A/N : Legend has it... Ah. Fuck it. Never mind. :/ I do wanna say THANK YOU guys. I swear, the people that read this train wreck are like, the most consistent people in my life right now, no joke. XD I'm so happy that you guys always spare me a minute to fuss at me and tell me how much I suck. It really makes me smile in these dark corona times. :')

Chapter 25

Ragged Old Flag

No one fought anymore.

Peace, all around. It was quite glorious, but Ludwig knew better than to really get his hopes up all the way. Too much passion all around, and the war was ever raging. They had all taken a break to mourn Ludwig, and they took one now as Berwald found his feet. Berwald wasn't the leader anymore, but still held that sort of command, and they all waited until Berwald was alert and stable.

Ludwig enjoyed the serenity while it lasted.

All of them did, and for a few wonderful weeks there, it was just like it had been before, the five of them sitting there and drinking together. Having fun and laughing. Being happy. No one fought inside the house or out, and everything was calm. Lukas and Timo didn't exactly seek the other out and didn't make direct conversation alone, but they were civil to each other, and Timo laughed at Lukas' deadpan jokes.

Ludwig's favorite moments, though, were when they all laughed until they cried at something stupid Magnus had said, and then Ludwig would look over to his side to see Berwald staring at him, face calm and eyes lidded, and that giddiness would fade down into tranquility.

Just seeing Berwald. That made him happy.

Everything in the past was gone, done, Ludwig's terror had faded and Berwald's solitude had been cured, and the only thing they needed to do now was just survive the rest of this war so they could go home and stay there.

Ludwig had wonderful dreams now. Instead of barbed wire and brown shirts, Ludwig dreamt of Sweden, of the mountains, of him and Berwald sitting there on a hill and staring off into the sunset. Them together, old and grey-haired, still joking around with Magnus and Timo and Lukas.

In his dreams, all five of them were always there, together, with no strife.

He clung to that always, and tried to believe that it would always be so.

Everyone cared about Berwald, although Berwald was likely ignorant of that, and for Berwald everyone stayed home.

Until the end of April, anyway, and then Timo had had enough. After all, Finland always came first, and Ludwig didn't hold it against him because by then Berwald was back to where he had been before Gilbert had shown his face. Bounced back fairly quickly once Ludwig was back on scene, as usual, perked up and was once more strong and commanding.

Safe to keep guns in the house now.

Come May, Lukas and Magnus went back out, too, and this time, having learned his lesson perhaps, Timo no longer sought to thwart them.

They carried on as they always had, but that awful, aggressive tension of before was gone. Everyone minded their own business, as well as they could, and things seemed on the right track.

They all still hung over the radio in the morning, waiting for the war to end.

Never did.

By the end of May, Berwald stood up, looked around, and went back out, too, and so did Ludwig. Berwald didn't like to sit there and do nothing, hadn't become a fighter and a leader for that, and even if he had no more authority he still fought. Always would. Had Berwald not wanted to fight, he would have left already.

Timo was happy to have Berwald, as he had been to have Ludwig, and kept his mouth shut on the days that Berwald went with Lukas.

The war had to end soon, right? It had been so long, so long now.

At night, Berwald ran a hand through Ludwig's hair and sometimes spoke about where they would go after the war. Ludwig hung on his every word, and sometimes laughed, particularly the time Berwald had uttered, 'Maybe I'll buy another fishin' boat and put ya to work there with me.'

That jerk!

Ludwig feigned offense and squirmed away from Berwald's hand, retorting, 'Fine, if you want all of your catches ruined by me throwin' up all over 'em.'

Berwald smiled and tried to squirm his way back over, pushing through Ludwig's hands.

Nighttime was Ludwig's favorite. Getting to be side by side with Berwald, being close enough to feel his heartbeat, and above that, he loved those moments because at night together in bed was when both of them were safe and no harm would come to pass. They lived every day with the threat of death, and so night was when Ludwig was happiest. Nothing could go wrong in those wonderful hours. Everyone was safe.

But even in daylight, Berwald shined. Ludwig had promised he would never leave again, and Berwald seemed to take that to heart, and for it was in better spirits than Ludwig had ever known him. Maybe having stood upon the brink really brought Berwald out of his shell. Hated saying that, between them, Berwald was the more playful one suddenly. Felt like their ages had reversed, as upbeat as Berwald was.

How bizarre!

Magnus sometimes gawked at Berwald, because at times during their nightly drinking Berwald actually opened his mouth and told a joke. They weren't good jokes, but everyone howled all the same because Berwald was just so serious about it, and hell, they were so bad they were good. Ludwig hadn't even known Berwald knew any jokes at all.

Once, when Lukas had been gone, Berwald had crept into his room and rearranged all of his clothing in the dresser, because he knew it would drive Lukas crazy. Ludwig watched him, bewildered, and said, 'I'm gonna get blamed for this.'

Coulda sworn Berwald smirked.

Sure enough, when Lukas had come back he had pitched a fit, and stalked straight out to Ludwig, crying, accusatively, 'You bastard! Stop tormenting me! Dead or alive, you always haunt me!'

Berwald had leered away at the wall, leaving Ludwig to Lukas' mercy.

Another day, as Ludwig had made breakfast, Berwald had offered to help. Should have been suspicious, but Ludwig was pretty dumb, so had agreed blindly, letting Berwald set up the table. Had gone rather normally, until Magnus had taken a swig of his coffee and instantly spit it out on the table.

Everyone jumped, except for Berwald, and Magnus had turned his eyes immediately to Ludwig and shouted, in their private language, 'You dick! What the hell? You come back from the dead and gotta fuck with me more? Not cute. I love ya, but ya test me sometimes, man.'

Ludwig stared at Magnus with confusion, a bit wounded, until Timo had giggled and asked what was wrong, and Magnus griped, as he wiped the table with a cloth, 'Fucker put salt in my coffee.'

Ludwig shot Berwald a look of absolute exasperation, but Berwald merely lifted his own coffee up, appearing very droll and quite primly bored.

Ludwig was on guard at all times suddenly, with Berwald being such a beautiful little brat.

Timo was next, and it didn't take long.

Ludwig was minding his own business in the kitchen, pondering lunch, when he heard Timo shriek very wrathfully from above, 'LUDWIG!'

Ludwig had actually jumped in alarm, and skidded out of the kitchen and into the living room. Was immediately aware of Berwald sitting on the sofa, newspaper held up in front of his face to no doubt hide his sneer, and Ludwig just braced himself as Timo came stomping down the stairs.

Oh shit—

Timo marched on Ludwig instantly, screaming, 'You jerk! The hell's gotten into ya, huh? Did dyin' again make you bored or something? Huh? Not funny!'

Lukas came out of his room, arms crossed, and drawled, 'What did he do to you?'

Timo shoved at Ludwig's chest, and said, 'He sewed a Red Star patch onto my fuckin' jacket!'

Ludwig rolled his eyes, envisioning Berwald creeping out in the dead of night just to sit and sew that stupid thing onto Timo's jacket. What a mental image that was.

Lukas covered his mouth with a hand, scoffing quite happily.

Timo slapped Ludwig's cheek, sharply, stomped back off, and Ludwig pouted all day. Berwald made it up to him that night, maybe, but still! Where had Berwald even gotten a Red Star patch out here? Timo must have had some somewhere on some of his little trophies. Berwald surely was testing the limits. Would get Ludwig beaten to within an inch of his life soon if he kept it up.

The hell was happening?

Ludwig was utterly befuddled, but entirely charmed if he were honest. Seemed that Berwald had a bit of a hidden childish side that wasn't all petulant, after all. It was so odd, and so Ludwig just kept his mouth shut because honest to god no one was going to believe him if he tried to tell them that it was Berwald pranking them all and not Ludwig.

Berwald was getting payback, perhaps, for all of the shenanigans Ludwig had pulled back in the day.

Ludwig, far from being irritated, loved every second of it. Berwald was worth surviving the war for, more than anything else on the Earth.

Days passed.

June of '44 was halfway finished.

Ludwig woke up, and felt happy.

They had always been together, the five of them, or at least it felt that way. Hadn't ever not been together, and hadn't been apart since. Ludwig had been with them for four years, had spent his pivotal years finding himself with these men, and for that they were meant to stay together.

They truly were brothers by then, each of them would have given their lives for one of the others, in spite of allegiances. They had fallen into themselves, into their routines and their roles. Even though they still fought on different sides, all of that was left outside the door every night, and when they were together the war outside was forgotten. Timo and Magnus had settled quite well into each other, Berwald and Ludwig were steady and sure, and Lukas never missed a single beat.

Even Berwald and Magnus had been exceedingly civil to each other. Perhaps not as warm and casual as they could be, but there had been no arguments, no fights, no harsh words. Just occasional looks of mild distaste from time to time, but hardly more than that. Sometimes they just looked at each other, and there was absolutely nothing there upon either of their faces. No love, certainly, but no dislike either.

Everything was going perfectly well, as beautiful as was possible for a group of men as crazy and counterproductive as they were.

Berwald had stopped pranking everyone, but only because he was probably worried that Ludwig would end up getting shot. He sure did still torment Ludwig, jumping out at him from around corners and hiding his shoes and stealing his clothes when he was in the bathhouse. No matter how hard Ludwig tried, he could never be angry with Berwald. Never.

Hoped it would be like this forever.

Then came a very warm day in June, and, as they sat together that night to chat, Timo came walking into the middle of them and fell still.

Ludwig glanced up at him, smiling away still at Magnus' last joke, Berwald was laughing for once, and they waited.

Timo looked around at them all, and said, "I'm going. I'm leaving for a while, alright?"

Magnus inhaled, and looked shocked, and it was clear that Timo hadn't discussed this at all with him before so randomly announcing it. They sat up straight, and all smiles fell.

Damn.

It was Berwald who asked, with a low brow of irritation, "Where to?"

How unprofessional, Berwald must have been thinking. Timo was the leader; he wasn't supposed to just up and leave his men unsupervised, even if half of those men didn't listen to him at all in the first place. Ludwig agreed. Timo was their compass—they had seen too well what happened when Timo abandoned them and left them alone.

Without looking at Magnus, Timo said, "I'm going down to Viipuri. The Reds are trying to take the islands down there. The Finnish Navy is holding them off. I'm gonna go volunteer to keep an eye on land, in case the Reds storm the beaches."

Silence.

Ludwig lowered his eyes to the floor, and wished, sometimes, that Timo was less ambitious. They weren't soldiers, and those kinds of battles were far above them. Timo was one man, not part of a division. What did he think he could really do, just one man against the Red Army?

Timo was brave and fearless, and so reckless.

Magnus was pale as a sheet suddenly, and Lukas placed a hand on his back as if he were afraid Magnus would suddenly keel over. Looked pretty dizzy, come to think.

No one said a thing, and Ludwig could feel Berwald shifting uneasily beside of him.

Timo summed it all up with a rather concise, cool, "I'm leaving tomorrow. I don't know how long I'll be gone. You guys will be fine on your own, for a little while. We've got our own routines here. You won't even notice I'm gone."

What a lie!

An awful surge of adrenaline.

Instantly, Ludwig opened his mouth, and said, "I'll go—"

He cut himself short, abashed, and averted his eyes to the floor.

Shit—wanted to go with Timo, because they always went together, always looked out for each other, but he had promised Berwald that he would never up and leave again. He and Timo were the closest things to countrymen here, and Ludwig couldn't really stand Timo going out into a real battle like that, with no one backing him up.

A long silence, and Ludwig was quite shocked when it was broken by Berwald, who said, in Ludwig's stead, "I'll go with you."

Ludwig looked up, to see Berwald staring at him rather than Timo. Understood that Berwald knew Ludwig wanted to go, why he had stopped, and was telling him, in his own way, that it was alright.

Bolstered, Ludwig just said, "Me too."

Timo seemed shocked, but very pleased, very eager, and Magnus looked sick. Hated it for him, really did, but it was better perhaps if Timo didn't go alone.

Timo was stoked, and said, mostly to himself, "Good—having two good shots will be damn useful if the Reds get close."

Magnus stood up, very abruptly, and walked outside. Lukas followed him.

Of them all, Timo really seemed to be the only one that truly thought he could make a difference, that or Timo just figured Finland was worth giving his all to even if it didn't matter in the end. Ludwig admired Timo, and for that he followed him.

That night, Berwald and Ludwig pressed their noses together, and Berwald muttered, "Why are ya always gettin' me into trouble?"

Ludwig smiled, and kissed him.

"What would you do without me? How boring your life would be, without me here to keep everything exciting. You owe me anyway, all the trouble you've gotten me into lately."

Not the kind of excitement anyone needed or wanted, that was for sure, and Berwald actually rolled his eyes. It was so unusual and so random that Ludwig started laughing and couldn't stop, at least until Berwald shut him up quite aggressively.

Best to make the night worthwhile. Lord only knew what the hell Timo was going to get them into.

In the morning, Magnus was nowhere to be seen. As always, he refused goodbyes, to keep his imaginary world from crumbling. Lukas watched them go, and was muttering under his breath. At the last second, Ludwig turned back to him, and said, with a wink, "Hey—put some money down with Magnus about what won't kill me this time around. It's a Navy, this time, so now we have ship cannons on the list. I haven't seen one of those yet."

Lukas just replied, so suavely, "I hate you."

With that, they were gone.

Ludwig and Berwald sat in the backseat and watched the forests go by, and halfway through the drive Berwald reached out and grabbed Ludwig's hand.

It was the 28th of June. Their destination wasn't far at all. Just a two hour drive.

Viipuri.

The Russians called it Vyborg.

When they stepped out of the car and opened the panels under the trunk to get the guns, Ludwig looked around. They were in a small town, pretty and quaint. On the distance, however, the sea was visible, and so were the black plumes of smoke, The mighty ships there in the surf, far out. Could hear the explosions in the distance, and the ground sometimes shook.

"Who's fightin' here again?" Ludwig asked, as Timo tossed him his rifle, and Ludwig soon regretted it.

"Finnish Navy. A German regiment, too, I think it's the 122nd, or something." Timo sent Ludwig a bright smile as he handed Berwald his rifle, and added, "Germans under Finnish command! You know what that means."

Ludwig narrowed his eyes and pretended to ignore the rest of Timo's statement.

Still, he was pretty sure his face tinted a little when Timo drawled, quite seriously, "That's means I'm your daddy down here, Ludde."

A short silence.

Was Berwald burying his face in his sleeve?

When he finished dying inside, Ludwig lifted his chin up and said, "If you get shot here...it was probably just me."

Oh, man, was he glad that Lukas and Magnus weren't here. Would have heard that one for the rest of his life. Woulda haunted him for eternity.

He glared at Timo's back, in futile, as Timo led them on, and when they came up to some Finnish soldiers, Timo began blabbering away, no doubt offering up their services. Timo jerked his thumb back towards them, and was likely quite proudly saying that he had two very good snipers.

The Finnish commander immediately clapped Timo's hand, and sent them off.

Timo led them towards the sea, and up upon an embankment. It was protected by sandbags and other objects that had been used to make a haphazard fort, and Timo very happily hunkered down there with a pair of binoculars. Down below was the bay, and the little town. Finns and Germans alike, making plans and watching the Reds approaching. Underneath where they rested, there was a makeshift machine-gun bunker.

Berwald was ever stoic, obediently placing his rifle atop the barricade, resting on his knees, and taking a moment to observe his surroundings. Ludwig was too busy still trying to murder Timo with his eyes to bother. Nothing happening now, at any rate.

That day, all they did was just watch over the bay, and nothing at all exciting occurred. Ludwig had actually spaced out for a long while there, until a plane had zoomed rather lowly overhead.

The explosions in the distance always woke him up. Seeing the huge, smoking cannons of those ships.

Days passed in this manner.

This wasn't exactly their sort of scene; this was mostly a naval battle, and at times that of air force. They were merely reserves in a sense, waiting for the Soviets in the case they breached the defenses and began storming the bay. With that in mind, it did get a bit boring, Timo sitting there ever with his binoculars, Ludwig and Berwald keeping watch over the Finns and Germans below.

Same thing, over and over again.

The only excitement they got was in the show of the grand ships out on the sea, Russian battleships firing at Finnish ones and the occasional German boat. It would take days to tell if the Reds would manage to break the lines and set foot on the beaches.

Until then, Berwald zoned out and Ludwig tried not to fall asleep.

On the third day of this routine, as the Red ships seemed to creep closer, there was a fright.

Ludwig and Berwald had been mindlessly swiveling their rifles, and if they were very lucky they managed to snag a Red a day on the distant ships, but most of those bullets were knocked off course by the wind of the sea over the long distance.

And then suddenly in that lull Timo said, out of nowhere, "Hey—is that your fuckin' brother down there, Ludwig?"

The world stopped.

Berwald and Ludwig turned their heads at the same time to Timo, who had lowered his binoculars down just a bit, and Berwald suddenly clamored forward, absurdly, and snatched the binoculars from Timo's hands.

He was shaking suddenly, trembling, and oh, god, he coulda died when Timo suddenly sneered at him, and said, "Oh, wait. My mistake."

Timo started laughing, Ludwig realized he had been had, and both he and Berwald shrieked to Timo at the same time, "That's not funny!"

Christ almighty!

Had nearly given him a panic attack, had nearly given Berwald a coronary, and Timo was cackling, laughing so hard he was nearly crying, even when Berwald threw the binoculars as hard as he could at Timo's chest. Timo caught them, and couldn't stop giggling.

When Berwald stood up, he knocked Timo over backwards with his boot, gently but sternly, hissing, "You're such a little shit!"

Timo lied there on his back for a while and laughed, the most he had laughed since they had been in Sweden, and Ludwig knew that he was laughing so much then because none of them had had any good damn reason to and he was getting out a good bit of stress in that moment. That was the only reason Ludwig didn't crawl on top of Timo and strangle him.

Whew. That adrenaline rush. So jittery now. His hands were shaking.

So were Berwald's.

Timo was the worst sort of little hellion.

Berwald plopped back down beside of Ludwig, blew air shakily through his teeth, and picked up his rifle. Ludwig considered it a minor miracle that he didn't aim it at Timo.

When Timo finally stopped laughing, he wiped at his eyes, and said, "That was for tormenting everyone lately, you son of a bitch. Come at me with a Red Star again and see what I do to you." Berwald may have winced a bit. "Anyway. I trust you're both wide awake now. Good! Don't fall asleep over there. I see you bastards takin' your naps."

A bit of overkill on Timo's part, and Ludwig made damn sure not to fall asleep on the job after that. Berwald too, and Ludwig caught him often pulling back and shaking his head very fervently to force himself back into alertness.

The next day, they didn't fall asleep at all, and not because of Timo—the Reds were close, very close, far too close. Could see the Red Star on a ship now without the aid of binoculars. The cannons took aim upon the land defenses.

Berwald and Ludwig were suddenly getting in a many good shot, because the Reds had come that close. War yet again very much upon them, Timo once more leading them to face off against the great Red Army.

Some of the mortars came far too close to them, and Timo had traded in his binoculars for a machine gun, propped up behind their small fort. The town below was what they strove to defend then. There was no offense here from the Finns nor the Germans, who were giving all of their efforts just to hold onto those defenses and not let the Reds take everything.

Too much ground had been gained already, and on the fifth day, Timo spat, bitterly, "The Reds are getting too close."

The Reds were winning, but Timo wouldn't say that aloud, stubbornly refused, and so they stayed yet, huddled behind their barricade and shielding themselves every time a blast came close. Every time the ground shook, Berwald's eyes left his rifle to check on Ludwig instead, and Ludwig did the same.

Fear crept closer right along with the Reds, and they hadn't slept in forever, too scared to, trying to keep their position, as the other soldiers did all along the bay. This little patch was theirs, and they wouldn't abandon it unless forced to.

In the dead of night, a small boat with a handful of Reds had come close to shore, perhaps attempting to land and plant explosives, but Timo had spotted them, turned the gun on them, and they were quickly taken care of.

Berwald shook his head sometimes, and Ludwig could practically hear him thinking, 'Whose idea was it to give that crazy son of a bitch a machine gun?'

Ha. Ludwig loved Timo.

Morning came. It didn't bring good sights.

Ludwig looked out, and saw that Red ship right out on the surf, far too close. Shit—seemed that retreat was inevitable. The Finnish ship that had kept it away had been fired upon and crippled, useless now.

They held yet, the Finns, stubborn bastards, and Ludwig respected them for that.

But that ship...

Ludwig always watched it out of the corner of his eye, terrified as he was of it, and rightfully so, as it turned out several minutes later.

The gun suddenly swiveled, and Ludwig turned his head to see himself very brusquely staring down the black void of that huge ship cannon. Time actually stopped, the second he stared into that black hole. Saw the end of the world there, he swore it. Frozen up, helplessly. The hairs on his arms stood on end. Bristled out in nothing less than terror.

Holy shit—

Timo looked over, too, and Ludwig could hear his sharp inhale. Ludwig cried out to Berwald at the same second that Timo reached out and snatched Ludwig's arm, dragging him back, and damn Berwald just looked over, dumbly.

The awful hiss of air as the gun fired, the shell hitting the ground beneath them a split second before the sound of the explosion could be heard. Blew them back, in a flurry of fire and smoke and dirt, grass and sand. The world went black for a moment. His hearing shot out, replaced with an awful shrill ringing.

Dazed by the force of the blast. Immobile and helpless. Smoke everywhere. Couldn't see.

Hell, fuckin' hell, was he still in one piece—

Movement beneath him, and it took him a long while to figure out that he had knocked back on top of Timo. Hands reached up and gripped his sleeves, shaking him, and it was a long, stunned minute before Ludwig had the mobility to roll over and off of him.

That embankment had saved their lives. That gun would have blow them all to hell otherwise. The ship had aimed at the soldiers just beneath them, at the machine gun bunker there, and for that they survived.

Timo grabbed Ludwig's collar, twisted him to look him over, but Ludwig still couldn't hear, and no doubt Timo couldn't either, because his lips sure as hell weren't moving. They just stared at each other, dumbly, making sure the other was alive. They were, miraculously; cut all to hell, covered in black from the smoke, singed and bleeding all over, but alive. Ludwig broke out of Timo's grasp and turned back to look for Berwald.

The smoke was clearing.

Could see Berwald nearby. Hadn't been blown back as far as they had, and Ludwig was already scrambling for him, standing up and then falling flat on his face as his balance had been thrown off. Timo made it to Berwald before Ludwig did, but maybe that was because Ludwig was absolutely petrified to get close and see if Berwald was hurt.

Couldn't stand the thought.

He fell down to his knees beside of Timo, and could already see the blood seeping into the ground. Berwald was covered in dirt and soot, but most of the blood seemed to be coming from his legs, gashed all to hell from the shrapnel.

Dumbly, Ludwig immediately burst into tears and grabbed Berwald's arm, trying to get his attention, so that Berwald would tell him that everything was alright. Berwald was awake, was wincing, his glasses gone off to who the hell knew where, and Ludwig was a blubbering mess.

Timo grabbed Ludwig's collar and threw him backwards, shoving him aside, and barked, "Don't touch him!"

Terrified and dazed, Ludwig came back over, trying to get to Berwald and grab him up, because he didn't know what else to do. When he was afraid, when he panicked, Ludwig didn't think straight, and never listened, reacted on instincts.

When he grabbed Berwald's arm again, Timo whirled around and punched Ludwig in the face to knock him back.

He fell, and that time he sat there, blood from his nose joining the rest of the blood pouring out of his cuts. Watched them, stupidly and silently, as Timo reverted to Swedish to speak to Berwald, and it was very clear that Timo was trying to figure out if Berwald was dying, what he could do about it, and if moving Berwald was going to be more damaging than leaving him still.

Ludwig, as he often did under emotional pressure, shut down a bit.

Timo was always so clearheaded when it came to the wire, could focus and handle it, never cracked. Never faltered, The only time Timo ever lost his edge was when he was angry. Timo never got scared, never panicked when there was danger, and god, how Ludwig wished he possessed that trait.

Berwald hissed and gasped back to Timo as Timo interrogated him, Timo quickly and efficiently assessed the situation, and when Timo was apparently satisfied by Berwald's answers, he called, "Ludwig! Help me."

Ludwig wasted no time in crawling forward, and together he and Timo carted heavy Berwald upright and carried him off as quick as they could back behind the battle lines. Ludwig could barely see, crying as he was. It was the shock of the explosion that kept him moving then, that kept him from absolutely shutting down entirely, as Berwald hung there over his shoulder and left an awful trail of blood behind them.

Berwald was the calm one, but that may have also been because of the shock.

They went to the first line of soldiers, set Berwald down, and medics were already running over.

Ludwig clasped Berwald's hand, and pleaded, pitifully, "Please don't die. I came so far to get back to you."

Berwald scoffed, hanging there on the brink of unconsciousness, and muttered, with a bit of a slur, "How come I haveta listen t'you? Ya never listen to me."

Ludwig laughed, cried a little more, and then conceded, "I guess you have a point. I'll make it up to you. But you gotta live for me to do that."

Berwald stared up at Ludwig quite serenely, all things considered, and that was the last Ludwig saw of him, as he was picked up by the medics and carted away. Was left behind there with Timo, bleeding and sick and so terrified.

Timo placed his hands on Ludwig's shoulders, leaning down over him and dripping blood atop Ludwig's neck for it, and said, very sternly, "Sit right here. Don't you move. I'll be back."

Ludwig, in his daze, took Timo very literally, and sat right there in that same spot on the grass, not twitching a muscle at all as he stared off into nothing.

Sat there for an hour, and then another, before Timo finally came back.

Perhaps seeing that Ludwig was a breath away from collapse, Timo reached down, yanked him to his feet, and then led him along. As always, Ludwig followed where Timo led, but this time Timo led him into the tiny hospital in the town, overflowing and crowded. Men all over, soldiers and civilians alike, in every corner of the halls.

Ludwig couldn't stand the sight nor smell of it. That awful chemical smell, blood just underneath.

Timo dragged Ludwig along, left him in the quietest possible corner, some little waiting room that looked more like an abandoned supply room. It was calm there, no wounded men, and the smell wasn't so bad. Timo sat him down in a chair, and hovered over him, tapping his foot and waiting impatiently for something, always glancing to the door.

A while later, Ludwig gathered the sense to lift his head, and ask, "Is he okay?"

"They're working on him," Timo murmured, as soothingly as he could. "They're doing their best. Try not to worry so much. I think he'll...survive."

Hadn't said, 'I think he'll be alright.'

Ludwig hung his head again, because it felt too damn heavy to hold it up. He and Timo were bleeding all over everything, but in light of the more serious injuries the doctors were tending to, it hardly seemed to matter at all. Timo's neck was entirely rust-colored by then, from a gash on the side of his forehead that was still leaking. Ludwig kept blinking in agitation, as blood kept running into his eye from some cut up on the top of his head.

They looked horrific, and felt that way, but they weren't bad off.

Berwald—oh, had to be alright, had to be. They had pulled through so many things, had surmounted seemingly impossible odds. It wasn't right for one of them to go down now, not now, not after so much. The war was getting more furious, more fast-paced, and so it had to end soon. Couldn't have handled anything happening to Berwald now only for the war to end in the next few weeks. Couldn't even fathom it, couldn't stomach that thought.

Felt so nauseous, pale and clammy and swallowing compulsively.

Timo stared holes through the door, and an hour or so later it became obvious as to why.

The door pushed open, and Ludwig was quite shocked to see Magnus and Lukas there. Timo must have gotten a hold of them and told them what was happening. He was damn glad to see them, glad they had come, because he needed all the help he could get then. His head was a wreck.

But he very quickly found out why Timo had brought them down; the very second they walked in, Timo stood up and went to walk right out.

Magnus called, anxiously, "He—hey! Where are you goin'?"

Timo looked over his shoulder, battered and bloody and looking rather frightening, and said, simply, "Back to fight."

Lukas scoffed, derisively, and looked away, as Magnus scrambled after Timo to grab his arm.

"Are you crazy? You almost died! What are you thinking? Berwald's already in there on the table—you tryin' to join him?"

Timo shook Magnus off, easily, and said, in a far steelier voice, "That's why I'm goin' back out. To kill some more of the bastards. Keep an eye on Ludwig. I'll be back when I'm back."

Timo was gone then, slamming the door in Magnus' face, and Ludwig stared at the floor between his knees.

Nothing less than he could have expected. Finland always came first, but it hurt all the same, because if it had been Timo that had gotten hit hard, Berwald woulda sat right here beside of Ludwig in the hospital to be near him. Didn't seem right, but, hell. That was life, he guessed. Everyone had different ways of handling things, and Timo's way of dealing with it was to go kill more Reds.

So be it.

He didn't care what Timo did or didn't do; just wanted Berwald to be alright. His stomach was churning endlessly, as he fought constantly between either breaking down into more tears or throwing up right there.

Had to be alright. Berwald had promised to take him home after the war.

Perhaps in an effort to take Ludwig's mind off of it, to ease his terror, Lukas suddenly knelt down before him, grabbed his hands, and met his eyes. Ludwig glanced up, blearily, and honestly thought that Lukas was going to give him another one of those very rare moments of motherly affection, as he had that day when Ludwig had been terrified of Gilbert.

That look on his face.

Ludwig almost started bawling, waiting for Lukas to hug him, as Lukas' thumbs ran over the tops of his hands.

But then Lukas opened his mouth, and very nearly hissed, "It was a fucking ship cannon, you son of a bitch. I actually put money down on it, you bastard, and I lost because you won't die. I hate you so much. So much. You don't know."

Ludwig burst into laughter but also into tears, and pressed forward to rest his head on Lukas' shoulder and use him as a towel.

Lukas just knelt quietly still, as always. What a damn jerk.

Magnus, probably trying to keep himself from crying, uttered, "Yeah, that's right. You owe me that money. Thanks, Ludde."

They were trying to cheer him up, and it worked just a little. A minute later, he lifted his head, wiped his eyes, and griped, "What the hell kinda assholes are you guys, puttin' bets on your friend's life? Shitty guys, the both'a ya."

"It was your idea," Lukas primly snitted back.

Oh, yeah.

Lukas stood up, patted Ludwig's cheek, and then left the room, no doubt to go be nosy and see how things were going. Magnus sat down next to Ludwig, and they both silently panicked over their stupid, stubborn men.

Hours passed.

Lukas came and went, to check in, and after the fifth hour Ludwig stood up and started pacing, because he was too sick to sit still. Magnus watched him, back and forth, for an hour, and then it must have pissed him off because he forced Ludwig back into the chair, went to fetch a towel and some water, and it was Magnus suddenly kneeling before Ludwig, cleaning him free of blood and dirt.

Magnus was trying to keep them both occupied, so they wouldn't think too much.

Eight hours. Ten. Twelve.

Night came.

No word yet from Lukas, who was very likely practically hovering over the operating table, knowing him, trying to figure out what was happening.

Ludwig leaned his head against Magnus' shoulder, Magnus leaned into him in turn, and they tried to sleep, because sleeping was better than wondering. It wasn't easy, but they eventually managed to drift off, in and out, as time ticked away.

In his mind, he just saw Berwald there, lying next to him and telling him those stupid plans, where they would go after the war, where they would end up, what they would do.

Berwald had made a promise. Couldn't die without fulfilling it. Ludwig wouldn't let him, no matter what.

When the hour felt very late, the door opened and Lukas stuck his head in and called, "Hey. Come here."

Ludwig woke up quickly enough at that, bolting to his feet and startling Magnus awake in the process. They clamored unsteadily after Lukas down the hall, back into that awful smell of a hospital in war, and Ludwig's heart was pounding so fast he thought he would faint.

Lukas led him to a door, before which stood two men conversing lowly. They looked up, and Lukas clearly really had been hovering by the door the entire time, because he had known they were coming out and obviously hadn't spoken to them yet, for he asked, "You speak German? Is he gonna be alright?"

One of the doctors hung around as the other walked off, and he looked them over, covered in blood and looking like he could use a twenty-year nap. All the same, he smiled, waved his hand rather casually, and replied, "Ah, yeah, don't worry too much, eh? He'll be fine. He won't walk right anymore, though, but he'll live, if that's what you wanna know."

After seeing so many things, it was no doubt easy for the Finn to be so casual about it. So upbeat. To him, not walking right was something close to being absolutely fine.

Ludwig felt more like the ceiling had fallen down on him.

Didn't feel all there. Wasn't operating at his best then, barely lucid as he was, and the words just somehow didn't really sink in. Didn't understand what was being said, even though he heard it all clearly.

A crease of weariness in Lukas' brow, as he pressed, "What d'ya mean won't walk right? How do you mean?"

The Finn waved his hand again.

"We just dug almost a kilo of shrapnel outta that guy. Those legs were shredded to hell. Lucky we saved the damn things at all. That right leg, though—he's never walking straight on that thing again. It'll be a bad limp, assuming everything goes well. He might still lose it. I don't know. We'll see. If he doesn't, he'll need a cane, for sure, once he's out of the wheelchair. And he'll probably be in pain forever, but hell, he ain't dead. Just send this guy straight home when he's out. He's never fighting again."

With that, the Finn walked off, so airily. So easily. Nothing at all for him.

Never fighting again? Ha—that was almost a relief, or it woulda been anyway, had it not been for everything else.

When had he sat down on the floor? Didn't remember, but Magnus was suddenly kneeling in front of him again, whispering to him. Didn't understand a thing. Felt rather confused, if he were honest. A bit out in space. A grip on his arm, and Magnus pulled him upright, and led him back down the hall and once more threw him in the chair.

Now what?

Just wanted to go to sleep.

It was nighttime now, but he wasn't lying beside of Berwald, and he wasn't able to stare at him and know he was safe.

They sat there, all of them, and it was deathly silent.

Lukas almost looked a little lost. As if Berwald suddenly out of commission for good might have actually rattled him a little. Ludwig couldn't really have ever said why. Lukas had always done what he wanted, when he wanted, and had only ever wanted Berwald's consent as a formality. Berwald wasn't even the leader anymore, and yet Lukas suddenly looked as if he had just lost his way.

Berwald meant so much more to them than he realized.

Timo came back, at dawn, and when everyone was quiet and still, it was finally Magnus who had to grumble to Timo and try to explain the situation.

That crinkle in Timo's brow; Ludwig liked to think that it was worry for Berwald, and not for how much Berwald would no longer be doing for Finland.

With Timo, though, he never knew.

Later on that day, they all found themselves in a room around unconscious Berwald, and it was far too familiar. Ludwig could very safely say that he had liked it a hell of a lot better when it had been himself in that hospital bed. Couldn't handle it being Berwald.

Hadn't yet sunk in somehow, in Ludwig's mind. Tried not to really think about it. Berwald was going to survive—that was all that mattered, in the end.

Ludwig glanced up then and looked over Berwald, caught Magnus' eye, and was a little struck by the expression on Magnus' face.

Magnus looked so fuckin' sad. Like he coulda burst into tears. Magnus hated Berwald, and yet here he sat now, looking as miserable as Ludwig felt. How strange. Maybe when it came down to it, when it really came down to it, Magnus would have offered his own life and safety for Berwald as much as he would Timo, and maybe Berwald would have done the same for Magnus, even if neither of them would have ever admitted it aloud.

Could only hate someone so much without starting to love them a little.

Magnus suddenly hung his head, and whispered, so miserably, "Why does this keep happenin' to us?"

Timo replied, perhaps too harshly, "Because we're fighting in a war. This is what happens."

That wasn't the right answer to give, because Magnus hadn't been asking for a very technical explanation. Timo was intentionally being an ass, because he was angry then, agitated, and took it out on Magnus as he always did.

Magnus wisely stayed silent.

Lukas, as usual, did not, and murmured, so silkily, "It's almost as if someone keeps putting his men in battles that are well beyond their skill."

They weren't soldiers, that was true; they were just men with guns, and Timo marched them out into real war when they should have stayed in shadows. Even Ludwig had only been a soldier for a year, had no more value in that sense.

In all fairness to Timo this time, just this one time, Berwald and Ludwig had volunteered. Timo had been planning to come here alone.

Timo opened his mouth to raise hell, and Ludwig finally found his voice, to plead, "Please— Please shut up. All'a ya. Please shut up. Please."

He was near tears, could barely speak, was a breath away from falling onto the floor and crying himself senseless like he used to, and that was why they fell silent and turned away from each other.

No one spoke at all after that.

The next afternoon, Berwald woke up, if only barely.

Came around for just a few minutes, looked around very blearily, and somehow found Ludwig through his daze, and Ludwig held his hand.

The first thing Berwald said, when his eyes fell on Ludwig, was, "I listened to ya. I think."

Was very clearly still out of it, barely conscious as he was, drugged up, but Berwald started smiling, and Ludwig tried to be brave. He clenched Berwald's hand in both of his own, and grumbled back, "Damn right you did. Even you know better than to cross me."

Magnus tried to smile.

Berwald drifted away shortly after, and Ludwig buried his face in the blanket.

Timo came and went.

A week later, Berwald was lucid upon waking, but clearly in much more pain for it, because the doctors had started giving him much less medication. Supplies were tight, and men still came daily in that needed it more. Ludwig tried to distract him from the pain, gripping his hand and whispering in his ear.

Berwald just looked around, brow scrunched and eyes squinted, and asked, "Is everyone else alright?"

"We're fine," Timo called, because Berwald couldn't see him from where he stood without his glasses.

"We're both fine," Ludwig confirmed.

Berwald fell back into the pillow, closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths in an effort to stave off what was obviously a great deal of agony, and then came the question Ludwig dreaded above all else.

"Am I gonna make it?"

Ludwig opened his mouth and choked, and so Magnus said, "Yeah. You're gonna make it, man."

The silence afterwards was heavy.

Berwald opened his eyes, and looked up at Ludwig, as if trying to judge him and determine whether or not they were lying to him.

"Was it bad?" he asked, and Ludwig once more choked.

Couldn't say it. Couldn't do it. Couldn't look Berwald in the eye and tell him that he was done. Couldn't tell him that he had been permanently put out of commission. That he wouldn't fight anymore. That he could no longer carry on with this group that he had created. Couldn't hold Berwald's gaze and tell him that he was thirty-two, and was going to walk with a cane like an old man for the rest of his life.

He couldn't do it.

It wasn't right.

Finally, it was Lukas of all of them who smiled, if not a bit thinly, and leaned forward.

"It's alright, Berwald. You'll just walk a little funny, is all. It'll be alright."

Ludwig couldn't even lift his eyes from Berwald's hand there in his own.

Walk a little funny. Yeah... Good way to put it. Didn't make it feel less cruel, though.

Berwald's brow crinkled, a flash of confusion on his face, and it was clear that, just like with Ludwig, the words didn't really sink in. Berwald didn't understand, didn't comprehend. Ludwig kept on staring holes through the blanket, as Berwald's mind clearly whirred away. A shift of the sheet then, as Berwald tried to move his legs. He stopped immediately short, hissing in pain, and Ludwig was just close enough to hear that awful, very high-pitched whine that escaped his throat.

Couldn't fathom how much pain Berwald must have been in, and the more awake he became, the worse it obviously was.

Perhaps to take his mind from the agony, Berwald asked, gruffly, "Whaddya mean funny?"

Oh, that awful quiet.

Lukas was always the most composed amongst them, or almost anyway, and so it was once more Lukas who answered Berwald's question.

"The doctor says you won't be able to walk without a cane. From now on. If...if you don't lose it. But you're going to live. Take what you can get, Berwald."

Ludwig dared a glance up, and saw Berwald's jaw clenching, his nostrils flaring, his brow so low that his eyes were slits, and Ludwig wasn't entirely certain then if that look was from pain or anger.

Couldn't tell.

He reached up, absently, and wiped the cold sweat from Berwald's brow.

It was Timo, as leader, who finally had to look at Berwald and say, firmly, "You won't fight anymore."

A freedom fighter who couldn't fight. A rebel who couldn't take up arms. A man who had created a group and now could no longer be part of it.

No doubt Berwald had thought, at those words, 'How useless!'

It was obvious when his face fell, soon after, that that was exactly what he was thinking.

Ludwig thought Berwald would say, 'I'm a sniper, I don't need to run.' He thought Berwald would try to argue, try to fight against it, try to reclaim some sense of control. He thought Berwald would not accept that ruling, not that decision, not that way.

But there was only silence.

Berwald just lied there in that bed, and turned his head suddenly away from Ludwig. Quiet. Blank. Didn't say a word, and didn't look at any of them. He swallowed every now and again, face pale and a bit yellow, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that he didn't want any of them around. The way his brow crept lower and lower, the way his jaw clenched and his teeth ground, and Lukas was the first to turn around and leave.

The others followed.

Ludwig lingered for a while. Not because he wanted Berwald to speak to him, and not because he wanted to speak to Berwald, but rather because his whole body felt so fuckin' heavy. He couldn't seem to get it together, even just to stand up.

Eventually, it was Magnus who came back in, grabbed Ludwig's arm, and hauled him upright.

Shutting that door and leaving Berwald alone was hard.

Days passed in relative silence.

Berwald didn't speak at all, not to any of them, not even to the nurses and doctors when they came in. Rather apathetic, at first.

After apathy came anger.

Ludwig, for his part, was still in shock.

Just a few weeks ago, they had been murmuring to each other in the dark and planning a future that had been precipitous but so magnetic. Maybe they had gotten ahead of themselves, but whoever could have blamed them? Ludwig couldn't exactly come to terms with where they sat now, as Berwald glared away at the wall and always was in pain.

Ludwig would have sat there in that room endlessly, but was frequently impeded by both nurses and his comrades.

It was the worst thing in the world, though, in those rare moments he was able to linger within sight, to see those bandages being changed, so coated in blood, and to see the way Berwald covered his face with his palms because he was in so much pain that he was trying very hard not to cry in front of them.

When the wounds started healing in the coming weeks, when it was clear at last that Berwald would not lose his leg, it was hardly a relief, because another awful pain came for Berwald, when the nurses would flex his legs so carefully, trying to get the muscles engaged, working, and Ludwig had only lasted one round of that because Berwald had started crying.

Couldn't take it.

They stayed with Finns in town those awful weeks, and Ludwig's face seemed perpetually buried in Magnus' chest or shoulder.

Pitiful.

He tried to stay in the hospital when he could, but it was very obvious that Berwald didn't want him there. Wouldn't look at him, wouldn't speak at all. Hadn't said a damn word to any of them since that day.

Maybe Berwald thought that ignoring them would somehow just make all of this not true. Like Magnus when he refused to say goodbye, maybe Berwald thought saying anything aloud would make it real and so he stayed silent instead.

But, oh, the first time that Ludwig had seen Berwald in that wheelchair, as the nurses took him down the hall—had run right back out like a coward, down the street, found an isolated spot, and cried himself sick. Shoulda been able to hold it together, because he wasn't the one hurt, and yet somehow seeing Berwald like that was so much worse than if it had been himself. Should have been stronger. If it had been the other way around, Berwald wouldn't have left his side for a minute, even if Ludwig had sent him away.

With that in mind, Ludwig began to stubbornly sit there in that room with Berwald, even as Berwald pretended he didn't exist. That could only go on for so long, but Berwald was angrier and angrier with each passing day, as he was weaned slowly off of the morphine.

It must have been close for them to setting Berwald loose, because the nurses were suddenly walking Timo over everything they needed to do, showed them how to change the bandages, gave Timo a long lecture that Ludwig was almost glad he couldn't understand. The entire while, Berwald closed his eyes and refused to look at them.

Timo looked tired.

Five weeks after that shelling, the field hospital sent Berwald out on his own, just like they had sent Ludwig, far too soon and with a pat of good luck and a cane. Timo wheeled him out, Ludwig helped to put him in the car, and the drive back was very, painfully silent.

The cane was in the trunk, untouched and seeming so ominous in some way. The wheelchair rode behind in the other car. The wheelchair wasn't as bad in some way to Ludwig, because the wheelchair was temporary. The cane wasn't.

Berwald seemed to detest them equally, and that first day back home was one of the worse of Ludwig's life, getting out of that car and looking around and realizing how helpless they really were. Unprepared for anything. Stupid. No way to get the wheelchair in the house with Berwald in it, so Timo and Ludwig had to pick him up under the arms and carry him inside, as Berwald tried to murder the floor with his eyes and didn't say a word.

Didn't speak at all, and it was so quiet and awkward in the house, as it had been after Ludwig had been stupid and gotten himself shot. Worse in a way, though, so much drearier, because Ludwig had gotten better. Berwald wasn't really going to, not all the way.

Timo looked around at them, opened his mouth, and fell silent.

Everyone looked lost. It was different this time. A member down, permanently. When the Soviets had split with the Germans, when everyone had suddenly stood on opposite sides, Berwald had said, 'We stay together or we all go home.'

Did that still hold true now? Now that Berwald could no longer fight, did they all just go home? Give up? Did they split up now, after so long, because Berwald was no longer able to keep up with them?

Hated the thought.

He had always envisioned them together.

Ludwig sat on the sofa, Magnus' arm ever over his shoulder, as Berwald lied in bed and silently seethed. Timo and Lukas actually put aside their animosity, that one time, and the next time Ludwig saw them they were outside, gathering together planks of wood. Didn't take him long to realize they were making a ramp.

That hurt, goddamn. Something so simple, but seeing that really stung, hit home, because it was something Ludwig would have to look at every day and remember. But, hell...why even bother? From the look of him now, Berwald sure as hell wasn't going to want to go outside. Didn't move at all, because it hurt too much. Maybe Timo wasn't planning on giving him a choice.

Ludwig followed Timo into town shortly after, and they managed to procure new glasses for Berwald. Just temporary ones, until Berwald could get into town to get correct lenses. Just something that would keep him from bumping into the walls.

Oh...

A pang.

Wouldn't bump into anything for a while. Couldn't walk yet, and wouldn't for a long time. Right.

Night fell, and it was time to change those bandages.

Ludwig felt it was his duty, naturally, because Berwald was his, but Timo took charge as always, and said to Ludwig, "I'll do it, for a few days. You just watch and learn, alright? This isn't my first time doing this kinda stuff. Come on."

Timo was brave, always had been, and Ludwig followed him and hung back in the corner.

Timo leaned down over silent Berwald, and began uttering away to him in Swedish, his voice very stiff and strict. Sounded as if Timo were chastising Berwald, perhaps for his foul attitude, and Ludwig was happy not to know.

Berwald ignored Timo very easily, and Ludwig just paid attention.

Berwald's wounds weren't horrific anymore, at a glance. Not as much blood, very little actually, but the skin was healing very slowly, and the gashes that couldn't be stitched up looked very raw and painful. Berwald's legs looked quite like those of a zebra, for how striped they were with wounds. The unmistakable pattern of shrapnel. Berwald's right leg was so bad that it was nearly entirely scarred on the outer side, from ankle to thigh. An awful, huge suture above the knee, actually a bit dented in, from how much flesh and muscle they had had to remove. How that leg had been saved seemed quite the feat indeed. A bit of luck. Or maybe not, given that that leg was where Berwald's pain seemed to be coming from.

...it was his fault. He had tried to volunteer to go with Timo. If Ludwig had never opened his stupid mouth, Berwald would have stayed silent. Timo would have gone alone, would have been perfectly fine, and would have been back by now, victorious, as the Finnish and German defenses had held in the end.

Again, for the hundredth time, Ludwig caused nothing but trouble.

Berwald getting hurt was his fault.

Timo was as gentle as he could be, ever murmuring away, and Berwald clenched his teeth and inhaled very quickly through his nose, eyes squinted and sweating.

Wished, above all else, that the hospital had at least given them some pain medication, something, anything, just a little. It was selfish of him, he knew, with so many men wounded, but to be quite frank Berwald meant a hell of a lot more to him than some stranger, and Ludwig would rather have had that medication for himself.

He was awful, he really was.

Timo finished up, took his leave, and Ludwig glanced over to the wheelchair in the corner. Hated it, but hated more that cane lurking in the shadows against the wall. Dreading it.

Ludwig finally approached Berwald, and whispered, "I...I got you some new glasses. Guy in town made you some. Just for now, you know. Better than nothing, until we can get you fixed up."

Berwald scoffed, turned his head aside, and said nothing.

Fixed up—maybe he shouldn't have said that, exactly.

He set the glasses on the end-table, and then he tried his best to be calm and brave and turned the light off, crawling into bed very carefully. Didn't want to move anymore than necessary, and some part of him was scared that Berwald would finally speak to him, but only to shoo him out of bed entirely.

Didn't say a word, in the end.

Night was awful.

Once his favorite time, getting to lie next to Berwald and know they were both safe for the next few hours, and now night was miserable. Berwald writhed and shifted, squirmed, breathing and hissing through his teeth, sweating, and it was obvious that he was in terrible pain.

Ludwig was on the verge of tears, because there was nothing he could do. No way to help. Had nothing to give Berwald, nothing at all, and couldn't stand it. Worse was when he reached out to place his hand in Berwald's hair in an effort to comfort him, only for Berwald to jerk away.

That hurt.

Knew that Berwald was going through a very incomprehensible mix of emotions, and he was trying to be patient as he always was, but being constantly rejected was painful all the same.

Ludwig was stubborn, and after the third try of touching Berwald, Berwald finally gave up and fell still under his hand, but that may have only been because moving at all hurt him and swatting Ludwig away wasn't worth the pain the motion caused.

Ludwig couldn't help but wonder if maybe it would have been better if Berwald's right leg had been amputated. Maybe then he wouldn't have been in this constant pain. Maybe it would have been better to lose it than to have it mangled. Only time would really tell.

Just wanted to wake up and somehow be back in those happier mornings.

Berwald had been laughing and smiling.

How unfair.

Berwald didn't sleep. Couldn't; the pain was too great, and Ludwig woke up at some point in the night to Berwald clenching his jaw and quietly crying.

Had never known anything could hurt this badly.

In the morning, Ludwig stared at Berwald, feeling drained and exhausted, and didn't move at all until Timo came again. Timo tried his best to do what the nurses had told him to, and braved Berwald's wrath by hunkering down and forcing Berwald's legs into flexes. Berwald rested his arm above his eyes, and Ludwig could have sworn that, for just a moment, Timo had blinked very quickly.

They banded together afterwards to get Berwald out of bed and into the wheelchair, but no matter how hard Ludwig tried, Berwald wouldn't eat. Just sat there and stared off out of the window, his incorrect glasses halfway down his nose.

Lukas tried his hand at coaxing Berwald to eat, with that silver tongue of his, but was equally unsuccessful.

Ludwig cried into Magnus' shirt shortly after when they were alone.

Berwald didn't talk.

He just sat there and stared. Always.

Sometimes, when he thought no one was around, Berwald squinted his eyes, ducked his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose in what was obviously an attempt to keep from bursting into tears right there. Whether it was from pain or anger or frustration, no one could have ever known. All three, likely.

Berwald was slipping again, down that cliff, but this time it wasn't catatonic like the last—this time, it was just angry. Berwald wasn't going quietly, and every day Ludwig just see that rage building up under the surface. Frustration.

What could he do about it?

He was trying everything he could think of, and Berwald responded to nothing.

Timo was the only one that could get him to eat, and that was only because Timo was mean and aggressive and shoved it down Berwald's throat if Berwald didn't cooperate.

They forced Berwald up onto his feet every day to walk him about a bit, as instructed, but aside from that he wouldn't move. Maybe Berwald was trying to delay the inevitable use of that cane, always looming in the corner.

Ludwig stood before Berwald one night, and said, 'I told you that I'd follow you anywhere. But I can't do that if you won't move.'

Berwald ignored him.

The days kept on passing, and Berwald just kept on sinking. Wouldn't talk. Glaring holes at everything before him. Ludwig didn't really know what to do. No matter how hard he tried, Berwald wouldn't look at him.

Listing.