exhaustion or terror Ludwig couldn't say.

Long, horrible minutes of choking, before Ludwig lifted his head, and looked around. Didn't see anyone else, no one. Couldn't see if any of the Finns had made it—too dark, and Ludwig was too damn tired and dazed.

The distant glow of fire on the sea.

He fell onto his stomach shortly after, collapsed entirely, and zoned out.

It was when he heard air raid sirens in the distance that he lifted his head, woke up, and Ludwig forced himself to his knees, crawling over and grabbing Gilbert by the arm and yanking him up.

Gilbert was still breathing through his mouth, shivering and so exhausted, so out in space now that his life was no longer in danger, and it was a struggle for pitiful Ludwig to haul pitiful Gilbert up to his feet. Didn't know where to go, so he just dragged Gilbert down the road and started wandering towards the lights in the distance.

The Finns were gone, one way or another, and Ludwig was on his own.

Ha! Couldn't wait to tell Lukas he had survived a marine mine. Was creating a rather nice list of things that couldn't seem to kill him, and Lukas would find it either hilarious or infuriating.

They reached the town a good hour later, slow as they walked and as unsteadily, and they turned into the streets. He found a bench shortly after, in a little park, threw Gilbert down on it, and collapsed beside of him.

One of the strangest moments of his life, tossing his head back and staring up at the sky as Gilbert sat there next to him in identical posture. They watched stars through their stupor until the pale light of dawn began to light up the sky.

The last of the sedatives steadily faded from Gilbert's system and clarity was returning.

With it came that rage.

A hand suddenly wrenched in his collar, Gilbert jerked him sideways, and the next thing dazed Ludwig knew, Gilbert had snatched Ludwig's pistol out of its holster, pressed it into Ludwig's chest, their noses touching, and Gilbert looked well beyond deadly.

Well. Here was the chance Gilbert had to make his little brother dead for real.

Too tired to even bother lifting his hand, Ludwig just stared at Gilbert and waited.

A low hiss.

"Where am I? Huh?"

Meeting Gilbert's eyes, so dark and stern, Ludwig just smiled.

"Guess we're near Travemünde. Happy? How about you just go down to Lübeck and take the train to Berlin? Go wait for the Reds there. Isn't that what you want?"

A flash of fury, and Gilbert pressed the gun so furiously into Ludwig that he knew it was leaving a bruise.

"What? Did you think you'd bring me back here and everything would just go back to normal? Did you? Wanna come back home and pretend nothing ever happened? Is that what you think?"

Hurt, rising up.

Kept on seeing Berwald's face. That horrible devastation on the brink.

Gilbert shook him.

"You think bringing me back home would make me forgive you?"

Maybe he had hoped, just a little, but he realized in that instant that he actually didn't give a damn anymore.

So tired that he could barely keep his eyes open, Ludwig just retorted, with far more bitterness than he meant to, "No. I never want to be here with you again. I just didn't want you die in Finland. If you wanna die, that's fine. Keep trying. I just wanted you to die here at home. I wasn't trying to come back. I was gonna throw you here and then leave. I didn't want anyone there to get hurt because of you. I've already hurt enough people because of you."

The crinkle of Gilbert's nose. An odd contortion of his face, quickly pushed aside. No smart comments that time, however, and instead Gilbert removed the gun from his chest and tucked it into his belt.

A tired sigh.

It sounded so stupid in hindsight, sayin' it like that. Had always known how stupid it was, but saying it to Gilbert felt far beyond idiotic. Selfish; had risked more than his own life to get Gilbert here. Didn't know if those Finns were alive or not. What had happened to them. Putting others yet again in danger because he was too proud.

Out of nowhere, Ludwig threw his head back once more upon the bench, and started laughing, quite loudly. Laughed so long and hard that he started coughing, from the water still hanging there low in his throat, and Gilbert just stared at him.

He gasped for breath, leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, smiled over at Gilbert, and said, boldly, "Just fuckin' shoot me, Gilbert. Just shoot me. You wanna shoot me? Go ahead. You like shootin' people, don't ya? Shoot me. Hey— Wanna know something else? Since you already hate me? You wanna know why I was always so scared of your friends? Hm? I'm in love with a man, Gilbert. How's that? Huh? Does that make you hate me more, huh? Just fuckin' shoot me. I was always so afraid of you, because I knew if you ever found out, you'd arrest me yourself and throw me into one of those damn camps, wouldn't you? You wouldn't'a thought twice about it. Would that have made you happy? I'm not like you. I don't like hurtin' people. I'd do anything for you, Gilbert, but I won't hurt anyone else for you. So just shoot me."

Gilbert was swallowing, jaw clenched and brow low, breathing quite heavily through his nose, very clearly infuriated and yet also looking quite devastated.

Ludwig smiled at him, and just waited.

Had said it, at long last. Gilbert knew. Whatever happened then, Ludwig was rather proud of himself for looking Gilbert in the eye and admitting it.

But Gilbert didn't shoot him. When he finally tore his eyes away from Ludwig, he stared straight ahead for a long while, still breathing so forcibly, and then, very abruptly, Gilbert stood up. He lingered there for a moment, staring ahead at nothing, and then, with an exhale, Gilbert turned and walked away, unsteadily.

Gilbert left Ludwig alone there on that bench, and disappeared.

Didn't shoot him.

He had brought Gilbert home, and for that, Gilbert turned aside. They were even. Done and over with.

Ludwig was left to sit there in silence, and realize his situation.

Here he was, all over again. Back home, the place he had been so desperate to escape from. Had come back here willingly, and now paid the price. Trapped, all over again. Alone and helpless. Had given every bit of himself to avoid going to Norway, and had now stepped foot back into the lion's den.

He hung his head then, and dissolved into tears.

His hands were shaking.

Gilbert was gone. Berwald was gone.

He was alone.

Every time he found his foothold, the ground just shook again. Found himself lost in some unknown place, a stranger and utterly alone. Even in his homeland. Nowhere to go, when you didn't belong anywhere.

Someone waited for him yet, though.

He'd promised Berwald that he'd do everything in his power to get back to them, and that was what he would do. By god! That man was his, and no force on this Earth could have kept Ludwig away from him.

When the sun broke over the horizon, he stood up, and started walking.