Chapter 6

The Deal

He hadn't slept in three days.

Three days; who had heard of such a thing?

He hadn't even eaten, and his only source of water had been the now empty bottle clenched in his clammy hand. Leaning against the wall for support, Ludwig shook his head to clear it, and refocused on the Stasi building before him with bleary eyes. He had stood here for three damn days, never looking away, because he had to be absolutely sure that everything he saw was routine, and not just random. Killed every bit of him and his senses, standing there on end like that, trying to so hard not to doze off right there standing up.

His head was killing him.

It would have been impossible to get anything useful from the unmoving, daunting front half of the building, which was still under repair anyway, so he had scoped out the back, finding a dark, empty alley from which to observe, keeping well out of the sight of passersby. This building. The gateway to the underworld. For the way he felt, the street between the building and where he stood may as well have been the river Styx.

And he didn't have any damn coins.

So he stood, and watched, knowing he'd have to eventually swim.

Even here, there were routines.

Every evening, at the stroke of eight, the uniformed guards that kept an eye on things slunk out the back door to smoke, and they leaned against a fence as they did so, giggling to themselves as they watched the passing of girls across the street. Conveniently, eight was the hour that the nearby nursing classes ended, and Ludwig seriously doubted that it was a coincidence. They left the door open behind them, and stayed out for exactly ten minutes.

The hall inside was half-obscured by the door, but he did not ever see anyone walking inside of it.

It was like clockwork, and even though it was not the simple break he had hoped for, he realized that if he wanted results, he would have to do something stupid and drastic. Or maybe it was just his sleep-deprived brain convincing him that he had a chance. It had to be, because he could barely stand up, and his head hurt so badly, and yet he was certain that he could dart past the unsuspecting guards and waltz right inside of the Stasi stronghold.

And then what?

He would have to wing it, and pray that the first door he opened just happened to lead to Gilbert. It was ridiculous, of course, and he knew that he was walking into a death trap. A suicide mission. What else could he do? It wasn't like he could step up to the front door and knock and say, 'hey, you seem to have my brother. Could I borrow him for a minute?'

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

His main concern now was that the effects of sleep deprivation had significantly reduced his agility and rationality, and even if he found Gilbert, would he be thinking clearly enough to free him and drag him out again? He had made it through that hellish tunnel. Hours and hours crouching and feeling through dirt and spider-webs and rancid water. He could make it down a hallway.

...couldn't he?

He felt sick.

Turning his weary head up to the heavens, he saw that the sun was already long gone beneath the horizon, the moon high in the clear sky. The streetlamps were bright, but he stayed out of their light, looming in the shadows.

It was only five minutes until eight. Five minutes before the moment of truth. Five minutes before insanity. Five minutes before he would either save Gilbert or doom them both.

He longed to close his eyes and imagine how it would be if he succeeded, the look on stupid Gilbert's face, but he feared that doing so would make him fall asleep, and then he would miss his chance. He couldn't wait another day, just couldn't, wouldn't make it. His anxiety was already far too great, and he was certain that his mind could not stand another hour without sleep, let alone another day.

This stress.

One the eve of the day that he and Alfred had set off into the streets, he had paused in the kitchen to look back at the bottle of Valium sitting there on the counter. Contemplating. But he had been over-confident. He had left it there. Didn't want to dull himself, didn't want to dilute his senses. Needed very bit of himself, every bit of clarity for this mission.

Oh, but damn, what if...

What if Gilbert was already dead?

He couldn't bear the thought, and forced himself to believe otherwise. Gilbert, street-smart and tough and stubborn, would not go down so easily. It would take more than this to get rid of Gilbert. That stupid, arrogant man. Gilbert was invincible, the miserable jerk, always had been so on top of the world he had created in his head. Gilbert couldn't die.

The street was quiet and still, the shop lights warm behind their glass, and then, with a sudden burst of vibrancy, the clock struck the hour and the streets came alive with escaping students, laughing and ready to get home to their families. They swarmed past, the men grouping to catch up, the girls gaggling together to gossip, books in their hands.

Normal kids.

With a pang of longing, he recalled the days he'd stood there in front of the university and just stared. They didn't know how lucky their normalcy was. His normal life, whatever he had, had come to an abrupt halt, and he had grown up far too soon.

The girls walked by, failing to see him in the shadows, and his heart began to race terribly when the back door to the Stasi office pushed open and the skirt-chasing guards fell into their lookout posts, their backs obliviously to the door.

Ludwig stood up straight and took a great breath.

He'd have to swim fast to get across this great river. Hades was within.

So was Gilbert.

Terror.

He ran.

Silence is golden.

They had taught him that in school, anyway, back when he was a child and still had his parents. Granted, Gilbert had never cared much for the silence, always filling the void with dumb jokes and filler and laughter. That was probably why they had ever told him that in the first place, to get him to shut the hell up. Never did. He was a grandstander by all rights, and he swore that there would never be a dull moment when he was around.

Silence had been his worst enemy.

But now, locked in solitude, he had no one to talk to, and he realized he was standing on the crumbling edge of sanity's cliff.

Ah, hell. Who was he kidding? He'd always been crazy. The doctors had told him when he was twenty (right after he had spent a night in jail for attempted arson and battery, after the parents of a classmate of Ludwig had refused to discipline their child when the little brat had stolen Ludwig's allowance, and Gilbert had taken matters into his own hands) that he had something that they called 'borderline affective disorder'.

Whatever the hell that was.

They told him that that was the reason he was so emotionally and physically volatile, and the other side effects would explain why he had such fierce mood swings, as well as his obsessively possessive relationship with his brother, all of that bullshit they had tried to sell him. What, then, he had wondered, he was so jealous of people being around Ludwig because there was something wrong up in his head?

Ha. Stupid. Ludwig had been his, still was, always would be, and that was that.

'Whatever', he had said, shoving away the offered medication, and had never gone back. Ludwig had begged him and begged him to go back, and he hadn't listened. Maybe he should have. He felt crazier now than he ever had.

Didn't understand what the big deal was; Ludwig was his, that was all.

Raising a weary, bloody hand to his forehead, he closed his eyes to fight off the tears that threatened to come. Felt like he was suffocating.

So stupid. Why couldn't he have just been patient? In time, other escape routes would surely have presented themselves, and he could have simply walked across the fence into Ludwig's waiting arms.

If he could have just waited, like Ludwig could. He was always so impatient, and foolish, and the urge to be greeted like a rebel hero had been too much. A fantastical ego mixed with extreme insecurity had been his problem, and he had longed to not only escape, but to do so under the admiring stares of those he loved. Why else would he have devised such an elaborately aggressive plan?

Had wanted Ludwig to be awed by him, and more than that he had wanted to show Roderich up.

He could have found another way had he looked. He deserved everything he was getting. Ludwig would be better off.

Falling limp and still on the concrete slab, he slowed his breathing, closed his eyes, and wondered if his body was broken enough to just give out on its own. Ludwig would miss him, true, but only for a while.

The hour was late. He could just go to sleep.

Brother.

He'd break his promise, but Ludwig would forgive him. Always did, every single time. Ludwig was a gentle soul, who couldn't hold a grudge. That dumb kid. Ludwig had deserved better.

The sudden, intrusive creak of the heavy steel door stirred him back to life, and he flipped over lethargically onto his side, hoping against hope that they would just leave him alone if they thought he was sleeping. He couldn't take anymore. He just wanted to sleep. Was that so much?

There was a silence, and then a soft, ghostly whisper filled the room, so thin and frail that it could possibly have just been a figment of his imagination.

"Gilbert? Oh! Is that you?"

He stiffened, and squinted his eyes.

Was that—was that Ludwig's voice? It couldn't be. Great. He was hearing shit now. What a cruel joke.

"Gilbert? Oh, please, please..."

Damn. It sounded so real.

And then he heard soft footsteps behind him, and it took a moment for his tormented mind to comprehend that he was not in this room alone.

"Gilbert? Oh, please, don't be... Please, Gilbert."

The lethargy was steadily fading. Coming back from the brink.

Ludwig?

The voice, that voice, came again, and Gilbert came crashing back to himself with a surge of adrenaline, starting upright so fast that his head swam with dizziness. Wrenching around, he felt a rise of unspeakable horror within him when he saw that Ludwig, looking pale and exhausted and frightened, had come into the room and shut the door behind him.

Ludwig. It was really Ludwig. Why?

"It is you! Oh! Gilbert! I thought you were dead!"

He couldn't even speak for terror, and only stared with wide eyes as Ludwig came up to the cell, and fell onto his knees before him, gripping the iron bars in either hand, and the look on his face was so emotional that Gilbert could think of no words to describe it. On the brink of dissolving into complete hysteria. Damn near bawling. Had never seen that look on Ludwig's face.

Maybe it was the look of someone who had accidentally walked into paradise after escaping from hell.

"Gilbert?"

This was no dream. Ludwig was here.

Here.

Oh, god. Oh, he'd forgotten how fuckin' beautiful Ludwig was—

Coming out of his stupor, Gilbert shrieked in ecstasy, it hurt his throat like hell but he did it anyway, and he fell from the concrete cot and staggered forward, as far as the ankle cuff would allow him, reaching out desperately. He couldn't get close enough, and he laid on his stomach, stretching out as far as he could, the tips of fingers finally brushing the bars. Ludwig plunged his arms through and took his hand within his own, and, for a moment, Gilbert closed his eyes and thought that he had died and gone to heaven.

He remembered, now, how Ludwig's hands felt, and, man, were they everything.

Together.

And he would have given anything, as he pressed his brother's smooth, albeit dirty, palms against his chafed lips, to be able to stay like this, wanted and loved. Would have given anything to be with Ludwig again.

"I missed you so much," Ludwig gasped, and his voice was heavy with the effort of composing himself.

Lifting his head, he looked into Ludwig's eyes. Those eyes. Everything he had ever wanted had always been in Ludwig's eyes. Sky-blue, intelligent and gentle, cool and sharp and yet so kind, exactly as he remembered them. The dark circles underneath were new, but sleep would fix that.

Those eyes.

Everything was going to be alright now. Ludwig was here. They were together again. Always would be. He had promised. Had never loved anything the way he loved Ludwig.

...say, did Ludwig speak Russian?

They were together, like he had promised so many times they always would be, so why was his mind screaming at him so urgently to wake up, before it was too late? Why couldn't he just stay with him?

Just a little longer.

Welcome to hell.

The words rang in his ears with a sudden relentless ferocity, and the alarm that had been fighting to break through his muddled mind finally roared to life. Ludwig had to leave.

Now.

With a gasp so great that it hurt his ribs, Gilbert pulled himself onto his knees and thrust Ludwig's hands back, eyes wide and chest aching. Ludwig looked startled. Dazed. Honestly, Gilbert would have perfectly believed him if Ludwig had suddenly said that he didn't know where the hell he even was or why or how he had ever gotten here.

"Get out!" Gilbert shrieked, furiously, and Ludwig fell back at his wrath, as he often did when his big brother was going a little crazy. But this time was different. Ludwig didn't understand what danger lay in wait. "Get out! You have to get out of here! Why did you come here? How could you have come here? Why?"

Wrath. So angry. Absolutely enraged that this stupid kid had been so idiotic as to even think about crossing that fuckin' wall.

So mad.

"I had to—"

"GET OUT!"

Ludwig didn't leave, the stubborn bastard, and instead crawled forward, hands reclaiming the iron bars. His look was hurt, and confused. Exhausted, utterly exhausted. "No, Gilbert, I won't leave you here," he whispered, and Gilbert opened his mouth to scream at him some more, threaten him even, and if he could have reached him he might have slapped him, but his strained voice died in his throat when a movement in the background caught his eye.

He looked up instinctively, and when the door behind began to push open, he was so frozen in horror that he couldn't even warn Ludwig.

Oh, no. No, no, no. Oh, no, what had dumb Ludwig gotten himself into? Idiot. Big, blond idiot. Dumbest damn kid that had ever walked the earth. Stupidest son of a bitch alive, right after Gilbert.

Ludwig saw his change in demeanor, and furrowed his brow, leaning in with worry as he gripped the bars ever tighter.

"Gilbert? Please..."

There was a short pause, as Gilbert tried to speak, or move, or even just mouth the words, and then a different, drawling voice suddenly came over the silence.

"Gilbert, huh? So, that's his name."

Crushing silence. Everything went still.

Before him, Ludwig jumped so hard that it looked liked he had been shocked, and when he realized what was happening, the defeated look he sent Gilbert was heart-breaking; complete and utter hopelessness. He had been caught, and he knew it, and for it, Gilbert coulda died, just at that look on his face. The look of absolute despair.

Behind them, arms crossed above his chest as he leaned against the doorframe, stood the sharp man that had been acting as translator. Gilbert now knew from chatter that he was actually a lieutenant, and if he was here...

That general could not be far behind.

The thought of his dumb little brother and the wolfish general in the same room together made his head spin, made him nauseous, terrified him in every sense. Falling backwards and covering his eyes with his hands, Gilbert could not bear to watch, coward that he was, and moaned his despair. Oh, god, what were they going to do now? Why had Ludwig even come here?

Ludwig's face had crumpled like paper, and Gilbert could only part his fingers and peer out, to see that Ludwig was so immobile then because he was struggling to keep himself from bursting into tears.

"Who are you?" asked the Lieutenant, but Ludwig stayed still and quiet, never taking his eyes from Gilbert's trembling form, refusing to acknowledge the man behind. "How did you get in here?"

Took a while for Ludwig to gather himself, and when he did, he opened his eyes, pursed his lips, and then gave a sigh of complete defeat.

His voice was barely audible when he spoke again.

"Gilbert," Ludwig finally whispered, careless of the unwelcome visitor, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought I could... I tried. I really did. I just wanted to get you out. I tried. But, no matter what happens," he lowered his voice ever more and rested his head against the bars, closing his eyes in exhaustion and looking for all the world as though he were drifting into sleep, "it was worth it, just to see you again. Just for a second."

He trailed off, and Gilbert couldn't reply, couldn't move, too choked up and numb, and hung his head with a gasp that could have been a sob. If he even tried to open his mouth, he would only burst into tears. Felt so awful, so guilty. Had anyone on this planet ever felt so miserable as he did then? Wanted to cry, but didn't, because he didn't want to do it in front of Ludwig. For a moment there, though, it might not have even mattered, as Ludwig swayed to and fro before him and pressed his forehead into the bars, and it was likely that he was asleep.

Gilbert couldn't move.

The always-bored Lieutenant just leaned there, brow high, and watched them.

Then, beyond that dismal air, there was a noise, and when Gilbert finally managed to raise his eyes above Ludwig, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up in terror.

Someone else was here.

"Ah," came a new voice, and the soft notes and suaveness of the tone made Gilbert shiver the same as if it had just started snowing, "Lyubvi vse vozrasty pakorny."

It was him.

Gilbert wished, then, that he had died in that explosion, because then Ludwig would never have wound up here with this man.

His blood turned to ice, and from his seat on the concrete floor, Gilbert could see the Russian towering up from behind the reposing Ludwig, a calm smile on his face as he looked down at them with a tilted head. Curiously. Amusedly. He was dressed more immaculately than he had been the past few times he had come, almost as if he had had some kind of sixth sense that today something special was happening. He turned to his companion then, and seemed so damn happy, the bastard, looked so amused, alright, like he was watching a great show.

"Kto eto?"

A shrug from the dull Lieutenant, and, reaching down, the General placed a large hand on Ludwig's shoulder, and grunted thickly, "Hey! You? Who?"

Oh, the sight of that hand there, the sight of that man touching Ludwig, his Ludwig, his little brother, the sight of it—

If he hadn't been so terrified, he would have tried to rip the world apart.

Ludwig started from sleep, and raised his head, wearily.

"Who?"

For a moment, Gilbert locked eyes with his brother, and Ludwig smiled weakly, coming back down to earth.

A final stare between them.

In there, beyond the regret, Gilbert saw love.

"Hey. Don't worry about me," Ludwig whispered, and then, pulling together every bit of dignity and resolve that he possessed, Ludwig hauled himself tiredly to his feet and turned around. He stood tall, but not as tall as the Russian, and met his eyes with a high chin. Proud and calm and in control. Everything Gilbert was not.

Ludwig was the most beautiful he had ever seen.

Despite the lurching fright in his veins and the nausea in his stomach, Gilbert couldn't help but be taken aback in awe at Ludwig's confidence in the face of this terrifying General, who had broken him into submission the very second he had laid eyes upon him. Ludwig was brave. Always had been. Gilbert was proud, proud of him, and in the back of his mind he hoped that maybe Ludwig had learned it from him. But he doubted it.

Maybe Alfred and Roderich had taught him.

Gilbert had never taught Ludwig anything worth learning.

The General began to speak in Russian, calmly, that soft voice always gentle, and the Lieutenant followed suit, dictating almost mechanically. Yet even as he spoke, the General was staring at Ludwig, and Gilbert hated the way his pale eyes raked Ludwig up and down. Made him shudder.

The Lieutenant's droll voice.

"How did you get in here? All of the Stasi are specially trained, by my own KGB. And yet somehow you slipped past them. I admit that I am curious. How did you get in? Either you've been trained yourself, or I have to do some spring cleaning in the department."

"Maybe both," Ludwig said, and his voice cracked with the effort of speaking.

The Russian laughed.

"Or just luck, more like! Why did you come here? Just for him? All that trouble for him? Who is he to you?"

Ludwig stood strong, although he swayed in exhaustion.

"My brother."

Gilbert couldn't even watch anymore, and squinted his shut as he bowed his head. Couldn't believe it, couldn't, didn't know how any of this had happened.

"You're an Easterner?"

Ludwig shook his head, and the General's eyes lit up. He spoke faster and higher, obviously quite interested, and the Lieutenant's droll voice did not match his superior's enthusiasm in any sense.

"Westerner?"

Ludwig nodded, and it was as if someone had given the General a damn present from the excitement on his face. Why was he so excited by that?

"Indeed! So, you crossed the border and broke into a Stasi office. That's quite a bit of effort. You had to have had help." Ludwig shrugged a shoulder noncommittally, but the Russian waved it off. "No matter. The act alone is impressive. So. You got in. But how did you plan on getting him out? Indulge me."

At this, Ludwig fell dead silent, and the Russian lifted his chin knowingly, tucking one hand behind his back. It was obvious to everyone there that Ludwig had only planned his venture up to the point of getting in, and had given no thought as to how exactly he would get Gilbert out. How strange; Ludwig never did anything without planning it perfectly first. Must have been so desperate.

The General turned his gaze briefly to Gilbert, who flinched back without thinking, and, oh, Gilbert was glad that Ludwig's back was to him, because he would have been ashamed for Ludwig to see him shaking so. He had bossed Ludwig around his whole life, and didn't want Ludwig to see how easily someone else had bossed Gilbert.

Ludwig was still.

The Russian tilted his head and smiled in an amicable manner that was far beyond inappropriate for the situation.

"I see. Your brother inflicted quite a bit of damage on this building. Tempered steel doors are expensive. Money that goes to the Stasi comes out of the war chest. Money I could put to better uses. I would have enjoyed sending him to a work camp in Siberia to pay off his debt, but all of my good gulags were dissolved. I only have, ah, gentle ones, if you will." He paused to gauge a reaction, but Ludwig was impassive, at least on the surface, and the General continued on with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "But, I was still thinking of having him sent to Siberia. I..." The translator paused, narrowing his eyes in a moment of what could have been annoyance, and then carried on dutifully, "I just opened a new prison, you see. I would like to fill it before the end of the year."

The word 'Siberia' was enough to shake even the bravest of men, and Gilbert could see that Ludwig's hands were beginning to tremble at his sides, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

Siberia.

Terrified of the sound of it, the notion of it, the thought of it, but god, Gilbert would gladly go to Siberia, if only Ludwig would get sent out the door and back to the West, safe and untouched. Would have done it in a heartbeat, and he wanted to speak up and say as much, but he lost his voice in the face of the smiling General. He wasn't as brave as Ludwig was, not as unshakable.

"The doors," Ludwig suddenly uttered, strangely and slowly. "The doors. I'll pay, whatever you want. I'll pay for the doors," Ludwig offered, stepping forward dumbly even though he must have known that it was impossible that the offer would be accepted.

As if Ludwig had any money.

Was Ludwig so tired, so out of it, so exhausted that he truly thought that would work?

As expected, both of the Reds scoffed, nearly at the same time, and the General's smile stayed put.

"Kind of you. But I'm afraid that I am taking this rather personally. I am just touring the Eastern Bloc, you see, and only the second day in Berlin my offices are bombed. I don't like terrorists," he added, primly. "Tomorrow I leave. What, I wonder, will become of him?"

Ludwig's face fell, his eyes squinted, and for an awful moment Gilbert was sure he was crying.

"What do you want?"

"Who said I wanted anything?"

A trick question; something of value was in the air. Otherwise, the Stasi would have already cuffed Ludwig and dragged him off. They were only playing a game. It was getting dull, and Gilbert finally regained his voice, if only barely.

"Ludwig, go home! Just run!"

Oh, god, wouldn't he just run? Ludwig was a fast sprinter, had to be with those long damn legs, and if he could reach the door...

Maybe.

Ludwig only shook his head to clear it, and kept still, and at last uncrumpled his face.

"If you don't want anything," he muttered, wearily, "Then let him go. You've done enough to him. Didn't your mother teach you about mercy?"

Ludwig's speech was so strange; thick and clumsy and half of the words were clipped off on the ends. Not speaking as he normally did. Using odd words. He hadn't slept. For how long?

The General scoffed. "Hm. Not possible, I dare say. Maybe I enjoy having him here. The cell looks better with someone in it, no? You'll have to make a better offer than money. I have no want of money. And appeals to my morality are unnecessary. I'm in the army; I don't need morality. How boring. You can do better than that!"

Vague allusions and teasing possibilities. Gilbert knew that Ludwig cared not for them.

Games.

Never had, and Ludwig—

—and Ludwig, as irritable and exhausted and miserable as he was, was inclined to agree. Sick of this game, before it had even began. Couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand seeing Gilbert behind those bars. Angry, so angry, and yet the fog of absolute exhaustion couldn't let it break through. Had never been so tired in his life.

Somehow, he found less air here than he did when he was having a panic attack.

"What do you want?" he asked, impatiently and tiredly, his voice nearly a whine as he fought to keep himself standing straight up.

Gilbert was screaming from behind. His head was pounding. Gilbert's voice was too loud. If Gilbert would just shut up and let him think.

"Ludwig! Go!"

He sent Gilbert a look of agitation, and waved his hand in the air to silence his brother. For a second, Gilbert fell still, and Ludwig turned his attention back to the man looming before him.

God. He was so tired. Three days. If he could only rest his head for just a moment. Couldn't think. Couldn't think, his head hurt so bad, couldn't fuckin' think. He had made a mistake in barging in here so boldly. Now he was no better off than Gilbert. Trapped. Caught.

The Russian before him gave him a short, quick leer, and then said, "We're bargaining, aren't we? You make me an offer."

Gilbert started screaming again.

The Russian began to circle him relentlessly; a shark that smelled blood in the water. Their voices were driving him crazy, as Gilbert's screams filled one ear, and the soft whispers of the Russian and his translator amalgamated into one haunting, unsettling hum that filled the other.

Ludwig raised his hands to his head, and when the disjointed buzz became too much, he cried out roughly, "What do you want?"

For a moment, he thought he would faint. Tottering. Lightheadedness. Ringing in his ears.

He had almost gone down. He was dizzy.

Taking advantage of his break in composure, the Russian clasped his hands behind his back, studying him thoroughly, and then began to speak, and the pleased look on his face was that of a man who knew he now had the upper hand.

"They say that I'm the worst of the generals. Heartless, even. But I'm not a bad person, you see. It's the rules that make me merciless. I have a job to do, just like everyone else. Sometimes my job makes things black and white. In the military you have to think of the unit, not the individual. You interest me. So, I will give you an opportunity that I feel is adequate while conforming to the rules. Because I admire your bravery, I'll turn a blind eye."

The translator seemed strangely annoyed, then, staring unblinkingly at his commander as he spoke thoughtlessly out of habit, and his crossed arms had fallen down at his sides. Looked about as irritated as Ludwig felt, come to think.

Gilbert's cries stopped dead in the air, and even Ludwig felt his breath stop in anticipation.

"What?"

"What is your brother worth to you?"

"Anything," Ludwig responded without hesitation, and the Russian's lips curved into a soft, knowing smile.

"I thought so. Then, I make my offer. The books say that I have one prisoner. We think of it, almost, as if we were doing inventory. One comes in, and one goes out. I will release your brother. I will wipe away all criminal charges. I will walk him to the border myself. I will see that he enters the West, safe and secure. The record of him will no longer exist. And I ask only one small thing in return. You must..."

The Lieutenant trailed off, for a moment, and Ludwig felt himself go rigid with expectancy as the brunet turned wide, almost angry eyes to his superior and slipped back into Russian. What was happening? He had a horrible, sinking feeling...

A suspicion.

The General's voice hardened as he barked what sounded like an order, and the Lieutenant finally looked away, jaw clamped and fists clenched, and could only lower his eyes and finish, irritably, "You must take his place."

The air went stale.

"One of you must stay," he amended, almost as a cruel afterthought, "and the other will be free to go. The one who leaves will not face prosecution. The other will go to Siberia. You have two minutes to decide. Only you will have the final say."

The translator looked up then and locked eyes with Ludwig, adding, snippily, "He would prefer for you to stay. He finds your brother boring."

The room fell deathly silent, and the Russian leaned back against the concrete wall nonchalantly, arms crossed above his chest as he watched them with what could have been interest.

Two minutes.

Two minutes until the end of the world.

Of course. Of course it would be this way. Somehow, Ludwig had known it would be from the very second that man had started speaking. He had known it somehow, deep down. It wasn't enough to merely give an order and rip them apart as he would. No, that wouldn't do. Better to make it an impossible decision to be considered amongst themselves, and to ensure that they would live with the knowledge of their choice for the rest of their lives. Punishment enough.

Torture.

Two minutes.

"I..."

Just like that, Ludwig couldn't breathe anymore. He couldn't think. Lost his voice. Lost the feeling in his hands. Lost his train of thought. Lost sense of himself. Lost his balance. Falling back against the iron bars, Ludwig hung his head, as his world crashed down around his feet, and felt as if he were sinking down into sand.

No air.

What could he do?

Numbness.

Together, forever.

He had spent his whole life being protected by Gilbert from the worst parts of the world, from everything, sometimes even from life itself. Had been sheltered by Roderich and Erzsébet. Had been supported by Alfred. But this time there was no one to lean against. No one there to hold his hand. No way to turn back. No way out. No one to tell him what to do.

Alone.

Reaching up and holding his head in his hands as it threatened to explode, he wanted more than anything just to scream, or run, or even just sit down on the floor and cry, but he didn't, couldn't, forcing himself to stay strong for Gilbert's sake. Gilbert. Everything he did was for Gilbert's sake. Everything. Gilbert had protected him for so many years. Overprotected him, yeah, might have actually stifled him, but Gilbert had done it because he had loved Ludwig. Gilbert loved him, and that was more than anyone could ever ask for.

He turned around on unsteady feet, and caught Gilbert's horrified gaze.

Oh.

Anything. He'd do anything for Gilbert. Anything at all.

Gilbert was shaking his head, eyes wide and full of unspeakable terror, and then Gilbert started screaming again. His words could barely penetrate into Ludwig's overloaded mind. Could hear his voice but couldn't seem to make out the words.

This was too much, too soon, and he was so young.

He wobbled back around, and looked in turn at the soldiers. So sick.

Gilbert's screeching.

"Don't! What are you doing? Ludwig! Look at me! Don't even think about it, don't you even think about it, Ludwig, I'm already in here! I'm already here, don't you even think about it!"

He had never really even had a chance to live. Gilbert had wasted his entire life, high and drunk, causing trouble, and Ludwig had just set out for the first time in the world, was just starting.

But, then...

Ludwig closed his eyes, and rested his palms against his ears in a desperate attempt to gather his thoughts, as Gilbert shrieked, "Are you stupid? Get outta here! Get out! This is your chance! Go back home and forget me!"

Forget him? Couldn't ever forget Gilbert.

But then, Gilbert had a name. Gilbert had a history, a family tree. Gilbert knew who he was. Where he had come from. Ludwig was no one. Always had been. Didn't even know his real name. Gilbert was worth more than he was, in the end, to the world.

His head hurt.

"Don't!"

Gilbert had always made the decisions before.

"You choice," came a sudden whisper close by, and he started awake, looking over to see that the Russian had come forward from the wall and was a mere breath from his face, smiling tranquilly as he whispered in terrible German, "Not, ah...he? You."

Eyes boring into his own. In them, Ludwig was pretty sure he saw calamity.

"Ludwig, go home!" the voice from behind cried, and as he turned from the Russian to meet his brother's eyes instead, Ludwig realized with a sinking stomach that Gilbert had started to cry. "I'm your big brother!" he moaned, as he rested his forehead against the red-stained concrete, "You're supposed to listen to me, you bastard! I'm supposed to protect you! Make me stay! I ain't gettin' any younger, you know? Don't even think about it! Make me stay! I couldn't ever... If I... If you..." He clutched his chest with his uninjured hand, as though his heart was stopping in his chest. "There was so much that I wanted for you to do."

He broke off and buried his face in his hand, dissolving into sobs.

Oh, Gilbert.

"Time is up."

Gilbert couldn't stay here. Wouldn't last. Not with this Russian. Not with this man. Gilbert was the stronger one, physically, but he couldn't handle these mental assaults of isolation and torment and ruthlessness as well as Ludwig could. Gilbert was too crazy. He was too emotionally fragile, too insecure, too unsure of his own strengths, too restless to be locked away, too volatile to keep it together.

The thought of his wild, lively, unruly brother broken into subservience was too much, too much, and Ludwig turned around to meet the Russian's pale eyes. It was too late to go back now. Ludwig knew what he had to do.

Pulling himself up straight to fight off the nausea and the dizziness, forehead clammy and pulse hammering, he still held his chin high, and said, decisively, "Right! Send him home. I'll stay."

With an awful, strangled cry, Gilbert collapsed onto the floor, head buried in his arms, and the Russian hid a smile behind his fist.

Then, despite the terrible fear in his heart and the tremble of his hands, Ludwig added, as sternly as he could, "But I have a condition of my own."

A lame attempt to keep a little control.

For a second, the Lieutenant had lifted up his brow and curled his lip, a look of absolute and utter annoyance upon his face, and Ludwig thought for a moment that he wasn't even going to bother translating, as if it wasn't even worth his time, but at last he shook his head, and griped out the words. When his command had been translated, the Russian placed his hands on his hips, a rather breathless smile on his face, astonishment perhaps, at the gall, and then he laughed, briefly. A cold, high-pitched, frightening sound.

"Oh! And what is that?"

The Russian looked enthralled, somehow, and that made him ever the more terrifying.

Ludwig felt like a mouse under the cat's paw.

And when he opened his mouth to speak, Ludwig's resolve foundered under the unwavering stare, and he barely managed to whisper, "Just let me... Let me take him to the border. Please."

"You'll run," the Lieutenant murmured, without hesitation, and Ludwig shook his head, against the ringing in his ears.

"I won't. I swear. I give you my word." He looked over his shoulder at the crumpled Gilbert, pitiful Gilbert, sobbing so hard that his entire frame shook with the effort, and whispered, "I just want to say goodbye. Please. I'll stay if you let me say goodbye."

Had never seen Gilbert cry out of anything that wasn't anger and frustration. Couldn't stand it.

There was a pause, a pondering, as the Russian raised his gloved hand to his chin, thoughtfully. He looked them over, and then waved a hand carelessly in the air, as though swatting a fly. Ludwig, mercifully, was humored, and to be honest he was surprised.

"Go."

Ludwig's relief was short lived, and the Russian stepped forward and grabbed his upper arm and yanked him in, taking his chin in a strong grip, so close together that he could feel the General's breath warm on his cheek. Then he spoke in a tone so soft and dangerous that it made Ludwig's blood freeze in his veins even before he knew what was actually being said. Just that tone.

Never heard anything as terrifying as that voice.

"You have half an hour. If you are even one second late, the only thing your brother will see on the other side of that wall is a bullet, and you will regret the day you betrayed my confidence."

Ludwig shuddered.

For obvious political reasons, simply walking past the border guards was out of the question, but the Lieutenant, who had irritably introduced himself as Toris or some such, had led them under cover of darkness to a makeshift tunnel that had been long since closed. All Stasi guarding this tunnel had been called off, and Gilbert was free to cross through without hindrance. The iron grate that guarded it was unlocked, and they would have privacy for their farewell.

Ha. He made it sound so simple. So casual. As if it weren't the end of the world.

Every step was harder than the last.

As they neared, Toris had stopped in the street, leaning back against a lamppost as he waited, cocking and un-cocking the gun at his waist thoughtfully. He was far enough away to be out of earshot and almost out of sight, but even if he hadn't been, it wouldn't have mattered; Ludwig knew he couldn't run.

He'd made a deal.

Gilbert could barely walk and was too distraught to even speak, and Ludwig had all but dragged him the distance, and finally they came to the grate that the Lieutenant had described to them. It was large, ominous, and Ludwig realized that it was just part of the ancient, now abandoned sewer system. He peered down, and could see that it was a good ways to the bottom. A long fall. The supporting ladder had long since been removed. Once Gilbert was in it, there was no climbing out. That was for the best. Gave Gilbert no choice in the matter.

Resting Gilbert gently down on the pavement, Ludwig took the grate into his hands, and pulled with all his strength. The sound of iron scraping pavement made him shudder, and brought despondent Gilbert out of his stupor enough for him to sit up straight and gape down into the hole. Gilbert stared down at the void below like it was going to swallow him whole.

Ludwig extended a hand.

"Come on. I'll help you down."

Said it, but honestly he wasn't sure he actually had strength left to help Gilbert down. He was about to fall over any second, he knew it. Couldn't stand for much longer.

Gilbert didn't budge, bracing his legs firmly against the ground. And then, not surprisingly, Gilbert looked up at him and became difficult. "I'm not going. Not without you," he said, stubbornly, and Ludwig shook his head in exasperation, feeling the urgency rising.

How long had it been now? The half hour was surely drawing near.

Time, time, time. They never had enough time.

"I can't go! There's no time for this. You have to go, now! Go!"

Gilbert shook his head, pale, dirty hair shaking with him. His eyes were defiant past the daze and confusion, as though even in his broken state he thought he still wielded some kind of fraternal power over Ludwig. And when Ludwig, agitated, reached out and tried to grab his arm, he wrenched away.

"I can't. I won't. Come with me! We can get out of here, together! We can go, right now. Let's go."

Why did it have to be this way? Where had they gone wrong? They had been destined to be miserable.

Nothing had ever worked out for them.

"Gilbert!" he cried, as he struggled to keep himself from bursting into tears, "I can't! Don't you understand? I can't!" He clenched his hands together in front of his chest in a silent plea, adding, desperately, "Even if we ran now, how far would we get? They'll get us. They'll find us. They'll shoot you! And all of this will have been for nothing! I can't go with you this time. Please! Please go."

And still, Gilbert shook his head, like a stubborn child. "I won't leave you here. ...I know! You should go, and I'll stay."

Stubborn. Foolish. They'd already played this fuckin' game, they had, and they'd lost. Their time together was gone.

Something shifted in the shadows, maybe the Lieutenant, and feeling his heart race in fear, Ludwig reached the end of his short rope and stomped his foot furiously, shrieking, "GO!"

Gilbert just stared up at him. Didn't move.

Reaching out, he grabbed Gilbert's collar and yanked him forward, maybe too harshly. Gilbert struggled against him, and had always been the stronger one, but in his weakened state he was no match, not even for equally weak Ludwig. How pitiful they were in that moment.

The void loomed out. The final distance between them.

Dragging him over to the grate, Ludwig suddenly enveloped the thrashing Gilbert in a final, firm embrace and placed a swift kiss on his bloody cheek, for the last time, pushed their faces together, inhaled the scent of Gilbert, whispered in his ear, tried to remember everything, everything, and then with every last shred of strength he had left, Ludwig threw Gilbert unceremoniously down into the dark void.

Gone.

Everything was gone. The smell of Gilbert's hair was gone.

Gilbert landed hard on his broken hand and shrieked, but Ludwig had little time to be sympathetic.

"Go on!"

A long moment of gasping and hissing, and, as Gilbert tried to pull himself to his feet, Ludwig slid the heavy iron back into place, and looked down from above. Gilbert's pale face shone out from the shadows like a ghost. Staring. And, for a while there, for a beautiful, delirious second, Ludwig felt happy.

Gilbert was safe down below.

Safe.

Gilbert tried to reach up, fingers clutching the air aimlessly, and he moaned, "Oh, god! Ludwig! You can still leave me! Quick! Help me back up, and I'll stay put. Please, Lutz, please, please, pull me back up."

Gilbert was smiling at the end of his pleading and speaking gently, breath visible in the cold, as though easy coaxing would somehow convince Ludwig to turn the tables on this terrible situation. Gilbert hadn't spoken to him like that since he had been a child.

"Come on, help me up."

"Please," Ludwig whispered, feeling absolutely heartbroken, and he fell to his knees, gripping the iron bars in his hands as Gilbert looked up at him helplessly. Suddenly he was fucking crying, couldn't hold it in anymore, couldn't help it, couldn't stop it, and he somehow managed to say, past his sobbing, "You have to go now. There's nothing else you can do for me. Go home, Gilbert. Go home. Please, go home."

Gilbert wasn't smiling anymore, and that gentle tone of voice vanished.

Gilbert was angry, then.

"Lutz! Don't go! You can't! Open it up, you open it up right now and help me outta here! Get me the hell outta here, Lutz, are you stupid? What are you doing? Get me up! You're so fuckin' stupid, you always were! You useless bastard! You can't stay!"

A squint of his eyes and a pursing of his lips as he tried so hard to stop bawling, but he couldn't, and he couldn't stand lookin' at Gilbert anymore, he couldn't take it, and pulled himself to his feet. One final silent transmission, one last look at each other, Ludwig taking in as much of Gilbert as he could.

He would not see him again. Their paths had split. End of the road.

With that look, that stare, Ludwig nodded his head, braced his shoulders, and whispered, with finality, "Goodbye, brother."

And that was that.

Vision blurred and heart pounding, Ludwig turned on his heel and flew off, as Gilbert's faint screams followed him.

"Ludwig! Don't go!"

Oh. God.

"LUDWIG!"

How had it ever come to this?

Soon, Gilbert's voice faded. Ludwig was surprised that the world was still standing, still intact, because he felt like it should have burned up all around him. Gasping for breath, Ludwig skidded into the main street, and the waiting Lieutenant glanced over at him from beneath the gaslight, brow low and eyes unreadable. A moment of silence, as Ludwig tried to reach up and dry his face. Gilbert, like so many times before, was gone.

A snappy whisper.

"Took you long enough. Let's go."

No more Alfred. No more Erzsébet. No more Roderich. And no more Gilbert.

Life had ended.

Ludwig hung his head, and walked in step with the moody Lieutenant, trying to compose himself. Pitiful, sniveling as he was.

As they walked in the shadows, Toris finally looked over at him, brow low and lips pushed out thoughtfully. Cranky and yet curious. Ludwig didn't meet his eyes, too crestfallen to lift his head.

Their footsteps echoed in the street.

Out of nowhere, another comment, this one just a little less testy.

"I think you're very brave, for all it matters," Toris finally said, in a smooth, firm, if not terse voice, turning his eyes back ahead, but Ludwig, cold and clammy and absolutely faint, disagreed.

When the Stasi office was becoming visible in the distance, Ludwig shivered, knowing what lay in wait inside. He didn't feel very brave. Didn't feel like a hero. He wanted to go home.

Gilbert had cost him everything.

It was worth it. Had to be worth it.

Gilbert would have done it for him.