Chapter 21

Steel Insanity

Ludwig couldn't breathe.

Ivan was in the corner, sitting back in a chair, book in hand, and watching him. Always watching him. Always. Always snuck up on him. Always appeared as if from nowhere.

Ludwig shuddered, as Ivan stared blankly at him from the shadows, not moving a muscle, and then Ludwig managed to stammer a lame, "H-hey."

No response.

Ivan set the book down in his lap, and tilted his head, like a dog observing a stranger, and it was then that Ludwig noticed the near-empty bottle of vodka sitting next to him on the floor, the redness of Ivan's cheeks and the bleariness in his eyes. His uniform was gone, dressed instead in a simple button-up shirt and slacks. The collar was undone. Wrinkled. Messy. Intoxicated, for sure. Had never seen Ivan like that.

Shoulda stayed with Irina.

Scared and nervous, Ludwig said, in a softer voice, "I'm sorry. Was I late? I didn't mean to be."

No answer.

Ivan didn't really seem to hear him, and leaned farther back in the chair, bowing his head down into his chest for his intoxication, and it was with a voice so soft that it was barely audible that he finally whispered, "You're back."

A shiver.

Ludwig could only nod, glancing at the door for an easy escape should it become necessary, and then Ivan's fingers gripped the armrests of the chair so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"Took you long enough," he added, in a mutter, and then he looked up, and Ludwig's unease was becoming almost unbearable.

Ivan's lidded eyes were dark-rimmed and tired, dark circles beneath, and hell, he looked almost as though he had been crying. But that was absurd, because Ivan did not cry. Surely not. Not that man.

Ivan sat there, slumped in the chair, book nestled on his lap, hair unkempt and smiling impassively, hands clenching and unclenching, and Ludwig wondered, with something that felt like horror, if this was how Ivan's father had looked on the night he had gone crazy and murdered his wife, and then himself.

Ludwig took a step back. Time to get the hell out of here. Ivan was too close to the door, though, so he just fidgeted and didn't know where to go.

Ivan stood up then, unsteadily, and the book fell onto the floor with a dull thud as he wobbled a little. A shake of his head, an inhale, and then Ivan lifted his head up and started advancing.

Ludwig could only back up, farther and farther, until he reached the edge of the bed, and Ivan was so close that he could smell the vodka.

"Hey," Ludwig suddenly said, trying to regain control, "you drank too much, didn't you? Lay down." Going out on a limb, he added, tentatively, "What would Irina say, if she saw you like this?"

For horrible moment, he thought that he had said the wrong thing, as Ivan's eyes narrowed, but then he only snorted, and started laughing.

"You're funny," he tittered, as Ludwig tried to determine whether or not he could be easily outmaneuvered. "But you took so long. She shouldn't have made you go out. She never listens to me."

Ivan swayed to and fro, his voice slurred and soft, and Ludwig took his chance and suddenly sprang forward like a deer, aiming for the door.

He was only a deer; Ivan was a tiger.

With one impossibly fast movement, Ivan had reached out and snatched Ludwig by the back of his shirt. A yank, a pressure on his throat as his own shirt almost strangled him, and then Ludwig had been tossed back on the bed. Ivan was too damn fast, even dead drunk, and as Ludwig laid there, Ivan crawling steadily over, he could only stare at the ceiling with a furrowed brow and wonder what the hell he had gotten himself into now.

Ivan fell onto his back beside him, throwing a heavy arm over his chest, and fell still.

Was dizzy, his heart was beating so fast. Ivan surely felt it hammering beneath his arm. Ivan groaned beside of him, probably trying to get the world to stop spinning, and then Ivan rolled over onto his side so that he was facing Ludwig.

Fingers ran up to his face, and Ivan forced Ludwig's head to turn so that they were nose to nose.

Couldn't breathe. No air. Panic was mounting and constricting his chest.

Ivan stared into his eyes then, so drunk, and Ludwig remembered Irina's stupid story. Couldn't help but think of Ivan as a child, then, standing before the barrel of a gun held by his father. Ivan, lying in the hospital on death's door. Dammit. Irina's pleas for understanding rang in his ears.

Didn't want to understand, but lied there so still all the same as Ivan's bleary eyes traced over his face.

A crooked smile, somewhat charming, and Ivan whispered, simply, "You're so pretty."

Understanding.

His hammering heart started to steady. His airway opened up a little. The panic was steadily being overtaken by lethargy. Was so tired, and honestly it was just easier and less work to sit there and be still. To be quiet, and obedient. Ivan's fingers ran down his neck, up and down, and Ludwig closed his eyes. Could have fallen asleep, even, under Ivan's rough palm.

Ivan seemed pleased at his silence, at his stillness, and then his hand lowered from Ludwig's neck to trail down his chest. A pressure on his side, as Ivan leaned a bit over him. Could smell the vodka, strong as it was, and Ivan's cologne underneath. Kept his eyes shut, because it was easier to not panic that way. Easier to keep calm if he couldn't see Ivan.

Hell, maybe some part of him hoped Ivan would think he was asleep and fall asleep in turn.

Not quite; there was a whisper in Russian, right in his ear, and then lips on his neck. More pressure, as Ivan rolled ever farther on top of his. Hands, running rather harshly down his sides.

He didn't move. It was easier to sit still.

Ivan's hands were rough and aggressive. Relentless. Possessive. But he didn't move, not even when Ivan was suddenly entirely on top of him with his full weight. Could barely breathe, Ivan was so heavy, and for a moment Ivan fell utterly still. Oh—please be asleep, please, please. Just pass out. Just wanted him to pass out.

He didn't.

After a minute of deep breathing, Ivan's hands started moving again and everything was too warm. At last, at long last, Ludwig opened his eyes. Ivan was staring down at him, pushing their noses together, and Ludwig tried to cling to hope. Hope. Couldn't panic, couldn't lose it, because this was his home now and he was trapped, his entire existence now resting in the hands of this crazy man.

Gilbert's life, beyond the wall, depended on Ludwig's cooperation.

Ivan hadn't tried to hurt him. Hadn't. Hadn't hurt him, really, at least not until Ludwig had forced him to. Ivan had only ever lashed out when Ludwig had acted out. Had never instigated any physical violence with Ludwig, not once.

Ivan wouldn't hurt him.

Whatever Ivan had in mind, whatever Ivan wanted, Ludwig was ready to give it to him, because it would keep Gilbert safe and it wasn't going to kill him. There were such worse things happening in the world, such cruel things, and maybe Ludwig should have tried harder to find the positive and realize that he wasn't in such an awful position, really.

So tired.

Ivan, whatever else could be said, was responsible. Ivan kept his word.

Ivan stared down at him for a while, and then he leaned down and kissed him. That time, Ludwig didn't move. Didn't shove Ivan off. Didn't resist. Just lied still. He closed his eyes and stayed still, reminding himself that he had agreed to come here. It was all for Gilbert. A deal was a deal. Had to keep thinking it, had to keep repeating it.

Hands under his shirt. Whispering in his ear. Ivan's gentle voice.

Ludwig had thought that being compliant would make things easier, but something shifted.

Quickly. Frighteningly. Completely at random.

Ivan kissed him again, roughly, and then pulled back. He was smiling, and something on his face made Ludwig shudder.

"Hey, why don't we play a game?" Ivan suddenly whispered, in that slur, and he pulled himself up onto his knees, his weight above Ludwig's stomach, and now something was different.

The air wasn't as warm. Ivan looked different although Ludwig couldn't put his finger on it. He squirmed under Ivan then as much as he had Natalia. Ivan's eyes were strange, and distant. Odd. Bleary. He wasn't really sure if Ivan was even still there.

Fear.

Ludwig tried to open his mouth and respond, but before he could find his voice, Ivan had reached into his coat, and there was a gleam in the dim light. A gun. And now the air was freezing, Ivan was far too heavy above him, and his heart was racing so terribly that he was afraid it would explode. Fear burned up into terror.

Ivan sat there, gun in hand, looking down at Ludwig with that same tilted head from before, as though gazing at someone he did not completely recognize. Lost somewhere, maybe, in his head.

That familiar feeling of being utterly terrorized came back up.

Ludwig managed to ask, with a tremor, "Hey, what's...what's with the gun? Ha! You shouldn't play with that."

Ivan was not a child to reprimand, but he had to say something, and Ivan was so damn drunk that who could know what horrible things were running through his head. Better to try and distract him, try to get him to put that damn thing down.

Ivan, rough and messy and so dangerous, just scoffed.

"Don't worry, it's a fun game. I used to play it all the time."

Ivan's hand moved, and suddenly the gun pressed into Ludwig's forehead, and it was as if the world had stopped spinning. Air vanished. The bed under him seemed to sink. Felt distant. Cold. Far away. He froze completely still, as Ivan weighed heavily above him, and when he looked into Ivan's distant eyes, he was not absolutely certain that Ivan was looking back at him.

If Ivan even saw him there.

Hadn't ever been so scared, not even when he had tried to run. Fuckin' gun pressed into his head like that. Nowhere to go. Couldn't run. Pinned down and helpless. Not strong enough to get away. Ivan was too heavy, too strong.

The click of the hammer.

His heart thudded sickeningly in his chest, and oh god, Ivan was going to shoot him—

Ivan spoke up, and his voice was high and slurred and almost eager. Happy. Content.

"Have you ever played Russian roulette, Ludwig?" Before Ludwig could open his mouth and stammer a response, Ivan had pressed the gun harder into his forehead, and he could feel the cold metal digging into his skin, and then he added, "You know the rules, don't you? One bullet. We take turns. How about I go first?"

He was gonna die here, he knew it.

Ivan raised his other hand and spun the chamber of the gun in show.

"Ready?"

Felt like everything was in slow motion then. Hadn't breathed in eternity.

Ludwig's hands began to tremble down at his sides, as Ivan pressed him down into the bed, knees pinning him on either side, and oh, why had he ever left with Irina in the first place? If he had just stayed like Ivan had wanted, then he wouldn't have had time to get drunk and start hearing whatever fucking voices he heard, and maybe in this instance, Ivan was being possessed by his father.

He had been so stupid, to think that he was immune from Ivan. To think that he had been safe. To have ever felt safe.

Wanted to cry.

"Ivan," Ludwig began, and he said the name as firmly as he could for the tremor in his voice, "Stop. Look at me! Look, please. You said... You said you wouldn't ever hurt me, remember?"

He hated pleading. Hated talking like that. Hated casting aside his pride. What else could he really do? He was tired, exhausted, hated this place and this man and this town, hated himself, hated everything, but he didn't want to die. Just like in the snow, the survival instinct came rushing up. Wanted to live, even if there wasn't anything to live for.

Gilbert was gone.

He had been so stupid. No one was immune to Ivan. No one.

"Ivan, it's me. Remember? Hey! Look here. You promised!"

For a second, Ivan's brow came up, and Ludwig thought that maybe he had broken through the crazed, drunken haze, and he felt the hope rising in his chest.

"It won't hurt. I promise. My mother didn't feel a thing! You won't either."

"Your mother?" Ludwig began, in a desperate attempt to bide time as the steel pressed down, "I don't know anything about your mother, Ivan. Tell me about her."

Ivan's brow was back down. The gun pressed harder than ever. His soft voice was sharp and dangerous when he spoke. Frightening.

"What? You think I don't know Irina told you? You think I don't know that Toris knows? Everyone knows, or they think they do! I know everything they say about me! I know everything they do behind my back! I know everything! They think I don't! What? Do they think I'm stupid? Do you? I know everything about you, but what do you know?"

He was losing the battle.

"Ivan! Please, stop. Stop. Please. Listen—"

"Just be quiet, now. This won't hurt."

Oh, god.

I won't ever leave you.

The world stopped. Felt sick.

You can depend on me.

Ivan's finger contracted.

We'll be together...

...he had wanted to hold Gilbert's hand, just once more. Missed Gilbert so much—

Forever.

Ivan squeezed the trigger.

He cried out and squinted his eyes shut, and everything was so intensely silent that he knew he had died, and his head split open like it was on fire, and the white light of what could have been death was flashing before his eyes.

Quiet. Suffocating silence. Everything was still. He felt numb.

He was dead.

And then there was a laugh.

His eyes shot open so fast that colored lights danced across his vision, and there was Ivan above him, the gun still pressed into his forehead. And then Ivan pulled the trigger again, and again, and every time the click resonated Ludwig couldn't help but flinch, and he was shaking so badly that he was surprised Ivan could even stay up on top of him.

One final click.

Then silence.

He had never known he could tremble like this. Not like this. As if every muscle in his body were being shocked. He thought he would vomit. So terrified.

"You were so scared!" Ivan suddenly laughed, and then he threw the gun across the room, and took Ludwig's face within his hands, forcing him to look up and meet his eyes, and this time, Ivan was looking back at him. Ivan was back. He was smiling, sloppily. "Hey! It wasn't loaded, you know! I told you it wouldn't hurt! See, I always keep my promises to you. I promised I wouldn't hurt you. And so I didn't. It was a joke! See, it wasn't loaded, calm down. I was just playing with you."

Ludwig shut his eyes then, if only to keep himself from bursting into tears, and Ivan collapsed above him, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Couldn't breathe. Oh, god. Oh god, he couldn't handle this. Couldn't take it. Wasn't brave enough, wasn't strong enough. Wasn't sure enough.

His squinted eyes were the only thing then that kept his tears at bay. He was so close to just breaking down. So close. Could feel it.

Pressing his lips into Ludwig's neck, Ivan muttered, blearily, "It was a joke. Feel your heart. It's going so fast! Oh, you were so scared! Don't be scared of me. I won't hurt you. But you're so brave. You don't even cry. Hey! Don't be angry. It was just a joke. You don't need to be angry. It was a joke. Please, I was just playing with you. Just having fun."

And then Ivan's speech dissolved into an odd, drunken mess of German and Russian that Ludwig couldn't understand, and Ivan reached up, running his left hand fervently through Ludwig's hair as he continued to mutter incoherently. Ludwig could only clench his fingers in the blanket, and it took every ounce of self-control he had to keep himself from dissolving into sobs, because, Christ, he had died, he had died. He was so sure he had died.

He was not brave.

He had died.

He was not brave.

Ivan kept on saying it, kept saying he was brave, and each time it felt less and less true.

Ivan shifted above him, and then he looked up, chin resting upon Ludwig's collarbone with painful force, and he was still smiling when he gathered up enough German to whisper, "Look. Why are you so upset? I was only playing with you! Don't be upset, I promised I wouldn't hurt you, remember? Why are you upset? Don't be mad at me."

Oh, wouldn't he just shut up? Would there be no reprieve? He had died.

Shut up.

He was already one wrong word away from bursting into tears. Wasn't that enough?

A warm hand ran down his neck, falling on top and squeezing, not enough to cut off air, only a gentle grip, and Ivan whispered, in a strange voice, "Why did you go? I didn't want to be alone. You shouldn't have left me alone. You're supposed to stay with me all the time. I can't stand to be alone. I feel so much better when you're here. When you're with me, I don't hear them anymore. When you're gone... Oh, I hate it when you're gone. I wish you'd stay here forever."

Them?

"So long ago, when I was engaged to Natalia, I was so depressed. Those were the worst days of my life. I didn't understand what was wrong with me. I hated everything so much, you know, I was going to kill myself. I played roulette all the time, but somehow... I didn't die. I was never so unhappy. But then I made general, and everyone was afraid of me. I felt better then. I could do whatever I wanted. And I feel so much better now, that you're here. You're so pretty. I hate when it you're gone. I want you to stay with me."

Ivan shifted again, drawing himself up farther, reaching out and grabbing handfuls of the pillow to steady himself, and when he rested his head on top of Ludwig's, his heaviness constricting Ludwig's chest, and when he spoke again, voice eager and slurred, when he said those words...

"I love you."

Too much. All too much.

His head was spinning and his heart was racing and he felt so sick, and Ivan was so heavy above him and the smell of vodka was overwhelming and he could still feel the fuckin' gun in his forehead, and no one had ever said those words to him except Gilbert. No one.

Something broke.

Digging his heels in the mattress and kicking his legs weakly, he tried to push up, and with the effort a great, dry sob escaped his throat, and Ivan pounced, sensing his weakness like he always did.

Dizziness.

"Shh, it's alright," Ivan whispered, once more lying down atop him, and before Ludwig could start bawling Ivan had kissed him again.

He couldn't move. He tasted vodka, as Ivan's tongue intruded against his own, and Ivan's fingers lowered to the buttons on his shirt and began to fumble with them, clumsily. A painful nip on his lip, and then half of the buttons were undone, and he still couldn't move.

Frozen.

He had been obedient before. Hadn't he given in? He had given in before. He hadn't moved. Why had Ivan pulled out the gun? Ludwig hadn't struggled, hadn't resisted, hadn't moved. Why? He had done as he was told.

Air was still gone, and his chest was ever constricting. Lightheadedness. Dots of light. He was on the verge of a panic attack.

No more pills.

Couldn't breathe.

His body woke up, and he struggled as best he could, to get that awful pressure off of him because he couldn't breathe and couldn't think and was about to cry or pass out. Ivan didn't seem to notice, or didn't care, and pressed forward harder, and now his hands flew up to his own shirt, unbuttoning it quickly, although he never broke away from his bruising kiss. And then suddenly he tottered, unsteadily, and for a second, the pressure on his arm slackened as Ivan sought to regain his balance.

It was only a second. It was enough.

Reacting quickly, Ludwig managed to break an arm free from beneath him, and then, without thinking, he did something stupid, something that he should have never done :

He pulled it back, curled his fingers, and slapped Ivan as hard as he could across the face; his fear of Ivan prevented him from clenching his fist all the way and punching.

He shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have done it, but oh god, he could not bear the feel of Ivan above him, that inescapable warmth and the smell of vodka, and the feel of steel. He couldn't stand it, as the nausea of fear still churned in his stomach. As death's cold hand still lingered above him. Couldn't fuckin' breathe, Ivan's weight stifling him.

The sharp slap seemed loud and ominous in the room.

The gun was still on the floor.

Everything went quiet, and Ivan stared down at him with a look of complete and utter astonishment. As if the slap had knocked the drunkenness right out of him, because his eyes were focused and sharp again. Hair sticking up, stubble gleaming, shirt unbuttoned, looking somehow more frightening then than he was when in uniform.

Dumbly, Ludwig noticed the dark scar on Ivan's chest beneath the hair.

Ludwig could hear his heart hammering. A moment of immobility. Pounding in his ears. No air. Please, please, just get off of him so he could breathe, that was all he wanted, just that, that was why he had lashed out, because he was getting woozy, dizzy, from lack of oxygen. Just wanted Ivan to get off of him.

Ivan's cheek was red.

Irina had gotten away with it—

A creep of dread came over him. The storm was back in Ivan's eyes. Ivan came out of his stupor with a vengeance. He pulled his arm back too, but he didn't slap; he punched.

Hard.

Ivan's fist connected with stunning force, and for a moment, Ludwig could only stare up dumbly, head aching as Ivan pounced again, but this time in anger.

He tasted blood.

Dazed.

"What?" Ivan hissed, pushing his forearm against Ludwig's neck with such force that blood flow was cut off, "What is it now? Huh? What is it now? What's wrong with you? What is it with you? What more do you want of me? What else do I have to say to you? Haven't I told you everything you want to hear? Haven't I? Haven't I done everything you wanted? Why'd you hit me, huh? Have I ever hit you? Huh? Why'd you hit me?"

Ivan shook him, violently, then his arm withdrew and blood flow returned, his fist was up in the air again, and Ludwig squinted his eyes shut in preparation for the next blow, chest ever tightening.

It never came.

Blood trickled from his nose and down his neck.

After seconds of nothing, Ludwig finally dared himself to open his eyes, and when he looked up, Ivan was staring down at him with a rather disappointed expression, almost expectant in some way, as though Ivan had had some kind of idea that something like this would eventually happen. His eyes were suddenly cool and guarded. Only tranquility.

It scared Ludwig, more than anything, how quickly Ivan could pass in and out of rage. How calculated and deceiving his façade of complete calm was. Or was it how calculated and deceiving his façade of rage was? It was hard to tell. Couldn't tell when Ivan was really angry or when he just wanted to scare Ludwig into compliance. Couldn't tell, and that was worse. Had to be on his toes every second.

Ivan reached out, and traced his finger down Ludwig's split lip, and whispered, "It's alright. It's alright. You were wrong to hit me, but it's alright. I'm not angry anymore." He smiled, as if to prove it, and grabbed Ludwig's collar, pulling him upright and then onto his feet with gentle hands, coaxing, "Here, here, you're alright. You're alright! Oh, I didn't mean to hit you. Look what you made me do." He balled his fist and wiped the blood from Ludwig's chin, from his nose, and he leaned in, adding, "I forgive you, I do. It's alright."

Wait.

Ludwig could only stare ahead dumbly as Ivan began to pull him unsteadily towards the door. Who was it that had been in the wrong? His head hurt, from the excitement and the punch. Maybe he was confused. Maybe Ivan had never really been angry in the first place.

Ivan's hand was firm and warm on his own as he dragged him out the door and then down the halls, and he spoke the entire time.

"I forgive you. You're still new around here, aren't you? I forget sometimes. You just don't know all of the rules, maybe, but that's alright. You'll have them down. Soon. But, oh, I didn't mean to hit you. But you hit me first, you understand? I would never hit you, otherwise, just because. I wouldn't ever hit you for no reason, you know. You hit me first."

A twisting of halls. A staircase. Ivan pulled him up. Where were they going?

...he had hit Ivan first. Ivan had only retaliated. And that was only fair. Ivan never seemed to hurt him, come to think, until Ludwig had lashed out at him. Ivan had never hit him before, after all.

Another staircase.

He shouldn't have left Ivan alone. His fault.

They stopped before a white door, and he realized, blearily, that he was up in that rounded portion he had seen from the ground earlier. The tower, so to speak.

Ivan pulled him into his chest suddenly, in a crushing embrace, and his voice seemed almost regretful as he muttered in his ear, "I've got to leave you alone for a while, like you left me. But don't worry, I'll make sure that nothing bad happens to you. I'll keep you safe. Even when I'm gone."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, and then the door was unlocked, and Ivan pulled it open. Taking Ludwig's hand, he pulled him inside, and the light was far too bright.

Everything was white.

His head was pounding. He was too stunned to even think, let alone move.

Ivan led him to the center of the circular room, and then, with a swift kiss to his forehead, he began to back away. Ludwig could only watch him through squinted eyes, as he fell back closer and closer to the door, and then suddenly Ivan's eyes were boring into his own.

"Don't be scared if you hear things," Ivan suddenly whispered, and the look in his eyes was absolutely indescribable, and it frightened Ludwig, how damn strange Ivan's eyes had become.

"What do you mean?" he finally asked, voice still too thick from his fight with tears, and Ivan smiled, breathlessly.

"Voices. Don't you ever hear voices? When you're alone? Just don't let them scare you. Remember, I'll be on the outside, waiting. I'll protect you, in the end. I'm the only one that will protect you."

He shuddered, and then Ivan backed inside the frame, and the light was so bright. Blinding. Everything was white.

"Where are you going?"

Ivan was going to leave him alone again. Why did everyone end up leaving him alone when he needed them the most?

"I have to go. I have to leave you, just for a while."

First Gilbert.

"Don't be scared."

Then Toris.

"I'll keep you safe."

And now Ivan.

"I'll come back for you. I swear. I'll come back. I'll come back."

But Ivan didn't say when, and then he was gripping the handle in his hand. Ludwig could only stand there in the center of the excruciatingly bright room, arms loose at his sides, shoulders slumped in defeat. Oh, Ivan. Didn't want Ivan to go. Didn't want to be alone.

Everything was white. The door slammed shut. It didn't open again.

...everyone left him. It was his fault. He shouldn't have left Ivan alone. Shouldn't have hit him. Shouldn't have panicked.

Everything was white.

It was his fault.

There was something wrong with him.