Chapter 8

The Suicidal Clock

Old times.

Faint memories. Distant days of melancholy.

Passing shadows.

Sometimes, when he had stood in front of the mirror on cold mornings, Ludwig had looked at his pale reflection, pushing away those whispers that had floated in his ears, and he had wondered if maybe there was something wrong with him. If there had always been something wrong with him. There had always been something wrong with Gilbert, sure, but...

Maybe there was something bad within him.

He wished sometimes when he was younger, even when Gilbert had embraced him in those brotherly moments and slung him over his shoulder with laughter, that he had been somewhere else. Somewhere he belonged. He'd never felt like he belonged. But Gilbert's promises of being together for eternity? That had always made it a lot easier.

The mornings when Gilbert had actually been in the house, when he hadn't spent the night out drunk in some bar, when he hadn't been passed out in some alley high on pills, but had actually been there in the bed, holding Ludwig to his chest as they slept. Those mornings had been the best. Those mornings had come far too soon.

Morning always came far too soon.

Like now.

Late fall was proving to be colder this year than usual, and already, snow was starting to drift down from the grey skies outside the hotel. Everything was still. Silent. There could be no better morning on which to sleep in, and what he would have given to be able to stay in bed for a little longer. Even if Gilbert wasn't in the bed beside of him this time.

Gilbert was gone.

A sudden voice intruded on his rest.

"Hey, wake up. Time to go."

Felt exhausted. Lethargic.

Grunting, Ludwig rolled over onto his side, seeking reprieve from the hand that was shaking him.

"Get up."

Why didn't they understand how tired he was? Whoever the hell it was that was bothering him; Alfred maybe. The voice above could barely register in his exhausted mind, and he reached up, swatting the hand away irritably. Alfred, always intruding into his personal space.

"Get out of my room, you jerk," he muttered, blearily, and there was a sudden silence.

Then a sharp click filled the room, and something cool and hard suddenly pressed into his temple.

"I said get up. I'm not gonna tell you again."

Ludwig tensed up as his heart started to race. No matter how tired he was, how dazed, he knew damn well what it was against his head, the feel of steel, and he opened his eyes, looking over his shoulder warily.

Standing above him, clean and dressed for the call of duty, hair tied up and back beneath his cap, the Soviet army pin neatly on his breast, stood Toris. The gun he held meant business, cocked and ready, but his stance seemed only halfhearted. He almost looked...

"It's time to go," he repeated, and withdrew his firearm.

Defeated. Agitated. Restless.

Toris suddenly looked like he just didn't give a damn.

Heaving an inward sigh of relief at the removal of the barrel from his temple, Ludwig pulled himself upright at the waist, the adrenaline in his veins waking him up better than coffee ever could, and his whole body ached. Looking down, he saw that someone had put a blanket over him in the night. He had an idea of who, and glanced over, but the chair that had held the Russian was vacant.

Another thing to be grateful for.

"It's already late. We have to get going. You can sleep some more in the car."

"Oh," Ludwig rasped, a bit testily, "Why bother? Plenty of time to sleep when you're dead. I'm so looking forward to another day-trip with you and your charming friend."

Toris just snorted, looked him up and down very condescendingly, and drawled, "Good to see you're all rested up. You don't sound like a complete imbecile now when you speak. I was concerned we had arrested the mentally handicapped."

Dick.

Ludwig bit down his own insult, pulled himself to his feet, wobbling a little, and was led straight out of the hotel room and towards the elevator. Not even a shower first? Great. He wanted to die clean, at least, if that was what was gonna happen. He looked about, as they wound though the lobby. The Russian was nowhere to be seen. Good.

When they stepped outside, Ludwig saw the military vehicle parked in front, waiting. Looking around, at the city buildings, he tried to gauge not only where he was, but whether or not a mad dash would be possible. He looked this way and that, discreetly. There were many alleys.

Maybe.

Toris seemed to read his mind, and he could hear the click of the gun's hammer.

"Don't even," he warned, lowly. "Don't forget you're in the Eastern Bloc now. You won't get far."

Dammit.

Ludwig slouched in defeat, and when he walked forward and stepped inside the vehicle, the Russian (Ivan, he reminded himself) was sitting patiently, one arm thrown up on the windowsill. Ludwig bowed his head quickly, refusing to meet the pale eyes, and as the car started moving, he listened to the two speak quietly amongst themselves.

Their voices were soft and gentle and very smooth, and it surprised him a little that two voices like that could ever belong to hard-nosed Soviet military men. Strange. If he had closed his eyes, he would never even have connected those men with those voices.

He leaned his head against the window, as they crooned away. He didn't understand, but he was certain that he heard the word 'Dresden' a few times. So, he was in Dresden, then, maybe and they were driving to the border. And he would pass into Czechoslovakia, leaving Germany behind. He had never been outside his homeland in his entire life. East Germany had once been just Germany, hadn't it, and it was still home, even if it wasn't the same as the West. Hadn't ever left.

His stomach churned with nervousness. Fear. Homesickness. Where would he end up? What would come to pass? Would there be a forest where they were taking him? Would he have a view of trees or of concrete?

Thinking about it too much made him feel sick, and, when he felt eyes upon him, he looked up.

They were staring at him, coolly, and Toris asked, suddenly, "You don't have any papers on you, do you?"

Ludwig shook his head, and they resumed their conversation. After a moments consideration, he realized they were wondering if he had a passport. He felt his pulse race with a sudden jolt of hope; he could not pass the border without one. They would not let him through. They would turn him away. What were they going to do with him, then? Shoot him?

"Are you going to leave me here?" he wondered aloud, and Toris snorted.

"Hardly."

He furrowed his brow in agitation, and leaned back, crossing his arms above his chest. Damn, damn, damn. A stupid question, sure, but at least he had given it a go. There was nothing more frustrating than evasive half-answers, than the way they were talking without involving him, and the Russian was staring him down from the other seat with alarming intensity. Smiling away, as if everything were right in the world. Ludwig turned his head, and averted his eyes. How unnerving. Unpleasant. Couldn't stand looking at that man.

The border was ever nearing, and, as the minutes passed, he prepared himself for the inevitable, feeling a rise of thin hope in his chest. The first in years. He could see it now; they would stop the car, and ask everyone to present papers, and when Ludwig didn't have any they would escort him out and into the building. They would interrogate him, and he would give them nothing.

...and they would send him back from whence he came.

Simple as that. He couldn't cross.

Wait for me.

Gilbert was waiting.

His palms began to sweat as the vehicle lurched to a halt at the gate. Glancing out the window, he could see the toll-booth, and the guard had stepped out and was approaching. The driver's window lowered ahead, and the border guard leaned in, with a greeting. His heart was hammering so fiercely that he was certain it would leap out of his chest, as the driver stuck papers through the window, chatting conversationally.

He waited.

With heavy footsteps, the border guard walked back towards them and looked through the rear window, and the Russian saluted him, smiling cheerily.

So close. Ludwig felt himself sitting up straight in his seat, ready for the inevitable. Feeling salvation on the horizon, Ludwig shifted his weight anxiously as he waited for the window to come down.

It did not.

And then the guard saluted back, and he could hear the creaking of the gate as it was lifted, and then, with a dizzying jolt of horror, he realized they were driving straight through.

Numbly, he looked over and met Toris' eyes, and Toris only lifted up his chin quite primly and said, "Immunity."

Of course. He had been foolish not to realize that a general of the Soviet military would not be subject to common searches. There was no need of papers for a marked military vehicle, not in these connected Red states. His hope fled, and was replaced with a horrible sense of dread. Terror. Beneath it all, resignation. There would be no escape. No way out. The thought of never seeing his friends again, of never seeing Gilbert again...

Regret. Remorse.

Gilbert was gone.

Ivan's knowing, satisfied smile only served to worsen his mood, and Ludwig fell into despondency, going back into space, barely noticing when the car stopped a short while later at the train station.

Numb and distant. Apathy settled in.

The loud station and the horns of the trains couldn't break through his fog. He was dazed. Some part of him had just stopped caring. His fate was no longer in his control, and he walked alongside them placidly when they left the vehicle behind and went into a private train car.

Outside, the snow was deepening.

No point in anything. He had signed over his life. His freedom. Better to just shut down and stop making himself sick over it. Didn't wanna go out like that, sick and crying and pleading. Apathy was better. He did not remember clearly stepping into the train, or sitting down, or leaning his head against the glass window, losing track of his environment.

Time passed.

The train chugged along. Towns passed. Blurry shapes outside the window that had been fogged with his breath.

Who knew how long he had been swimming through his thoughts, and he jumped when Toris suddenly said to him, "We're almost to Prague."

Coming back to earth, Ludwig lifted his head up and looked over, to where a neat Toris was sitting beside of him, only muttering in response a dumb, "Huh?"

Toris was watching him with that same strange interest, and he inclined his head to the window, face guarded and a bit tense. "Have you ever been to Prague?"

Ludwig shook his head.

"It's a beautiful city," Toris whispered, almost wistfully. "I've been twice. If you ever see it, in spring... You won't ever forget it. The clock tower, either."

The clock tower. He'd seen pictures of it books.

'Hey, if we ever get some time together, I'll take ya down to Prague and get some pictures of ya in front of that big ol' clock! Promise, I miss ya so much.'

He didn't feel like seeing Prague anymore. He just wanted to go home. Wanted Berlin, not Prague.

Toris turned his eyes to the snow drifting down beyond the window, and for a moment, he almost smiled. Almost; just a strange twitch of his lips that fell as quickly as it had come.

"The first time I went there was in the spring. I was there for almost a month. That was a long time ago. One of the best times of my life, I think. I can remember, sometimes."

There was something alarming in Toris' soft voice, a haunting loneliness and longing and maybe some kind of lunacy, and Ludwig might have shuddered a little. Toris was alarming enough on his own as it was; did he have to suddenly sound so damn scary, too? As if Toris wasn't exactly there at the moment.

Ludwig couldn't help but look over at the Russian in concern. Should they be speaking like this? Should Toris have been engaging him in conversation in front of that guy? But Ivan was asleep on the opposite seat, just as he had slept on the ride to Dresden, unhearing and unknowing, head rolling back and forth with the train.

Toris blabbered on.

"Of course, we're not stopping in Prague this time. We'll pass straight through. We're going to Brno. I haven't ever been there. I hope it's everything I expect it to be. I've heard a bit about it. Almost as good as Prague, or so they say."

Ludwig did not contribute much to this conversation, but he had the sense to nod his head along politely, and hell, he was pretty sure that Toris didn't really even notice him at all. He was speaking more to himself, it seemed, as though it had been years since Toris had had anyone to really talk to, freely.

Ludwig, for all of his fogginess, felt a sudden unease, because something was certainly not right. Something was wrong. With Toris. With these men. With this whole situation. Something wasn't right. Something off. Odd. These guys; something wrong with 'em.

Catching his eye in a rare moment of personal connection, Toris asked, strangely, "Ludwig, right? Is that your name?"

Ludwig nodded.

"Have you ever been homesick, Ludwig? You ever left home for a long time?"

Not before.

He'd always felt strange, and like he hadn't belonged, but he hadn't ever felt homesick, because he had never known another home.

He was homesick now. The feeling was strange, and heartbreaking. An awful darkness.

"Yes," he muttered, and Toris seemed oddly comforted, as though his confirmation was a relief. As if being homesick were something unacceptable and Toris was relieved someone else could actually feel that, too.

"If you ever get back home one day," Toris began, in a slow, frighteningly emotionless voice, "I hope...that it's the same for you as it was before. I hope nothing changes. I hope that it's still there. Home. Your home. I hope it's there for you."

Toris was scaring the hell out of him.

The atmosphere was dampening, darkening, and Ludwig returned his attention to the window, watching the snow fall with silence. There was nothing more he felt like saying. Didn't want to talk to Toris. Didn't want to engage in conversation. Didn't want Toris' strange behavior to unnerve him all the more. That crazy man.

Already felt sick as it was.

He zoned.

Time passed, Prague came and went, and still the Russian slept, head bobbing up and down with the motion of the train.

Ludwig was again resigned to let things go as they would, too disheartened to do much else and too apathetic to really care. The unease of Toris had faded, had fled from his veins.

At least until Toris started to speak again.

His voice barely above a whisper, Toris suddenly broke the silence with a forced, strangled, "You won't ever see Berlin again. You know that, don't you?"

Feeling his blood freeze in his veins, not at the words so much as that godawful tone, Ludwig snapped his head over, and the look of blankness in Toris' eyes made him shiver. Looked so distant suddenly. So strange. Disconnected. What had made his mood shift so suddenly? As if Toris had suddenly checked out of the building. As if a light had been turned off, or a phone had been hung up.

Dial tone.

Toris just stared at him.

"If I were braver," Toris added, quietly, "I would do you a favor and just shoot you now. That would be best, I think. Shooting you."

Toris cocked his gun absently at his waist, brow low and head tilted a bit, and the jolt of adrenaline made Ludwig feel rather dizzy.

Cold-sweat.

"It would be better, maybe. I think it might be better if I shoot you."

Everything was cold.

Shoot him? Why would Toris want to shoot him? This whole damn thing seemed to be the other man's game, not Toris', so he didn't get why Toris was so terrifying suddenly. Wished he knew what was going on. What was with these guys.

"I don't understand," Ludwig finally breathed, absolutely petrified, hands clenching and unclenching absently in his shirt as he tried very hard not to fidget. Didn't want to look as scared as he was. Tried hard to meet Toris' eyes, then, hoping that maybe Toris would come back.

Eventually, he did, a minute or two later.

Suddenly, the strange nothing in Toris' eyes fled almost as quietly as it had come, a stiffening of Toris' stance, a heightening of his brow, and then he scoffed, shaking his head as his hand slowly lifted from his gun.

Relief.

"Never mind," Toris said, curtly, and fell back into the seat. "It doesn't matter. He'd probably kill me if I shot you, anyway."

Never mind? That was a pretty big goddamn 'never mind'.

Those words could not simply be forgotten, and Ludwig looked around all of a sudden, as the panic ever mounted, and sensed something terrible on the horizon. Something wrong.

Dark water.

These men.

The air of defeat and unpredictability and breathless sorrow that lingered over Toris was frightening. That look of being lost. Gone. And it made him wonder...

Would he end up like that? Blank and void of emotion, living only to have commands barked at him? To be a shadow? Toris only seemed to ever follow the other around, doing what he said without thought. Toris looked like he had almost forgotten how to have friendly interactions. How to be normal. Would he be just like Toris?

A rush of determination suddenly snuffed out the apathy that had been creeping up.

Never. He would do everything and anything in his power to avoid it. To be like that.

He couldn't just let this train take him away. Gilbert had always teased him for being so stubborn, so why now was he letting his depression lead him to oblivion? That wasn't who he was. He'd never given up before. Even through all of those awful times, those terrible stretches of darkness, even watching life pass him by and ignore him as it treated others well, he had never given up. He'd never swallowed the whole bottle of pills. Even if sometimes he had wanted to. He'd thought about it, but only ever for a few seconds, before the thought of someone else became stronger.

Alfred. Roderich. Couldn't do it; they'd be hurt, and disappointed. Gilbert had been on the other side of the wall, but it was only a wall. Walls could be torn down.

He hadn't quit. And he couldn't quit now. Because Gilbert was safe now. Gilbert was in the West. He had to get out.

Had to be a way.

Feeling the overwhelming desperation growing inside of him, Ludwig looked out the window; forests. Trees as far as the eye could see. He didn't know where they were, but it had only been an hour or so since they had passed through Prague, so civilization could not be that far away. A place like this. The snow was already a half meter or so high, covering the ground and weighing down the pine tree branches. Icicles hung from the side of the train. Bitterly cold. Anyone that got lost in the forest, in this weather, was done for. Death was a certainty, without a clear head and if help was not found soon.

So, then. How desperate was he?

He looked over at Ivan, unreadable and menacing, even in sleep, and then at Toris, staring ahead listlessly, and knew. He knew. He would not go to Brno. Under any circumstances. Couldn't stay with these men. Wouldn't end up like them. Wouldn't let them break him down.

Gathering up his bravery, he pulled himself to his feet with zeal, trying to keep his wits about him. Toris leapt up with him, as if alarmed at his movement, hand flying down to his gun as he tensed, no doubt expecting a confrontation.

He would only have one chance. As they said, move it or lose it.

He was movin'.

Loosening his stance into one of non-threatening compliance, Ludwig turned to Toris and whispered, politely, "May I go to the restroom, please?"

The alarm dispersed, and Toris sighed in annoyance. Still, though, he kept his hand on his gun. Toris was strange, moody and crazy, but he wasn't stupid.

"Alright. Follow me."

He did, and when the door to the car was pushed opened, he observed his surroundings. Ivan was asleep, so that was one obstacle out of the way. And the door that would lead to the outside was tantalizingly close, only an arm's reach away. All he had to do was push it open, slip out, and find a good place to jump. Tuck and roll was his only option, and then he would disappear into the thick forest and walk until he found a town.

There was only one thing blocking him from the freedom he craved :

An armed and dangerous Toris.

Ludwig glanced over as they walked, and observed. Even though Toris had a gun and was pretty intimidating in uniform, he was shorter than Ludwig was, just a bit, and maybe if they were to scuffle Ludwig could come out on top. Maybe. Ludwig wasn't by any means powerful, was certainly not a fighter, but desperation was a very good motivator, and he had more to lose than Toris did, so his victory wasn't impossible. Impossible, no, but highly improbable. Ludwig was just a normal guy. Toris was a soldier, a trained military man, lethal without a weapon very likely, and Ludwig wasn't about to test his abilities and risk being knocked the hell out before he could get away. Better to be sneaky. Wouldn't have dared to take Toris on face to face. Wouldn't risk getting his ass kicked and being tied up to the seat.

"Hurry up."

Looking up, Ludwig saw that they had reached the restroom, and he took a breath to steady himself.

He looked over, gave Toris a glance, and then asked, as casually as he could, "Toris, right?"

Now.

A rather unpleasant curl of Toris' lip, as he griped, "Yeah."

Or never.

All he needed was one second of distraction.

"Are you homesick, Toris?"

It was meant to rattle him, and it worked; Toris opened his mouth, lost his voice, and then, fatefully, he lowered his eyes, just for a second.

There it was. A moment was all he needed.

His long, arduous journey here had sapped his strength, lost in that endless death tunnel, but Ludwig still had enough left to do what needed to be done. Clenching his fist, he pulled his arm back and, bracing his feet, he sucker punched the unsuspecting Toris on the side of his head as hard as he could.

A dull thud.

The force of it knocked Toris backwards onto the floor, and, after a moment of panic, Ludwig heaved a sigh of relief when Toris didn't get back up. He was out cold, probably from hitting his head on the floor more than the punch itself.

A pain in his knuckles.

"Sorry," Ludwig spat down at Toris, quite dishonestly, as he stepped over the unconscious Lieutenant, and with fervor he yanked the door open and stepped out into the cold air. The change in temperature was dizzying, and he gripped the railing, staring into the snow-covered forest in temporary shock. God, it was colder than he had imagined. Freezing.

But he could not linger, and if Ivan or Toris woke up before he jumped, he was done for. Reaching out with a trembling hand, he grabbed the top of the gate that guarded the metal steps, and pulled it back.

A look down.

A churn of his stomach. The ground was moving by so quickly. He had to be careful. If he injured himself in the process then he would get nowhere.

He braced his legs, and tried to jump.

He froze up. Choked.

Damn! Harder than it looked.

"C'mon! You can do it," he urged himself, and, with an inhale and a shake of his head, he squinted his eyes shut, loosened his grip on the railing, took a step back, and leapt as far as he could.

A long, horrifying moment of being airborne.

Go.

He connected with the ground with painful force, and cried out without meaning to, and only the soft snow kept his ribs safe from breakage. Rolling down the hill, though, he felt more like he was hitting the damn train itself.

Rolling.

Pain. Couldn't breathe.

After what felt like minutes, when he finally stopped rolling, he could only lay on his back, gasping for air that would not come. He had had the wind knocked out of him, and stared up at the grey sky as time slowed, too stunned to move. Shock. He could hear only a shrill whistle in his ears, and he felt himself drifting into sleep as the snow threatened to close in around him. Black crept in the corners of his vision. White skies.

Snow drifted down, hitting his eyelashes.

His back hurt.

Get outta here!

...he was really tired. Maybe he could go to sleep after all. Exhaustion. These past days had been the most physically and mentally exhausting of his life. Hadn't ever been so tired.

GO!

Out of nowhere, quite suddenly, his chest unclenched and air came back. The daze was broken. With a jolt, Ludwig sat up, gasping as air finally filled his lungs, and looked around. His hearing soon followed, and he looked up and watched the locomotive go by, loud and unstoppable, the screeching of wheels grinding the tracks filling the air. Another minute, and it was gone.

Gone.

The train was gone.

A breathless smile crept over his face, as he squinted in the white light of the snow, and with effort he finally hauled himself onto his feet. The plumes of white smoke hung above. In a second, the train was far away, almost out of sight within the trees. Gone.

He was free. He had won. And by god, it felt really fuckin' great.

Exhilaration.

Laughing to himself, he shook his head to clear it, and staggered forward, and even the pounding in his head could not dampen the burn of victory in his veins. Sore as hell, yeah, banged and bruised up, but he had won. He'd beaten them. Those men. It had been so easy! So easy. For all of that, for all of that torment and all of that crying, to think that getting away had been that easy.

The snow started to fall inside of his shoes. Ah! Cold. The sudden tingling of his feet as the snow melted inside of them dampened his exhilaration a bit.

Well.

Hadn't really won yet, not yet. Wouldn't truly win until he was back in Berlin. He was not out of danger yet, and when his body recovered from the shock of the jump, he looked about, picked a blind direction, and ran. He didn't care where he was going. Anywhere was better than staying put, so close to the tracks.

He plunged into the forest.

Pushing through the tree branches, he was confident that he would soon find the other end of the forest despite the coldness, and couldn't really keep the smile from lighting up his face. There was no brushy undergrowth to fight through, just old pines, and he passed easily in between the mighty, ancient trunks. Only a few branches here and there, and the rest was trudging through the snow.

He was confident. In this modern world, forests weren't vast enough for someone to get lost in for so long that they died. Right?

The snow was getting higher. And the trees were still numerous. Shielding his eyes with his hand, Ludwig looked up at the sky. White, as far as he could see. There was no sign that it was going to stop. It was likely to snow all day and all night. He had to hurry. Lowering his head and squinting, he carried on, trying his best to keep walking straight. Getting turned around would be an enormous problem. Everything looked exactly the same, though. All the trees were the same. He used his footprints as a guide when things got confusing.

The wind was picking up.

His smile waned, after a while, and the cold was creeping up on him. The adrenaline that had kept him warm had already run its course, and now he shivered as his fingers began to numb.

Ah, hell. Maybe it had been too easy.

He walked. For how long, he couldn't say. Maybe hours, yet still the trees refused to thin, and he felt the first prick of anxiety in his chest. He had underestimated this forest's girth. Was taking longer than he had imagined. Damn. Shoulda just walked along the railroad and into the next town. Could have risked it, really, because he could have easily darted into the trees should someone have come back looking for him. Stupid.

Tucking his hands under his armpits in a desperate attempt to protect them, he slowed to a halt, panting heavily as the icy air stung his lungs.

He was so cold.

He was not dressed for this weather, gloveless and hatless, and he had foolishly left the Russian's coat in the train. As he wrapped his arms around his body in vain, he wondered if he had made a mistake. It was so much colder than he had anticipated, there were no villages in sight, and his shirt was so thin he may as well have been wearing paper. Lately, it seemed he had been just leaping without looking. Hadn't ever been like that before.

He took a great, stinging breath, and walked on.

Two hours. Three. Four.

He stopped again. He could barely breathe. His lungs felt like they were burning. Standing, bent over at the waist and hands beneath his arms, he stared down at the white snow, and really started to panic. Felt tired again. Sleepy. That wasn't good. He was in trouble, alright. He needed to keep moving. Stopping would only bring the cold on faster. So tired. Couldn't even catch a breather. Had no goddamn luck at all, none.

All he had wanted was to see Gilbert. Was that so much?

He started walking again, determined, but quickly stopped, looking down with a furrowed brow.

With alarm, he realized that he could not feel his legs, and as he tried to force himself on, his gait was awkward and unsteady, as he struggled to stay standing. Unbalance. He could only walk a few steps before he had to stop yet again, and his shivering became uncontrollable. Looking around, helplessly, he was forced to face the obvious fact; his body was shutting down from cold.

Yeah. Great.

Looking up at the sky, he could see the worst outcome :

Night.

The night was approaching. Quickly. The white skies had turned dark grey.

And the snow just kept coming.

Bending at his waist, he rested his hands on his knees as he gathered himself, and the realization crept over him that he would not get out of this forest before he froze to death. There was no way he'd last the night. Not dressed like this. Hadn't been prepared. His fingers were red and numb. He could not feel his face. His feet ached dully in his wet shoes. Snow covered his shoulders and eyelashes, and his hair stuck firmly to his scalp with the weight of the ice that was glazing it.

Cold.

Gilbert was waiting for him, though, and it was only crazy desperation that forced him to wobble forward. He tried to go on, as best he could. Maybe a half hour. Maybe an hour. Hell. Maybe ten minutes. Could been five minutes, even, but it felt like decades.

He could barely see for the snow, and fell short when a sudden shadow loomed over him, even in the darkness.

He looked up, and felt his breath leave him.

A great, dead tree stood before him, tall and dark and imposing, wide branches spreading out into the sky like craggy hands. A gallows tree, looked like. His bleary, unfocused mind was pretty sure that he had wound up in some bad fairytale.

Didn't look like he'd see a happy ending.

It was surely an omen, that horrible tree, and as his strength left him for good, he fell to his knees before it, overwhelmed with a sudden urge to sleep. Couldn't walk anymore. He was spent. Nothing left. He didn't fight it, and laid down in the snow, resting his face against one of the huge roots that jutted from the ground. With a sigh, he closed his eyes. This was, after all, as good a place to lie down and die as any. Looked poetic, at any rate. Yeah, that was really going to be comforting to Gilbert, alright, sure was. 'My little brother died, but at least he chose an awesome place to do it!' Hardly.

Oh, Gilbert. He had tried. He had failed. Again.

You promised.

...sorry.

As light-headedness overtook him, Ludwig pictured his brother's face, and felt, if not peaceful, then at least satisfied. He had saved Gilbert. That was enough. Couldn't have everything. Saving Gilbert was enough. A worthwhile use of the life of a nobody.

As he drifted into the darkness over the course of the next few hours, the soft snow covering his fallen body, he could swear that, beyond his delirious thoughts, he heard something crunching across the ground.

Footsteps? Maybe just wildlife. Coming to see how long it would take for him to die.

Twigs snapping beneath the snow. The tree branches swayed.

Then someone whispered, voice drifting eerily in the wind, but he was too far gone to open his eyes to see who it was. He didn't really care. He had nothing left. Exhaling the last of his strength, he let the dark take over as a gentle voice hovered above his consciousness. He could only pray, absurdly, that it was Gilbert, coming to his rescue like a big brother should, even if he never had before.

Dizziness.

"Byednyazhka..."

...Gilbert?

Warm hands ran over his face and then engulfed him, and as he was lifted up into the air, he slipped away, and time was lost.

Freezing.

Together.