Chapter 23
Two Protectors
Two days after the living room had been painted red, Alfred and Ludwig went home.
Lovino and Feliciano came by, as promised, and the four of them banded together to rip up the stained carpet and put in a new one. The nooses and record player were tossed out in the dumpster. Alfred called a locksmith, and all the locks were changed. Lovino painted over the entire living room. Feliciano and Ludwig hauled out the ruined sofa. Alfred installed a much more useful alarm system. Feliciano helped Lovino finish painting, and Ludwig took paint thinner and carefully cleaned the splashed piano free from crimson.
Every time Alfred stepped outside, he looked around in every direction, and somehow, even though he couldn't see anything, he knew that Ivan was somewhere, watching.
Always watching.
Gilbert and Toris went about their lives, oblivious, and Alfred intended to keep it that way, even as terror mounted.
Three days later, after intense labor, it was as if nothing had ever happened. No trace left of Ivan's invasion, and everything was pristine.
Alfred and Ludwig still stared up at the ceiling anxiously, neither of them sleeping well or deeply. Hard to close his eyes, when he knew that outside the bedroom door, there was very likely a shadow by the living room window.
Alfred kept his gun under his pillow.
He had nightmares every time he did actually fall asleep, sometimes of Ludwig and sometimes of Meg. But always they ended badly, as Alfred failed over and over and over again.
Maybe it wasn't his fault that Meg hadn't come to him, that she hadn't called him, that she hadn't told the truth, but it was his fault that he hadn't killed that man before he killed Meg. That was his fault, if only that, and that was a mistake he wouldn't make again.
Ludwig was quiet, lackluster, dull.
It was like meeting him all over again; he had that same sad, defeated air that he had had when first Alfred had seen him. Unkempt, messy, pale and wan. Stressed and overwhelmed.
The ring in Alfred's room had been entirely forgotten, and so had all of the happiness that Ludwig and Alfred had so laboriously built around each other.
One night, as they lied in that awful silence, the snow ever falling outside, Ludwig suddenly whispered, out of nowhere, "Will you do something for me?"
"Anything," Alfred murmured back, as the wind outside howled.
A deep noise of contemplation in Ludwig's chest, and then another rumble.
"If I die, will you please tell Gilbert and Toris that it wasn't their fault? I don't ever want them to think it was."
Alfred opened his mouth, lost his voice, and just nodded his head.
What Ludwig was really saying was, 'I don't want them to be like you.' That was fair, valid, and so Alfred silently agreed, although he had sworn to himself it would never come to pass.
Dreary days.
Ludwig seemed to sink more and more with every one of them, because Alfred had lost the drive to keep his head above the water. Alfred was thrown off balance, startled, insecure and frightened, and was too sick with worry to bother offering Ludwig false cheer.
That time, as they lied on the couch together, Ludwig's head rested on Alfred's shoulder and Alfred's arm around him, there wasn't much comfort. They stayed silent, and glanced in intervals at the window and door.
With every little noise, Ludwig jumped.
Alfred had no reassurance to offer him.
Somehow, even when the doors were locked and the windows were shut and the lights were bright and everything looked so safe and clear, Alfred just felt like those nooses were still swinging there gently above their heads.
He glanced up sometimes, subconsciously.
Lovino and Feliciano texted Alfred very frequently, to check in, because perhaps they were paranoid now too.
Days.
December twentieth. The last day of work for Ludwig before the holiday break began.
Alfred hadn't gotten a single thing for Ludwig for Christmas, and they hadn't put up any decorations at all, not with the state of things. Who cared about the holiday, when that darkness was always lurking?
No cheer at all for either of them.
The safety was always off on Alfred's gun outside the door, because even that split second suddenly seemed like far too much of a risk if Ivan came charging out of nowhere.
They had their morning coffee over absolute silence, as the snow outside mixed a bit with sleet. Alfred glanced at Ludwig from time to time, but Ludwig was always staring off blankly into space. He didn't utter a word, and the subway ride was quiet. Anxious. Ludwig's foot tapped away furiously, as Alfred pressed him into the corner and kept his hands low and ready.
Ludwig walked in that same slumped, lethargic manner he had over a year ago, as Alfred trailed a pace behind him.
It occurred to Alfred suddenly that he had never once donned the suit Ludwig had gotten him last Christmas. They hadn't gone back out to the theatre. Seemed that something always came up.
They walked inside the building. People all around. Faces Alfred knew now by repeated exposure. Normal people that Alfred knew nothing about and yet envied.
The 'ding' of the elevator. Ludwig tucking his head into the corner, as Alfred watched the city glide away beneath him.
The grey sky was as dreary as the mood.
Everything seemed so mundane, seemed like such innocent banality, as the elevator stopped and Ludwig righted his balance and walked into the hall, and so Alfred hated even more the underlying dread. How could he have ever explained to someone how goddamn scary it could actually be, just to push open a door or fall asleep?
The hall passed.
Alfred's mind wandered as he trailed behind Ludwig habitually, the drab hall dim as they passed door after door.
Couldn't even just up and leave anymore. He couldn't take Ludwig and whisk him off to the mountains, because Ivan would follow them. Knew it in his heart that Ivan would have followed Ludwig all the way across the Earth, would never let go of him, and so moving was pointless. It was better to stay here for now, until Ivan was taken care of, because here at least he had fallback in so many other people. He had backup here, and if he moved Ludwig down south then Alfred was on his own.
Ludwig reached his office, grabbed the handle, pushed open the door, and walked in.
Alfred followed, and Ludwig flipped on the lights.
Alfred caught a glimpse of Ludwig's hair lit up in the bright lights as they crackled to life, and then there was a noise behind him.
A pain in the back of his head, and then darkness.
An odd stretch of time, in which he was aware and yet not lucid. He was aware that something had hit him on the back of the head, he was aware that he had fallen to floor, and he was aware that someone kicked him in the side twice. He was cognitive of those facts at some level, and yet he was very sure that he was dreaming, as everything spun and his vision was dark.
Stars.
Drifting there helplessly in that surreal lull of time that came when on the brink of unconsciousness.
Garbled voices. Shouting. Motion before his very faint sight.
Pounding in his head, an awful throb of pain, and Alfred was suddenly lucid enough to realize that he was lying on the floor of Ludwig's office, and that someone else was there. He drew his arms out from beneath him, on his stomach as he was, and tried to wake up enough to figure out what was going on.
He found the source of the commotion, bleary shadows, and tried to focus.
Took a while.
When the edges of his vision cleared, when he had enough clarity to see and comprehend, when he had enough control of his muscles to lift his head, oh, god—
Maybe he really was dreaming, because what he saw was a scene right out of the nightmares he had had every night for weeks. Just saw Ludwig there on the ground, Ivan atop him, knees on either side of him. A glint in the office lights. Alfred's bleary eyes managed to pinpoint the knife held in Ivan's huge hand, hanging up high there in the air above Ludwig. In Ivan's other hand, he held Ludwig's hair.
Dazed and confused and horrified, Alfred could only momentarily stare at the terrifying scene.
Felt as if time itself had been lost to space.
Everything froze up, the world stopped as it had once before, and for just one awful second, it wasn't even Ludwig lying there on the floor. Meg all over again, knife in her chest and gasping for air as blood pooled beneath.
Not again. Not this time. Alfred had sworn that this time would be different.
Ivan was heaving through his mouth, breathing so furiously and deeply that he seemed on the verge of hyperventilating, and Ludwig was entirely silent.
Ivan. How had he gotten in here? Had snuck in somehow the night before, must have, during closing. Had bunkered down in Ludwig's office all night, waiting for his moment. Had slipped past the security during the bustle of everyone leaving, had hidden behind the door when they had walked in, and now Alfred was once more on the brink of failure.
Hands shaking and high on adrenaline and terror, Alfred reached back and searched for his gun.
Couldn't find the goddamn thing.
Ivan had kicked him, and Alfred knew why then; to knock his gun out of reach before he regained full consciousness.
Ivan—
Ludwig just lied there, complacently, staring up at Ivan through wide, terrified eyes, brow scrunched and breathing through his mouth. In Ludwig's hands, he clenched the front of Ivan's shirt, and yet made absolutely no move to defend himself.
Ludwig was strong, big, determined and stubborn, able to protect himself, but he just wouldn't, not against Ivan.
Ludwig loved Ivan, and even there, against that horror and terror, it was still visible on Ludwig's face, in that near smile. Oh, that love there on Ludwig's face. Despite it all, however close Alfred had thought he had come, Ludwig had never fully turned off the lighthouse for Ivan, had never once managed to truly and completely let him go.
Lovebirds.
Ivan and Ludwig stared breathlessly at each other, as that knife hung high above, aimed at Ludwig's heart.
Ivan looked utterly crazed, no other word for it, absolutely out of his mind, and yet he was hesitating then, that knife held still and hanging in the void of space and time. As much as the craft he had once designed with a clear mind, Ivan was stuck up in the atmosphere, in space, and couldn't seem to find his way back down to Earth.
How he must have looked that night long ago, the last time he had held a knife over Ludwig. He hadn't been able to do it that time, and maybe now he was trying hard to follow through.
Every time Alfred saw Ivan, he somehow looked worse. His long, dirty hair hung into his eyes, his coat was full of holes, worn and threadbare, his cheeks somehow more prominent, his skin more sallow, his eyes seemed a bit sunken. Looked so bad, so terrible, was falling apart at the seams, and appeared in that moment to have descended completely into madness.
Ivan loved Ludwig so much that he would have rather killed him than have him be with someone else.
Alfred made it up to his hands and knees, and looked around for his damn gun. Saw it gleaming there in the far corner of the office, having been kicked away by Ivan, but it was too far, too far, and with one mighty jerk Ivan could have easily plunged that knife straight into Ludwig's chest.
Like someone else in some other life, Ludwig wouldn't have stood a chance.
Alfred made it to one knee, and had a split second to make a decision : to charge for the gun, or at Ivan.
Instinctively, he chose the latter.
Alfred dug his boot into the floor, summoned every bit of strength he had, and sprung off his heel to lunge at Ivan and slam into him. Ivan had Ludwig on the floor against the wall, and at Alfred's blow Ivan's head connected with the wall with a rather loud crack. A cry of pain, and as when Alfred had fired the gun into the air, once more Ivan was momentarily incapacitated, as he reached up to clench his hair in his hand, hissing and gasping. He didn't drop the knife, though, and Alfred reached down to grab Ludwig's arm and very literally drag him right out from under stunned Ivan.
Alfred shoved Ludwig back and back, as his own balance was thrown off, and when Alfred was close to the gun, he staggered and fell onto his backside.
Ludwig just stood there, stupefied, and didn't run.
He stared at Ivan as he had when Ivan had been behind the gate.
An awful sense of terror, dread, as Ivan turned his head to them, wincing and hissing through his teeth like a snake and very clearly livid. There was a motion then as Ivan rested his hand against the wall and lifted himself onto one foot.
Alfred snatched out frantically for the gun, and almost had it, and his intention then was absolutely to shoot to kill. Maybe Ludwig could see that written on Alfred's face, maybe Ludwig knew that if Alfred picked up that gun that he would kill Ivan, because there was a deep cry and suddenly Ludwig had lunged forward and kicked the gun as hard as he could right out of Alfred's fingers before he could finish grasping it.
No—!
"Goddammit!" Alfred shrieked, furiously, as he wrenched himself up to his feet, and had the need not been so dire, had the danger not been so great and present, Alfred swore to god he would have punched Ludwig then.
Couldn't—no time.
Instead, he used his fist to clench Ludwig's arm, and began dragging him furiously through the office door and down the hall as Ivan pulled himself up and began chasing after them.
Fuckin' Christ, Ludwig, the goddamn idiot, what the hell had he been thinking? They were both unarmed now, both of them, with that crazy man coming after them with a knife. Felt again like he was in a shitty horror movie then, he really did, and it never looked good for the leads.
The elevator was before them down the hall, so far away yet, and Alfred dragged Ludwig so furiously that Ludwig stumbled. Alfred nearly crashed face-first into the elevator, pushed the button, and as soon as he pressed the goddamn thing, it washed upon Alfred like a wave that he couldn't make it in time. Couldn't take the elevator, because Ivan would reach them long before those doors opened, and that knife would end up in one or both of them.
Stupid.
Operating entirely on instinct, not rational thought, Alfred suddenly jerked Ludwig back down the hall, right towards stalking Ivan, and then he turned sharply to the side, opened up a random office door, and shoved Ludwig in. He meant to follow, and then hesitated.
Ivan was far down the hall, and in between Alfred and Ivan there was a fire alarm.
He cried to Ludwig, "Stay here!" and then bolted down the hall towards Ivan, as Ludwig called his name a bit shrilly from behind.
Ivan saw him coming and sped up, thinking Alfred was ready to fight him, but Alfred's sights were fully on that fire alarm, and he reached it, scrambled to open the pane of plastic, and wrenched the alarm down as Ivan came at him.
The red lights started flashing, the alarm started blaring, and it was only because Ivan missed a step as he hissed in pain at the loud noise that Alfred didn't get stabbed. Only that, because Ivan was upon him before he could turn around and go back.
Alfred, fully in flight mode, jumped back as the knife swung.
Ivan slashed at him, far too closely. Swear to god he felt the fuckin' air move, close as the knife had come to his neck, and Alfred was very quickly to whirl around and sprint faster than he ever had back to that door where Ludwig was hanging out his head in panic.
Ivan's heavy boots behind him, as the alarm shrieked above.
Alfred made it to the door just in time, jumped in as Ivan slashed at him once more, and he shut it and leaned up against it to hold it closed as he scrambled for the lock.
In a daze, high on adrenaline, Alfred looked around.
An empty office. Figured. No one to help.
The alarm would get him attention and the fire department, and that was just enough because every second really did matter.
The door banged up and down beneath his back.
He lifted his chin, feet braced on the floor as Ivan slammed repeatedly into the door from the other side, and he called to Ludwig, "That desk—push it over!"
Ludwig jumped, looked around breathlessly, and began shoving the desk over to the door. When he was close enough, Alfred leapt forward, and together they pushed the heavy desk in front of the door and held it there.
But now what?
It wouldn't hold for long, because the wood was already splintering from massive Ivan's crazed blows.
Alfred realized that there was no way help would arrive before Ivan broke down that door, and there was no possible way he could have overpowered Ivan in that state. Ivan was pumped full of adrenaline and god knew what else, was out of his mind, and no one could have ever single-handedly stopped someone who had absolutely nothing to lose.
His phone was buzzing away in his pocket, and Alfred pulled it out in desperation and answered it.
Gilbert, naturally, who loudly screeched, "Where is Ludwig?"
Alfred didn't answer exactly, and instead replied, "Call the police, if they're not already on the way! And don't you come down here to this floor, don't do it, he's armed. Stay up there or get out of the building, but don't come down here!"
Gilbert cried, in a much more panicked voice, "But is Ludwig alright?"
What could he say?
Neither of them would be if Ivan broke down that door, and it suddenly cracked more, splintered more, and Ludwig inhaled in panic, so Alfred just hung up and trusted Gilbert to use his influence to get the police here and yesterday.
What did he do until then?
Alfred looked around, helplessly, and found his options very, very limited. One thing was remarkably clear to him : if Ivan crashed through this door, Alfred would lose Ludwig. History would repeat itself, when Ivan drew back his great hand and plunged that knife into Ludwig's chest. Once more Alfred would be helpless to intervene.
Desperation led his actions then far more than rationality, and he turned his eyes to the office window. Beside of them were two other offices, and if they were just lucky enough, perhaps they weren't empty. If they weren't, then the workers in them would still be inside, because they would have come running out at the fire alarm only to see a crazed man in the hall with a knife, and no one would have not run back into the safety of their office.
Alfred hoped.
He said to Ludwig, "Hold this here. Hard as you can."
Ludwig may or may not have heard Alfred, palms still on the desk and staring in alarm at that banging door. Alfred left him there and darted over to the window. He found the latch beneath, and lifted the pane of glass up, as far as it would go. One of those types of windows that opened up and out from the bottom, not sliding windows.
But just enough.
Between this window and the next window of the adjacent office, there wasn't a large gap. Not even a foot, maybe six or seven inches, easily close enough for Alfred to stick his arm out and pound on the glass.
The sleet was ever falling.
He waited, trying damn hard not to look at the ground an awful fifty-two stories below.
No answer. That office was empty, too.
He cursed, as the door behind him ever cracked, and then he moved to the left side of the room and opened up that window. Again, he reached out, not looking down, and pounded his fist on the glass. That time, he saw movement.
Oh, thank god!
He waved his hand, frantically, making it very obvious that he needed help (as if a man hanging out of a skyscraper window obviously didn't need help alone as it was), and in a few second the window lifted up and a woman poker her head out. She looked understandably terrified. First a fire alarm, then a man in the hall with a knife, and now some whacko banging on her office window at what felt like a thousand feet off the ground.
Before she could say anything, Alfred barked, "We need help! We need to get over there! Can you help pull me in?"
She opened her mouth, sputtered something, and then nodded.
Alfred saw his salvation there, but convincing Ludwig would be far harder.
It was just a few inches. One foot in the frame of one window, and one foot in the other. Just a few inches. Falling was theoretically impossible. It should have been easy enough, holding on to one window frame and sidestepping into the safety of the other office. And when they were inside, Alfred would wait for Ivan to bust down that door. Once the crazy bastard was inside the vacant office, Alfred would grab Ludwig and drag him down the empty hall to safety.
This was the plan, to avoid any physical confrontation with a man Alfred knew in his heart that he could never overpower. He bit down his pride for the benefit of someone else.
Alfred left the window, ran up, grabbed Ludwig's arm, and dragged him over. Ludwig was still staring away at the door.
It was a solid plan in theory, but the second Alfred grabbed Ludwig's face and forced his attention and uttered, "We're going to go to the next office," Ludwig's eyes shot open.
Could see immediately that this would not be easy. Even in Alfred's strong grip, Ludwig very fervently shook his head, as Alfred gave him another shake. Kinda hoped that if he scrambled Ludwig's brain just enough then that maybe the pale bastard would manage to take one step over the void. It was just one step! Only one.
Alfred poked his head out of the window, where the scared woman was yet waiting, and he called, "Are you ready? We're coming."
She nodded, poor thing, looking as petrified as Ludwig suddenly did.
What a workday from hell.
But when Alfred tried to drag Ludwig over to the window, Ludwig dug his heels in the ground and halted them. Alfred snapped his eyes over, far too furious and scared to want to deal with Ludwig's acrophobia, and he was rougher than he probably should have been when he brutally shoved Ludwig onto that windowsill. Ludwig tried his best at first, he did, and lifted up a shaking foot as Alfred mercilessly shoved him.
He just couldn't finish the task.
On the brink, foot in the air, Ludwig's courage suddenly faltered, and he jerkily withdrew from Alfred's hand, toppling backwards onto the floor. With a surge of terror, Alfred lifted his eyes to the ever splintering door, felt his hair stand on end, and reached down to grab Ludwig's shirt.
Not now, not now, of all times, Ludwig, for Christ's sake, didn't need a panic attack right now—
Ludwig was breathing through his mouth, eyes wide and pulse pounding, and Alfred hated that look on his face but there was no time to coddle him, no time to comfort, and so instead Alfred shook Ludwig by the shoulders and hauled him forcibly upright.
Ludwig's pale eyes were locked onto that open window. His breathing was quick, rapid, shallow; an absolute second away from a full-blown panic attack, and then getting him across would be so much harder. There was no choice. Had to go, whether he wanted to or not. Whatever else happened, Alfred swore that he would be goddamned if he lost Ludwig now just because of vertigo. As he had said once before, vertigo wasn't a worthy cause of death, and Ludwig might have rather faced a knife than an open window but that choice was no longer his to make.
So Alfred wrapped his arms around Ludwig's waist, picked him clean off the ground, forcibly put him upon that windowsill, and damn did Ludwig ever raise hell, shrieking and struggling as he was.
Ludwig reached out, grabbed the windowsill in both hands, and clung to it so powerfully that Alfred was unable to move him.
A surge of anger, rage, fear above all else, as the door gave a loud crack.
So, for the first time, Alfred drew back his hand and slapped Ludwig as hard as he could across the face, hard as he woulda punched him, and Ludwig quieted down a little at that. His nose was already bleeding, hard as Alfred had hit him, and Alfred would feel shitty about later but now he was kinda busy.
Stunned and dazed, Ludwig was suddenly limp in Alfred's hands, breathing through his mouth, and Alfred called to the woman, "Grab him!"
She reached out, took hold of Ludwig's arm, and Alfred sat himself very carefully on the edge of the window, Ludwig very firmly in his hands as he tried to maneuver him from one window to the other.
Shit, Ludwig was suddenly fuckin' cryin', great, heaving for air as heavily as Ivan had been earlier, and was pale as a sheet.
The city bustled on beneath them, obliviously, and Ludwig was hanging above the only thing he was afraid of.
At the last second, as Alfred managed to shove Ludwig's leg into the other window, Ludwig suddenly whined, in a pitiful voice, "Please don't make me do this."
Too late. God, Alfred felt like shit. So long hating Gilbert for dangling Ludwig over a pane of glass, and now suddenly Alfred was shoving Ludwig outside of a skyscraper window. He'd never live this down, never, Ludwig was gonna hate him for this until the day he died.
The woman did her best, keeping a death-grip on Ludwig's arm as Alfred shoved him so carefully in.
"You're not gonna fall," Alfred vowed, as Ludwig hyperventilated. "I promise, just trust me, please, just trust me this once."
Ludwig shook his head, miserably, and now Ludwig had one leg and arm in the windowsill of the adjacent office, hair whipping in the wind and becoming matted with sleet, and now so pale that he was yellow.
"Pull him in!" Alfred called to the woman, and as Alfred gave Ludwig a great shove, earning an awful shriek he never wanted to hear again, the woman jerked Ludwig's arm and pulled him successfully through the window.
When Ludwig tumbled in, her hands around him, Alfred was very quick to follow, and not a goddamn second too soon, as the door finally caved in to massive Ivan's shoulder. Alfred spared one final glance, as the knife came through the small opening Ivan had created, and then he reached out and began sidestepping over into the next window.
Holy shit, that street so far down beneath him—
Even he was dizzy when he toppled into that adjacent office, and he looked around in a panic to see Ludwig leaning over a trashcan in the corner.
Yeah, Alfred was about to join him, but there wasn't much time.
He ran to the door, cracked it open just a bit, and peered out.
Ivan was ramming furiously into the door, snarling, and with every blow it caved in farther.
Alfred ran back to collect Ludwig, who had finished vomiting and was holding a shaking hand over his mouth. The woman looked back and forth in terror, and Alfred said to her, as he grabbed Ludwig's wrist, "Stay here. There's no fire. Just stay in here. He won't hurt you. He's not after you. Stay here."
She nodded, and Alfred meant to drag Ludwig, but was momentarily interrupted by a very hard slap to his face. Alfred was shocked momentarily, as Ludwig writhed in his arms like an angry cat and slapped him again. And then again, and Alfred reached up to grab Ludwig's wrist. Ludwig was positively livid, eyes wide and teeth clenched, cheeks flushed red with anger, and he tried to slap Alfred one more time but Alfred's grip prevented him from finishing.
Ludwig suddenly shrieked, "You fuckin' son of a bitch! You bastard! You— You—! Oh!"
Alfred had never heard Ludwig curse like that, and then Ludwig, like Gilbert, was suddenly too furious to form words in English anymore and started screeching at Alfred in German. Oh, the awful things Ludwig must have been calling him!
Alfred was mesmerized by him, stupid as it was, and suddenly pressed forward to kiss ranting Ludwig even as Ludwig tried to slap him again.
When he pulled back, Ludwig sputtered to a halt, his brain apparently malfunctioning, and then Alfred muttered, deeply, "God, you're hot when you're angry."
Not the time or place, but hey, one of them could be dead in the next few minutes so why the hell not.
Ludwig's raised fist fell, and he seemed utterly dumbfounded. Befuddled.
Alfred used that to rush over to the door, and crack it open. He looked out again. The hall was empty; Ivan had broken into the office and was stalking around inside. Alfred grabbed Ludwig's wrist and yanked him along, dragging him out into the hall and down it.
They skidded into the elevator, wide open now from the prior attempt, as Alfred pressed the buttons very urgently, impatiently.
Wouldn't move.
Pale, trembling Ludwig finally spoke, to utter, "The fire alarm."
Ah, shit! The fuckin' elevator didn't work when the fire alarm had been pulled. His head was such a wreck, he had forgotten. He grabbed Ludwig's wrist again, and pulled him back out, this time in a desperate search for the stairwell. Couldn't be far.
Ludwig was staring down the hall back towards that office where Ivan raged, and Alfred knew why; the stairwell was past that door, on the other end. Alfred had tried to buy them time, and had made a wrong turn in his panic.
No choice but to make a break for it, so he dragged dazed Ludwig along once more down the hall, and this time past that broken open door.
Just in time to have Ivan stalking back out.
Ivan looked up, saw Alfred, and started his terrifying march. Alfred shoved Ludwig's back, screeching at him to fuckin' move it, and unbalanced Ludwig stumbled far too slowly down that hall. Alfred turned to face Ivan, if only to distract him, to slow him down, to halt him just long enough for Ludwig to safely make it to the staircase and start going down.
When Ivan stalked towards Alfred then, Alfred was sure he saw calamity all around him. That knife gleamed away, and Alfred was fairly certain that this was where and how he was going to die, overpowered by this crazy man and stabbed to death.
All the same, he stood his ground, because he had meant it when he had said that he would protect Ludwig at the cost of his own life.
Fortune had something else in mind for Alfred, though, and once more salvation showed its face.
The door to the stairwell behind him opened, and Lovino and Feliciano came barging down the hall, just in time, charging at Ivan and tackling him to the ground. Sent out by Gilbert, no doubt, and they made all the difference in that moment. Ivan had been so intent on murdering Alfred that he hadn't even braced up when the brothers came at him, as if in some strange way he hadn't even really noticed they were there.
Alfred meant to rush forward and help them, because Ivan was too strong. But Feliciano lifted his head, saw Alfred hesitating, and snarled, furiously, "Get outta here! Go!"
Right.
Alfred rushed down the hall, grabbed Ludwig's arm, and dragged him once more along, shoving him yet again into the nearest office. The plan had been the stairwell, but Alfred's conscience got the better of him; couldn't leave Lovino and Feliciano alone here on this floor with Ivan. Just couldn't do it. So he shoved Ludwig into another office instead, and hoped that Lovino or Feliciano would do what Alfred couldn't, and shoot Ivan. All they needed was to get enough traction to stand up and pull their guns, and everything ended.
Ludwig had been dragged and pushed and spun so much by then that he must have been dizzy and delirious as he was shoved through another threshold.
Once more, Alfred found himself with his back to a door, braced up and ready to fend off the wolf. If he heard cries of alarm, he'd go back out and help, he would, because he owed it to those two.
Ludwig stumbled back, at his absolute end, and fell onto his backside with a strangled noise of distress. Holding himself up on his palms, Ludwig stared at Alfred's knees, and seemed so lost.
Confused.
Awful minutes passed, as Alfred's mind raced with all of the possible terrible scenarios, and he closed his eyes at one point in utter exhaustion and began drifting away a little.
Thought he heard more voices outside.
Oh, how his head hurt.
He went out into space for a while there, and came to only at a vibration.
His phone suddenly started buzzing in his pocket, and Alfred woke up long enough to pull it out. Gilbert; a rush of adrenaline, fear, and Alfred was quick to answer, barking, breathlessly, "What's happening?"
A low, furious mutter.
"He's detained. The police finally came."
"About goddamn time!" Alfred spat back, coming down from fear into anger, and Gilbert was very quick to demand his little brother's immediate return. Alfred obliged, and cut the call.
Tentatively, carefully, Alfred opened the door and poked his head out.
Sure enough, Ivan was being pinned to the floor by Feliciano and Lovino and about five separate police officers, strong and riled up as he was. Took so many men to subdue that tiger, and yet even then Ivan was still struggling, screeching away in Russian.
His voice was absolutely terrifying, as usual.
Ludwig peered out from behind Alfred, stared down at Ivan, and looked a breath away from bursting into tears.
And not from fear.
Alfred grabbed Ludwig's arm, and dragged him out into the hall. Alfred ordered him to stay put, as he walked up to struggling Ivan with the intention of lending a hand if need be.
But then there was a cry, and Gilbert came sprinting suddenly down the hall, absolutely sprinting, and he ran straight at Ludwig, crashing full-force into him and pinning him up against the wall. Why, Alfred couldn't say, eyes focused on Ivan and ready to jump on the pile if another man was needed. Maybe that was why Gilbert pinned Ludwig to the wall, come to think, because Ludwig suddenly tried to push forward, was thwarted savagely by Gilbert, and so called, furiously, "Get off of him!"
What?
Alfred snapped his eyes over to stare at Ludwig in furious awe, and Gilbert slammed Ludwig into the wall none too gently.
Get off?
Ivan had held a fuckin' knife over Ludwig's chest—
But at the sound of Ludwig's voice, Ivan suddenly stopped struggling. He fell still, and moved only his head then, turning it as best he could in Ludwig's direction, cheek on the floor and hair still clenched in Lovino's fist.
Somehow, someway, like a magnet, Ivan's bleary eyes found Ludwig, Ludwig looked down at him, and the stare between them was alarming, frightening, because they both looked suddenly so happy. As they always did when meeting again, after drifting about in dead space, out of the orbit of the other. Like finding their sun again. Ivan cracked a strange, breathless smile, and Ludwig was either about to start crying or laughing.
Ivan's dilated pupils took Ludwig in, and suddenly he whispered, in oddly clumsy English, "Hey, baby. I was looking everywhere for you. Where you been?"
Didn't either of them remember what had just happened?
Ivan's smile.
More footsteps down the hall, heavy and fast, and Alfred glanced over to see Toris skidding in, eyes wide and looking absolutely frantic. Toris searched the scene very quickly, and when he saw Ludwig hidden there behind Gilbert, he darted over to him and fell into Gilbert's side. Alfred watched as Gilbert and Toris created a literal human shield between Ivan and Ludwig, Gilbert pinning Ludwig and Toris watching Ivan like a hawk, and Alfred knew that Ludwig had meant it when he said that those two really did love him. They didn't express it, but it was there all the same.
With Ludwig momentarily out of sight, everything in Ivan seemed to suddenly collapse. He fell still and silent, squinted his eyes in pain, and slumped. No more movement, and he was successfully handcuffed. At last, Ivan was fully subdued, eyes closed and breathing through his mouth.
Alfred backed up, and turned his eyes to Ludwig.
Toris lowered his combative stance, and Gilbert was still clenching Ludwig, but now that Ludwig wasn't trying to get to Ivan the act seemed different. Hell, Alfred swore that Gilbert actually looked a little close to tears, for just a second.
Gilbert wasn't scared of anything, eh?
As Toris kept protective watch, never taking his eyes from Ivan, Gilbert lifted his hands up Ludwig's arms, down, back up, over his neck, over his face, over his hair, over his shoulders, inspecting him very ardently, and then his hands fell still on either side of Ludwig's neck. Gilbert gave Ludwig a shake, and murmured something in German. His voice was deep, and trembled. The only time Alfred had ever heard any emotion in Gilbert's voice that wasn't anger. Seemed nearly frantic, as he determined the state of his little brother, and Ludwig finally came back down to Earth for just a second, to meet his brother's eyes and respond.
Gilbert's eyes shut, in clearly a moment of relief, and then opened up again.
The ice was back, as Gilbert shoved Ludwig behind him and turned around, directly those steely eyes to Ivan.
Ivan wasn't moving anymore, face scrunched up in what was obviously pain, and no doubt the big bastard had worn himself out, as much hell as he had raised.
Ludwig shuffled around behind Gilbert and Toris, trying to see Ivan clearly.
Gilbert noticed that, bristled up, and used his most commanding, powerful voice then to belt, "Get him out of this building!"
The cops obeyed.
Gilbert looked beyond livid then, but Ludwig was safe and so Toris came forward, grabbed Gilbert's collar, and pulled him preemptively back. Toris always knew when Gilbert was close to blowing a gasket, and Ludwig must have been on perilously thin ice in that moment.
But shouldn't Gilbert have been pleased?
Alfred assumed that this, at long last, was the end of the line for Ivan. There was no getting out of this, not this, not after Ivan had stormed these premises in front of so many witnesses. What charges could Gilbert make stick to Ivan this time? So many, probably, but naturally the most important charge would be the one of attempted homicide. That would get Ivan the most time, the most years, maybe for the rest of his life, and Ludwig was imperative to that part.
Gilbert had what he wanted, and Ivan was finished.
Finally.
And the best part of it all was that it had all been done without Alfred becoming a murderer.
Alfred would have felt relieved then, ready to start his new life proper, if Ludwig hadn't looked so devastated.
As the police hauled heavy Ivan off, Ludwig took a step, as if he were actually planning on following, on going with them, and it was Alfred who grabbed his arm and forced him still. Gilbert's pale face was red and splotched from nothing short of rage, and Alfred asked, softly, "What are you doing?"
Ludwig looked back and forth between Alfred and Gilbert as if in a daze, as if he were stuck in some dreamlike place, and then Ludwig met Alfred's eyes and replied, matter-of-factly, "I'm going to get him out. I have to find him a lawyer—"
Didn't finish speaking.
In his fury, in his anger, Gilbert suddenly burst forward out of Toris' hands, and Alfred was rather stunned when Gilbert slapped Ludwig across the face with all of his might, so powerfully that Ludwig actually staggered, held upright only by Alfred still gripping him.
An awful, booming, dangerous bellow :
"Stop protecting him! Stop! You have to stop! This is enough! Enough, Ludwig, enough! Stop!"
Alfred wrenched Ludwig back behind him, because he wouldn't let Gilbert hurt Ludwig anymore than he would have let Ivan.
Toris once more pounced, reclaimed furious Gilbert, and Alfred was a little shocked when Ludwig squirmed out of Alfred's hands and bravely came back out. Alfred tried to stop him, but Ludwig shook him off and stood before Gilbert without fear.
Ludwig opened his mouth, but Gilbert cut him off.
"You want to go? We'll go. But you're going to do as I say, and press charges," Gilbert demanded. That voice, that look—Gilbert was far more terrifying in that instant than that crazed Ivan, and Ludwig must have felt that way, too, from the pulse hammering in his neck.
Alfred tried once more to pull Ludwig behind him, and was once more denied.
Ludwig was determined then to face Gilbert, and so Alfred could only watch.
Gilbert's piercing eyes locked onto Ludwig's, and Gilbert repeated, so dangerously, "Press charges."
Ludwig's shoulders slumped, his stance slouched, his chin lowered, he utterly deflated, seemed so defeated, and Alfred was very certain then that Ludwig had at long last fully caved in to his frightening brother and would concede.
Press charges, as he so desperately needed to.
An awful silence, as Alfred came forward and rested his hand on Ludwig's back, and that supportive touch seemed to give Ludwig strength, courage, for he lifted his head and met Gilbert's eyes.
Alfred waited for the submission.
But when Ludwig spoke, what he said stunned Alfred into absolute oblivion, he swore it. Was utterly aghast, appalled, flabbergasted.
Ludwig held Gilbert's deadly gaze, squared his shoulders, braced his legs, and said, defiantly, "No. I won't. Never. I won't do—"
Didn't finish speaking before Gilbert had stalked forward and slapped him again, then again, and Gilbert probably would have kept slapping Ludwig if Toris and Alfred hadn't physically separated them.
Oh, damn, was Gilbert ever furious, suddenly shrieking, and Alfred was actually pretty happy that Gilbert was screaming in German because he really didn't want to know what was making Ludwig's face crumple like that. The horrible things Gilbert must have been saying. Better not to know, and suddenly Alfred found himself assisting Toris, as they both grabbed Gilbert in their arms and struggled to hold him still. Toris tried murmuring to Gilbert as he often did, but this time it didn't seem to be working; whatever Toris whispered was utterly lost under the awful sound of Gilbert's screaming.
Alfred clenched Gilbert's collar and tried to keep him still, but Gilbert was strong and angry, and tried hard to break free. Even with Toris' assistance, keeping Gilbert from thrashing Ludwig was very difficult. At many points, Gilbert's feet were lifted clean off the ground, as Alfred and Toris practically throttled him to hold him back.
When Gilbert had enough clarity to form words in English again, the first thing he said to Alfred, as he tried to claw out of his arms, was a shrieked, "You're fired!"
Had Alfred not nearly received a head-butt to his nose then, he might have actually rolled his eyes.
Ivan was going to jail; Alfred didn't give a shit anymore if he was fired.
More long minutes of struggling, and Gilbert was only truly subdued and calmed down when Lovino and Feliciano came back and jumped in. Poor guys—musta been tired as hell, having fought brutally with Ivan and now having to once more tackle a raging bull.
Lovino had a black eye already forming, and Feliciano had a bit of blood on his chin, from either a split lip or a blow to the stomach.
Alfred went back over to Ludwig as soon as Gilbert was in three sets of arms, and grabbed him once more to yank him furiously behind him.
That time, having said his part, Ludwig didn't try to come back out.
Gilbert stopped struggling, choosing instead to stare at Ludwig in a wrathful, terrifying manner that up until then Alfred had never seen. Like looking into hell itself, surely, and Alfred was pretty sure that this was the first time he was able to truly understand how Gilbert had forced Ludwig to divorce. Anyone would have been petrified of that man, and Alfred shuddered a little.
But this time Ludwig was the one who didn't seem to be afraid of Gilbert, because he didn't flinch that time, didn't bow, didn't bend, didn't lower his eyes, and Alfred didn't know if it was because Gilbert was pinned and unable to charge, or if Ludwig had siphoned up all of the bravery and strength out of Ivan and into himself.
Ludwig suddenly wrenched his arm out of Alfred's hand, and said, with finality, "You all can come with me if you wish. Or stay here. I'm going, either way."
That was that, as usual with Ludwig's sentiments for Ivan, and it was Toris that time who uttered a curse under his breath. Gilbert was silent, freezing the world over with his furious stare, and Alfred just slumped. He really was just doing this all over again, wasn't he? Meg had run to her husband, not Alfred, and suddenly Ludwig was running once more to his husband's aid, just like her, even though there was someone else right in front of him that loved him and would have done anything for him.
Ludwig lifted his chin in confidence and dignity, and walked away.
In the end, however hurt he was, Alfred followed.
He would keep Ludwig safe, come what may, even if that meant being second best again.