A/N : I'm trying to power through the rest of this, because if I don't hurry my feels will force me to stop. So close!
Chapter 24
My Shoes Keep Walking Back To You
Gilbert went back into circulation quickly, as Ludwig knew he would.
Proud. Stubborn.
Ludwig knew, because he was somehow unfortunate enough to run into the son of a bitch, not even two fuckin' weeks after he'd come back to Germany. Ten days, to be precise.
Even though he hadn't really wanted to trek back, Ludwig had found himself in Berlin all the same. Didn't really know where else to go. Needed help to cross the border, and didn't know who to turn to for assistance. Spies, everywhere. Not safe to ask around. Berlin had seemed like the place where it was most likely for him to encounter someone who could help him.
Just didn't know how to start a conversation.
Needed Timo's connections now, no doubt about it. Had lost his Finns, and was helpless.
No conversations were needed, because Ludwig had wandered aimlessly down a bombed street one day, so lost and alone, and as he stumbled through the rubble he rounded a corner and ran straight into a group of soldiers.
Ludwig staggered clumsily to a halt before them, staring at them in terror. Wouldn't have been scared at all if the one at the head hadn't been Gilbert, of all damn people.
Unbelievable!
Why was his luck so bad? Wished Lukas was here to fuss at him.
A rifle aimed at Ludwig from behind Gilbert's back, and Ludwig knew right off that it was because he just looked so damn suspicious and because his uniform was very old. A soldier out here alone like this with no gun and looking rundown? They surely thought he was a spy.
An awful silence.
Good to see Gilbert back in his element, he supposed, if nothing else. Gilbert was protecting Germany now, as the Red Army crept ever closer and the RAF came constantly to bomb Berlin. Had been three bombings already, in the brief time Ludwig had been here. Gilbert had been put back into ranks quickly enough to defend the homeland, now that everything was starting to fall apart. He wondered if Gilbert had tried to talk his way into going back to Finland, wondered how he had even gone about explaining how he had come to be here. If he had been relieved to be back in Germany.
He must have been happy, surely, being home.
Ludwig wished he could be home, too.
Where was Berwald, now? Couldn't really seem to give an effort to do anything, without Berwald there.
So when another soldier raised up his rifle alongside the other, Ludwig just stood there silently, placidly, and didn't say a word. Was too tired to even bother, and too anxious to try speaking.
Gilbert stared at Ludwig as if he'd just parachuted down from the fuckin' sky.
Surprise. Alarm. Maybe a little fear.
The men waited for Gilbert's command, for his opinion of this suspicious person, and with every passing second, Ludwig was more certain that Gilbert was going to give the command to shoot.
'I wish you'd'a died instead.'
Here was the chance to make that a reality, a far better one than before, given that Gilbert would no longer sully his hands. Gilbert had every reason to shoot him. Ludwig was everything, after all, that Gilbert hated. No more secrets; Gilbert knew everything about Ludwig now.
But Gilbert just stood there, still staring at him like that, and long seconds passed.
Finally, at Gilbert's apparent immobility, one of the soldiers spoke up, trying to get an order to come from Gilbert's lips.
"Should we shoot him? That uniform must be three, four years old. Don't even make those anymore. He's not a soldier. Probably a spy or something."
Gilbert was yet silent.
Suddenly, there was the awful grinding and whirring of an air raid siren, and that startled Gilbert enough to drag him out of that stupor and wake him up.
An inhale, as Gilbert looked over to see that rifle pointed at Ludwig.
Ludwig expected him to say, 'So hurry and shoot him, and get it over with.'
Instead, Gilbert tucked his hands in his pockets, and just said, in a very terse voice, "No. He's not a spy. Look at him. Just some stupid kid that wanted to come help. Probably stole his father's uniform. We got bigger things to worry about than boys tryin' to act like men."
The situation diffused.
Rifles lowered, shoulders dropped, and one of the soldiers lifted his chin and said, "Kid, why don't you just join up for real, huh? We take everyone we can get now. Hell, I gave a rifle to a fuckin' twelve-year-old yesterday."
Gilbert had turned his eyes away.
Ludwig didn't say a word, too dumb with adrenaline and something else to speak, and just lowered his gaze to the pavement. He may not have been twelve anymore, but he sure as hell felt like he was, then. Ashamed and afraid. Alone.
Gilbert should have had him shot.
Gilbert turned his eyes up to the sky then, on the lookout for planes, and finally said, "We gotta go. Move."
The soldiers started walking.
Gilbert lingered behind.
When the soldiers were far away, out of sight, Gilbert marched on Ludwig, and Ludwig stood there and braced himself for whatever Gilbert was about to dish out. A hand snatched out and tangled up in his collar, wrenched him forward, and he and Gilbert were chest to chest.
Gilbert leaned in, and pressed his lips against Gilbert's ear. A furious tone.
"This is the last thing I'm doing for you, brother," Gilbert hissed in his ear. "Get outta here. Go to Switzerland, you'll be safe there. You want that, right? Huh? You don't wanna stay here and fight, 'cause you're a coward. You disowned us all, didn't ya, so go there. Stay right here in this street. Hide in a building. I'll—I'll send someone tonight to get you over. Stay in Switzerland. Stay there. I'm not ever gonna see you again. Don't you ever think about coming back."
Ludwig was silent, Gilbert's lips still pressed against his head as his hands clenched the front of Gilbert's shirt, trying to get as much out of this final contact with his one true brother.
"Don't—don't try to find me when the war's over. I don't want you around. I don't wanna see you. Don't come back here. You're not a German anymore, so don't ever come back. Got it?"
It would have hurt so much more if Gilbert hadn't been trying so hard not to cry. If Gilbert hadn't been clinging to him so tightly, if Gilbert hadn't been pressing them so closely together and resting his head there against Ludwig's, if his voice hadn't been thick and shaking.
A long time they stood like that, Ludwig unable to speak and Gilbert breathing too hard.
His brother.
At the last second, Gilbert suddenly murmured, in a voice that broke, "If I had known— I would never have put you in a camp. I'd'a just pretended I didn't know a damn thing."
Gilbert pulled back, then, when he was composed, his fingers still clenched in Ludwig's shirt, and lifted his chin.
"Get outta here. Don't ever come back. Go. Goodbye."
Ludwig could only stare at him, and say, "I love you, Gilbert."
The first time he had ever said it aloud.
A short flash of regret in Gilbert's eyes, but he didn't repeat those words back. Not this time. For the first time.
Gilbert let him go, and took a step back.
"Go."
He went.
They walked away from each other yet again.
Ludwig turned back at the last second to say, softly, "Don't you dare die, Gilbert. You're invincible, remember?"
Gilbert stopped, twitched his head just a bit, but in the end he didn't look back, and carried on.
Goodbye.
Hiding himself safely inside a bombed down house, Ludwig just sank down to the rubble beneath, and even though he was smiling, he started crying.
The final farewell between them, although not planned, had somehow meant more to Ludwig than anything else Gilbert had ever said to him. Somewhere, deep down, Gilbert still loved him, despite his declarations otherwise. However much of a disappointment Ludwig was to Gilbert, Gilbert still loved him, and he knew then that Gilbert always would.
The best he and Gilbert could have ever hoped for, perhaps.
Their paths had split again, and this time forever.
The second goodbye was always harder.
Three days later, he was in Switzerland.
Had never in his life envisioned himself being there, and it was quite devastating. Felt so alone, wandering around in a daze, lost and disoriented. Didn't know where he was, and didn't know where to go. The man Gilbert had sent had brought money, no doubt Gilbert's final parting gift, a substantial amount, but Ludwig didn't know where to start.
Had never truly set off on his own, now, had he, considering that his last attempt had been thwarted.
Oh, how he missed Berwald.
Switzerland had a bit of the look of Sweden, but it didn't feel the same. Ludwig had elevated Sweden into impossible standards of near divinity, perhaps, because it felt as if his life had really begun there. Had met them all there, and so Sweden held his best memories. Nothing was ever the same.
Switzerland was pretty, but cold. Distant.
He didn't know where to go, who to turn to. Didn't know how to get out of Switzerland when all along its borders were war zones. Was entirely clueless as to how to return to Finland from here.
He wandered for an entire month, here and there, spending as little money as he could, using it only to spend a night indoors when it was too cold otherwise, staring at people always, and maybe, more than anything, he was just hoping someone would notice him and come save him.
Hoped someone would see him there and know he needed help.
Problem was that there was a war, and everyone needed help, in one way or another, and pitiful Ludwig didn't stand out as much from the crowd as he would have liked.
Needed to be more proactive, and so Ludwig finally spent a little money to head into dark bars at evening and look around for someone who looked like they might have known smugglers. But people all looked like people to Ludwig, and no matter how many times he sat there with a beer and looked shiftily around, no one ever seemed to catch his eye.
Two weeks of that, and then, when he was somewhere near Lucerne, staring at the mountains in the distance with a pang of homesickness, he sat down in a bar, and silently mourned. Felt trapped and scared. Alone here.
He must have looked so pathetic by then, run-down and unshaved and a little too skinny. He'd bought new clothes, had thrown that uniform out for good, but they were already pretty worn and dirty.
An hour or so later, a man sat down beside of him.
It took Ludwig a while to look over, wallowing in misery as he was, and saw a man ordering a beer, glancing over at him frequently. A blond man, very neat and well-dressed, not particularly friendly looking. Ludwig just lifted his chin in acknowledgement, and turned aside.
They sat in silence, until, perhaps half an hour later, the man finally spoke to him.
"Damn, kid, you've seen better days, huh?"
That was far beyond an understatement, so Ludwig stayed silent and stared down into the last of his beer. Just wanted to get back home. The frustration was becoming stifling.
At his silence, the man suddenly switched to French and started speaking, and Ludwig finally looked up and turned his head, to say, during a pause, "No, sorry— I just didn't know what to say."
A very prying gaze, very intense and very stern, and Ludwig was easily stared down.
He took up his glass to finish it, as the man did the same.
"Where are you from?" the man asked, as they slammed down their glasses at the same time.
The cigarette smoke in the bar was starting to get to him. Head pounding.
"Nowhere," he replied, maybe rudely.
"Where are you going?"
"Nowhere."
A short scoff.
"Well, you sure did find the right place for that."
They fell silent, and Ludwig could feel that intense man scrutinizing him, and he knew that the man assumed he was probably homeless or a recent refugee, because he certainly looked that way by now.
Sure enough, when Ludwig meant to stand and leave, the man said, "Sit. I'll buy you another round. You want something to eat?"
Ludwig stood still, and felt suddenly so stupid.
How the hell had he even gotten to this point? A remarkably unbelievable, unfortunate chain of events. Could never have sat down before anyone and explained to them perfectly how he found himself here right now.
He must have appeared as lost and confused as he felt, because the man reached out, grabbed his arm, and yanked him back down onto the bar stool. A clap on his back, and Ludwig just sat in silence, picking at his food when it came and feeling rather ill.
Feeling as stupid as he actually was, was quite unpleasant.
The strict man beside of him chided him until he ate, though, and Ludwig glanced at him more frequently, trying to gather up his courage and ask if, just perhaps, this man might have known someone who could get him the hell out of here.
Didn't get his chance; when he glanced up with intent, it was to see a very pretty girl coming towards them. He clamped his mouth shut, the chance passed, and Ludwig turned his eyes back down when the girl had suddenly come up to them, standing there between them. He was a little surprised to see a girl here at all, in this rough place, and when she put her hand down on the man's shoulder, she sent Ludwig a smile.
"Hello."
Ludwig gave a quick nod, and a muttered, awkward, "Hey."
"Well," she said, as she looked them over, "It's nice to see my brother making friends."
Friend was a very strong word, and the man was quick to point that out.
"Just sittin' together is all."
She reached out, giving her hand to Ludwig, and said, "I'm Lili. Nice to meet you. This is Basch, if you didn't know already."
"Oh," he said, dumbly, and then squeaked rather than said, "I'm Ludwig."
Couldn't ever say why girls talkin' to him terrified him more than a battle did. Could have died when she suddenly sat down beside of him, staring away at him. Was certain his face was blazing red. Why had they honed in on him? Did he look that bad?
Their charity, perhaps.
"Where did you come from?" the man suddenly asked.
"Berlin."
A strange look.
"Ran from the bombs, huh? Didn't think it was that easy to just up and get outta there."
Ludwig scoffed, staring into his beer, and grumbled, "It's not."
The point got across, and Basch just gave a short, "Hm!"
It was the girl who asked, "Where are you staying?"
Ludwig said, yet again, "Nowhere."
Her look of pity.
How disgraceful he felt then, how ridiculous. A grown man, and so helpless.
She was considerably nicer than her counterpart, and sent him another smile, and Ludwig ducked his head down in embarrassment. Must have considered him a total wreck, these two, because he was.
"You came a long way," she said. "You can come stay with us tonight."
Her brother sent her a stern look, but it had already been said.
Ludwig accepted, because he didn't have anywhere else to go. She seemed happy enough, and shortly after Ludwig found himself walking behind them and pondering. When he could get the man alone again, he would try to ask about possible associates.
The house he was led to was beautiful, in the center of a pretty street, well-lit and well tended. Ludwig felt quite abashed, setting foot into their home, dirty as he was, but the girl pushed him through the door regardless. She was on him in a second, fussing over him and happy enough to clean him up, apparently. She walked him to the bathroom, handing him clothes that must have been her brother's, and took his old ones with the promise to clean them.
Felt quite in heaven in that moment, able to take a bath and get clean. The first time he relaxed in so long.
When he came out, the man was waiting for him, observed him, and said, offhandedly, "Not bad. Sit down. Want a haircut?"
Did they have nothing better to do? Was this a pastime of theirs, picking scraggly mutts up off the street? Ludwig was hardly one to complain, either way, and very gratefully nodded his head.
Hours later, when his clothes were washed and cleaned and his hair was trimmed, when he was shaved and feeling far better, they all sat down for dinner. Ludwig bided his time, watching the man, but his hopes were steadily dwindling. These two just didn't seem like people who would have known anyone who engaged in illegal activities. Seemed too prim and proper for that, they were clearly wealthy, and didn't have that sort of air about them.
They led him to the living room after, and they all sat down before the fire as they tried to engage Ludwig in gentle conversation.
He turned his head to the window, and stared at the snow. Wanting to be somewhere else, when once this place would have been a dream.
His melancholy did not go unnoticed.
Basch teased him a bit, and said, "Why you look so sad? You're in Switzerland! Most people look happy when they cross that last border."
He should have been happy, he knew that. Switzerland was everything he had wanted once. Now he felt as if it was slowly stifling him. Couldn't stand hearing those thunderous explosions so far away. Wondering what was happening. Flashes in his mind of Timo and Magnus crawling through undergrowth. Lukas dressed in white and hiding in the snow behind trees. Berwald, poor Berwald, unfocused and halfhearted, blinking lethargically behind the scope of his rifle.
Home.
Basch saw his fidgeting and wandering gaze, and finally collapsed down beside of him on the sofa, asking, out of nowhere, "So! Where you tryin' to get to, huh? Was this really your final destination?"
Ludwig glanced over, looked Basch up and down, and scoffed.
"That easy to see?"
"Yeah."
Ludwig sighed and sat up straight, running hands over his face tiredly as he tried to unscramble his mind. Guess it wouldn't hurt to be honest. He was in neutral lands—no danger of Basch being a spy. In theory.
So Ludwig finally said, "This wasn't where I wanted to be all. Went the wrong way. I needed to get to Finland."
Basch balked at that.
"Finland? The hell you wanna go there for? You really did go the wrong way. I'm sure you coulda just gone. Finland and Germany are still allies. Couldn't have been that hard for you."
"It's...complicated."
Very.
Lili spoke up, and murmured, "A refugee running into battle. Hm..."
That tone of her voice, the expression on her face—reminded Ludwig of Lukas, really did, and that made his stomach twist up with homesickness. They were his family now, and he would have done anything to get back to them.
Ludwig cut to the chase, and asked, heavily, "Don't guess you know anyone that can get me there?"
The siblings shared a glance, and the girl lifted her brow.
Basch said, drolly, "Yeah. Guess I do."
Ludwig snapped his head over in shock. Hadn't honest to god thought that he would be so lucky, really didn't, had only been half serious.
He must have looked astounded, because Lili uttered a laugh.
"Really?" Ludwig pressed, urgently. "You really know someone? Will they help me?"
Basch looked Ludwig over, intensely, and then said, "Yeah, I know someone. Me."
Stunned into silence.
Ludwig's face fell, because he thought for a second he was being had. He hung his head, hissed air through his teeth, and muttered a curse. Didn't have to tease him.
They must have realized he didn't believe them, because Basch suddenly shoved at his shoulder, and griped, "What? Don't I look the part of a smuggler? I've been getting Jews through to safe lands for years now. Haven't been shot yet. Have a little faith in me."
"'We', he means," Lili interjected, and Ludwig looked them back and forth in awe.
No way in hell. Not these two. Didn't look the part at all. Which may have helped, actually, yeah, but...
Quickly, Basch amended, "Well, I can't get you all the way into Finland personally, you know? But I can get you to the sea, easy, and I can get you someone who can finish the trip."
Ludwig hesitated.
Torn between elation and the nervousness he felt at getting these people involved, after the disastrous trip here. Had lost those Finns, as far as he knew, and didn't want anyone else to get hurt because of him. Innocent people paying the price for his stupidity.
But he had to get back to Berwald, had to, no other choice, woulda died if he hadn't been able to, and so Ludwig finally asked, formally, "Will you get me to Finland?"
Basch smiled, and nodded his head.
Ludwig reached down a bit frantically for his wallet, opened it up and counted what he had left from what Gilbert had given him. A good amount, but how much did it cost to smuggle someone? That was so dangerous, oh man, what if what they asked for was more than he had, what the hell was he gonna do—
A hand on his forearm, and he looked up as Basch shook his head.
"Don't worry about it," was all he said.
Shame.
"Please," Ludwig tried, ashamed then to even meet Basch's eyes. "Just let me—"
"No. We do this because it's the right thing to do. Not because it's a job."
Basch settled the matter by taking Ludwig's wallet, closing it, and tossing it back in his lap.
"Get some sleep," Lili said. "You need to rest. Just relax. We'll handle everything from here. Gather your strength up."
He felt low as dirt then, but so happy, so elated, thinking he was really going to be able to get home at last, and he didn't argue at all when they led him to a bed. Accepted it so gratefully, and was out like a light.
Just waiting, now.
He was under their wing for two more weeks before they had his path figured out and everything ready to go. He was so indebted to them, more than he could express, and swore to himself that when everything was said and done, when the war was over, he would find them again and somehow repay them. Made it easier that way, to accept their charity.
They started driving one morning, right back up into Germany and then all the way through. It was so easy—Basch just flashed papers at the border, for all three of them, and Ludwig's must have been good enough because there were no issues. They made it look so easy. Basch gave him the papers afterwards, and said, "Keep them if you want. They won't do you any good, but if you want a souvenir."
Ludwig snorted, and tucked them away.
Wouldn't do him any good, Basch explained during the drive, because the border guard they had been inspected by was an old friend, and easily swayed. Whatever worked; Ludwig was happy either way. A good few days of driving up towards the sea, and though it was stupid, Ludwig watched the streets go by and kept an eye out for Gilbert. If only to see him one final time. He didn't, naturally.
They made small talk as they drove, and at one point Basch had asked, "So what's in Finland, anyway?"
Dumbly, without thinking, Ludwig had responded, "My heart."
Felt like a damn fool the minute the words left his mouth, he blazed furiously red, and Lili, upon spying his shade, had started giggling. Basch snorted, and had teased him a bit.
"Well! Love is the best reason to cross borders."
Yeah. It was.
He was glad they didn't press him about his apparent Finnish lover. Would have keeled over.
Then, one night, Ludwig found himself on the coast, standing on a pier, Basch and Lili behind him. A very familiar scene. Sure hoped he didn't get blown up again.
A very small boat, just like the one that had brought him here, but with a German crew this time instead of Finns.
When Ludwig boarded, he turned to look at them, and said, so deeply, "Thank you. For everything. Thank you. You don't know how much you're really doing for me. Whatever I can do one day for you... I'll do my best."
"Just don't die on the way," Basch snorted, waving Ludwig's gratitude off. "I'd be disappointed."
Ah, if only he knew how hard Ludwig actually was to kill.
The boat was untied.
Lili reached out at the last second, and held out her hand.
"Good luck, Ludwig! Always do your best, mm?"
Ludwig reached out over the edge and took it within his own, clasping it tightly, and was so grateful, beyond anything. For the both of them. Could never have put into words how hopelessly grateful he was.
"Get back safe, both of you. Thank you again. Be safe."
Their hands parted as the boat drifted from the dock, and she waved instead.
"Of course!"
As if it were no problem. Well, they had a certain kind of backbone, that much was certain. Seemed that neutral countries had an uncanny ability to produce the toughest citizens.
Basch waved, too, and the boat was on the way.
Ludwig crossed his arms over the railing and watched them until they were gone.
Meeting them was profound to Ludwig, on many levels, but above all else it was extraordinary because it reminded him, in the middle of all of this war and chaos and death, that there were still so many good people out there. Everyone at home had been fighting endlessly. So angry all the time. The war was driving them insane, and seeing those two reminded Ludwig that the outside world kept on spinning. There were still things out there worth surviving the war for.
The world wasn't all bad.
It was a beautiful feeling.
Until he got seasick again and threw up, and this time it was his fellow Germans laughing at him instead of Finns.
On the last day of February, Ludwig reached Finnish soil.
The Germans shook his hand and jostled him and wished him luck, and then were off.
The biggest hurdle down, and yet now he had to find his way back to those men. Had to try to find a way, find someone who knew how to get there, because all he knew was the name of the town. Didn't know the exact location, didn't know where it really even was in terms of geography. Could never have pointed it out on a map. Needed to get across another border, into occupied Finland.
So he took pen and paper, wrote down that town name from memory, emulating Timo's letters that he had burned into his mind, and just started flagging people down and showing them the paper.
Luckily, people seemed more than happy to help him, and Ludwig wasn't too dumb to know that it was because he was German.
Honestly, it was probably just folly on his part, even trying to go back. Things had been so tense, so fraught before he had left. They had been on the very verge of collapse, and without Ludwig there Timo was the only one left on that side. No doubt they had parted ways by now. But if Timo was still there, if only Timo, then Ludwig could at least be pointed in Berwald's direction.
It was the tenth of March that Ludwig found them, at last, after a good many days of hunting down someone to get him across that border.
Nearly three months sure had dragged on like years without them.
One afternoon, he was in that familiar looking town. Buildings he now knew like the back of his hand. People he recognized. The men in town stopped and gaped at him as he walked through breezily, all of them shouting to him in Finnish and waving, in disbelief, and Ludwig just smiled and inclined his head.
They were all shocked to see him, no doubt, after assuming him dead.
One of the Finns was so happy to see him in fact that he ran up to Ludwig, and tried to drag him over to table where a few men were drinking. Ludwig complied, because a free drink was always great. They all blabbered to him, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand and sharing incredulous looks, and Ludwig vainly enjoyed a bit of a moment in the spotlight.
Wouldn't deny being the center of attention felt quite good, because, hell, he was just happy to be alive and back home.
After the drink, he set off, feeling on the clouds and bold and confident, and when he took the first step onto that long dirt drive, he was truly home at last. That house he had once hated and now adored. No one on the porch; that was excellent, because he was very much looking forward to knocking and scaring the shit out of those bastards, even if it was just Timo.
He reached the door, lifted up his hand, and then stopped short, smirking away to himself. Eh, better not to knock at all. He would rather just open up the door and walk in and make a grand show of it, assuming of course that Timo was even here.
He twisted the knob, pushed open the door, and stomped inside, as heavily as he could, slamming the door shut behind him a bit dramatically.
A noise of surprise, and he turned his head to the living room.
And there they were, against all odds. How astounding! To see that they were still in the same place, and still together. They hadn't split up, and that was beautiful to Ludwig. Timo had leapt upright, and Lukas and Magnus were sitting together on the sofa, falling still where they were and mouths hanging open.
Ludwig sneered at them without meaning to, feeling somehow quite arrogant.
They stared at him in absolute shock. Had never seen looks of such fright and awe as he did then, as they stared at him.
It was Magnus who whispered, weakly, "Am I— Are you guys fuckin' seein' this or have I finally lost it?"
"The ghost by the door?" Lukas replied, thinly. "No. I...think I see him, too."
They stood there and stared at him for a long, awful second, and he stared right back at them, smiling away even as they looked terrified.
And then Lukas very abruptly and very aggressively leapt upright and whirled to the side and kicked the nearest table, screeching to absolutely no one, "I fuckin' hate you! You stupid, lucky bastard! Why won't you die?"
With that, the trance was broken, and Magnus lunged.
Ludwig tried hard to brace himself, but there was no amount of bracing possible that could have saved him when Magnus barged at him in that flying tackle. For what felt like the hundredth time in their history. As he had every other time, Ludwig fell, taken down by Magnus, whose arms were around his neck and weight pressing Ludwig down so heavily that breathing was impossible. The wind had been knocked out of him anyway.
Timo ran forward and skidded down, ruffling his hair, as if to see if Ludwig was real. Lukas was in there somewhere, too, probably the one trying to yank his arm off furiously.
Coulda cried, then, from how happy he felt. Seeing them again...
No words.
Brothers.
He kept trying to look over them, desperately, but they just wouldn't let him up.
Didn't see or hear Berwald.
Was Magnus crying?
Timo shoved the other two aside, pulled Ludwig upright by the collar, all but straddling him, pushed their foreheads together, and said, in a voice that was far too thick, "You— You drowned. You fuckin' drowned! What the hell! Why do you keep doin' this to me? Huh? They told me you drowned! They couldn't find you! You son of a bitch! Stop dying and then coming back! Make up your mind."
Timo seemed torn between fury and elation, because after that nuzzle he pulled back and punched Ludwig across the face as hard as he could, and then hugged him.
Ludwig, cheek red and nose bleeding, just sat there in Timo's arms and looked dazedly around the room. Hell, only Timo could ever be so happy to see someone that his first reaction was to punch them in the face.
And Magnus was crying. Was sitting there on the floor, legs splayed out before him, face buried in his hands and actually sobbing, loudly and heavily. Lukas couldn't stop reaching out and touching Ludwig's hair, and Timo was still squeezing the life out of him.
He had come back from the dead. Again.
Lukas knelt down, forced Ludwig's head over, his eyes very blank, and said, quite dangerously, "What's it gonna take? Huh? What the hell does it take to kill you? I don't get it. Bullets and bombs don't work. Drowning you and beating you doesn't work. How the hell can someone kill you? I'm gonna poison your sorry ass and see what happens."
Ludwig took that as, 'I'm glad to have you back', so he just pressed forward and butted heads with Lukas affectionately.
He managed to escape Timo's clutches then, and crawled over to sobbing Magnus, settling down in between Magnus' splayed legs and reaching out to grab his wrists and pull his hands down. Magnus squinted at him, pitifully, bawling away, and Ludwig was quick to lean down and kiss the miserable bastard's forehead.
Magnus, after all, had been the one to shoot Gilbert, had set the whole thing in motion in a way, and surely knowing him he had pinned Ludwig's death solely upon himself.
Magnus' hands shot up and grabbed the back of his head to hold him there, and they sat like that for a good minute, before Magnus pulled back.
The first thing he said, through those tears, was a deep, "Thank god you're back! Where's my money?"
Ludwig laughed, and that felt pretty damn good, after it all, and he tackled Magnus back down to the ground and they rolled around stupidly for a little while in that embrace, getting out their pent up emotions. That was far less painful than Timo punching him, at least.
A good few minutes of bruising each other, and then Magnus let Ludwig up. Ludwig was beaming away, so happy to be home, and sat up again, hair sticking out every which way and looking around. Sure was glad to see them, but...
Someone was missing, though, and the most important.
Wanted so badly to ask, but was momentarily terrified to, so instead Ludwig said, "I can't believe you guys are all still together. I really can't. I thought for sure I'd come back and you'd all be gone."
Short looks around, and then Lukas smiled.
"That's why we're still together, if we're all honest," Lukas murmured, reaching out to grab Ludwig's sleeve. "It was just... You dying like that—it kinda made us stop and think. You dying for your brother, even though he hated you. I think we realized how stupid we were being."
Timo smiled, a bit sadly, and clapped Ludwig's shoulder.
"Hey, guess you did something good for once, huh, you jerk."
If this entire, awful trip had served only to keep these passionate men together, if only that, then Ludwig was satisfied with it all.
Ludwig looked back and forth between them, and felt awe above all else, that Timo and Lukas had actually been able to come to terms with each other, had made up if only on the surface, had stayed together in spite of it all.
"It did make it easier that we haven't fought any since you left," Lukas admitted, as an afterthought.
Ludwig's brow crinkled a little, as he kept on looking around hopefully for Berwald to show up.
"Haven't fought at all? How's that?"
A silence.
Couldn't stand it, and Ludwig gathered his courage.
Finally, he opened his mouth, and asked, "Where's Berwald?"
Uncomfortable glances.
Ludwig's heart dropped, sank, and his face fell right along with it. Before he could break down without even knowing why, Timo reached out and gripped his shoulder and gave him a good shake, quick to say, "He's here. Don't worry. He's here."
So then where was he? Why did they look like that?
More glances, more silence, and then Lukas said, very smoothly, quite serenely, "He's just a bit out of commission right now. After you died, well. It was practically as if he did, too."
That awful hurt that rushed up. Had never meant for that to happen—
"He didn't take it very well, to say the least," Timo muttered, scratching at his cheek awkwardly. "We don't keep guns in the house anymore. We took 'em all into town, left 'em with another guy."
Magnus scoffed, and said, "Yeah. I— I walked outside and he was sittin' there on the ground in the snow, fuckin' gun up against his head. I've never moved so fast, I swear, tacklin' him and getting it away. He didn't move at all. I don't think he even knew I was there."
Ludwig hung his head, squinted his eyes, and felt like the worst guy on the planet, and didn't even really know why. Couldn't even believe it, could never have imagined that that would have even crossed Berwald's mind, that it was that bad. Had been so lonely all the time, yeah, and had shown a penchant for utterly shutting down at times, but Ludwig hadn't ever really thought it would ever go that far.
He should never have left.
Oh, that terrible image in his head, of Berwald sitting there despondently with a pistol up against his temple, staring off at the lake and caught in that endless mist. Not knowing which way to go and choosing instead to exit stage entirely.
The worst thing that had ever entered his mind, that picture.
Again, Ludwig asked, "Where is he?"
Timo lifted his eyes up to the second level, towards the bedroom. Ludwig set course for it instantly, scaling the stairs very slowly because he was rather afraid of what he would see. He stood before that door for far longer than should have been necessary, gathering his bravery.
He'd seen Berwald after he'd been shot. That awful rut. Couldn't possibly be any worse than that. Had seen Berwald at his lowest already, surely.
He pushed open the door.
A surge of relief, in some way.
A perfectly normal scene; the golden sunlight of early evening streamed in through the window, dust floating in the beams of light, and Berwald sat there on the edge of the bed, elbows rested on his knees and hands hanging limp between them. Staring at the floor.
Nothing Ludwig hadn't really seen before.
As he had been that once, Berwald was a wreck physically. Looked just like he had when he had staggered after Ludwig when he had tried to run. A little thinner, maybe, but nothing really terrible. The others had done an admirable job of keeping him alive. Had been grooming him and feeding him.
But then Ludwig came inside, and uttered, "Hey, there," and Berwald just didn't move. Not at all, didn't move a single muscle. As if he didn't hear Ludwig.
Ludwig came over, and called Berwald's name, gently, but there was no stir.
A twinge of unease.
Lukas had said he was out of commission, yes, but...
Ludwig sat down on the edge of the bed beside Berwald, but Berwald didn't twitch at all, didn't move, didn't look up. Didn't notice anyone was there with him. Ludwig reached out, grabbed Berwald's face, lifted his head and sat him up straight. Forced his gaze, and yet Berwald stared right through him.
Wasn't there at all. No lights on upstairs. As if he had become so depressed that all of his neurons had just shut down. Had gone catatonic. Just stared at Ludwig, right in the eye, and yet didn't seem to see him.
Took Ludwig hours, holding Berwald's face and murmuring to him, before Berwald finally woke up.
Ludwig was patient, endlessly so when it came to Berwald it seemed, and above that he tried so hard with Berwald then because Ludwig knew what he was feeling. Maybe it hadn't ever hit him quite that strongly, but Ludwig had slipped down that cliff before. Berwald just had it worse, it seemed. Could understand a little, on that level, and knew how hard it was to wake up and get moving from that state. How impossible it was to wake up and face the world and reality when all he had wanted to do was fade away and sleep.
Dark.
Berwald's words before he had left; 'I get lost.'
Was lost now, and just needed a little help to find his way back. Patience and persistence.
It was in that moment, really, that Ludwig realized how vulnerable Berwald actually was. Meeting that man the first time, he had been so intimidating, so frightening, so overwhelming, and now Ludwig could only see a little kid, scared and wandering alone in a fog.
When the sun had set and night had come, Berwald inhaled, deeply, and suddenly glanced up. Ludwig's voice had long since gone hoarse from his endless murmuring.
Ludwig broke into a smile, felt that relief flood in, and said, so eagerly, "Hey! There you are, big guy! Miss me?"
Berwald stared at him, silently, clearly still in space and probably wondering if he had died of misery and if he was just meeting Ludwig on the other side. Those dark blue eyes flitted over his face, lit up in the moonlight, analyzing and contemplating, and Berwald's brow was ever lowering.
Anxiety fell, and happiness rose up.
"What? I told you, didn't I? I'm hard to kill. I can't believe you tho—"
Didn't get a chance to finish speaking.
A furious embrace, so tight he was nearly snapped in half and certainly the air was pressed right out of his lungs, and Ludwig just rested his face in Berwald's hair and ran a hand down his neck and back.
There he was.
Ah, this big oaf. How Ludwig loved him, for whatever reasons. Was about to love him to death soon, though, when Berwald snapped his spine. To save himself, he grabbed Berwald's hair in his hands, and tried to pull his head back so the big bastard would ease up. It was a hard battle, intent as Berwald was, but eventually Ludwig yanked his head back a bit and Berwald slackened his death-grip.
Could breathe again.
Berwald let him go as suddenly as he had grabbed him, and looked around the dark room.
Knowing somehow what Berwald was thinking, Ludwig took his hand, and said, "You're not dreaming. I'm here. This is real."
Berwald's pulse was going to town in his neck, he stared at Ludwig so furiously that Ludwig was certain he smoldered, and then he spoke at last.
His voice was so husky from disuse that it cracked and was scarcely audible.
"You died."
"Nah," Ludwig said, giving Berwald's hand a tight squeeze. "I told you I'd come back. I meant it. You should trust me by now."
Didn't know what else to do except make light of the entire situation so that they could move past it as quickly as possible.
Berwald looked very, entirely confused, but a bit hopeful. May not have yet realized that he wasn't dreaming, but certainly was aiming to cling to this dream and hope against hope.
Berwald looked up at him, and asked, roughly, "Are we really together again?"
Ludwig smiled, and leaned over to kiss Berwald's nose.
"We're together," he affirmed. "We always have been. I won't ever leave again. I give you my word. Wherever you go, I'll go, too."
"Why?"
Ludwig snorted, thumbs running over Berwald's cheeks, and he tilted his head as he replied, so casually, "Because I love ya."
"Why?"
What could he say to that? Berwald had been alone, always, and Ludwig didn't think that there was anything he could really say that would even make sense to Berwald, especially now in this dazed and vulnerable state. It was hard enough for him to voice any sort of affection, let alone sit there and try to tell Berwald in words every single thing that Ludwig loved about him.
To attempt to explain how wonderful Berwald was, if only in his eyes.
A long wracking of his brain, and it wasn't nearly sufficient, nothing at all close to everything he had up in his head, but Ludwig eventually lowered his voice and said, simply, "Because you make me feel happy."
Happy—had never felt happy until he had met these men.
That must have been good enough, for now; Berwald buried his face in Ludwig's chest, and came slowly back to the world.
Yet again, they started over. It seemed that no matter what the world threw at them, whatever obstacles they encountered, whatever trials they were presented with, they always wound up back in each others arms.
It would always be that way.
Ludwig truly felt then that, even though the war wasn't over, they had passed their greatest trial. They had overcome it, had surmounted it, and it felt to Ludwig that they were invincible. Untouchable. He was getting far ahead of himself, perhaps, but his confidence was suddenly unrivaled. What could ever bring them down?
All of them, the five of them; they would always be together.