A/N : I hate this f'n chapter, but from your very mistrustful comments, you guys know me by now, I think. :'|

Chapter 27

Love Has Lost Again

It was strange to Berwald that suddenly Lukas and Ludwig were so oddly happy and laidback. In this house that held many bad memories, in front of this forest that had held horror for all of them, in this dangerous land, somehow Lukas and Ludwig were teasing each other and smiling.

Berwald watched them, bewildered and yet so ecstatic.

How bizarre to see them like that, after years of being at each other's throats.

Seeing them, perhaps, as they had been back in Sweden. It truly was like going back in time, and Berwald would wobble into the kitchen, sit down at the table, and just stare at them through the frame. Why were they acting this way? Had Lukas retiring just automatically healed all of the wounds they had caused each other? Did it erase everything that had been said and done?

This dreary, decrepit house was suddenly far more appealing to Berwald. The yard wasn't as gloomy, at the foot of that frightening forest. The dust and creaking wasn't as ghastly. The shadows weren't as dark. The haunting living room, where he had had such awful nightmares, seemed far airier.

Hard to be melancholy, when Ludwig said something smart and Berwald glanced up to see Lukas holding him in a headlock. To see them practically wrestling each other, cursing the other not so seriously, and causing a ruckus as if they were children again.

Fascinating.

Years and years, and Berwald had known that Lukas was a breath away from snapping all of their necks, and now suddenly he held Ludwig's firmly but carefully, and was smiling. Smiling? When had that happened? What the hell was going on?

Berwald watched them, as he tumbled his way up and down the hall in practice, and noticed that Lukas looked quite perfectly serene as he sat next to Ludwig on the sofa and blabbered away about mythology, for the first time in forever. Ludwig's eyes were rather glazed over as he nodded obediently along, and Berwald snorted at that expression. A man who regretted ever sitting down to begin with. When Ludwig's head dropped a bit, Lukas would reach over and punch his old chest wound and startle him back into the real world. Ludwig would scowl, but crankily shake his head and try to pay attention.

Out in the yard, Ludwig and Lukas had taken to walking around together to play in the snow. Berwald liked to watch them from the window as they built little snow forts and threw snowballs at each other, and more than anything Berwald loved the positively furious expression on Ludwig's face when Lukas managed to hit him. Their real war may have ended, but they made plenty of play war as they waited for Timo and Magnus.

Ludwig had so much pent up energy and aggression, and although Lukas was almost as old as Berwald was, he was certainly far more energetic and more than able to keep up with Ludwig, wearing him out effectively after a few hours.

Berwald remembered, so many years ago, when he and Ludwig had been hanging sheets out to dry here in this very yard and Ludwig had tried to suffocate him with one. Those memories were good ones; this was where Ludwig had first started chasing him, after all, and so it was comforting in some way to see Ludwig and Lukas sort of reenacting that here. Felt a bit like they were finding their way back into the past.

Watching Lukas and Ludwig hanging clothes to dry and tormenting each other as they did so, Lukas clipping a clothespin savagely to Ludwig's ear and Ludwig retaliating by wringing a cloth very tight and striking Lukas' thigh with it when he was wasn't looking. A shocking oath in Norwegian, as Lukas whirled furiously around and tackled Ludwig.

Berwald watched them roughhousing, and couldn't stop smiling, at the sheer absurdity. Like little kids, alright. School was in. Would have thrown those words back at Lukas, for his frequent chiding of them, but valued his life more than that.

Did they know something Berwald didn't? They looked so happy.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Lukas didn't scare Berwald anymore. As it once had been.

Didn't know how they had come exactly to this moment in time, but loved it. Lukas had swept Ludwig up the first day they had met, and it was wonderful to see them finding that camaraderie again after their violent break.

When Lukas wore Ludwig out, Ludwig turned his attention back to Berwald, and Berwald very happily accepted it.

The pain was much easier to handle when the people around him were happy.

Four days after Timo had left, Ludwig came up to Berwald, scrutinized him as he often did, and then reached down and snatched Berwald's glasses right off his face.

Ah, how familiar. Wonderfully so.

Ludwig helped Berwald to his feet, stood him up straight, and said, so seriously, "Follow me. Or else."

With no choice, blind and helpless, Berwald snorted, "Yes, sir."

He was led out onto the back porch, pushed down carefully into a chair, and could see the blur that was Ludwig leaning beside of him. Could smell the forest and the snow, although he couldn't see it. Ludwig was suddenly right before him, and Berwald jumped a bit when Ludwig snipped a pair of scissors very threateningly in his face.

Could be pretty scary sometimes when he wanted to be, Ludwig, and Berwald narrowed his eyes, tried to see, and pursed his lips. Ludwig was probably smirking away, though, and merely said, "You desperately need a haircut."

Berwald made a noise of offense, and grumbled, "It's not that bad. I kinda like it."

It wasn't so very long, reaching the nape of his neck. His bangs may have been covering his eyes, though. Messy as hell, in all fairness, since he didn't bother much to comb it anymore.

In retaliation, Ludwig grabbed his collar, sat him up straight, and said, "You're startin' to look like Magnus."

Berwald huffed, and was quick to demand, "Cut it all off then."

Ludwig snorted, and started snipping away.

"It was a compliment."

Like hell.

Berwald sat obediently still as Ludwig clipped his hair, and Berwald was more than a little concerned, to be quite frank, because it had always been Timo and Lukas who had been the hairstylists before. Berwald couldn't say he was very confident in Ludwig's abilities, and dreaded looking a fool.

Surely enough, ten minutes later or so, Ludwig cursed under his breath and cried out for Lukas.

Berwald squirmed.

Lukas, for his part, giggled quite happily as he took over and fixed whatever in god's name Ludwig had done to his hair. Lukas tidied up, and leaned down very frequently to tease Berwald here and there in Norwegian, as Ludwig no doubt lingered nearby.

"He's trying very hard to take charge of you. Careful. He might try to become the man of the household soon. He's going to go from doing dishes to fixing the roof. You'll be the one relegated to being our housewife instead."

Berwald snorted at that, and tossed back, "I'm not too worried; we all know damn well Timo is the man of the house. We're all just his housewives. Timo will put that kid in line real quick."

Lukas laughed, and Ludwig, thinking they were making fun of his haircut attempt, muttered, "You guys are jerks."

Lukas wandered off when Berwald's hair was fixed, Ludwig cleared his throat and tried very hard to take charge again, and Berwald wasn't going to really complain too much when Ludwig started shaving him. Would take this bit of pampering while it lasted. Ludwig must have been bored out of his mind here, with nothing else to do except slam Lukas into the ground.

As Ludwig carefully dragged the razor, he suddenly said, "You look better."

Berwald teased, "Lukas saved the day, huh?"

Ludwig gave an offended sigh and gently pushed Berwald's shoulder, before elaborating, "That's not what I meant. I mean, you look better. Happier."

Berwald stared up at the fuzzy blur that was Ludwig, thoughtfully, and merely said, "Because you're happier. You an' Lukas. You're both happy all of a sudden. I like it."

Wished he knew why.

Ludwig was silent after that. Was probably smirking away still, holding onto his little secrets. A long while later, Ludwig dragged him into the bathroom and dunked his head over the bathtub to wash his hair, toweled him off, and at long last Berwald was given back his glasses, as Ludwig perched them carefully atop his nose. One of Berwald's favorite things in life was seeing Ludwig clearly again after having him so blurry for hours. Seeing that diamond gleaming out from the bleary mess.

Ludwig was smiling.

"You clean up pretty well," Ludwig drawled, as he stood Berwald up and led him to the mirror. Berwald was a bit startled by how short his hair was. Rather shorn in the back. Cut more like Ludwig's, almost. Looked a bit less homely, he supposed. Ludwig rested his chin on Berwald's shoulder, their eyes met in the mirror, and Ludwig added, "You're almost too handsome. I think I should have just left you alone. Suitors will come calling soon."

A rush of red to his face, but an undeniable boost of ego he desperately needed, unfounded though it was. No one had ever noticed him before Ludwig, and they sure as hell weren't going to start now, but the words felt nice all the same.

Ludwig was trying so hard, as he always had, to make Berwald smile.

As it always had, it worked.

That moment, perhaps, when they stared at each other in their reflection, was when Berwald finally and truly grasped that Ludwig wasn't going to leave him. Finally sank in, finally settled there in his head. He understood in that second that if Ludwig were going to walk out he already would have done so, and instead he was here playing with Berwald's hair.

Berwald would have dragged himself across the world entire for Ludwig, cane or no, and finally, at long last, he was able to let go of that anger, that fear, that insecurity. If Ludwig hadn't left him when he had been acting such a fool, then Berwald was convinced now that he never would. He trusted Ludwig.

If Magnus and Timo could spend all of these years on opposite sides and still somehow trust each other, if Timo could stay with Magnus in spite of what he had considered the ultimate betrayal of not supporting Finland, then maybe Berwald should have always trusted that Ludwig would have stayed by him.

He put all of his trust into Ludwig then, and perhaps it was also time to start trusting himself.

In a way, maybe that was years overdue.

Every day, it seemed, Berwald perked up a little more.

Was getting better with walking, with the cane, with his attitude, every time Ludwig looked up.

Every day was better.

Ludwig watched Berwald walking as often as he could, and could see that he went farther and farther each time. Lasted longer before having to stop. Built up more stamina and strength with each instance. Berwald was pushing himself as far as he could, and Ludwig was beyond proud. Sometimes, when he watched Berwald fall still and gasp for air, clearly in pain, and yet still gathering himself back up and forcing himself onward, Ludwig wanted to just grab Lukas and point and say, 'That's my man.'

Berwald impressed him, as he often had.

Six days after Timo and Magnus had set out, Berwald was pushing himself along as he always did, and Ludwig watched him going up and down the hall. Felt extremely affectionate suddenly, one of those random bursts of adoration, and he came up into Berwald's path, and leaned himself against the wall. He stood there silently until Berwald finally looked up at him.

Oh, Berwald.

Tilted sideways, putting all of his weight on the cane, brow covered in sweat from the exertion, he looked at Ludwig, glasses a bit crooked and short hair sticking upright to high heaven. Looked a perfect mess, and for that Ludwig found him remarkably handsome in that instant. Berwald, in one of those very rare moments, actually tried to smile. It might not have made it all the way up, might not have been real or bright, but it was a smile all the time. Panting to catch his breath, face flushed red, Berwald finally opened his mouth, and asked, "How do I look?"

Ludwig uncrossed his arms, lifted up his chin, and said, "Better! That's a good look for you, like I knew it would be. Did I ever tell you that I fancy men with canes? It's very regal. One might mistake you now for the King of Sweden."

The smile might have become a real one then, and Berwald finally let himself lean against the wall, too tired to get much farther. All the same, he said, quite seriously, "Wish you'd'a told me sooner. I'd've gotten blown up a long time ago. All that time I wasted, tryin' to seduce ya on good legs."

Ludwig laughed, quite loudly, and felt happy, quick to toss back, "I thought I was the one that seduced you?"

Berwald shook his head, breathing yet through his mouth as he rested, and uttered, "Nuh-uh. I just made ya think that. I was the one that had ya chasin' after me. I took ya for a ride. Ya didn't even know it."

Oh, was that so? Ludwig remembered it very differently, but conceded to Berwald dutifully, replying in perfect monotone, "Oh, yes, you're right. Silly me."

Berwald rested there and gathered himself for a while, and Ludwig smiled when he pushed off the wall several minutes later and carried on.

They'd be alright. It was easy to see, then.

Later in the evening, Ludwig found Berwald sitting on the edge of the bed, face scrunched up in pain as he ran his palms down his thigh. Clear enough that it was hurting him. Perhaps Berwald was pushing himself a little too far, desperate as he apparently was to prove that he could get himself back up into some sort of his former glory.

Berwald noticed Ludwig in the frame, looked up at him, tried to smile, and turned his eyes back down to his leg.

"Does it hurt?" Ludwig asked, and Berwald gave a stiff nod.

Ludwig came forward, and stood before the bed.

"Not as bad as before, though, right?"

Berwald seemed irritable, annoyed by his questions perhaps, but he shook his head all the same. A little cranky now, as the pain roared up. It came and went, Berwald's bad moods, but they were infrequent now and no longer malicious. Ludwig would let him have them, because outside of them he was trying very hard. Guess the poor old guy deserved a few foul moods here and there.

Even though Berwald was pissy and moody, Ludwig still smiled, and dropped carefully down to his knees. He took Berwald's hands within his own, forced them to his sides, and brought his own hands back to the leg in question, taking over. Berwald's irritation seemed to fade a little as he ran his palms over the sore muscles.

He was going a bit out of his way these days to coddle Berwald, granted, but that was in good part because he was desperately seeking a perfect mood. Wanted a fantastic mood from Berwald so that Ludwig could sit down beside of him and tell him that when Timo came back, they were going home.

Wanted Berwald to fully experience those words, and a bad mood would have dampened it.

He pressed the muscles as firmly as he dared, relying on silent Berwald's wincing as his guide. The scars were less shocking to him now. He'd gotten used to them by then, by that shrapnel pattern, as well as the dip in the muscle of Berwald's thigh. Could only imagine how much that must have hurt. Would have gladly switched places with him, but there was no point in dwelling on that.

The crinkle in Berwald's brow began lifting after a while, and well...

Ludwig looked about, perhaps a bit mischievously, for Berwald began eyeing him. He stood up, darted to the door and twisted the lock, because the last thing he would have needed was Lukas barging into the bedroom. Lukas slept on the couch but used their dresser, and having him come in for a change of clothes would have been a bit traumatic for him perhaps, as Ludwig set his sights on Berwald.

Ludwig marched on Berwald, and Berwald's face very clearly read, 'Oh shit'.

Berwald could sit up straight and tense and bristle all he wanted, but he was no longer able to escape Ludwig, couldn't run away, and was absolutely helpless when Ludwig pounced on him. Ha! As if Berwald would have ever tried to run, and indeed he sat there quite cooperatively when Ludwig once more fell down to his knees. If Berwald was still in pain then, he couldn't be bothered to worry about it, given that his hands were far more intent on ripping Ludwig's hair right out of his head.

Yeah, Berwald was the one that had seduced him alright. Sure.

Having red-faced Berwald smiling dumbly afterwards was the best reward, glasses crooked on his nose as they were. The foul mood was certainly gone, and Ludwig was feeling very self-satisfied.

Berwald did grumble, "Wait 'til I can walk better. Yer in for it."

Couldn't wait!

The next morning, Berwald's mood was good. Very good, come to think.

Berwald was in a very good mood, at long last and after great effort, and so that afternoon Ludwig sat down next to him, and shot him such a bright, blinding smile that Berwald actually looked suspicious.

"Well!" he said, eagerly. "Guess what news I have for you?"

Berwald only raised a brow, having no care for guessing games and knowing that Ludwig didn't either, and he only asked, carefully, "What?"

Was certainly tensed up, ready for whatever insanity Ludwig was about to throw out at him. Berwald knew better than to trust Ludwig when he smiled like that, after all.

It took him a while to stop smiling long enough to talk again, and it felt so good, so damn good, to finally say, "Once Timo and Magnus come back, we're all going home. It's the last time. Timo doesn't wanna fight anymore, if you can believe it. We're gonna go back to Sweden."

A short, stunned silence, as Berwald struggled to digest this amazing information, and it wasn't long before he started smiling, too. One of the prettier smiles he had ever seen from Berwald. Calm and soft. Peaceful, and Berwald was lovely for it.

It might have been then in that smile that Ludwig realized, for the first time, that maybe Berwald hadn't wanted to go on fighting after all. All these years, maybe what Berwald had really wanted was just to go home with someone.

Berwald was very quick to grab Ludwig's hand, and ask, a bit breathlessly, "You're comin' home with me, right?"

The first time Berwald had bothered to actually ask rather than demand.

Felling tranquil and happy, Ludwig nodded his head. With that, Berwald lit up.

They were all going home together, all of them.

Ludwig watched that day as Berwald rose up, as he had every time before, and finally cast aside the shadows. Once more, Berwald came right back from that mist, that dark, stepped back from the cliff. Ludwig watched him with awe as he always had, and yet again Berwald was smiling.

Lukas noticed it too, and seemed to be in an equally content mood for it. It seemed that one of them being in a good mood lifted the others up as well, in that endless running of the circle that they all were.

After Berwald discovered that they were just a few weeks from returning to civilian life, he lifted up his chin and seemed to find a good bit of optimism.

Berwald was perking up so much, in fact, that Ludwig began watching him from the corner of his eye, waiting for Berwald to start getting Ludwig into trouble again. So far, though, Berwald had been exceptionally well behaved. Biding his time, perhaps, until Timo came back.

One morning, Ludwig came up behind Berwald out on the porch, and heard him humming.

That was beautiful.

When Ludwig came up to his side, Berwald rested his weight on the cane and flung his left arm out, throwing it over Ludwig's shoulders and hauling him in. The best feeling in the world, and Ludwig was quick to rest against Berwald's chest.

Berwald was happy; not a sentence he was exactly used to forming up in his head. Berwald had a certain scale of moods that Ludwig had long since gotten used to, but it was an extremely rare moment when Ludwig had been able to look over at Berwald and see him and feel that he was actually feeling happiness for the sake of happiness.

This was one of those times. Knowing that they were going home did such wonders on Berwald, as much as it had Magnus. That beautiful look on Magnus' face before they had walked out of the door—that was the expression Berwald often wore now.

Nine days after their companions had set out, Ludwig received a very pleasant surprise.

Had been sweeping the floor mindlessly, lost up in his own little world, when a ruckus dragged him back to reality. A loud cry in Norwegian, and Ludwig looked up to see Lukas marching on him. Ludwig straightened up and dropped the broom, alert and ready to engage physically with Lukas as he often was nowadays, ready to get out some of this reserve of energy he had now that he hadn't gone out into the world in so long.

Lukas seemed just as ready, and when he lunged at Ludwig to try to wrangle him and subdue him, he cried aloud, "You bastard! What did I say about touching my stuff? Knock it off! If one more of my blue shirts touches my white shirts, I'm gonna strangle you with one of them! Stop it!"

Ludwig was so caught off guard that he fell still, and Lukas was quick to use the opportunity to move in on Ludwig and wrap a strong forearm around his neck. Damn—Ludwig just looked up, dumbly, unable to breathe, and saw Berwald sitting on the sofa so innocently, tapping his cane atop the coffee table as he read the paper in his lap casually.

Being choked out by Lukas then hardly mattered, because Ludwig started smiling.

Felt so happy then, when Berwald glanced at him from the corner of his eye with a lifted brow, quite coyly.

That petulant, childish jerk. Loved him so much.

Lukas released him shortly after when he felt Ludwig had had enough life throttled out of him, stomped off, and Ludwig went to throw himself down beside Berwald and rub at his neck.

All he said then, gruffly, was, "You're gonna get me killed."

Berwald flipped a page of the paper, and merely rumbled back, "Guess ya should stop messin' with his stuff. Ya know he hates it when his clothes get all mixed up. You're a jerk."

Wanted to play along, but he just couldn't then, because he was so happy that Berwald was once more out of those ashes and burning brightly. He scooted over, settled against Berwald's side, rested his head atop his shoulder, and said, "I'm glad you're back. I missed you."

An arm over his shoulders.

Ludwig could look back upon his life entire, and say for certain that these days were his happiest, knowing that it had all come full circle.

Berwald and Ludwig sat at the table that night, and began planning once more. As it had been, and now they waited so impatiently for Timo so that they could at last return to Sweden. Berwald rested his chin in his palm, smiled, and said, "That house was given to us by other fighters. If ya want, we can try to buy it, all of us together. Make it really ours. Or we can just head off somewhere else."

Head off into the unknown?

Maybe, one day, but Ludwig dreamt often of that house in the mountains, and was quick to offer, "I liked that house. Didn't you?"

Where they had all met.

Serenely, Berwald nodded.

Ludwig straightened up in excitement, and felt everything aligning in his favor for once.

That night, he crossed his arms behind his head, closed his eyes, and envisioned the immediate future. Timo and Magnus would come back, Timo would finally stare off in the direction of Finland and bid it a silent farewell, and then they would cross the sea one last time together. Fix up those old cars if they were still there, and if not procure a new one. Ride all the way back up through the mountains, and there that house would sit up on the hill, waiting for them as it had these years. All of them together would settle in and relax, rest, shake loose everything the war had thrust upon them. They'd find the people they had been before, and one day Ludwig would wake up and it would be identical to how it had been when he had woken up years ago to feeling like he had found somewhere he belonged. They'd come back to themselves, hang around, and maybe, god willing, the others would stay there. They'd spend the rest of their lives in that house and be brothers.

His dream, and he didn't let any doubts come in. Didn't consider that of course eventually Lukas would wander off and get married and start his own family somewhere. Didn't consider that Timo and Magnus would probably want their own home, their own little place, their own world.

Didn't matter, for now. As long as they were together for as long as they possibly could be, and if they did drift, then Ludwig would find a way to make certain that they were always nearby and always saw each other. Smarmy Lukas could slither out into Norway all he wanted, but Ludwig would creep right up behind him and still jump out at him from shadows. Timo and Magnus could have their own cozy little place, in whatever land they desired, but Ludwig would still knock on their door or throw pebbles at their window.

Berwald would always be there, and in the end that was the most important thing.

How those days dragged then, with so much excitement and hope resting there upon Timo's shoulders. Berwald was always tapping his cane on some surface, impatiently, as Ludwig practically writhed on the floor. Lukas had acquired a good pile of Swedish books from town, and liked to sit now cross-legged on the floor in the living room and read to kill time. With his wrestling partner suddenly worn out and reading, with Berwald in no shape, Ludwig found himself with far too much pent up energy.

Was about to combust.

Drove him crazy, sitting there and staring out of the window and waiting to see Timo coming up to the door. Ludwig had already dusted the entire house on six separate occasions, had scrubbed the floors and cleaned the windows, had taken a cloth and wiped down all of the walls, as Berwald stared holes through him from above his paper, and sometimes during his cleaning frenzies Lukas would murmur to Berwald in Norwegian, and Berwald would snort.

Knew they were laughing at him, but boredom was high, and impatience was higher.

What was taking Timo so long?

Ah—it had only been eleven days. Timo had said a couple of weeks. Had a good leeway of a few more days before Ludwig went entirely insane.

At the crack of dawn, Ludwig took to jogging through the small town, so that he wouldn't spontaneously combust or start tormenting Berwald. If he scrubbed that floor any more, he was probably going to fall right through it. He did come back from a jog one morning to a locked front door, and after he angrily banged on it for a while, Lukas opened up just a crack and hung there in the frame, assaulting Ludwig with question after question about Norse mythology to see if he had really been listening all those longs hours Lukas had lectured him.

Needless to say, Ludwig had flunked, miserably, Lukas had slammed the door in his face and locked him out, and Ludwig had tapped on the bedroom window until a sleep-shocked Berwald opened the curtains. But Berwald, no better than Lukas really, just stared at him through the glass for a while, pretending that he couldn't hear what Ludwig was saying, and left him out in the cold for a good half hour.

They made their own breakfast that morning.

Days passed.

On the fifteenth day, Ludwig climbed up on a rickety, wobbly chair to swipe at a few straggling cobwebs, and Lukas had scared the hell out of him by coming up behind him and grabbing him around the waist. Ludwig had damn near shrieked, thinking he was about to break his neck, as Lukas grunted and hoisted him up and then set him rather primly back down on the floor. Very unfazed by Ludwig chewing his ear off, Lukas turned to Berwald in the kitchen and called, so happily, "Berwald, I just saved your housewife from certain death. Thank me later."

Berwald poked his head out of the kitchen, as Ludwig's face burned red and Lukas wandered off, and Berwald had looked Ludwig up and down and sneered in what was obviously satisfaction. Sure enough, Berwald had uttered, "Be careful, honey. You're no good to me dead."

The blush deepened, and Ludwig crankily threw his dust rag in Berwald's face. Tried to get back at him that night, meant to give him hell, but funnily enough it turned out that Berwald actually didn't mind too much when Ludwig pinned his wrists down and straddled him. Come to think, he smirked the whole time. Damn. In hindsight, it may not have been the best way to get back at a man.

...everyone had too much pent up energy.

Ah, Timo! Hurry up.

Couldn't wait to tackle Magnus upon his return and bruise the hell out of him. Someone had to bear the brunt of this overload of emotion.

Seventeen days.

And then it came. Seventeen long, miserable days, and the thing that Ludwig had been desperately waiting for finally happened. Everything he had wanted and hoped for.

The end of their journey.

Magnus and Timo finally came back, bringing with them that promise of turning it in and going home. Home. Everything he had searched for, for years. Everything Berwald had never had.

They came back.

It had been a quiet, content day so far. Rather subdued. Tranquil.

Berwald had been smiling that day, all day long, humming frequently and watching the snow falling from the kitchen table. It was windy that day. The snow had fallen harder and harder as the hours had passed, but spirits had been so high. Everyone was so happy. Nothing but good things to look forward to after this.

The sun went down. The fireplace was roaring away. The crackle of embers. Ludwig lied on the sofa, curled on his side as Berwald sat in the chair in the corner, flexing his leg. Their eyes met frequently, contentedly, and Berwald was still smiling. Lukas sat on his now frequent spot on the floor, cross-legged and reading a book, enjoying this time to relax. Ludwig remembered his socked feet and sweater, his gentle humming as he read to himself, the wind howling outside.

The hour grew late. Ludwig drifted in and out in front of the fire as the storm kept on outside. Close to midnight by then—time to go to bed. Ludwig sat up, stretched his arms over his head as Berwald sleepily gazed at him, and then stood up.

When he opened his mouth, he stopped short, because there was a sound.

The jingle of the doorknob, as it was turned.

All of them looked up at the same time, ears and eyes alert as they held their breath and waited. Berwald bristled up as if shocked, reached out to grab his cane and prepared to pull himself to his feet. Lukas shut his book, lifted his chin, and was smiling. Ludwig turned to face the door, tensed up and braced and ready to rush forward and tackle the both of them to the ground.

Everyone was ready to go home. To stop fighting.

The door began to push open, and Ludwig took a step forward, fully ready to pounce and kiss Timo on the lips the second he walked through that door. To grab him and say, 'Thank you.'

'Thank you for letting us stop.'

'Thank you for letting us go home.'

'Thank you for letting us all be together at last.'

Together.

Berwald pulled himself upright, and looked almost excited. Had never seen Berwald excited before that moment. Oh—had so many things he wanted to say to Timo, so many, his head was a jumbled mess. The end of their war at last. They had followed Timo for years, and Timo was repaying them. Their compass, who had dragged them endlessly across the map and would now direct them true north, to home.

This passage of time was incredibly profound to Ludwig, and for that it felt rather surreal, as if it were passing before his eyes in slow motion. It was truly the beginning of their new lives, and for that Ludwig experienced it with heightened senses.

Ludwig would never forget that exact moment in time for the rest of his life.

A glint of blond, whipping in the furious wind, as the door pushed open the rest of the way and someone staggered in. Must have been exhausted, the poor things, over two weeks away like that. Ludwig took a step forward, and realized it was Magnus that had come in.

His gait was odd, uneven, clumsy. Nothing too new, honestly, because Magnus had always been a bit of a klutz. Ludwig waited for the second head to poke in, but was distracted from looking when he realized that Magnus was walking funny because he carrying something heavy over his shoulder. Didn't see what it was at first, because he was looking behind Magnus yet to catch a glimpse of Timo.

He was a bit dazed, if he were honest, at the rush of sentiments he felt at being able to go home. Time may have been dragging, but so was his brain. Overwhelmed in every possible way.

Lukas' book hit the floor, and he bolted upright so quickly that Ludwig almost didn't see him move at all. Had Lukas seen something? It took a while for his own mind to figure it all out, but Lukas had always been quicker on the trigger.

Ludwig hadn't seen Timo then, hadn't been able to catch a glimpse of him, because Timo was that heavy thing slung over Magnus' shoulder.

He was unconscious. Covered in blood.

That awful silence.

Magnus looked at them all in turn, whiter than the snow that was drifting down outside, the shadows under his eyes hanging like veils. Exhausted and utterly spent. Magnus looked as if by all rights he shouldn't have been standing at all.

A low, dazed whisper. Mournful, almost.

"Hey. Can't you help him? It won't stop bleedin'."

Ludwig was shocked, above all else, completely shocked, because it was the first time that he had ever seen Timo, resourceful, cunning, quick-footed Timo, looking so damn helpless. The first time he had ever seen anyone bleed like that. The white coat made the blood painfully obvious. The great stain across the back—had never seen so much blood.

Panic mode set in, hysteria, and everyone was rushing, quick to help, ready to take over and save the life of their comrade as they had several times before. They knew by now what to do, so—

Only, when Ludwig glanced around, he realized that nobody was rushing at all.

In fact, no one aside from Lukas had even moved.

He himself was deathly still, and Berwald, wobbling and unsteady, looked very much like he had been stabbed but made no motion. They weren't rushing, weren't hectic and harried, and Ludwig couldn't really comprehend at first why they just stood there. Why they were so frozen in dread. Why they choked, when Timo needed them the most. Why that voice in the back of his head was whispering.

As if...

They stood there.

Lukas bounded forward, snatched Timo right off of Magnus' shoulder, and set him carefully upon the floor. Magnus clung stubbornly the entire while to Timo's coat, and was a bit of an obstacle to Lukas as Lukas attempted to get a clear view of Timo. As if Magnus didn't want to let go, but Lukas shoved him backwards, as Timo had once shoved Ludwig. Like Timo, Lukas was always collected, always levelheaded and sure, and once again Ludwig was envious of that, because he couldn't get his feet moving.

The front of Timo's coat was as soaked with blood as the back, and Ludwig could see the awful, pallid shade of Timo's skin. Ashy. So pale and wan. Almost grey; Ludwig didn't need to be the one touching Timo to know that he must have been ice-cold to the touch, from so much blood loss and from being exposed to the freezing air. His hair was damp with the snow that had fallen into it as Magnus had dragged him back. Oh, Magnus, why had he come here? Why hadn't he gone straight to the hospital? So far away.

Wait a minute, that didn't make sense—

The coat was quickly ripped open, Lukas working very urgently and very furiously, as Magnus hovered above him. Magnus was muttering under his breath, watching Lukas' hands as if in a trance. Ludwig knew that he should have gone over to Magnus, should have grabbed him and held him back, should have tried to comfort him.

Anything.

But he couldn't really seem to move. Felt like he was stuck in quicksand.

Magnus finally said something comprehensible, as he looked up at Lukas. His voice was rough, and cracked from the effort of speaking.

"Help him out, won't'cha? Like...like we did before."

Timo needed help alright, that was absolutely certain, because he had bled so much, so much. Blood everywhere. Everything was red.

But not bright red. Not crimson. Instead, dull. Rust-colored. Faded and oxidized.

Old.

Where had Magnus come from? How long had he been hauling Timo around, unconscious and helpless? Why hadn't he gone to the hospital? They had been so far away, Christ, Magnus had to have taken at least a day or two to get here, and it didn't make sense that he hadn't gone to the closest field hospital. Had something happened along the way back? A roadblock maybe, that had gone wrong as Ludwig's had, and Magnus had had no choice but to come here?

Magnus was soaked with blood, too, but it was obviously Timo's, after having him over his shoulder like that for god only knew how long. That horrible color. It wasn't the sight of the blood itself but rather the color of it that had Ludwig's stomach dropping in horror.

Beneath them, Lukas, the only functional one, searched up and down Timo's abdomen for the entrance wound. His eyes were wide, his brow was low, his jaw was clenched tight and his pulse was hammering. Had never seen Lukas look like that before. Had never seen Lukas look panicked, but, god, did he ever then. Lukas was clearly pumped full of adrenaline then, and it was alarming.

Berwald was standing there as immobilized as Ludwig, so pale that he had gone beyond white; a sickly shade of yellow. His hands were trembling. Ludwig remembered looking down. So were his.

Timo didn't move the entire time that Lukas was prodding him over.

Magnus stared silently at Lukas as he worked, and finally spoke again. Barely.

"He needs blood. You know, like... Like we did before. We did it before."

From his side, Ludwig could see that Berwald had come out of his trance, if only a little, to reach down and, absurdly, roll up his right sleeve. As if he were ready to stride forward and say, 'I'll give him mine!' To save Timo now, as Magnus had once saved Ludwig. Giving back.

It seemed like the obvious answer. They had done it before. Rebels and soldiers alike did it all the time. Yet...

The strange silence in the room was steadily roaring up into an inescapable terror, and somehow, someway, it was obvious to all of them except poor Magnus that stabbing a needle into Timo's arm wasn't going to do any good. Ludwig couldn't say how he knew, except for perhaps that awful silence. That horrible sinking. A ship, overcome by a great wave. Silence had never once been so miserable. The color of that blood.

Lukas ripped open Timo's shirt, then, and Timo's pale skin was exposed to the air. Smudges of red. Smeared, dried blood all over. It didn't take Lukas long to find what he sought.

The wound was visible. A small bullet-hole in the abdomen, above the liver. Such a small thing, that caused so much destruction.

And yet, despite Magnus' odd rambling, that wound wasn't bleeding anymore. It had stopped. But Ludwig had known that already, just by the color. All of the blood staining Timo was old.

...well, wait, then, why had it stopped bleeding?

The horror was ever mounting, and something in the back of Ludwig's mind was screaming at him, telling him exactly what was wrong, and he could hear it loud and clear even though he refused to believe it.

He couldn't believe it.

Wouldn't.

Even though Timo just laid there, even though the bleeding had stopped, even though he knew, he knew, he fuckin' knew, he wouldn't believe it.

Something shifted in Lukas' gaze, something terrible, a look he'd never seen on calm Lukas' face. A darkness in his wide eyes, no sound from his open mouth, and when his brow scrunched and his eyes narrowed and he looked, for a moment, as if he was actually going to start crying, it was harder to ignore it. When Lukas had to shake his head to try and get it together, it was all but obvious.

Ludwig knew, long before Lukas gathered back his composure and lifted his hand up to Timo's neck. Somehow, he'd known from the very moment Magnus had walked in through that door.

Silence.

Never had there been such a silence. It sucked all of the air from the room.

He couldn't breathe.

And then—Ludwig would never forget—Lukas looked up at Magnus with obvious and abject horror and asked, breathlessly and thinly, high-pitched and almost a shriek, "Magnus, how long has he been dead? For Christ's sake—how long have you been carryin' him like this?"

That silence.

Whooshing in his ears.

It felt very much like a dream, like some surreal out of body experience, and Ludwig could only stand there, hearing and seeing and very much aware, and yet somehow feeling so far away. It didn't seem real. Couldn't be real.

It wasn't real, it wasn't, couldn't be, because it had been the last time and Timo had promised that they were all going home together. They were all here now, all of them, and there would be no more fighting. It should have been alright. What was so wrong with this picture? Why wasn't it all coming together as it should have? Something was amiss, just couldn't get his mind working.

The five of them together, in the same room, and they were going home—

Couldn't breathe.

Magnus raised his eyes up to Lukas, and he looked angry then, looked offended in some way, and after a second of hesitation, he muttered, stubbornly, "No, no, he's not—I was checkin' on the way. I was. You idiot. What are ya talkin' about? He's not—"

The muttering trailed off.

Magnus, to prove Lukas wrong, had leaned down to place two fingers on Timo's neck, and Magnus had fallen silent because something was amiss. Magnus trailed off because something had startled him.

Oh, Timo looked like he coulda been sleepin', if not for the smudges of blood on his cheek and neck.

Magnus furrowed his brow, sat still for a second, and then he suddenly wrenched his hand back as if Timo had burned him. Another long, awful silence. Magnus stared down, incomprehension clearly written there upon his face. Hadn't clicked in his head, as much as it wasn't clicking in Ludwig's. Looked so confused and lost, dazed and scared and bewildered. It took a while for Magnus to move again, and then there was a great inhale as Magnus lurched forward, raising a shaking hand and pressing his fingers back into Timo's neck.

He searched again. And again.

Again.

Again.

Mumbling incomprehensibly to himself and shifting his weight when one leg went numb, he raised and lowered his fingers all over Timo's pale neck, searching relentlessly for something that just wasn't there. Stubborn.

Timo didn't move, and everyone knew why. Everyone except Magnus, who kept on switching between putting his fingers on Timo's neck and then resting a palm atop his breast. Lukas reached forward with the intention of stopping him. Irritably, Magnus slapped his hand away, and kept on searching. He kept at it for what felt like hours, slapping Lukas away each time Lukas tried to intervene.

Berwald collapsed suddenly, down to one knee and then onto his backside, the cane falling to the floor. The clatter of it seemed so loud against that awful silence. Wood on wood. The fireplace was still crackling. The wind outside still howling. Seemed dull and faraway, as if Ludwig were watching everything unfold before him from behind a veil.

The clock ticked, and Magnus kept on running his fingers over Timo's neck.

Lukas had fallen onto his backside in a near perfect imitation of Berwald, palms running over his face and into his hair and back down, as Lukas seemed at a loss for what to do.

Ludwig was the only one standing, and that was only because he was too damn dumb to really even comprehend what was going on around him. Like Magnus, Ludwig had yet to accept reality, had yet to understand.

But then Magnus fell fully down onto his knees, his hands dropped down to his sides, and he suddenly lifted his head, took his eyes from Timo, and looked them all over. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Magnus just sat there, and looked around at them as though he really didn't even recognize them. Strangers, in a way, and Ludwig felt that way, too.

Magnus spoke then, quietly, for the last time that night.

All he said was, "I was checking on the way. I was."

Had he? Did Magnus even know where he was right now? What was happening? Had he checked at all or just pretended? In that daze, maybe Magnus had just held Timo there over his shoulder, and convinced himself that it was Timo's heartbeat he felt rather than his own.

Magnus fell still, turned his eyes back down to Timo, and didn't move again.

Lost.

And Ludwig could see him, then, up in his head.

Could envision everything so clearly, could see it plain as day there up in his mind, as if he were witnessing it.

Trees and snow.

He could see Magnus running forward the second that Timo cried out and fell, he could see Magnus putting pressure on the wound as Timo had no doubt reassured him that everything would be alright, as Timo always did because Timo was unshakeable. But Magnus wasn't, and he could see Magnus blubbering and bursting into tears as he picked heavy Timo up and tried to cart him out of the line of fire, and he could see Magnus dragging Timo back to civilization.

A trail of red against the white snow.

Could see Timo smiling over at Magnus prettily, as he sometimes still did in the right mood, calmly and happily, because Timo had come to terms with everything and was ready to love Magnus the way Magnus loved him. Timo was ready to go home, as they all were. Timo had given all of his time and energy to Finland, his life entire, and was now ready to start living for himself.

Could see Timo unable to walk anymore, and Magnus picking him up, still bawling away, trying to find his way through trees that all looked the same behind the blur of tears. Getting mixed up and twisting in a circle, breathing through his mouth as he tried so hard to find his way, because so much was at stake.

He could see Timo, carried over Magnus' shoulder, starting to go out of focus and whispering strange things, and he could see Magnus picking up the pace, trying to get back before it was too late. Timo clenching fistfuls of Magnus' coat and telling him perhaps, for the very first time, that he loved him. He could see them finally reaching a safe zone hours later. He could see men coming forward to take Timo from Magnus and set him on the ground. He could see the men looking over Timo as Lukas had, and then shaking their heads.

He could see the light of comprehension going out in Magnus' eyes, as Magnus took Timo from them with harsh words and harsher hands. Refusal to believe. Stubbornness overriding logic. Reality didn't fit into Magnus' expectations, and so he had just changed it in his head as he always had, to fit his narrative and to make him see the world in the way he wanted it. Could see him taking Timo from the Estonians and cursing them, slinging Timo once more over his shoulder and pretending, even then, that Timo could be helped if someone would just take the time to listen.

He could see Magnus putting Timo in the backseat of the car. He could see Magnus driving as fast as he could to people he knew would help instead of say crazy things, and he could see Magnus turning his head over the seat, reassuring a very still Timo that he would get him there in time. Could see Magnus swerving sometimes, because he was crying still and couldn't see the road.

Reaching home, and trying so hard to hold on to the fragments of his imaginary world.

How many hours had Magnus passed in that crazed, irrational daze, really truly thinking that Timo was still alive? It was such a long trip. It had to have taken him twenty hours or so, between the walking and the driving and finding his way around without Timo to guide him, as Timo always had before.

Magnus had to have known, somewhere deep down. Just couldn't face it. Couldn't accept it. Refused to accept that outcome, because at last Magnus had had something within his grasp that he had desperately wanted.

Denial had always been Magnus' best friend, even more than Ludwig.

He could see Magnus slinging Timo over his shoulder again once they reached the town, and starting the trek up to the house, to the door.

Hoping.

Hoping that these men that Magnus called 'brothers' would listen to him, would take him seriously, would do something, anything, other than just shake their heads. That Lukas would be on Magnus' side, as he always had been, and lend Timo aid. That Ludwig would have Magnus' back, as he always had, and lend Timo support. That Berwald, if nothing else, would at least help Timo because Berwald had once loved him, and lend Timo blood.

Magnus had come to them because no one else would bend to his distorted reality.

But they couldn't either this time.

Lukas was silent, Ludwig was immobilized, and Berwald was a heap on the floor.

Timo was quiet, and Magnus had trusted them.

Magnus was dripping blood on the floor, clearly had been wounded in some way himself, and Lukas, the only one with any semblance of clarity left, finally unburied his face, sat up, and tried to check him, but couldn't get close to him because Magnus shoved him back.

Wasn't all there, Magnus.

Lukas tried again to creep in and get to Timo, perhaps to try to get him out of Magnus' sights, in the hope that it would wake Magnus up, and Magnus once more lashed out and slapped him away. They couldn't get over, as Magnus held a silent vigil over still Timo and would let none of them near. Looked betrayed, almost, that they weren't helping. That they hadn't cooperated with Magnus' ultimate plan. That they hadn't lived up to the expectations Magnus had set for them on that long trip back. That they weren't aligning with Magnus' imaginary world. That they couldn't bring Timo back and place him neatly in Magnus' arms, where he always had been before.

The Estonians hadn't told Magnus what he had wanted to hear, and so Magnus had trusted them to tell him something different, because they were brothers and always helped each other. Always had, for years. Magnus had waited for them to tell him that everything was going to be alright; that they couldn't give Magnus what he wanted was harrowing.

Letting Magnus down in the worst possible way.

Ludwig came abruptly and furiously out of his immobility at long last and fled outside then, sat down on the back porch, and burst into tears.

Magnus just sat there on his knees all night, arms limp at his sides and shoulders low, and stared at Timo until the sun began to tint the cloudy horizon pink. He didn't move.

The war went on outside, but their war had ended.

They had lost.

In Ludwig's dreams, the five of them had always been together.