Chapter 40
Setting Sun
His dreams had been strange.
Lost voices. Old buildings. Tunnels and hallways. Doors, shut and locked. Places that weren't real anymore.
The headaches never stopped. The voices were constant. Something he couldn't put his finger on had shut off. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, nothing and no one seemed to matter to him anymore.
Ivan was all there was in the world. The rest had vanished, as if it had sank down into the sand. The outside. Everything outside the borders of this land. Life that went on beyond the realm of Siberia. It could burn, as far as he was concerned.
Ludwig didn't know when or where the shift had occurred. It had been recent, it had been loud, and it had been red.
Heat in his hand. Gunpowder and iron.
He had just woken up a few days later and realized that he felt connected to Ivan more than he ever had. Things seemed to make more sense. The first foothold that he had found after so long being lost in the fog. The first peek above the cloud.
Ivan looked at him differently, too. With more intensity, it seemed. Maybe more focus. As if, somehow, Ivan could see him more clearly than he had been able to before. As if they were standing on a level platform, rather than Ivan having to peer down at him from above.
Or it could have easily been all in his head, and he just found himself all the more enamored with Ivan.
Every day that passed, life without Ivan seemed less and less livable. Woulda died, if Ivan ever vanished. He could stand there now and say, without shame, that he couldn't go on without Ivan. Just couldn't.
Waking up after that shift and seeing Ivan was like seeing the other side of the reflection; the same things, but flipped. Inverted. Ivan, and somehow himself. Everything he had wanted, everything he had looked for his entire life. Everything he had sought out from others. Everything he had dreamt of for himself.
Everything he would do from now on would be to preserve that feeling. That solid ground.
Ivan loved him.
Each touch, each interaction, each motion between Ivan and himself seemed so much more intimate, suddenly, and Ludwig could really only attribute it to that new sense of understanding.
One morning, not long after, he found himself standing over Ivan, who sat idle in a chair, shirtless and leaning backwards, and was more than happy to be running his hands up and down Ivan's face. The task was simple; just a shave. Somehow, though, it felt more like Ivan was tasking him with running an entire country, and Ludwig felt his eyes narrow with focus and his hands keep steady as he coated Ivan's cheeks in lather.
Maybe Ivan trusted him more now. Maybe Ivan just wanted to be close to him every instance. Whatever the reason, Ludwig took that trust, however insignificant it may have seemed, extremely seriously. Every opportunity to impress Ivan hardly seemed unimportant.
Ivan seemed content enough though, under the warmth of Ludwig's hands and the lather.
Ludwig had barely even brought the razor up before Ivan was distracting him.
"How did it feel?" Ivan suddenly asked, reaching up with those quick hands to grab Ludwig by the face, forcing his complete and absolute attention. "When you shot them. How did it feel?"
Those pale eyes were boring into his own so fervently that Ludwig wondered if he even needed to speak; felt like Ivan could suddenly see everything he was thinking.
Thumbs, running over the line of his jaw.
Ludwig stared down at Ivan, so still there on the chair, and tried to gather up his muddled thoughts.
"It was... I don't know. It was like I was somewhere else. Felt like I was floatin' around or something. Like I wasn't really there. Does that make sense?"
Ivan nodded his head, shut his eyes, and went quiet. He lowered his hands, then, and Ludwig brought up the razor and set to work. Suddenly, though, as randomly as Ivan had interrupted, Ludwig found his focus rather broken. Couldn't help but wonder.
Ludwig stayed silent for a moment, as the razor scraped across Ivan's chin, and then he found his nerve.
"Is that what you felt?" he asked, glad that Ivan's piercing eyes were closed.
"When?"
"When your father killed your mother. Was it like that?"
A long silence.
When Ivan spoke, he didn't seem angry at the question; what a relief.
"Who told you that? Irina?"
Ludwig nodded, despite Ivan's closed eyes. Somehow, Ivan knew the answer all the same. A scoff.
"What's she know, anyway? She wasn't there. She believes anything anyone tells her. She's dumb, you know? Ah, that's not the right word. What am I thinking of?"
Immediately, Ludwig offered, "Naïve?"
Ivan didn't know the word, but seemed to agree all the same, because he appeared to believe that he and Ludwig were of one mind enough now that Ludwig knew right off what he had wanted to say.
Unbearable silence, as Ludwig squirmed restlessly as he waited for Ivan to continue. Ivan just sat there, though, comfortable and lethargic, and was content to leave it there. Ludwig pressed, because his death would probably be from curiosity.
"So... That isn't what happened?"
Pressing his luck, maybe, but nosiness forced him along.
Ivan smiled, and raised a lofty brow.
"Well. She got part of it right. He did shoot me. But he didn't shoot my mother."
The razor had long since fallen still. Couldn't focus on two things at once, and he was so absorbed in Ivan's words that he'd probably cut him if he kept trying. Probably not a good idea.
And when Ivan spoke again, Ludwig was glad that he had stopped, because he might have felt his hands twitch.
"He didn't shoot her. I did."
Silence.
Ludwig just stood there, staring down at Ivan, who had finally opened his eyes.
The look he sent Ludwig was enough to make him feel a little dizzy. Just that endless, constant adoration. Couldn't stand it sometimes. Ivan made him crazy without really trying.
Couldn't think of anything to say, then, but Ivan started talking again, still calm and lazy.
"You remember the first time I gave you a gun? That was my first time. He showed me how to use it." Ivan's voice was as easygoing as anything, as if he were reliving a casual childhood memory, rather than the murder of his mother. "He took me downstairs, and told me to shoot her. She was asleep, she was, so she wasn't scared. She didn't feel anything. I didn't miss. First time I ever shot, and didn't miss."
Of course not. Ivan was perfect.
A flash in his mind, of a calm, pale-haired child, as easygoing then as he was now, pointing a gun for the first time and somehow aiming it straight.
Red.
"I thought he wanted me to shoot him, too, but he didn't. He took it away from me. I don't know why. Guess he wanted to do it himself."
Ludwig didn't need to know the rest. Already did; a quick glance down was all he needed to see the scar on Ivan's chest.
Ivan looked up at him suddenly, reached up to grab his face yet again within warm hands, and said, pointedly, "Anyone can shoot anyone, you know. Just because someone is family doesn't mean you can't shoot them."
Family.
A nose pressed into his own, as thumbs ran over his cheeks. Warm breath.
"My mother loved me, and my father loved her, but he still made me kill her. Afterwards, I don't even think I noticed she was gone. Family doesn't matter. All I care about is you. Me and you. I'd shoot anyone for you."
Entranced by Ivan, by everything about him, by everything he was, Ludwig could only stare at him, through lidded eyes, and smile.
"I love you," Ivan suddenly whispered, canines poking out in a charming smile, and it didn't take too long before Ludwig had leaned down to kiss him.
Anyone could be shot. He had started figuring that out on his own, but Ivan's nudging was always appreciated.
Another whisper.
"I'd shoot Irina for you, if you wanted me to. Anyone for you."
And whether or not that was true, whether or not Ivan would have really extended his love for Ludwig quite that far, it almost didn't matter. What mattered were the words, the sentiment, the devotion.
For someone to say, 'I'd shoot my own sibling for you.'
For someone to love him that much. Didn't matter if it was a lie.
Somehow, he found himself with his own hands on Ivan's face, and this time it was he who whispered.
"Me too."
Anyone, anything, for Ivan.
Agitation.
He called and called. Nobody picked up.
Roderich's office. His house. Ludwig's—Alfred's house. Nobody picked up.
Gilbert stood there in the street for what felt like years, hair damp in a light spring rain, and he called and called until his fingers were sore from dropping in change. Roderich had always picked up before. Never missed a call, hanging over the phone as he always was, hoping to get the word that he had wanted, that Ludwig was coming home.
Roderich wouldn't pick up.
Not that Gilbert really had anything to say to any of them, not to Alfred and not to Erzsébet and not to Roderich, but he felt isolated. Alone. Apart from the world. Lost, somewhere else. When Roderich didn't pick up, he felt as if the world sank under. Roderich had told him to keep calling, so why didn't he pick up?
Nobody picked up.
Things just seemed to get worse, the farther they trekked. Gilbert always looked around, but Ludwig wasn't there. Hadn't been, for a few days. He didn't even know where he was, let alone where Ludwig was. Couldn't even keep track of himself.
Roderich wouldn't pick up.
Eduard was still asleep when he slunk back inside the hotel room, and Gilbert stood there in front of the door and watched him for a while, as the window shook from the wind.
Felt so damn tired, but couldn't sleep. Felt more like he was about to drop over dead, but hadn't, not yet. He didn't really know how much more of this he could take. Ludwig was still so far away, so far, and no matter how close they got, it still felt like they were across an ocean.
Eduard stirred a while later, while Gilbert stood there, and reached out to pat around for his glasses. When he looked over at Gilbert, he smiled. Gilbert woulda smiled back if he'd been able to.
"Good morning to you, too," Eduard grumbled, huskily, pulling the blankets back up to his chin in one last moment of enjoying comfort.
Gilbert went over to his bed and sat down, legs dangling off, and realized that he was glad Eduard was there. Someone to be there by his side the whole while. Even when Ludwig disappeared, Eduard was always there when he woke up.
Months.
Hell, he'd almost started thinking of this man as a friend. Lately, Eduard seemed to be the only one that gave a damn about him.
Roderich didn't pick up.
Lonely and morose, he kept on staring at Eduard, because Ludwig wasn't there. Eduard felt his staring, perhaps, and peeked open an eye.
"What's the matter?"
He wanted to say, 'Nobody is answering,' but Eduard would bitch at him if he knew he'd been calling anyone, so Gilbert just muttered, "Head hurts. Can't sleep."
Eduard called, though, called that terrifying woman every time they stopped, and she always picked up. Not fair.
Eduard sat up, lethargically, and grumbled, "Yeah, well, sorry I can't afford more comfortable lodgings."
For a second, Gilbert had almost smiled, and said, "I guess I expected better from you. Thought you'd treat me a little better."
Hardly bothered, Eduard just looked at the clock, seemed to be preparing himself for another long day, and sighed.
"Well. Let's get going, then."
Gilbert just stood up, and went along. Wasn't long before they were driving again. Every time they passed a payphone, Gilbert couldn't help but eyeball it. Antsy and anxious to get a hold of Roderich. They stopped, a few days later, in a little motel in the middle of nowhere, and when Eduard had fallen asleep with a bottle of vodka, Gilbert slunk out and tried to call again.
Hours.
No fuckin' answer.
This time, when he admitted defeat, he banged the phone a couple of times out of frustration, and when the plastic cracked, he cried a little, before hauling himself back inside. Didn't get it. Couldn't understand.
Eduard slept like a baby, snoring away and hair sticking out all over the place, and for a horrible, desperate moment, Gilbert had wanted to crawl into Eduard's bed and cry himself to sleep. Just to be next to someone, after so long. To feel another live human being beside of him. Eduard looked too much like Ludwig. Couldn't take that.
Alone. Felt so lonely. He stood there for long time, but in the end, he slunk morosely over to his own bed and tossed himself down. Choked. Took a long time to sleep. Too cold here, even in spring. The moon outside was too bright. The bed creaked. Misery on all sides. So he laid on his stomach, staring over at Eduard with longing until finally, somehow, he drifted off.
Not for too long, though.
Couldn't have been too long after midnight, not too long after they had started dreaming, not too long after Gilbert could finally get a reprieve from this shitty world, when something woke them up.
A horrible, screeching.
Shrill. Terrifying.
Gilbert started upright, hair wild and breathing through his mouth, and looked around in a panic for the source of that shrill cry. Oh god, he thought he was having a heart-attack, the way his fuckin' chest seized up and his lungs hurt and everything around him was spinning. Nearly fell out of the bed then, if a hand to the end-table hadn't stopped him short.
Across from him, Eduard had flopped over, groping around for his glasses with shaking hands.
A second of panic. Inability to think.
And then Gilbert turned his head, heard a clatter of plastic, and realized the phone was ringing. Eduard, still half-drunk and half-asleep, had gripped it, pulling it up to his ear, and rasped, highly and in terror, "Allo?"
Gilbert couldn't hear the words.
Never had he hoped it was Roderich more. Oh, god, let it be Roderich. Impossible. Roderich hadn't picked up—didn't know where Gilbert was.
Wanted it to be Roderich.
But then the look on Eduard's face was pretty goddamn terrifying, and hardly a second had passed before the phone was slammed down again, and Eduard leapt to his feet so fast that he hit his knee on the end-table.
"Get up!" he shrieked, sending Gilbert's stunned brain into another panic. "Get up, get up! We gotta get the hell out of here, get up!"
The situation was apparently dire, but still, Gilbert sat there in bed, and looked around for Ludwig. Took him a while to remember that Ludwig was gone, stunned and sleep-shocked as he hand on his arm, a yank so hard that his shoulder almost came out of its socket, and Eduard was already dragging him to the window.
The window?
Eduard's hands were shaking so badly that he almost couldn't force the glass up, and when he finally got it open enough to crawl through, he grabbed Gilbert by the back of the shirt and tried very hard to throw him out.
Dazed. Confused.
He hit the ground, and sat there, hands in the dirt and looking around in a bleary whirl, chest still clenched up and barely able to breathe. A thud beside of him, as Eduard rolled out. Fear, creeping in through the shock. Eduard's hand again, pulling him upright and dragging him onward. He felt himself being shoved inside the car, heard the keys jingling as Eduard's trembling hands fumbled them over and over again, heard the engine sputtering, heard the squealing of the tires as Eduard sped out so quickly that he almost crashed. Heard Eduard's heavy, panicked breathing. Heard the hammering of his own heart.
The lights of the motel disappeared behind them.
The road sped by.
How long had it been when Gilbert finally snapped out of it and could breathe again? Couldn't say.
When he opened his mouth to speak, all he managed to ask was, "What happened?"
Eduard, jaw clenched, just shook his head, maybe too scared to speak.
The panic was steadily turning into anger. His head hurt so fuckin' bad.
Barely keeping himself together and clenching his fists so tightly that it hurt, he asked, again, "What happened? Tell me what happened."
No answer.
Frustration overrode everything else. Couldn't take it.
"Goddammit!" Gilbert cried, as he struck out and punched the dashboard with his fist, "Why won't you fuckin' talk, huh? Tell me what the hell's goin' on, because I feel like I'm goin' crazy right now! Christ!"
Pain in his wrist.
Eduard was quiet for a while, and then caved in to Gilbert.
"They're on to us," Eduard said. "They found us. We gotta keep moving now. They fuckin' found us, and I don't know how."
A short silence, and then Eduard inhaled a shaky breath, and tried to laugh. He turned to Gilbert, face lit up blue in the interior lights of the car, and the smile on his face was somehow breathless.
"I think I should have just dropped you off where I was supposed to and then gone about my business."
That anger faded as quickly as it came, and Gilbert felt his shoulders slumping. Exhaustion.
As an afterthought, Eduard added, "No offense my friend, but if we get out of this alive, I never want to see you again."
Gilbert turned foul eyes to the dashboard and grunted, "Likewise."
Everything got a little quiet then, and Gilbert turned his head to the window so that Eduard wouldn't see the passing of misery on his face. Pitiful. Nowhere was safe. Couldn't even sleep anymore without worrying if he was going to wake up.
As he sat there, head pressing into the window and sniveling to himself, Eduard finally spoke up again.
"Who were you calling? All this time?"
Head too heavy to lift, Gilbert just sat still, glanced over, and muttered, "Friends. Ludwig's friends, I should say. They're the ones who sent me—well, I mean, they didn't force me, I came too because I wanted Ludwig back, but... When I was the one that came back, they... They wanted him. Not me. They hate me. They just want Ludwig back."
A soft, "Oh."
The car's tires whirred as the heat blasted. Eduard's look seemed a bit odd. Disheartened, in a way.
Finally, Eduard turned to him, and said, strangely, "Don't call any of them again."
A squirm of guilt.
"Is that how they found us?"
Had his constant need to speak to the outside world done them in? Very likely.
Eduard didn't answer, and instead just repeated, "Don't call them again."
"Why?"
Eduard's brow scrunched in irritation, as if he wanted Gilbert to just drop it. Not that. He wouldn't let that go, and stared at Eduard until he got an answer.
In the end, Eduard just lowered his voice, and said, "Don't call. They won't pick up."
"What do you mean?"
Eduard was squirming. A horrible shadow on his face.
"There... Ah! No one's there anymore, so don't call."
It took a long, long time for Gilbert to get it. To understand. No one there. No one had picked up, no one had answered, because no one was there.
Hit him like a fuckin' rock.
His head went from pounding to spinning. Chest hurt.
Why he felt himself bursting into tears then, he couldn't really have ever expressed.
Alfred. Hadn't really known Alfred, not really, but he musta been a good kid, for Ludwig to take to him so. Ludwig didn't trust many people, didn't talk much, so Alfred must have been something special.
Erzsébet. The only person that had taken pity on him. The only person aside from Ludwig that ever hugged him. The only person that might have thought he wasn't really a bad guy. She had never put him out, no matter how much strife he caused.
But fuckin' Roderich—
Oh, Roderich.
Hated Roderich. Always had, and Christ, Roderich was dead. Gilbert had wished sometimes, high and drunk, that Roderich woulda just died so that he could take his place in the world and have a family instead. Have everything Roderich had. To be Roderich.
The feeling wasn't what he had expected.
He felt like he'd been stabbed, because, when he really stopped and thought about it...
Gilbert had laid claim to Ludwig, but it was really Roderich, Roderich and Erzsébet, that had created Ludwig the way he was. It was Roderich that had made Ludwig a good human being. It was Roderich that had truly raised Ludwig, in the sense that only a guardian and a responsible adult could. It was Roderich, in the end, that had truly loved Ludwig, loved everything about him, loved all the things that Gilbert hadn't.
It was Roderich who had allowed Gilbert, through all of the bullshit and the chaos he caused, to see Ludwig, to continue keeping Ludwig, to call Ludwig his own even though Roderich had more of a claim to him. Even though Roderich could have cut him off anytime he had felt so inclined. Even though Roderich hated Gilbert, but had had enough thought to let him keep comin' around because it was what Ludwig wanted.
It was Roderich who had brought Ludwig home. Gilbert had never once given him credit. Hadn't ever expressed gratitude.
Gilbert had called Roderich selfish. Roderich had paid the bills when Gilbert had been strung out in the streets.
Gilbert had called Roderich egotistical. Roderich had sat there and clenched his mouth shut when Gilbert called him horrible things, because Ludwig, small and calm, sat beside him.
Gilbert had called Roderich pompous. Roderich had been the one to stop and take a scraggly orphan off of the street, something that Gilbert would have never done if it had come down to it.
Gilbert had called Roderich arrogant. Roderich had looked terrified when he had knelt down before tiny Ludwig and asked him if he wanted to come stay in Vienna with them for a while, just for a while, and had breathed a sigh of relief when Ludwig had quickly and happily confirmed.
Gilbert had called Roderich foolish. Roderich had kept countries calm when tensions were high.
Gilbert had called Roderich proud. He had been right about that one; Roderich had so much to be proud of, and when Ludwig had turned eighteen and became, to them, a man, Roderich had lifted his chin and puffed his chest more than anyone. When someone stopped on the street and called Erzsébet beautiful, Roderich's smile was wider than hers.
When someone complimented Roderich, he had always accepted it and nodded his head politely, and Gilbert had hated him for it, because no one had ever said nice things to him. He hadn't earned it. Roderich had built himself up, had crafted everything around him the way he wanted it to be. Roderich got everything, because he had worked for it. Roderich was powerful, because he had striven his entire life to be.
Gilbert had wanted everything while giving nothing.
The only thing he had ever given Roderich was hate.
'—but you can't, because he's my son—'
'He's not your son. You're not his fuckin' father. You never will be. He loves me more.'
Roderich's crinkled brow of hurt.
Spent so long hatin' him that Gilbert had never taken the time to say, 'Thank you.'
'Thank you for finding him.'
'Thank you for letting me have him.'
'Thank you for letting me stay.'
Too late.
And Roderich hadn't had everything, not everything, not the thing he wanted the most. A son. Gilbert had taken it from him. Roderich had always been the better man. The better father. The better brother.
Better.
He didn't cry now for Alfred or Erzsébet.
He cried for Roderich.
Beyond 'thank you', what he really wanted to say to Roderich was, 'I'm sorry.'
Sorry.
Roderich was everything he had ever wanted to be.
Missed them again.
How did this keep fuckin' happening? Always so close, so close, and then they slipped away, right when Toris' hand was getting warm. Escaped. Fuckin' found them, and just as quickly lost them.
Toris clenched his hair in his hands every time the news came back bad, and looked over his shoulder to make sure that Ivan wasn't standing nearby.
Ivan didn't ask how it was going. Didn't need to, really—he knew that it had to be going well, because otherwise Toris was a dead man. Funny how their own life in danger really drove a person to put more effort into their work.
Ludwig was ever oblivious. No clue that his brother was clawing through Siberia.
Actually, Ludwig seemed increasingly oblivious to anything that wasn't Ivan. Still humored Raivis and liked the attention, but didn't ever seek him out. Still did whatever Irina said, but her power over him was only that; Ludwig seemed to have no more personal interest in her. Toris barely even got words anymore, and when he did, Ludwig usually just tossed them out rather curtly and irritably.
Every day, it felt as though Ludwig was getting all the more bored of Toris.
Toris hunted Gilbert with a ferocity he didn't really knew he had, because Ludwig was really the only thing keeping him alive now, and when Ludwig's interest in him finally dissipated for good, then Toris was left completely to Ivan's good graces.
...and that wasn't a good thing anymore. Didn't used to be that way.
Harder and harder to engage Ludwig now. Harder to get him alone. Harder to get his wandering eyes still. Harder to see him. Harder to recognize him. Harder to feel him. Ludwig drifted farther away.
Couldn't even get Ludwig to speak to him first now, and if he wanted a word from Ludwig, then it was up to Toris to try and get his attention, and after that, it was actually somehow harder to get Ludwig to stop sneering at him long enough to grace him with a word.
He slunk up and said, 'Hi, Ludwig.'
Ludwig just stared at him, and then lifted his chin with a curl of his lip. Bust.
He sidestepped Ludwig in the hall, and said, 'Morning, Ludwig.'
A noncommittal grunt. No go.
He reached out, in a moment of braveness, and placed his hand on Ludwig's shoulder. Ludwig lifted his brow, hooded his eyes, and glanced down at Toris' hand with nothing less than disdain.
The only thing that Toris could cling to, he supposed, was that Ludwig still didn't lash out at him, verbally or physically. Somewhere in there, perhaps, there was still a part of Ludwig that might have cared for Toris. For how much longer? Ludwig's patience was ever waning, and Toris wasn't able to compete with Ivan for his attention.
Every day, Ludwig was farther across the river.
Days after Toris had picked up that phone and sent Ivan's men over the wall, all he ever did was listen to the radio, and wait. Waiting for the news to come back. It came, finally, and Toris had every intention of trying to let Ludwig in on it, Ivan be damned. Anything to try and wake him up, to try and bring him back a little from the edge of that black hole.
The paper in town had it on the front page that morning, and Toris knew it would be on the radio too. He slunk into the office, as Ludwig amused Raivis in the hall, and sat down at the desk. Toris tuned the radio in and out, and finally heard what he wanted to.
"...news out of the Austrian Embassy. Yesterday, ambassador Roderich Edelstein and his wife, Er—"
He sat up straight, and looked around. Ivan wasn't in sight.
Quickly, Toris poked his head around the corner of the office door and called, gently, "Ludwig."
Ludwig lifted his head, serenely, and gave Toris a bit of his time.
"What?"
"Come here."
Ludwig obeyed, because he felt like it, and drifted silently into the room, sitting in the seat that Toris offered him. The newspaper sat on the desk, folded rather strategically and facing Ludwig's direction. The radio was still going on in the corner.
"What do you want, Toris?"
The way Ludwig was sitting, leaning an arm back above the top of the chair, one leg crossed over the other, would have offended him any other time, perhaps just because the stance of it was so goddamn superior, but it seemed hardly a concern now.
"Nothing," he said. "Just thought we could listen to the radio. Talk. Been a long time since we talked."
A brief curl of Ludwig's lip, and then a rather droll smile.
"Sure. Why not?"
As if Ludwig were doing Toris a favor by sparing him his attention. His own smile was stiff when he sat, too, and he stayed quiet enough. The hard part now was getting aloof, dreamy Ludwig to focus enough to notice these things going on around him.
The radio was still going on about it. Well. Just about the ambassador, though. That kid, Ludwig's little friend, didn't get noticed. Kids like that, in school and still nobodies, the papers never cared about them. Not even a mention. That wasn't news to a hectic world.
Toris edged himself across the desk, closer and closer to Ludwig, nudging the paper with his arm in the hopes that the movement would draw Ludwig's eye. Didn't, but, after a second, Ludwig lifted his head, ever so slightly, and tilted his ear towards the radio, as if perhaps catching a whisper of something. Just the faintest of interest.
Toris held his breath.
It was beyond disappointing when that sudden flash of attention vanished, and Ludwig turned his head back to Toris, saying, drolly, "You're not talking."
Oh.
"Guess I'm not."
He tried again, keeping quiet even though Ludwig was catching on to him. Fuckin' Christ, just listen to the damn radio. That was all he wanted. Just for Ludwig to listen to the words coming out of the radio. He didn't even have to speak Russian. All he had to fuckin' do was pay enough attention to hear Edelstein's name. Why was that proving so hard? They kept saying it over and over again.
It became obvious that he was the losing the battle, with the radio and with Ludwig's short attention span. Ludwig's foot started tapping soon after, and Toris knew that he was starting to slip away. Before long, Ludwig would get up to seek out Ivan.
So, he gathered up his nerve, and tried to initiate a little.
"Ludwig."
Ludwig paused, and waited patiently still, staring at him without even blinking. Couldn't match that gaze anymore.
"Why don't you stay with me today, Ludwig? Stay here."
"Why?"
Hell. He couldn't say, 'Because you should be mourning.'
So, instead, he tried, tentatively, "Stay with me. Rest a little. Don't you feel tired? Some...some good people died, the other day. Aren't you tired?"
The closest he could get to implying to Ludwig that something awful had befallen those he had once loved without actually saying it aloud. Hadn't Ludwig felt anything? When Edelstein and his wife took their wedding vows until 'death do us part'. When his stupid American friend stopped talking for good. Hadn't he felt something?
Ludwig crossed his arms over his chest, hair glinting in the sunlight through the window, and when he smiled, Toris was sure he shuddered a little.
"Tired?" Ludwig finally uttered. "I feel fine. Ivan's alive, isn't he?"
That smile.
Toris just sat there, dumb and silent, and wished he could have found the courage to admit it. To say, 'I just killed everyone that ever cared about you. Aren't you angry?'
Wanted Ludwig to be angry with him. Someone should have been angry with him. Someone should have cared. Not that anyone would have had to, if Toris had just controlled his temper and had refused Ivan's order. Too late, now, and Ludwig seemed hardly bothered. If he had said it, would Ludwig have reacted at all? Like he had said, Ivan was alive and well, and maybe that was all Ludwig cared about anymore.
Fine.
For a second, Toris felt a little stupid for even thinking it. Because Ludwig hadn't felt a damn thing. Ludwig had already killed; people dying didn't strike that same nerve it had before. Even if he had said it, Ludwig would have just stared at him, lifted a shoulder, and said, 'So what?'
Ludwig didn't care. No going back. The event horizon had been breached.
And Toris didn't know how long Ivan had been standing there in the doorframe.
Hadn't seen him come in. Hadn't heard him. Hadn't felt him. But he was there all the same. The radio was still going strong.
A movement caught Toris' eye, and before he even realized that anyone was there at all, Ivan had barged into the room and barked, in that terrifying, booming voice he used to intimidate, "Ludwig!"
They both jumped.
Ivan was towering over them, arms straight at his sides and shoulders squared, feet splayed wide and stance quite ready for war, and even though he had screamed Ludwig's name, it was Toris on whom his eyes had settled. Staring at him so hard that Toris was pretty sure he was starting to burn a little. Toris hadn't ever heard Ivan say Ludwig's name like that, not like that, and the first time it happened, it was Toris' fault. Ha—that figured. It usually was. Ivan's old mantra; when in doubt, blame Toris.
Ludwig whirled around so fast that he nearly slipped right out of the chair, and it stung Toris a little, his appearance, as he scrambled to his feet.
Seein' Ludwig like that.
Pale and wide-eyed, mouth open but completely voiceless, heart beating so hard and fast that Toris could see his pulse going to town in his neck, standing up and yet standing down at the same time. Shoulders and head low in submission. Only a short, quick glance at Ivan, and then Ludwig's eyes went straight to the floor and didn't come back up again. Chest heaving in fear and adrenaline.
Toris could see, then, that Ludwig wasn't truly fearless. Not really. When it came down to it, when everything was said and done, Ludwig had one great, very real fear.
The only thing Ludwig feared was Ivan.
When Ludwig finally found the courage to speak, all he said, in a terrible whisper, was, "I'm sorry."
Ivan hadn't even asked for an apology or an explanation. Ivan wasn't even looking at Ludwig, still staring Toris down so fervently that Ivan might have forgotten Ludwig was there at all.
Toris might have foundered under Ivan's stare if he weren't so astounded by Ludwig. By that confident Ludwig that looked at Toris as if he were dust. By the way that Ludwig had completely fallen apart at one scream from Ivan. Alarming, almost, how quickly that Ludwig could just turn into Toris when Ivan made him do so.
Maybe Ludwig wasn't so far ahead of him after all.
Hard to think anything too grand of Ludwig then, the way he was cowering. His voice shook. Low and weak. Not the way confident Ludwig usually spoke nowadays. Hardly a beseeching, passive wisp. For a moment, Toris had almost been reminded of the real Ludwig. That dumb, awkward kid that had disappeared. Could he really have still been there, somewhere? Hard to say. If he was, then he was so deep and buried that only the deathly fear of Ivan would ever bring him out.
Ha. 'I'm sorry.' Sorry. For what? Ludwig hadn't done anything wrong. Ivan wasn't even angry. Couldn't Ludwig tell? Not angry. When Ivan was angry, it was obvious, in the way he stood and the way he looked. Not angry now; agitated, certainly, but not truly angry. At least, not with Ludwig. Ivan had just heard something he disliked and jolted Ludwig into a panic before he could start thinking too much.
All those wires, crossed here and there. Ivan could hit the brakes whenever he wanted.
Ludwig's hands were shaking when Ivan finally said, sternly, "Ludwig. Out."
Toris didn't have time to panic.
Ludwig left, as quickly as he could, and Ivan whirled on Toris before Toris could even start trying to get away. A hand snatched his collar, and nearly lifted him off the ground.
Ivan shook him, and hissed, furiously, "Do you want me to shoot you, huh? Is that you want? You want me to fuckin' shoot you? Because you're doing a goddamn good job of makin' me think that that's what you want! What's the matter with you? Huh?" A look down, and Ivan snatched the newspaper off of the table and crumpled it in his hand, giving Toris another good shake in the process. "Hurry up and find him, kill him, and I'll fuckin' shoot you and get it over with, if that's what you want so bad! Stop fuckin' around and put your attention where it should be. You're already on borrowed time, Toris."
Well.
Not much of an incentive to speed things along, was it? Not if the reward was a bullet. Find Gilbert, get shot. Don't find Gilbert, get shot. Couldn't win.
Ivan let him go, threw the newspaper in his face, and stomped out. Toris had almost thought he was off the hook for once in his pitiful life, mostly anyway, until Ivan stopped in the threshold, turned back around, and said, "Come on."
Aw, shit.
Toris wanted to stay right where he was, thank you very much, but his feet were already moving. Following Ivan, and when he was in the hall, Toris could see that Ivan already had Ludwig's arm in a vice-grip. And when Ivan started dragging a complacent Ludwig up the stairs, Toris' feet felt so fuckin' heavy that he couldn't really walk anymore. He knew exactly where Ivan was going. He could see it already, in his head.
That door. That terrifying door.
Too scared to go and yet too scared to stay. Somehow, he got up those stairs, and felt as though he were miles away the whole time. Dread. Hadn't been in there in so long, so long, and seeing that fuckin' door again was almost enough to have him slumping against the wall and start crying.
Ludwig just looked dazed. Like he didn't know how the hell he had even gotten there.
That door.
Ivan reached out, and Toris flinched and fell back, feeling alarmingly as if he were going to burst into tears at any second. Hadn't been in there for years—he'd tried goddamn hard to never be in there again. Anything and everything, to avoid that room. His pathetic attempt at evasion was in vain. Fuckin' Ivan didn't even grab him; he stretched out his hand, and grabbed Ludwig by the arm.
And Toris could only watch with something close to horror as Ivan hung Ludwig in the threshold of that door by his collar. Ludwig's hands had gone to Ivan's wrists, but he didn't struggle, and didn't protest. Still looked so lost. Confused. Ludwig might not have been able to say how any of this had even come about.
A miserable, burning pang of guilt. Toris had been the one to turn on the radio. Hadn't been Ludwig's fault. Ludwig hadn't even been paying attention. His fault.
Maybe Ivan thought the only way to be sure that Ludwig didn't remember a goddamn thing was to lock him in that room and make him forget everything. To make sure that, if by chance, Ludwig had heard Edelstein's name, then it wouldn't matter once that door shut.
By Ivan's standards, this was the old two birds, one stone. Erase Ludwig's memory and remind Toris of the thin ice he was on. How did Ivan know that it somehow hurt him worse to see Ludwig locked up in there just because he had been emboldened to the point of stupidity when Ivan was still around?
Ludwig just stood there, Ivan's hands in his collar, and they stared at each other.
Toris could hear Ivan whisper, rather easily, "Say, why don't you show Toris how long you can last? Show him how brave you are."
Ludwig, dazed as he was, somehow still tried to smile, and managed a slow nod.
Brave?
Bravery had nothing to do with that room, and nothing to do with this situation. Not a goddamn thing. But then, Ivan couldn't exactly say, 'I'm throwing you in here so that you'll forget I made Toris kill the man that raised you.'
Instead, maybe it was easier to try and give Ludwig some kind of reason, even if it was one that made no sense whatsoever.
A long time, that Ivan stood there, staring at Ludwig's and running hands up and down his neck, as if letting Ludwig go for any amount of time was going to be just as much torture for him. Hardly, but Ludwig seemed suddenly determined all the same, and nodded again. Maybe Ludwig saw an opportunity to impress Ivan and was leaping upon it. See how long he could last, and impress Ivan and show up Toris.
Ludwig was crazy, too.
Eventually, Ivan managed to take his hands off of Ludwig, kissed him on the forehead, and backed up.
Toris could only stare at Ludwig, feeling more like it was the last time. Anything that went on behind that door seemed like eternity. Like this would be the last time he'd see Ludwig's face.
Ivan was smiling at Ludwig, as he said, "I can last as long as you can. Make me proud."
Ridiculously, Ludwig's chest puffed a little, and he said, in a stronger voice, "I will."
A final stare, a final transmission between them.
And the door shut.
Then, Toris wanted to say, 'His gun, you didn't take his fuckin' gun, he's gonna shoot himself, go take his gun,' but, as before, he couldn't really find his voice.
Ivan stood there before it for a long time, and Toris thought that maybe Ivan's hands were shaking a little when he raised the key to lock it. Jittery, perhaps, that he would have to be without Ludwig for a while. When Ivan finally turned around, the stare he sent Toris was enough to make Toris feel like he was the one behind the door after all. The last time Ivan had looked at him like that, Eduard had gone missing and Ivan was ripping Siberia apart.
Ivan didn't touch him, though, not that time, and it was probably only because Ivan knew that Ludwig's torment was enough torture for Toris. Still, when Ivan walked past him, he stopped long enough to whisper, "I can't wait until Raivis is older so that I can give him your uniform and put you out of your misery."
With that, Ivan was gone.
Toris stood there for hours, staring at the door, and wishing that he had just left Ludwig alone.
His days were numbered, it seemed.
He had no doubt Ivan was telling the truth; Raivis had wanted his uniform from day one, and as soon as the damn brat was old enough, Ivan would let him take over Toris' duties, and take Toris out back and shoot him. Raivis would do anything Ivan wanted, anything at all, without hesitation. Without second thoughts. Raivis would probably excel where Toris fell short. Would probably act more ruthlessly than even Ivan had meant him to. Raivis would fit right in with Ludwig and Ivan, since he admired them so and wanted nothing more than to do everything they did. Raivis just wanted to be like them.
Ha. He'd been overshadowed first by Eduard. Then by Ludwig. Now his damn job was being usurped by a fuckin' fourteen-year-old. Couldn't catch a break. Ludwig had ruined everything.
Funny, how Toris loved Ludwig so much and yet it was Ludwig that had brought about his end.
It took him a long time to finally walk away from the door and back into the office. The only thing he could do, to take his mind from Ludwig, was to hunt down Gilbert. Hard to focus, though, as the days dragged.
His mind wandered everywhere, to everything.
In a couple of years, it would be Raivis sitting at this desk, wearing this uniform. Ah, hell, probably not this uniform; Raivis would probably be wearing Ludwig's uniform, and Ludwig would be no longer colonel but maybe major general. Lieutenant general, if Ivan were feeling generous enough.
Toris would be buried in the backyard somewhere.
Oh, Ludwig. Stupid kid. All he had had to do was just let Gilbert go and be done with it.
Days.
Ludwig beat his own record.
Thirteen days. The longest two weeks of Toris' life. Thirteen impossible days lost in oblivion, and, as Ivan burst into Toris' bedroom in the dead of night on that last day and ripped him up from his bed and dragged him down the halls and up the stairs, Toris actually wondered who had broken first.
Maybe Ludwig could have lasted longer. Maybe it was Ivan that had lasted thirteen days before cracking without Ludwig at his side.
They reached that terrible door, and when Toris saw the way Ivan was fumbling through the keys, he was actually pretty goddamn sure that it was Ivan who had called it quits. A first. Couldn't stand to be without Ludwig, without someone worshipping the ground he walked on. Couldn't stand not having someone feeding his ego. Couldn't stand not having Ludwig loving him.
Finally, Ivan managed to stab the key into the lock, and opened the door.
Toris just stood there like a fool, stiff and numb and waiting to see the damage done. All for a fuckin' radio.
Ivan flipped the light on. White. Nothing in sight at first. Ivan stepped inside, and Toris hung back, reluctant to get any closer to that door. Just in case. No sounds from within.
And then, suddenly, the gentle murmur of Ivan's crooning. No response for a while. Toris wondered, dumbly, if maybe Ludwig had fallen over and died. If he had taken his gun out of his belt.
Not this time; a shuffle from within, a movement and a whisper, and then suddenly Ivan was back in the frame, a wobbling Ludwig beside of him. Not really standing on his own so much as Ivan was holding him upright, but still very much alive.
Toris almost didn't recognize him, the way he looked. Covered in blood. Cut all over. Clothes disheveled and torn. Barefoot. A shaking hand was held over his eyes, trying to keep the light out as his sight had to readjust from days of darkness. Gasping breaths that barely seemed to make it in all the way. Strange, muffled whimpering, almost lost to the air. Paler than white. Yellow, almost. His hair was darker from dried blood. Gaunt. Had lost all of the weight Ivan had been so determined to put on him.
The gun was very much untouched.
Death.
Oh. All Toris had done was turn on the fuckin' radio. That was all. Just a radio.
Still, someway, Ludwig was able to stay upright when Ivan let him go, although he had to rest against the doorframe. Still standing. Wouldn't ever understand how. Seemed like nothing could ever take Ludwig down. Ivan's hands flew up to Ludwig's bloody face, thumbs running over cheekbones, and Toris shuddered a bit at the slow, creeping smile that spread over Ludwig's face, even as his hands continued to shield his eyes. So happy to be with Ivan again that none of his injuries seemed worth dwelling on.
Those two. What would happen if they ever found themselves without the other? Toris couldn't imagine.
Ivan started whispering, then, spouting praise as he always did when Ludwig was concerned, and Toris could see the steady slouching of Ludwig's stance. About to go down, and hard. Whatever was keeping him upright was starting to fade.
Still, Ivan cast Toris a glance, and said to Ludwig, "Come on, you're so close. Show Toris how to do it. Go to the bedroom. You can walk. Come on."
If Toris had any expression on his face then, it was probably horror. Horror when Ludwig, barely-conscious Ludwig, somehow took a step forward, and then another. Eyes still squinted shut and barely able to breathe, he leaned up against the wall and started dragging himself along, slow as could be, but walking all the same.
Horror.
Toris was caught still, under Ivan's eyes, and could understand what that look was saying.
'See? He'll do anything for me.'
Ludwig would have done anything at all for Ivan, no matter how far out of bounds it may have seemed to other people. Ivan hadn't taken Ludwig's gun away before locking him in there, because Ivan hadn't given Ludwig orders to shoot anything, and he knew Ludwig wouldn't act with command. Those two. Had to be those two.
Ludwig started the descent down the stairs, but Ivan didn't follow him, apparently quite content to terrify Toris by staring at him. Fuckin' Ivan was just showing off his trophy. Not for too much longer, though.
A horrible, sickening thud. Ludwig had collapsed halfway down the stairs.
Toris, jolted out of the immobility of Ivan's gaze, turned around and jumped down the winding stairs, although he couldn't say why. He wouldn't have dared to touch Ludwig now, not even to help him upright. Too dangerous, even more so in this state. Like tryin' to corral a wounded lion. No thanks.
Ivan's heavy steps followed him, but with much less intent. Ivan wasn't rushing. Didn't really need to, he supposed. Ivan had so much confidence in Ludwig now that even falling down a staircase didn't seem like too much of a problem. Ivan was content that Ludwig could pull through anything. Maybe he could.
Because Ludwig had fallen, alright (the blood on the stairs made that painfully obvious), and yet somehow he had managed to drag himself over to the wall and sit himself up. He had leaned up against it before falling unconscious, and now he just sat there, head hanging down and looking for all the world as though he were minutes away from just falling over and dying.
Ivan went to him, brushing past Toris as he stood there at the bottom of the staircase, still as a statue. It wasn't fear then that kept Toris frozen so much as guilt.
Oh. That hurt. Seeing Ludwig like that and knowing it was his fault.
Ivan knelt down before the unconscious Ludwig and reached out, touching his cheek and murmuring, "Hey! Come on, wake up."
Wake up? Like Ludwig had just decided to take a fuckin' nap.
No stir. This time, Ivan slapped Ludwig's cheek, very gently, and tried to bring him as easily as possible out of that state of shock. A deep inhale, but no visible rousing. Ivan was hardly deterred. Another soft slap, another whisper, and Ludwig started slowly out of his sleep. Toris couldn't say for sure whether it was Ivan's hand or voice that had drawn Ludwig back from the dark, but, hell. There he was. Awake and still alive, Ludwig was finally able to open his eyes, in the dim light of the hall, and turned a bleary gaze up to Ivan.
There was that smile again.
Ivan was practically beaming, and said, "Wake up. You gotta get up."
Ludwig didn't seem to understand anything Ivan was saying, and just kept looking at him as if seeing him for the first time.
When Ludwig finally found some shred of consciousness, it was used to open his mouth and breathe, dazedly, "Hey."
Ivan smiled, and looked somehow amused. Adoration, maybe.
"Hey," Ivan responded, and pulled his hand back, resting his elbow on his knee as he leered down at Ludwig. After a moment of staring, he murmured, "Come on, get up. You're almost there. Don't sleep now. Just a little more! You can do it. Get up."
Get up?
Ludwig was one bad motion away from being dead. How in god's name did Ivan expect Ludwig to stand up? He was barely even breathing. Barely awake. Clinging to life by a thread. How could he have ever been expected to stand?
That man didn't even know where or who he was in that instant.
And so maybe it was one of the most terrifying moments of Toris' life, despite it all, when Ludwig braced his hands on the floor, squinted his eyes in pain, and then somehow, somehow, drew his legs up beneath him and pushed himself up off the floor. God, how?
Ludwig stood up.
That effort could have damn well killed him, and yet somehow Ludwig had done it all the same, because Ivan had told him to. He tottered for a moment, and Toris thought he was going down again, but a hand against the wall stopped him short. Leaning against the stone to regain his balance, he stood inert for a minute, and then he lifted his foot. And it must have hurt, everything must have hurt, but he took a wobbly step forward all the same, and carried on.
Ivan's look of triumph was apparent, and he shot one final glance of knowing at Toris before he went off at Ludwig's side. Toris could never have said then, could never have explained how Ludwig had managed that feat, how he had stood up, how he had taken that step. Ludwig and Ivan carried on, and Toris stood back, frozen in the hall.
And it was then that Toris at last let it go.
In that moment, in that instant that Ludwig had stood up, Toris finally let it go.
Ludwig.
Seeing him haul himself up, seeing him defy death for Ivan, seeing that man, if he could be called that, seeing that look of intent even as his body was giving out, seeing him give literally everything to please Ivan, Toris could finally say it. Ludwig was gone. He could say it now. Hadn't ever been able to truly admit it, because he had kept on hoping that something would click and his Ludwig would come back.
Couldn't be.
So Toris finally let him go, and accepted that there was no point in keeping the lighthouse on for Ludwig.
He didn't exist anymore.
He let Ludwig go, and washed his hands of him.