A/N : You guys are my favorite people. No joke. If only you knew how much you make me smile. ^^

Chapter 26

Oh, What a Dream

They sat together on the grass above the lake, all five of them.

Fireflies in the trees. Stars all over. A warm breeze, the scent of summer and water. Grass and trees. White clouds, rolling every so often in front of the full moon. Gentle waves, as the town lights rippled upon the surface of the water. The mighty forest swaying to and fro in the wind.

Lukas sat cross-legged in the center, hands in his lap and smiling away at the water, calm and quiet and very lost off in his dreamland. On either side of him sat Ludwig and Magnus. Magnus' knees were pulled up, and against his shoulder reposed Timo, as they murmured to each other and smiled and Magnus swept his hand over the lake in the distance, as if gesturing to Timo what their world would look like soon when peace came.

In Ludwig's lap rested Berwald's head, one hand in Berwald's hair and the other on his shoulder. Berwald was smiling, lying on his side and watching the trees blinking with fireflies. Ludwig leaned down to whisper to him, as they planned their future. The look of contentment on Berwald's face. Quiet calm.

Happiness.

Ludwig saw them all in that moment as a chain, linked together by forces beyond their control. Whatever the war put them through, at the end of the day they always came back together.

They sat out there, all of them together, until the pink light of dawn began to break over the green forest.

That was the dream Ludwig had had the night before Berwald finally spoke the first words to him since then. They had been home for two weeks. Two entire weeks of silence, before Berwald at last lifted his head, looked over at Ludwig, and opened his mouth.

What he said didn't match at all with that beautiful dream.

"Why haven't ya left yet?"

It was the first day as well that Berwald had been given the all-clear by the town doctor to get out of the wheelchair and start using the cane. For that, Berwald sat on the edge of the bed and had been very still, glaring at the cane. No choice in the matter, because Timo, that master of tough love, had taken the wheelchair out of the house and stashed it god knew where. Berwald had no choice but to start walking with that cane, and he looked as if he wanted to set fire to the world for it.

So Ludwig had been very shocked, naturally, to hear his voice at all after over a month.

The words didn't sink through, because he was so caught off guard. Immediately, he had come over and sat down beside Berwald, wanting to grab his hand but scared to.

Berwald stared out of the window, having procured correct lenses by then thanks to Timo's ruthlessness, and he didn't look over.

To prod him into speaking more, Ludwig tried, "How are you feeling? Do you wanna try walking with me?"

Silence.

Berwald didn't speak again that day, and Ludwig eventually retreated.

They sat together at the kitchen table that night, silent and morose. The air was tense, awkward, strained. The wind outside was quite strong, and occasionally rattled the windows. Ludwig stared into his cold coffee, and it was Magnus who suddenly exhaled very heavily, sat up straight, and put his hands upon the table.

They looked at him, and Ludwig was quite shocked when Magnus said, in a voice that shook, "I'm done. I'm not fighting anymore. I quit."

An awful rush of adrenaline, a surge of panic, fear. Hurt. Magnus was his best friend; didn't want him to leave.

Ludwig glanced at Timo, who was staring Magnus down quite frighteningly. It was funny, really, that Timo's soft, pretty brown eyes could be so intense when war came about. Had never seen such friendly eyes that could turn into a razor.

Magnus looked only at Ludwig then, because surely he was terrified to look at Timo or Lukas, both of whom relied on him though in very different ways. Each man here had their uses and strengths, and although Magnus and Ludwig had often proclaimed they weren't good for anything, that wasn't exactly true. Magnus held his place here just as much as anyone else, terrible aim or no, and his absence would be a loss, if only for Lukas.

Timo surprisingly didn't start screaming. Just sat quietly still, although his grimace and lidded eyes were painfully derisive.

Ludwig glanced then at Lukas, but got nothing from him. As always, Lukas was entirely blank, staring off into nothing as he always did.

At the silence, Magnus looked down at the table, heavy lashes covering his eyes, and he added, in a whisper, "We promised to stay together. If he can't fight anymore, then I won't either."

Ludwig felt a twinge of hope, maybe, a little relief. Maybe Magnus had no intentions of leaving them, of going back to Denmark. Maybe Magnus was going to stay put, would remain here, but wouldn't fight out of silent respect for Berwald.

Timo may not have accepted that, and all Ludwig could do was wait.

Minutes ticked by, no one made eye contact, and then Timo finally said, softly, "If you don't want to fight, you don't have to. I'll...find you something to do, in town. If you stay."

Magnus' head snapped up, and it was so easy to see on Magnus' expressive face the utter relief he felt at not being immediately eviscerated and thrown out by Timo. Ludwig knew that Magnus had gotten off so easily because Magnus didn't fight on the same side as Timo, and one less man on that side was, in the end, a win for Timo. That, and maybe Timo was relieved at some level that Magnus would no longer be in danger.

Ludwig, feeling that he had already caused enough damage by being impulsive and brash, grasped onto Magnus' sudden boldness and said, at long last, "I'm done too, Timo. I'm staying with him. I won't fight anymore."

Ludwig braced himself, but for naught in that end, because Timo hardly looked surprised, and indeed the first thing Timo said was, "Yeah. I had figured as much."

Had been fairly obvious, he supposed. With Berwald permanently impaired, Ludwig had never had any intentions of ever going back out. His war was finished, after so many years. Sure as hell didn't miss it.

It was Lukas and Timo then who met each other's eyes. The two most stubborn, the most passionate, the most volatile. Neither of them seemed to have any desire to stop, and neither of them said another word for the rest of the night.

Ludwig took their silence as, 'I'm still fighting.'

Let them.

His worries then were only on Berwald.

In a rut, still.

It had been days now, and Berwald still wouldn't touch the cane.

The crinkle of pain in his brow never lifted. Always angry, because he was in terrible pain. Lashed out at everyone and everything, but mostly Ludwig.

God help him, Ludwig wanted to punch Berwald in the face more than anything, and everyone else did, too, but he just couldn't bring himself to snap at Berwald the way Berwald probably needed him to. Couldn't do it, because Berwald was mourning the loss of his mobility, of his usefulness in a sense. Hard to stay angry at him, thinking about how he must have felt. So young, and put out of commission. Always, always in pain.

That said...

Ludwig was being patient, yes, but every day found himself more and more agitated by Berwald's inability to put forth effort. By his moping and bitterness. Knew that Berwald must have felt useless and vulnerable and was reacting defensively, but it was wearing on everyone all the same.

Berwald was being very stubborn, and this time that wasn't a good thing.

Ludwig walked into the bedroom one afternoon, and saw Berwald down in the corner between the bed and the dresser, tangled in sheets and breathing through his mouth, face red. Sweating. The cane was up against the dresser, within reach and yet still in place. That awful look of pain on his face.

Stubborn.

The dumb son of a bitch kept tryin' to walk on his own, and wound up on the floor in a heap instead.

Ludwig came towards him, but stopped short when Berwald held a hand out in the air, an invisible warning, and then he shook his head, curled his lip, and grunted, "Get out. Go away."

Berwald spoke again at last, and just to say that? Was that all he really had to say?

Ludwig stood there, feeling his brow crinkle without really meaning for it to, and then he squared his shoulders and backed off. The worst side of him was content to let Berwald flounder on the floor until he learned his fuckin' lesson. Let him crawl around and try to keep standing until he was forced to grab the cane.

Bitterness was exhausting. Too hard for him to keep up. So he went back, an hour or so later, and poked his head in. Berwald had pulled himself back up onto the edge of the bed, and was glowering away at nothing.

Ludwig leaned in the frame and asked, as gently as he could, "Hungry?"

He knew the answer already, even if Berwald refused to look at him or speak.

Silence.

"I'm not bringing it in here," he said, as Berwald continued to smolder, "so you're gonna haveta get up. Sooner or later. Can't sit in here forever, you know."

He couldn't say that he enjoyed speaking to Berwald like a little kid, but that was close to how he was acting.

Berwald wasn't keen, either, and this time he raised his voice, and cried, "Out! Get out!"

A rush of fury, rage, once more forcefully stifled. Ludwig clamped his jaw shut, whirled on his heel, and stalked out, slamming the door behind him as he went.

That bastard—

Magnus grabbed his arm as he meant to barge outside, and forced him still.

"You alright?"

Fury faded. Exhaustion crept in. Sadness.

"Yeah," he finally replied, as he slumped. "I'm fine."

Magnus stood very patiently still, because Magnus had gotten used to being used as a crying towel these past months and was likely waiting for the newest occurrence. Didn't even have the energy to cry that time, and merely watched as Timo, having heard Berwald's scream no doubt, suddenly stalked into the bedroom as angrily as Ludwig had stalked out. Was about to lay into Berwald good, and Ludwig didn't really want to hear it, even if he couldn't understand.

Magnus saw, as always, and walked him out the backdoor and onto the hill.

They sat on the grass, and although the scenery was beautiful, it felt nothing at all like that wonderful, comforting dream Ludwig had had. They weren't all together then, and Berwald wasn't smiling. No more planning, no more looking forward to the future, because Berwald was stuck in place.

Magnus rested his hand on Ludwig's back, as they watched the sun rippling off of the lake. A long, heavy silence, and then Magnus said, softly, "It'll be alright. It'll just...take a while, ya know. You'll see. Everything will be alright. Hell, we're all alive still. We're pretty lucky, I guess."

Ludwig rested his head on Magnus' shoulder.

They were lucky, exceptionally. Berwald was the only one who didn't see it.

After a long while, Ludwig asked, anxiously, "You're not going to leave, are you? Yet?"

Magnus snorted.

"Nah. I ain't goin' anywhere. Where would I go, anyway? Back home? Not now. I'll stay with you guys, until the war is over. I'd like for us all to stay together after, too, but I guess it will depend on how it all ends, huh? I worry..."

Magnus trailed off, and Ludwig knew that what Magnus was worried about was Timo. If the Reds won, if Finland surrendered, if Finland were annexed, Timo's fury would know no ends. Would Timo have fought, even after the war ended?

So hard to say.

Magnus suddenly murmured, mournfully, "Sometimes, Ludde, I think maybe we should have fallen in love with different people."

"Me too," Ludwig replied.

It was too late. They were in love, and there was no turning back. Magnus wouldn't have let go of Timo any more than Ludwig was willing to let go of Berwald, and their battles were entirely uphill and very unfairly balanced. They trudged on all the same, because that was all a man could ever really do.

Love was really the only thing worth fighting for, at the end of the day.

Ludwig wouldn't give up on Berwald, however hard Berwald made it.

When the sun went down, Ludwig reluctantly went back into the bedroom, where Berwald yet sat, head hanging and looking so rough and tired. Needed a shave and a haircut in a bad way, but Ludwig couldn't get near him. The bandages were off now, and Ludwig's eyes trailed down over those awful scars.

To test Berwald a bit, to see how far he could press him, Ludwig suddenly sat down beside of him and said, far too cheerily, "Well. We all tried really hard, but it looks like you're gonna win the battle of who has the best scars to show off."

He braced himself instantly, just in case Berwald twisted at the waist and punched him in the face.

He didn't.

Just sat there, like always, and sulked.

Once more, Ludwig asked, "Do you want to come walking with me?"

That time, Berwald scoffed, and spoke up a bit.

"You're the only one walkin'. You gonna drag me around for the rest'a my life? You really plan on bein' with me and havin' me walkin' like this forever?"

Even through the low voice Ludwig could hear the anger and frustration. The hurt.

It hurt, to see that awful shadow of depression on Berwald's face. That look of despondency and misery and helplessness. To see Berwald hanging there on the edge.

But it hurt him, too, it fuckin' did, and maybe Ludwig was just as angry when he spat, too loudly, "I'm just glad you're walkin' at all!"

It could have been worse, could have been so much worse, and yet still Berwald didn't seem to understand that. Didn't seem to understand how lucky he was to still be able to stand up and move around. That he was still alive. Berwald wasn't the only one having a hard time.

Berwald's voice was ever lower, rougher, harsher, when he suddenly uttered, with obvious intent to wound, "You don't haveta pity me just 'cause it's your fault I was there. I didn't ask ya to."

Oh—

An awful wave of hurt, guilt, shame, and Berwald had to have known how much those words would hurt. Already carried so much guilt, knowing that it was his fault, because it had been his idea to go with Timo. Those words. The painful sting of his eyes, the hitch of his breath, and Ludwig was the one to react defensively then, bolting upright and saying, far too thickly, "You brought me here to fight! That's the only reason you ever wanted me here in the first place. So I fought. You didn't have to say anything."

Berwald only gave a great, bitter scoff, and bowed his head. They would have fought then, perhaps, if Berwald had said one more word, just one more word, because Ludwig was already fuming and agitated and ready to fly off the handle. Thankfully for the both of them, Berwald kept his mouth shut, then, and didn't speak again.

Berwald was in pain and took it out on Ludwig, and Ludwig's patience was wearing thin.

That night, as Berwald sweated and panted and writhed in agony, Ludwig stood up and went into the living room, throwing himself down on the couch instead. Was at his wit's end, he really was, didn't know what to do and feeling helpless was the worst possible emotion.

His fault.

Ludwig's mind whirred away the entire night, as Berwald suffered.

Dawn broke.

Ludwig left the house, without telling the others, and set out into the town below. Aggravated as he was, couldn't really stand anyone going with him. Not where he was going. He trudged along, looking like hell, and went to the little field hospital that he had become far too familiar with. When he stepped onto the premises, his courage faltered for a moment, just a moment. Didn't really want to be back here.

But Berwald was in constant pain, and Ludwig was selfish, so he lifted his chin and plunged inside.

The smell of medicine. Blood. Whispers and grunts of pain. That awful scenery. The dread and anxiety that only a hospital could ever really bring upon someone. That shudder.

He didn't really realize when his shoulders slumped, and maybe he looked lost and a bit frightened, out of place and feeling guilty about being healthy in the face of these injured men, for one of the Finns came up to him and startin' talking. Didn't understand a word, but met his eyes all the same. After a while, the Finn seemed to realize he wasn't being understood, and switched to Swedish.

Nope.

Ludwig somehow found his voice to ask, wearily, "German?"

The Finn shook his head, but waved his hand, as if telling Ludwig to follow. He did. He was led to a man, a doctor from the look of him, but not the doctor he was familiar with.

The Finn looked him up and down, almost smiled, and was quick to surmise, "You're Timo's German, aren't ya?"

A nod.

"What brings you here? I heard about you. You're lucky to be alive. Your wound acting up?"

"No," Ludwig replied, too quickly, averting his eyes from the wounded men in the hall. "It's not me. It's—"

"The other guy," the Finn interrupted, knowingly. "Need someone to come up and take a look at him?"

Feeling so stupid and ridiculous, Ludwig shook his head.

The Finn lifted his brow and seemed perplexed.

"So. What do you need?"

Ludwig looked around the hall, trying to be brave, and felt suddenly rather nauseous. Oh, god, those men there. Seeing those rebels coming back like this. Men less lucky than they were. The Finn saw Ludwig's wandering gaze, and offered short explanations for certain injuries, whether Ludwig wanted to hear it or not. Wheelchairs. Crutches. Men hauling their IVs with them. Men without legs. Arms. Men burnt up. Stitched back together. Awful scars.

He felt like shit, and the matter-of-fact voice the Finn used didn't help any. Just so casual. Used to seeing all these terrible things.

So desperate to leave suddenly, Ludwig finally said, "It's just... He's in so much pain. Do you have anything I can give him, for now? Whatever you have."

The Finn was patient with him, but not exactly kind.

"Nothing will fix that, you know? He's gonna be in pain for the rest of his life. It will get better before long. It won't ever go away, but it will get better. He's just gonna haveta bear with it."

"I know," Ludwig muttered, feeling suddenly irritable. "Isn't there anything I can give him? Just for now? Until he's healed up all the way?"

This time, the Finn turned to him all the way, and his voice was stern when he spoke again.

"I got guys here that stepped on mines. Yeah, I got stuff, but not a lot. We're stretched as far as we can go. Don't you think I should save it for the guys that come in missin' something? I'm gonna say it hurts a hell of a lot more when we have to put them on the table and cut something off. He should be grateful he still has his fuckin' leg."

Ludwig burned red, and swallowed. Shame, more than anything. Felt stupid for even asking. Embarrassed.

He had only come here because of that awful guilt he harbored. Berwald's words. It was Ludwig's fault, and for that Ludwig was here begging, because his conscience was killing him. If he had kept his fuckin' mouth shut, they all would have been fine. That was the only reason he was here, to make himself feel better, perhaps, more than Berwald.

Stupid.

So he nodded, then, and turned around, fully ready to walk out of there in defeated humiliation.

At the last minute, a sigh.

"Here, here, wait."

Ludwig stopped, as the Finn came up behind him and extended a hand. A small glass vial, with tiny pills inside.

"Here. This is all I have for you, though. When it runs out, I can't give him any more. So only use it when it's really bad."

The bottle was placed in his hand, his fingers were forced closed, and Ludwig glanced up at the Finn long enough to ask, "Does it hurt? Afterwards, I mean."

He had turned his eyes to a rebel in the hall, with one leg.

The Finn gave an odd, half-smile.

"Some of them say it does. Most of them say it doesn't. A lot of them say they can still feel it, though, even after it's gone. Isn't that weird? The doctors in the big hospitals call it phantom limb or some such. I don't care about that, as long as it's not hurtin' 'em."

Ludwig was relieved, because he couldn't have taken that bottle at all if the Finn had just said, 'Yeah.'

Tucking the vial into his breast pocket, he tried his best to force a smile, and said, "Thank you."

"Sure. Tell him to work with what he's got."

Oh, more than that. In that place, seeing those men, he had long lost his patience with moping Berwald. And he knew, as he left, that the Finn had only given him those pills in the first place because he was Timo's German. Anyone else would have been snubbed and given the harsh reality of life.

Berwald was lucky. So fuckin' lucky. Why couldn't he see it?

Ludwig realized, taking those pills, that his guilt was not assuaged at all—he just felt worse, and he was about to go give Berwald hell for it.

Every step up the drive he took, the more and more agitated he felt.

The sun had barely risen, hanging low and bright over the horizon. Ludwig made as little noise as possible, because he was ashamed he had even gone to that hospital at all and didn't want anyone to see him coming in. They were all asleep still, and Ludwig took the vial out, clenched it in his hand, took a breath for courage, and then marched.

When he walked into the bedroom, however, his anger almost vanished.

The way Berwald sat up like lightning, inhaling, the way his eyes were wide, the way his mouth was open and no voice came out. The way he stared at Ludwig, as if terrified and relieved at the same time. That startled look. Berwald's brow crinkled, his breathing was quite fast, palms holding his weight up, and he stared at Ludwig quite as if Ludwig had come back from the dead once more.

That look.

Almost as if Berwald had thought, somehow, that Ludwig wasn't coming back.

Oh; Ludwig had crept out of the bedroom in the middle of the night, and maybe Berwald thought that Ludwig had up and left again. Berwald was being so difficult, and likely he had assumed that Ludwig's patience with him had ended and Ludwig had just decided to leave for good, because Berwald considered himself useless now.

Berwald's forehead wad glistening with sweat, the pain always there on his face.

A twinge of hurt, quickly cast aside when he remembered the pills in his hand.

Berwald just sat there and stared at him, and it took Ludwig a long time to finally open his mouth and speak. Almost lost his will, seeing Berwald looking at him like that when there had been only anger, but Berwald still wasn't moving.

Had to be done.

"Well. I went out, looking for something to give you, since you won't get up. I thought I could find somethin' that would make it stop hurting enough for you to at least try walkin' around. Something to make you feel better."

He stopped, swallowed, and reminded himself that Berwald needed this kick in the ass. Needed this anger. This impatience.

"So, I went down to town. I went out to the hospital. I asked around, trying to find you something. Some kind of medicine that might make it better. I felt stupid, goin' there. I felt so fuckin' stupid. Walkin' in there, and seeing all those guys. There was a kid in there, guess he was my age, without any damn legs—got run over by a Red tank. Can you believe that? Ran him over. One guy tripped and fell on a mine. Maybe it was one of ours, you know? Could have been. Lost his arm."

Berwald lowered his eyes, brow furrowed now with more than the pain from his leg, and Ludwig felt his own hands shaking a little.

Hated it, talking to Berwald like that.

He had to get over it, and go on. There wasn't any going back.

Ludwig gave a soft scoff, then, and said, "I saw one guy with no leg and no arm. How do you like that? But I asked anyway. I felt stupid, but I asked. And they gave me some pills for you, even though they don't have that many left. He gave me some, because I told him that your leg hurts. I took 'em. I felt like shit, you know, takin' 'em after seeing all those guys, but I took 'em anyway, because..."

He trailed off, as Berwald glared holes into the blanket, and when Ludwig sucked in a breath and found his words, he realized his voice was shaking as much as his hands.

"I took 'em because I—I hate seein' you in pain. I think I did for me, and now I feel like shit. I took them away from guys that really need 'em, just because I want you to feel better. I'm selfish, I guess, because I care more about you than I do some guy I don't know who got run over by a tank. Because I'm a... I'm a brat, I guess. Used to gettin' want I want. So."

Felt kinda sick.

Berwald wouldn't look at him.

"So, here!" he finished, setting the glass vial rather forcefully down on the dresser. "Here. This is what I got ya. If you want it, here it is. You'll have to get up if you want it. Shouldn't be too hard, right? You've still got a leg to walk on. I'm sorry that I took you down there. I'm sorry. I feel like shit about it. I know this is my fault, so that's why I got you something. If it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't have gotten hurt, and I'm sorry about that. But I can't change it. I don't want this to be what ruins us, when we've done so much. It's my fault, but it's not fair for you to keep takin' it out on me, because I was just trying to do my job. You're alive. You can walk, Berwald. If you try. Be grateful for that."

Was about to throw up, so he whirled out and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Threw himself down at the kitchen table, buried his face in his hands, and exhaled, trying to soothe his jittery nerves. Damn, felt so bad sayin' all of that, but Berwald should have felt bad about sitting there and moping when other men out there were dead.

As often, all Ludwig could do was wait.

Sometimes, it was easy to lose sight of how vast the world actually was. They had been together for so long, just the five of them, that it seemed as if they had just created their own little universe. Their own world. Other people didn't matter, because they had learned to only focus on and care about each other.

Berwald often forgot that there were other people out there.

He lived in his own world, and it so often crumbled. Everyone was selfish and self-centered, everyone, no matter how hard they may have denied it. At some level, when it all came down to the wire, a man only cared about himself.

Berwald lost sight of other men, because he felt as if life had ended.

He was no stranger to pain, never had been. Had raised so much hell in his youth, had gotten himself into such awful situations, had endured pain that sometimes had been so strong he couldn't even think without hurting. Was just used to it going away, after a while. The perpetual, unending ache was maddening. The pain was awful, shooting, sharp, relentless. The pain was unbearable. Insufferable. Couldn't sleep from that nearly electric stabbing.

But that pain wasn't what was making Berwald so miserable.

It was terror.

That unspeakable fear smothering him, that Ludwig was going to leave him.

Long hours after Ludwig had given him a what for, he came back. A tap on the door, a creak, and Ludwig peered in, so quietly, as Berwald sat on the edge of the bed as always and stared off at nothing.

Ludwig was quietly observing. Trying to see if Berwald had taken one of the pills, perhaps.

No.

Ludwig looked exhausted, looked about as miserable as Berwald felt, and finally asked, softly, "Won't you come eat?"

Didn't feel like it.

"Leave me alone, won't ya?" Berwald finally grumbled, too ashamed to even look at Ludwig, let alone to try to get up and crawl into the kitchen.

Finally, a gentle whisper.

"Alright."

Ludwig had exhausted all of his anger, perhaps, throwing those pills down, and now was just muted and placid. He retreated, shut the door behind him, and Berwald was once more left alone to fret.

Hours passed.

Loneliness. Lethargy. Exhaustion and frustration. That same old pattern. That same fear.

It wasn't the pain that Berwald was lashing out over.

Ludwig was going to leave him.

Long had Berwald known that he was overshadowed by these other men. He always had been, from the very first day. He had called himself leader, but never truly had been. They had humored him, and Berwald had always known that, sooner or later, they would all leave him behind.

His greatest fear was of them just seeing him as 'that old guy'.

Being surrounded by rowdy, energetic, boisterous men had been intimidating to him. Ludwig in particular. Ludwig was ten years younger than he was, the kid of the group after all, and Ludwig had already seen Berwald be deposed as leader. Now Ludwig was seeing him put entirely out of commission, unable to fight, unable to keep up.

He really was an old man, now.

That cane loomed.

His worst fear. That he was hardly more than damaged goods. That Ludwig, strong and young and virile, would get bored with him and cast him aside now that he couldn't keep up with the others. That Ludwig would seek out someone stronger. Someone younger. Someone faster and more worthy of his attention. Someone more charming and more handsome.

Not like Berwald could have chased after Ludwig now, had Ludwig left. Was entirely at Ludwig's mercy now, he truly was, being no longer able to corral him again should Ludwig attempt to leave them behind.

When Ludwig was gone, the world stopped.

So Berwald sat here now, waiting. The pain was nothing, nothing at all, compared to that devastation that came over him at night when he looked over at sleeping Ludwig and knew before long he would look over and see empty space. Ludwig would leave, because Berwald no longer had use or worth. Couldn't keep up or go out, and if he couldn't go out then he couldn't be so sure Ludwig would come back.

That mist always loomed.

Those awful days, lost up in his head, in the dark. A black forest, with no lights. Only trees, endless all around, shrouded in fog. No way out. However long he walked, there was never any end. Just lost there in himself.

When Ludwig was gone, Berwald couldn't find his way back into the world.

Didn't even remember that day he had grabbed the gun, he didn't. Hadn't been a conscious decision. Didn't know how he had even gotten outside to begin with. Hadn't realized the barrel was against his temple. Just knew that he was lost in the woods, and Ludwig was never coming back. Could only see Ludwig up in his head, alone and scared in the cold black sea.

Hadn't realized where he was and what he was doing until Magnus had been on top him, straddling him and screaming at him. Hadn't heard the words. Didn't know what Magnus had said or why he was so angry. Why Magnus had slapped him.

Hadn't cared.

But Ludwig kept coming back, again and again, and Berwald had relied more and more upon him each time because he knew now what loomed when Ludwig wasn't there.

That dark.

Now, Berwald stood once more before that great black forest, the mists creeping in, and knew that if Ludwig up and left he would once more plunge in amidst the trees. Didn't want that. Now, it was Berwald who was lost and alone in the sea, with no land in sight.

Ludwig would leave him, because who wouldn't? What young man wanted a partner that couldn't keep up with him?

A knock on the door. Once more, Ludwig loomed there, peering in.

A question.

"How are you feeling?"

Probing once more, to see if Berwald had taken the medicine. Didn't want those pills. Didn't want Ludwig's pity. Just wanted Ludwig to stay with him, in spite of it all. Wanted Ludwig to find some reason why Berwald might have been worth hanging in there for, and knowing in his heart that there was none. Maybe he lashed out so at Ludwig now to force him to leave, because maybe it would hurt just a little bit less if he ran Ludwig off than it would be if Ludwig left him.

Ludwig came inside, looked Berwald up and down, and Berwald turned his eyes to the window.

"What do you want?"

Not the friendliest way he had ever greeted Ludwig.

Ludwig hesitated for a second, staring down at Berwald in a serene manner that only made Berwald more damn irritable, and then he came forward and sat himself down on the edge of the bed. Berwald took the coward's way out, staring blankly at the window, very much unable to raise his eyes up to Ludwig. How could he? The way he'd been actin'.

If Ludwig was going to leave, then Berwald wanted him to go ahead and do it already. Didn't want to drag it out a single second longer than was necessary.

It started raining.

One of those heavy summer rains. Thunder in the distance. Rolled in out of nowhere, and Berwald tried to focus on the pounding rain on the roof, the water on the window, the wind and thunder. Anything at all that wasn't Ludwig staring at him.

Too damn ashamed to look over.

Pitiful, he really was, trying to drive Ludwig away while knowing that Ludwig's absence would be the end of him. Wanting him always there and wanting him to just leave. He dreaded getting used to the cane, using it, becoming proficient with it, and to walk around a corner just to see Ludwig staring at him with disdain.

A burst of light in the clouds. A long gap, and then thunder. The storm was comforting in a way, the sound of the rain soothing, and they sat there in absolute silence.

Ludwig still being here at all after how awful Berwald had been was a very clear testament to both his stubbornness and patience. Not endless, though, and Ludwig would eventually crack.

A louder burst of thunder, right overhead, and Berwald finally gathered the bravery to glance over and meet Ludwig's eyes. Surprisingly, he saw no hatred there. No annoyance that time. Ludwig just looked very tired, rather worn down, but quite tranquil. Very oddly placid in that moment, Ludwig, and Berwald wondered if the others were propping Ludwig up as Berwald was determined to tear him down.

Maybe Magnus, a master of dealing with a very cranky and aggressive significant other, had said something to make Ludwig feel more confident and sure.

Their eyes met, and Berwald held his gaze, for the first time since then.

Ludwig looked him up and down, smiled just a little, and asked, wistfully, "Are we different than we used to be?"

Berwald studied Ludwig's face, handsome as ever despite the awful look of exhaustion.

"How d'ya mean?"

Felt strange, talking to Ludwig after so long.

Ludwig leaned in towards him just a bit, not enough to press their shoulders together, and Berwald did regret that.

"When we all first met. Were we different? You think fighting all this time has changed us? I feel like we're different. When I first met you guys. I was shyer, I think. Timo smiled a lot more. Magnus, too. Lukas was always happy. I think we're different. We just didn't notice, you know, because it happened so slowly." A quirk of Ludwig's brow, a study of Berwald, and Ludwig added, lowly, "I think you're the only one that hasn't really changed."

Berwald scoffed at that, and turned away.

Hadn't changed, maybe, until he had lost his ability to walk right. He sure as hell was different now, and Ludwig knew it, because had been the one bearing the brunt of his wrath.

Different...

The rain picked up ever stronger.

Berwald closed his eyes, and contemplated. He pulled up his memories of that house in Sweden, where they had all established themselves as a group and as brothers. The way they had been when they had all stood there together the first day.

Timo. Timo had been Berwald's favorite person back then, because Timo had been so funny and happy. Always smiling, always so friendly, always causing a happy ruckus within the house. Everyone felt at ease around Timo, because Timo cared about them all and had loved them. Always making amicable conversation and lifting everyone's spirits. Timo had mothered them in a sense, had been the first to take care of them when it seemed that they couldn't take care of themselves.

Now, Timo was always angry, so aggressive, so belligerent, so dangerous. Timo was the warmonger amongst them, the most violent and volatile. Timo didn't joke around anymore, didn't strike up friendly conversations with anyone that wasn't Ludwig. Timo's eyes were no longer gentle. When Timo caused a ruckus in the house now, it was to incite anger. Timo didn't love and care about any of them that didn't align perfectly with his goals. Timo was more likely to cause injury now than he was to fix it up.

Timo had gone from playful to turbulent.

Lukas. Lukas had been the most tranquil amongst them. Dreamy and aloof. So calm, poised, dignified. Never cracked, never expressed any emotions. Always in control. Perfectly suave and soft-spoken. Lukas had been so chatty, so content all of the time. Had thrown his arm around everyone and creeped into their personal space without a second thought, had been oozing over all of them rather adoringly, as if Lukas had been their collective big brother.

Now, Lukas brooded in corners, face always dark, brow low and lips pursed. He wasn't cool now, he lost control of his temper, he screamed, shrieked, fought. He didn't interact with anyone intimately. He didn't approach any of them for idle chitchat. He didn't babble mindlessly to them. Always, the shadow of danger was there upon his face. His dark blue eyes looked more like midnight than the deep ocean they had been. Terrifying more than hypnotizing. The hellish whirlpool.

Lukas had gone from dreamy to nightmarish.

Magnus. Magnus had been arrogant, confident. Self-satisfied and so sure, swaggering everywhere, strutting, charming everyone off of their feet. The loud, obnoxious one. Magnus had never shut up, had always chatted and joked, had always filled the silence with endless prattle. Had been so boisterous, drinking and forcing everyone to be together and to be happy. Magnus had been the life of the party, and had striven to keep the mood as cheery and light as possible. Had fallen to one knee and recited endless Shakespeare to Timo, had made even Lukas laugh, had brought Ludwig into their circle all the way. Magnus could have charmed the generals of the armies themselves, probably could have stopped the war single-handedly with a few smooth words.

Now, Magnus walked with his head down and shoulders slumped. He didn't strut anymore, and rather staggered about clumsily. His eyes never lifted from the floor. He was quiet. Anxious. Always nervous and fretting and stressed. Constantly in a state of mourning. Scared and defeated. Magnus walked with his tail between his legs, always ready to bear the brunt of Timo's wrath, always so scared every time one of them walked out of the door. Magnus couldn't even say goodbye, he was so close to just breaking down. Refused to acknowledge reality, trying so hard to pretend that it would probably end up killing him. Every single time that there was a silence that lasted too long, Magnus' face crumpled and he looked a breath away from bursting into tears.

Magnus had gone from arrogant to defeated.

Ludwig. Ludwig, once he had settled with them, had been so quiet. Withdrawn. Had been nervous and self-conscious, but so desperate to befriend them. Ludwig had been hopeful and optimistic when all of them had sat there together in that house, had looked over all of them in turn, and it was so easy to see on Ludwig's face how happy he was to be there. That he had people around him that liked him and that he liked in turn. Ludwig had striven so hard to impress them, had tried so hard, had always given his best, because he was insecure and yet so eager. Ludwig loved them and wanted to be loved, and had tried to integrate amongst them as best he could. Had never wanted to fight, but had gone along with them anyway because they had all sold it to Ludwig well enough to make him think that he was actually accomplishing something. Ludwig had been brave and strong, but so gentle and kind underneath.

Now, Ludwig just looked around at them, and it was just as easy to see that he was terrified of suddenly noticing that someone was missing. Ludwig was no longer optimistic, no longer had that sense of naivety about him. No longer was nervous or self-conscious or anxious, but only because Ludwig had just burnt out and always looked tired and rather apathetic. Ludwig didn't care about the war, but he had fought on anyway, because he was the only one there that loved every single one of them and didn't want any of them to part ways. Ludwig had run away from home, had been vulnerable to them, and for that perhaps Ludwig saw them all in a different light than they saw each other. Ludwig saw the good in them because he had forced himself to, but reality always crept in and they weren't good people. Ludwig didn't seem hopeful anymore that he had found his place, that he had found a family; Ludwig just looked like he was watching something he had always wanted dissolving in his very hands. As defeated as Magnus, in some less obvious way but no less potently.

Ludwig realized now that they accomplished nothing.

Ludwig had gone from hopeful to jaded.

They had changed.

And now Berwald was just bitter and wounded.

Ludwig said that Berwald was the only one that hadn't changed, and maybe that was true. Why? The obvious answer would have been, of course, that Berwald was the only one amongst them who didn't really have anything to lose, because he didn't have a country that was torn apart. No matter how the war ended, Sweden would be the same when he returned as it had been when he had left. He had no real investment, no real passion, no real stakes.

That wasn't why.

The others had been hopeful and happy and optimistic before the war. They had had goals and dreams. They had had things to look forward to, lives they wanted to live. They had been looking forward to a future, and they had changed so much because war took all of that and dashed it into the ground. Berwald hadn't changed at all, because the way they were now was the way he had always been. The war couldn't break him down, because he had already been that way before it had started. Didn't change, because he had started with them at the level they now stood. Berwald had been dashed long ago, and didn't need some war to change him.

Nothing for the war to crush in him, when his life had already always been that way since before he could remember. Berwald had first joined this war with the Finns because he had wanted to get himself shot. Nothing at all to change, when he had already been at his lowest.

The others had been set up for failure.

They had changed, the others, and it was disheartening to sit there and think about it and actually realize it.

But they could still go back to the way they had been, they could. It was still there within them all. Timo still had those moments of playfulness, Magnus still sometimes smirked, Lukas still drifted off and dreamily crooned to them sometimes, and Ludwig still sometimes looked calm and smiled sincerely.

Like now.

When the war was over, maybe they could work together to find the people they had once been.

If they stayed together.

Berwald looked over at Ludwig, and finally said, perhaps in an effort to soothe Ludwig, "When the war's over, it'll go back to the way it was."

Almost, anyway. He cast a quick glare at the cane, and said nothing more.

A short silence, as Ludwig seemed to be in contemplation.

Another burst of thunder.

Ludwig stood up, and grabbed the cane up in his hands, studying it rather thoughtfully. Berwald dared a glance at him, and thought that Ludwig was smiling, just a little.

Ludwig came forward, and playfully tapped the tip of the cane down atop Berwald's messy hair. Bopped him several times, until Berwald had no choice but to look up at him. When their eyes met, Ludwig smiled all the way, closed one eye and brought his hand to his chin and looked at Berwald intensely, mockingly scrutinizing him, tip of the cane still atop his head, and Berwald shifted anxiously.

Could only imagine what was running through Ludwig's head, as he held that cane.

Pathetic.

A long study, and then Ludwig nodded his head approvingly, and said, in that familiar, soothing rumble, "Mm-hm! The glasses and the cane go very well together. I can see it. You'll look just like a professor."

Oh—

Berwald squinted his eyes and hung his head, trying hard not to cry.

Couldn't even explain what he felt then, because it was a little of everything. Devastated and elated and relieved and so terrified. Didn't know what to do or where to go, was helplessly reliant on Ludwig, needed him more than anything, and Ludwig teasing him like that gave him such hope even against his greatest insecurities.

Ludwig didn't say anything else, and grabbed Berwald's arm and hauled him up to his feet. Hurt like hell, like absolute hell, but that time Berwald didn't take it out on Ludwig. Didn't say anything hurtful, didn't lash out. Just clamped his jaw shut, leaning against Ludwig, and gripped the damn cane when Ludwig forced it into his hand.

Goddamn, the worst pain he'd ever felt, trying to walk for the first time with that cane, propped up against Ludwig. Just a few minutes, circling the room, before he couldn't breathe and was far too close to tears.

Every day, Ludwig patiently walked in circles with Berwald, up and down the hall, into the kitchen and then back, building up his endurance slowly and carefully. It hurt, but that didn't matter at all, as long as Ludwig was there beside of him.

Several days later, Berwald tossed the vial of pills at Ludwig's face, Ludwig caught them, and Berwald said, "Take 'em back. I don't want 'em."

Ludwig's beautiful smile.

The days passed, and Berwald tried hard to try hard, for Ludwig, because Ludwig wasn't giving up on him. For Ludwig, Berwald gathered up his nerves and courage, and worked.

It seemed more and more hopeful that maybe, just maybe, Ludwig would stay with him when the war ended, if only for a while.

Things got better, and somehow worse.

Mid-September, and their world shattered again.

Finland, under too much pressure, collapsed.

On that day that Finland finally surrendered, finally signed that paper, Timo just sat at the kitchen table, head buried in his arms, and cried until nightfall, Ludwig hovering over him and running a hand down his back. Finland surrendered to the Soviet Union, and Timo's world ended.

Magnus, who had always wanted the Soviets to win, was quiet and sad, staring at Timo from the doorway and looking weary and downtrodden. Didn't talk, all night. Just stared at Timo, watching him crying, and looked like crying himself.

Lukas, who considered this a victory, stayed out on the porch and just watched the lake, to keep himself no doubt from accidentally saying or doing anything that would have further broken Timo's heart.

On that day that Finland, forced by the Allies, declared war on Germany, Timo cried again, hands clenched in his hair and kicking the leg of the table. Oh, god, how Timo cried then, sobbing so hard that he coughed, high-pitched whines often escaping his throat. Utterly bawling, helpless to stop himself.

That day was the worst.

Ludwig sat himself down on the couch, knees pulled up to his chest and face burrowed under his arms, tucked into the cushion, and Berwald could see how alone he felt. Like an outcast. Ludwig didn't fight anymore, but having Finland declare war on Germany, when Timo and Ludwig had been countrymen in that way, was too much. Too much for either of them. Ludwig must have felt as if the entire world detested him. Worried that he had lost something in Timo that no one else there could give him.

Ludwig was still and silent, but they all knew he was crying, too, because every so often his shoulders shook.

Timo and Ludwig, two of the strongest men Berwald had ever met, in every way, crying their eyes out like that.

That was painful.

Somewhere, in the later hours of that miserable day, Timo managed to trudge out of the kitchen, eyes red and bleary and swollen, and he went straight to Ludwig, still curled up in that defensive ball. A short silence, as Timo hung above, and then he reached down, grabbed Ludwig by the shoulder and head, and forcibly pressed Ludwig's face into his stomach.

Hands flew up and gripped Timo's arms as Timo buried his own face in Ludwig's hair, and everyone could only watch miserably as Timo sobbed, pitifully, in that awful whine, "I don't fuckin' care what they say. I'm not gonna turn— None of us are, I know my fuckin' guys, I do, and I'll keep on fightin' the Reds, no matter what that paper says."

Timo was still talking after that, but had become incomprehensible to them all except for perhaps Ludwig.

They stayed like that for a long while, clenching each other like vices. They must have felt so lost. Stranded in the middle of the sea. They huddled together on the couch for the rest of the night, Ludwig burrowed away in Timo's chest as Timo buried his face in Ludwig's hair.

Come morning, they were still there, passed out in exhaustion.

Timo's entire universe had shattered, and it was so obvious to see how damaging that was to him. Proud Timo, who never said die, was forced to face his country's surrender. Timo, so vociferous and ardent, so unabashedly patriotic, had to admit defeat at long last, and it was clearly the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

Every night, Timo and Ludwig sat out on the porch together, and just stared off at nothing.

Timo cried frequently, despite his efforts to stop it or hide it, and Magnus was suddenly the one trying to hold Timo's head above the water, although he failed miserably at that because Timo loved Finland more than he loved Magnus and was inconsolable.

Ludwig tried to distract himself by forcing Berwald to keep on walking, farther and farther every time. Sometimes, though, when Berwald had to lean against the wall and pant for air and gather himself, he would glance over, and see Ludwig's jaw clamped and the way he swallowed and blinked rapidly.

Those days were very quiet.

Timo looked so lost—didn't know which way to go. Struggling to find himself, as his nation fought with the Germans while the citizens hated the Soviets more. Timo just stared at the wall sometimes, at the map of his country, and looked utterly devastated.

The Germans steadily retreated from Finland, setting fire to the Lapland above as they went, as the Reds redrew borders below. Karelia was gone, forever, and was no longer Finnish. It was Russian now.

Torn in half, it seemed, and Ludwig was so quiet.

Timo hated the Reds, more than anything, so much, but couldn't hurt them anymore; they were allies now, weren't they, and the Finnish Navy had joined up with the Soviet one to control the sea as the Red Army marched steadily on Berlin. No more Reds here to fight.

What could they do?

Ludwig sat by the window and watched the trees, but didn't go outside anymore. Wouldn't set foot in town, wouldn't even go all the way down the drive, because he was a Finnish enemy now, in a practical sense, and felt ostracized. Maybe Ludwig was even afraid that someone would take aim at him in anger, because everyone, after all, knew Timo's German.

Timo didn't go out anymore either, because he just didn't know where to go. Timo would never fight the Germans, scorched earth or no, and neither would his men.

They disbanded.

After a while, with Finland being so torn apart and Berwald unable to keep up, with no more Reds to kill, Timo finally found it prudent to leave his beloved Finland behind. It hurt him, they could see that much. To leave behind the thing he loved the most. Had anyone ever loved anything the way Timo loved Finland? Absolute and utter devotion.

January of 1945.

They moved back down to Estonia, taking advantage of the relative calm now that the war seemed so close to ending. The water had been clear and easy to cross, their boat too small to attract attention or hit the mines.

The Germans had long since evacuated Estonia, and here, at least, Timo had Reds yet to take aggression out on. Lukas had been hard to sway, hard to convince, but Magnus had actually dissolved into tears when Lukas had initially refused to accompany them, and perhaps that was why Lukas had changed his mind.

Magnus and Lukas may not have been best friends, but they had a different sort of connection, were countrymen as much as Timo and Ludwig were, and Magnus would have been as bereft of Lukas as he would have been his actual best friend.

They all went together, as it should have been.

That house was still there, looking every bit as decrepit as it had before.

Memories here. Not all of them good. When they walked into that town, Timo looked around for a long while, eyes heavy and tired, and they knew that he was pretending that Eduard was going to come up and greet him.

Couldn't be.

They were all quiet when they once more settled, once more uprooted from comfort and familiarity and thrown back into uncertainty.

Magnus seemed glad, though, that at least Timo wasn't crying anymore, now that he could go back out against the Reds here.

This old house.

Lukas had smiled, tiredly, and said, "Guess I'm on the couch now, huh? Unless one of you guys want to go ahead and fall in love with me really fast."

Halfhearted laughs.

Just didn't feel like it.

It seemed that just when they thought things couldn't get worse, the war proved them wrong.

Lukas, at long last, finally stopped fighting, because he was only here for brotherhood now. Didn't leave them, and seemed to decide that it was time for him to hang up his coat.

Berwald tried hard to work on walking as best he could, because it seemed that the war was ever closer to ending. Wanted to be as good as he was going to get when that peace finally came, to have the best chance of swaying Ludwig into fulfilling that promise they had made to go home together. Things had changed since then, and that contract in a sense was broken, because Berwald was different now than he had been when they had uttered those words to each other.

Didn't have the courage to ask Ludwig outright if he would still honor it.

Barely had the courage to talk to Ludwig at all.

Timo and Ludwig sat on the couch together, pressed side to side, and just stared away at the fire at night. No one bothered them, and no one really had the heart to speak much to them. Lukas and Magnus kept each other company as Timo and Ludwig silently mourned. Berwald watched over them from afar, as best he could, working his leg.

Magnus and Lukas didn't fight anymore. Ludwig and Berwald didn't fight.

Timo carried on alone. Their leader, with no men. No one else fought, and yet they followed Timo still, because maybe all of them could sit there sometimes and realize that they had been different people. Maybe all of them clung to the hope that when it was all said and done, they would go back to that time and love each other.

Berwald could only cling to the hope that Ludwig would remember the way Berwald had been once, too.

Ludwig had hated being in Estonia the first time, and he hated it just as much the second time. Once more taken from a house he had settled into, a place he had grown to love. Had loved that town, but couldn't stay.

Ludwig was a Finnish enemy now, wasn't he.

That hurt.

He tried to focus his energy on Berwald, tried not to think too much about it all, because seeing Timo crying had been hard to swallow. Timo looked a little happier here, was able to join up with men he knew, was able to still fight and feel useful, and for that Ludwig was grateful. Wished in some way that he could still go out with Timo as he always had, but would never pick up that rifle again.

Done, for good.

Estonia, however, did have good things lying in wait for Ludwig.

It was then, at long last, there in Estonia, that Timo created papers for Ludwig. Had so many connections, so many people, and finally seemed to find it prudent that Ludwig be able to pass freely. Now that the war was close to ending. They were just good enough for now, enough to get by.

Could have just been himself, could have gone to any Allied country and declare himself a defector and gained documents with his own name.

But he didn't.

Didn't want to, in the end, because it felt more respectful to Gilbert that Ludwig just get a new name and start all over. Gilbert wanted to forget Ludwig existed, and this worked well enough. No need to hurt Gilbert, even if he didn't know it, by carrying on Gilbert's name.

Didn't surprise Ludwig at all that Timo's new name for him was of course Ludde.

Should have voiced a preference, perhaps.

Magnus just teased him with a halfhearted, 'Told ya we'd integrate ya!'

Sure.

Timo, looking ever more tired with each day that passed, just looked at Ludwig heavily, and said, 'Soon as the war's over, we'll go down to Denmark. All your legal records were lost, is all. There's gonna be so many people displaced, so many refugees. You won't stand out. They'll just look at your papers and issue you a new national number and call it a day. You'll be Danish from now on.'

Magnus punched Ludwig's shoulder, smiling sincerely for the first time in so long, and added, 'You're really gonna be my bother now, huh?'

Ludwig didn't say anything, because in some way he wanted to cry.

Devastated at losing his true identity, and yet so indescribably grateful and elated that these men cared about him enough to do this. That Magnus could flee from German occupation and then turn a German into his brother.

Magnus rested a hand on his back, perhaps seeing how he felt, and Timo had left them alone.

Seemed that everything was coming all together, both good and bad.

The war would end soon, they could all feel it.

Timo had to let Finland go, but bravely pushed on in Estonia, still fearless and still determined to take out as many Red soldiers as he possibly could before the treaty came. Maybe that was Timo's goal now, since Finland had surrendered; just to tally as many men as he could.

Ludwig let him be. Timo handled things in his own way, as he always had.

Berwald was still struggling, still climbing, and Ludwig did his best to make sure that Berwald didn't ever sit down and give up and slide back down the cliff. He was still in awful pain, that was obvious, but it was a little better than it had been, and Berwald could sleep better at night. Didn't writhe as much, didn't hiss and sweat.

He was slow and clumsy, but was trying. With a stubborn, dumb bull like Berwald, all anyone could ever ask for was that he tried.

But still, despite his trying, Berwald was ever quiet. Didn't speak much at all, and often just stared at Ludwig, almost anxiously, and was always quick to look away when Ludwig glanced over. Could only imagine what was going on in Berwald's head, and tried not to push him too hard and too fast. Berwald needed patience now more than ever, as he came to terms with everything.

Every month, though, Berwald was able to walk a bit farther.

Just wished Berwald would talk a little to him.

The snows were high, and one day, towards the end of February, Timo came up to Ludwig and clapped him on the back.

"How's he been doing?"

Ludwig tried to smile, and failed.

"Okay. Better. Walking, at least."

Timo lifted his chin, seemed to understand that Ludwig was entirely uncertain as to how Berwald was doing mentally, and gave a noise of thought.

"Well. If there's anyone that can get through to him, it's you. You always did before when no one else could. He'll come around. You'll see."

Ludwig tried to be hopeful, and then Magnus came in and plopped down with them at the table.

Didn't think anything of it, until Timo said, "We're gonna leave for a while. A couple of weeks, at most."

Ludwig gawked at them, back and forth, and was absolutely shocked.

Timo and Magnus, going out together again? Holy shit. That was astounding, it truly was. How in god's name had Timo ever talked Magnus into that? Or had Magnus just been so upset by Timo's devastation that he was taking pity on Timo and offering to help him out?

Hard to say.

Timo smiled at the look on Ludwig's face, and murmured, "We'll leave in the morning. It's up to you to hold down the fort until I get back. Don't you let those other two jerks get into trouble, alright?"

Ludwig snorted, and was glad at least to see Timo and Magnus together again.

That night, Ludwig managed to get Magnus alone, and asked, in a whisper, "Why are you going?"

Magnus' sad smile.

"I don't really want to, but—" A shuffle of Magnus' feet, and damn, that expression on Magnus' face nearly broke Ludwig's heart. Had never seen him look quite like that, when he uttered, "I asked Timo to stay with me after, when the war ends, you know, since it's so close. I asked him if we could be together, if he'd— He said he'd stay with me, if I help him out until then. I think maybe he just wants to see if I love him more than the Reds. I think he thought I would say 'no'. I think maybe even he was kinda hoping. Ha. Joke's on him—I'm pathetic, so I'll throw away loyalties for him. Even if he wouldn't for me."

A crumple of Magnus' face, a sharp inhale, and then Magnus gathered himself.

"So. That's why. I'll go, for now. The war will end soon, and then that bastard has to hold up his end of the bargain, right? Even if he doesn't really wanna stay with me, he has to. I'll do what I said I would, and so he'll have to, too. Right?"

Oh—couldn't stand it.

Ludwig hugged that pitiful jerk then, pressed his lips into Magnus' ear as Magnus nearly dissolved against him, and whispered, "He loves you, you know? If he didn't, if he really didn't, he woulda shot you and Lukas a long time ago. You know that."

That was true. It was a testament to how much Timo really did love Magnus that he had allowed Magnus and Lukas to keep sabotaging the Germans.

Magnus sniveled a little into his shirt as Ludwig had so often sniveled into his, and when Magnus pulled back, he seemed a little brighter, a little more confident. Magnus gripped Ludwig's arms, and said, far more cheerily, "I told you, we'll all be together when it ends. I managed to pin down Timo. Berwald ain't going anywhere. Work on Lukas a little for me, won't ya? I don't want him to leave, either. I want all of us to be together. Try your hand at Lukas. I've given it my all already."

"I will," Ludwig vowed.

When Magnus wiped his eyes, Ludwig gave him a good shake, and said, "But hey—you know that I'm gonna tell Berwald that you said you couldn't live without him."

Magnus burst into loud laughter, punched his shoulder, and come morning Magnus seemed so much happier.

When he and Timo stood before the door to leave, this time Magnus actually offered goodbyes. Came out of his imaginary world because he was hopeful, because he had at long last acquired what he wanted, was closer and closer to achieving his dream of being with Timo and having all of his friends by his side.

Lukas shook his head a bit, seemed disappointed by Magnus caving to Timo, but for once had nothing smart to say. Magnus even said goodbye to Berwald, with an awkward jerk of his hand and a gruff mumble.

Berwald had seemed confused, and didn't respond, retreating as quickly as he could into the bedroom to avoid any unwanted interactions.

Ludwig stood before them as they gathered up their things, and then Timo said something that took both him and Magnus very much by surprise.

Timo looked around wistfully, took a deep breath, reached out and clapped Ludwig's upper arm, and added, "I've been thinking... I know I always said that I'd keep fightin' until the war ended, but I've been thinking about it a lot. I think this'll be the last time. Once we come back, I think I'm gonna just hang everything up and settle down. I did my time. I'm kinda tired, to be honest. Let's just go back to the house in Sweden. How's that sound? When we come back, let's go back there. I liked it there. I think we all did."

Absolute and utter disbelief.

For an awful moment, Ludwig thought that Magnus would burst into tears right there, for that look on his face. He didn't, in the end, just staring at Timo with wide eyes and a wonderful look of awe and hope and adoration.

Timo, their absurdly dedicated near-tyrant, calling it quits at long last.

Ludwig hoped, above all else, that Magnus understood in that moment at last how much Timo really did love him. It was no coincidence that Timo was suddenly stopping, was suddenly conceding, was suddenly retiring, immediately after Magnus had asked him to stay with him.

Timo, with Finland out of his grasp, at last clung to Magnus.

Maybe Magnus did realize it; his face relaxed and his eyes lidded, the crease in his forehead softened, and Magnus looked so peaceful then. That beautiful expression; Ludwig loved Magnus when he looked like that. Stuck in his mind, that look. Liked imagining Magnus like that more than seeing him so sad all the time.

Everything they had wanted.

The end of their service.

"Sounds excellent," Ludwig finally said, and Timo squeezed his arm. "It's about time. Hurry up and come back, then. We don't want to get too old. We have a lot of fun to catch up on."

Timo snorted.

"I thought we had been having fun this whole time? You jerk. See ya around. Start packing up, maybe, if you want. We shouldn't be too long. And hey—Berwald will be happy. Maybe this will cheer him up. Keep a good eye on him, alright? Later."

They shared their goodbye, a quick bump of their fists like always, and Magnus gave him a one-armed hug and ruffled his hair.

Ludwig watched them go, chest tight with an overload of excitement and happiness and everything else. He looked over and shared a long look with Lukas, who seemed about as flabbergasted as Ludwig felt. Ludwig leered at Lukas, and said, so smoothly, "Well, guess you're gonna haveta find a new job up there in the mountains. I kinda see you as a shepherd."

He had promised Magnus he would work on convincing Lukas to stay.

Lukas primly lifted his chin, and retorted, just as smoothly, "You look like you'd be good for milking cows, so I don't see where you get off."

Ludwig laughed, and for the first time in forever, he and Lukas sat down on the couch, and spoke. Just chatted, as they had so long ago, and there was absolutely no tension, no hesitations, because they didn't fight anymore and therefore no longer stood on opposite sides of a raging river.

They were going home, all of them together, and Lukas almost smiled for a while there as he once had.

Ludwig eyed the bedroom door, but he didn't tell Berwald right away what Timo had said. Wanted to save it almost as a surprise. Wanted to wait until Berwald was in a good mood, if he could ever get one anyway.

Night fell, and when they lied together, when Ludwig was half-asleep, Berwald suddenly rolled over and threw his arm over Ludwig's chest. The first time since then. A burning rush of euphoria.

Everything was coming together.

Maybe Berwald had been struck hard by Magnus going out with Timo like that out of nowhere. Maybe it had made him think about their own situation, because he finally spoke up a little. His words though...

They hurt a bit.

A low, mournful whisper.

"Please don't leave."

Even so sleepy, Ludwig still furrowed his brow in confusion. Leave? Where would he go? He hadn't professed a desire to leave since back then.

Years.

"Why would I leave?"

He'd traveled so far to get back here. He'd done everything in his power to get back to this crazy man.

The grip tightened, and Berwald was silent for a moment before elaborating.

"I can't... I know I've been a bastard, and I can't walk so good now, but please don't leave. I... I'm tryin' to walk faster, I am, just... I just need some more time. A little. So. Don't go yet."

How that hurt to hear. Did Berwald have such little faith in him? Didn't Berwald know that Ludwig had never even once considered leaving his side? Whatever happened, he had promised they would be together.

He reached up, grabbing Berwald's forearm within his hands, and gave a snort.

"Nice try. You can't get rid of me that easily."

Berwald wasn't great with words, but neither was he. So he said that, instead of saying, 'I wouldn't ever leave you, because I've been in love with you since I met you.'

Playing it off like that was easier, for both of them, so that he wouldn't start crying, and Berwald kissed the back of his neck and squeezed him so hard that he could barely breathe.

As an afterthought, Ludwig added, as he gripped Berwald, "Anyway, I have to confess something."

Berwald was silent. Anxious.

A twist, as Ludwig squirmed enough to look over at Berwald, and catch his eye.

"I don't know if you know, but you've always been really damn slow. I don't think I've even noticed a difference, as a matter of fact. And you've always been a bastard, too, come to think. Sorry."

Silence.

When Berwald started crying, Ludwig pretended he didn't notice, and brought Berwald's rough hand up to his lips. He closed his eyes, and tried to sleep.

At the final brink, before unconsciousness came, there was a sudden whisper in his ear, drawing him back.

"I lied. It's not your fault. I— If ya hadn't said anythin', I still woulda gone. I woulda gone with Timo, even if you hadn't. It's not your fault. I was mad. I woulda gone."

Ludwig flipped himself over then, put them nose to nose, and rested his hand on Berwald's cheek. Maybe in some way Ludwig had known that, but to hear it confirmed was a great relief. Best for them to both carry on without guilt, perhaps, because they had enough hurdles as it was.

So, that time, Ludwig said, "I won't ever leave you. As long as you want me around, I'll stay."

That was his promise to Berwald, and he would hold to it.

Berwald pressed his forehead into Ludwig's, and they clung to each other as they had for years.

When they fell asleep, Ludwig knew that the morning would be one more step towards their ultimate happiness. Closer and closer every day to journey's end.

Ludwig counted down the minutes now with breathless anticipation. Couldn't wait for Timo to come back and put down his rifle. To see Magnus' face when at long last he knew that everyone was going to be safe. To see Lukas set aside his wires for good, and see the world outside of his head.

Berwald was rising up again like the phoenix he was, and that wonderful dream Ludwig had had was ever closer to becoming reality.

The end of their war.

Couldn't wait to be Magnus' Danish brother.

That chain that Ludwig saw them as was ever closer to being clasped.