Chapter 43
Dearly Beloved
A long, long time.
Years had come and gone. Faces changed. Personalities shifted. Hair grew. So long, so many years, and yet still Toris had recognized Eduard the very moment he had laid eyes upon him on that paper. He had this time, too. Even though Eduard didn't look at him, didn't move, didn't breathe, Toris recognized him. He couldn't have ever forgotten Eduard, even though he had tried pretty hard these past years.
That face.
Walking through that door, pushing through those men, hoping to god to see Gilbert on the floor and seeing Eduard instead. It surprised Toris, then, that he hadn't really been able to think, even as the men jostled him, trying to get his confirmation and praise.
Just saw Eduard.
The sight of Eduard, in person, after all these years was rather shocking. And to see him like that. Inert on the floor, flipped halfway over onto his stomach, one arm up near his head and the other beneath him, a pool of blood steadily spreading from under his chest. Still. Silent. Pale. Glasses askew and hair messy.
Oh.
Words flew in his ears but didn't linger.
"Say, that's him, right?"
"Easy enough. Wasn't it?"
"Sure was."
A hand on his shoulder; felt too heavy. He shrugged it off thoughtlessly.
It was as if he had walked through the door and sank right down into a pit of tar. Stuck. Just stood there, in the middle of the room, surrounded on all sides and yet feeling quite alone, and stared down at Eduard. Eduard, who he had thought was out of his life for good. Who, by all rights, should never have crossed his path again.
Where the hell was Gilbert?
Eduard was a bit stockier now, a little broader, but that was expected; Eduard had still been a fuckin' kid the last time Toris had seen him, same age as Ludwig was. He'd just gotten older and settled into himself quite well. As handsome as he ever had been. Just a little quiet, now.
Why wasn't it Gilbert?
Had his eyes changed color any since last they'd met? Had his vision gotten worse or were the glasses the same ones he'd worn back then? Suddenly wished Eduard would have opened his eyes, if only for a moment, so that Toris could have seen him a little better. So distant. Felt far away.
...shoulda been Gilbert.
Seein' Eduard like that—
"Hey, isn't it him?"
Opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Toris tried very hard to attribute it to the sheer shock of the situation. The sheer sight of Eduard, after so long. The way it had all come out of the blue and snuck up on him so fast. The way he hadn't ever anticipated it. The way Eduard had been his brother once.
Couldn't explain, though, why he felt so chilly. Why it took him so long to finally say, in an odd, guttural whisper, "Yeah, that's one of them. Get the guys across the street. They better have the other one, or else."
Or else what? He was so dazed now he couldn't even be angry, couldn't have shot anyone now in a rage. Couldn't even have lifted his hand. Numb. Couldn't say why. Why he felt like he stood there for hours, and why Eduard seemed so far away. His head hurt, a little, behind his eyes.
He found himself looking up, after a while, at the open window. Curtains, blowing in the wind. Cool air. The sun hadn't yet risen.
Gilbert was gone.
Felt a little like he was in a dream, then, as Toris started walking over to Eduard. Surreal. Distant. Pushing through water rather than air. As if every step he took towards Eduard, gravity had started pressing him down. Eduard didn't move. He stood over Eduard for a long, long time before he finally got his mind working enough to move his leg. Felt like lead. A soft, gentle nudge of his boot into Eduard's side.
Eduard didn't stir.
And that was that.
Vindication. Full circle. He had gotten even. Things he had thought about for so long.
And yet...
It should have been satisfaction that came rushing up then, a sense of contentment, a feeling of justification, but what he felt then wasn't anything like that. In fact, he realized he felt pretty numb. Dazed.
When Ludwig had collapsed on the sidewalk outside that office, that far-away look on his face, as if he didn't know where he was anymore—that was what Toris felt. Felt so lost, suddenly, even though he knew exactly where he was. He had every road, every town, every line of tracks and passages in Siberia memorized, knew every inch of this taiga, even knew the northern tundra for the most part, could have found his foothold right off had he been dropped in anywhere from above, knew everything, and still somehow felt so damn lost.
So lost.
Almost found himself wishing that Eduard might have twitched a little at the touch. Move. Just move.
Like Ludwig that day, he had killed. Unlike Ludwig, this wasn't his first time, not even close, so why he did he suddenly need to reach over and grab the edge of the bed for support? He'd killed so many people he couldn't even count them all. Why should this one have been any different? Why did head hurt so fuckin' bad?
Why.
So many 'why's.
He had asked himself, all of these lost years, why. Why Eduard had abandoned him. Why it had hurt him more than being abandoned the first time. Why it had surprised him so much, when he had finally accepted the way mankind was. Why it had been him, when there were so many people in the world. Why he never ran. Why he never tried to be brave, like Eduard had been.
Why.
The guy came back from across the street, and shook his head.
Somehow, everything went all the more numb. Disappointment, mingled with a strange, misplaced sense of offense. Eduard was dead, dead, and there was no Gilbert to show for it. Gilbert had gotten away, somehow, despite Toris' best efforts. Had escaped, even when smarter Eduard had not. Eduard was dead, and Gilbert wasn't. Somehow, someway, that didn't seem fair. As if Eduard had died for nothing.
What a stupid thought; Eduard dying had been the plan all along, no matter if Gilbert had been struck down first or not. Eduard had always been marked, from the second Toris had uttered his name in front of Ivan. From the second Toris had picked up that phone. From the second Toris had looked at that paper and had felt that betrayal.
Toris had always set out to kill Eduard, and now...
Felt as if it were for nothing. Not fair.
Bad enough, all of it, but now he had to tell Ivan. Tell Ivan that idiotic Gilbert had escaped.
His fingers were numb by the time he reached the hotel phone and picked it up. As if even his hands knew that Ivan was gonna blow a gasket and were trying to delay the inevitable. Didn't have a choice. Ivan was waiting.
Dialing out.
He punched the numbers automatically, without thought. The dial-tone sounded miles away.
Ivan picked up quickly.
"Allo."
Even as Ivan's voice went into his ear, Toris couldn't take his eyes off of Eduard. Fascinated, absolutely fascinated by the sheer sight of him, as he stood near the edge of the bed and looked down.
Eduard. Had honestly thought he would never see Eduard again. He had let his hair grow out a little. Hadn't shaved in a few days. Wouldn't need to anymore, as it was. Still looked like the kinda guy a man would want to marry his daughter, though, even in that position. Eduard's good-nature could have been seen a mile away. Who could ever have explained why; maybe just his face, his hands, the look of him. The feel of him. The nicest guy.
Good-nature.
...what had Eduard done to deserve this? Almost couldn't remember.
Toris heard himself say, dully, "It's me."
Me.
Eduard hadn't been able to say, 'Toris, it's me! Please don't shoot me!' No chance at all. Maybe he should have gone in and done it himself, so that he could have at least pressed Eduard for an answer before he had died. Could have talked to him—
"Toris! Tell me!" Ivan demanded, and Toris squirmed uncomfortably. "Are they dead?"
He looked down, chest heavy, at silent and still Eduard, who had been his friend once, and bowed his head. Oh, his fuckin' stomach was hurting now, too. A pang.
Ivan, so impatient, was already screaming at him.
"Christ, Toris! Are they fuckin' dead?"
"Eduard's dead," he finally managed to whisper, on the verge of collapsing into tears for a reason he couldn't even understand, feeling so downtrodden, and Ivan's voice went higher and more urgent when Toris fell silent again.
"And the other?"
The other.
Ivan hadn't even flinched that Eduard was dead. Not a hesitation. Not a second thought. Hadn't even skipped a beat. Ivan had loved Eduard once, not so long ago. Ivan had very nearly exalted Eduard up into that realm where Ludwig now walked. Ivan would kill anyone.
The other. Gilbert. Ivan wouldn't say Gilbert's name aloud.
Heart lurching, Toris regained his senses, and said, voice cracking with anxiety and something else, "He's not here."
A click.
Ivan was too angry to speak anymore, and had hung up on him.
The phone was too heavy to hold anymore, so he set it down, and sat himself down soon after, on the edge of the bed. The men stood there for a while, as he stared at Eduard, and then asked, "Well, now what?"
A valid question, although his own seemed to be constructed of different intangible thoughts.
Still, he heard himself say, "Go outside and find him. Can't be far. Search the whole city."
They did, running downstairs and into the street.
And it hit Toris suddenly, the second he was alone, what that feeling was. What that godawful sensation was called.
Shame.
Regret. Remorse.
Eduard had been his friend. His friend. Eduard had left him, but anyone would have. Anyone would have tried to escape, anyone except Toris, and Toris had tried for so long to blame his own cowardice on Eduard. Eduard had run, and Toris hadn't, and that wasn't Eduard's fault. Not really. The Ivan-Toris had clouded his judgment. So angry that he hadn't been able to see clearly.
Eduard was dead. A betrayal returned. Somehow, he felt worse for it. He'd killed so many people, and hadn't ever felt so damn remorseful. Hadn't ever felt shame, or sorrow, not like this. Hadn't ever sat there and looked at someone and thought to himself, 'By god! What have I done?'
He did now.
Wished, more than anything, anything, that Eduard would have woken up. Would have given anything.
If Eduard would have only moved.
For the first time since he could remember, Toris gripped his hair in his hands, ducked his head between his knees, and gave something that was close to a scream.
His brother.
The most miserable days of his life.
He could say that for certain.
Worse than that first brick being laid, worse then waking up without Ludwig, worse than stumbling into the West and having to knock on that door. Worse than waking up to that water dripping down his neck. Worse than seeing that man for the first time. Hadn't ever thought anything could have been worse than staring up at Ludwig from beneath that grate, and yet here he was.
Alone.
Gilbert hadn't ever felt so low as he did then, with no Eduard beside of him and no one to talk to.
Eduard hadn't come, and wasn't going to. Everyone was gone. On the other side, no one was waiting for him anymore. No one to call. Trudging onward seemed suddenly hopeless. Pointless. Without Eduard, everything within him had seemed to extinguish. No one on either side of the wall. What was the point? Everyone had gone.
Guilt. Pain. Misery.
Missed Eduard so much. So much. Wouldn't ever see him again, no one would, and it was his fault.
Eduard had let him go first, even though he hadn't deserved that.
He had been walking for a week. Hadn't eaten. Just ambling along that road, down towards the trees, stumbling half the time and crying all the time, and every time a car came along, Gilbert jumped down into the coverage of the forest and was pretty sure he was a breath away from a coronary. Scarier than he had ever thought possible, pressed down into the ground, face buried in his arms until the vehicle had gone.
Terrified. Exhausted.
Getting up again felt like trying to move the earth itself. Felt weak. Dizzy. So dejected.
It took him looking at Eduard's map, seeing Eduard's writing upon it, to find the motivation to finally pull himself back up to his feet. Eduard had made sure that Gilbert knew where to go, even if he weren't there anymore, and had underlined the town that Gilbert needed to reach. Only one road, so it was obvious how to get there.
Wished Eduard was here with him all the same.
Took him eight days to reach that small city. Eight long, miserable, horrifying days. Eight sunsets with no one to look over at and say goodnight to. Eight sunrises of no one being there when he woke up. Eight days of looking over, and seeing his side completely devoid of all life. Eight days of no Eduard.
Eight days of being alone, truly and utterly alone, for the first time in his life.
Alone.
Anytime he had ever been 'alone' before had been nothing; there had always been someone, somewhere, that he knew he could eventually talk to. When he had woken up alone on the streets, hungover, he had known that Erzsébet wasn't really gone. She was somewhere, on some other side, and Erzsébet was there to call whenever he needed. When he had slammed a door shut in Roderich's face and whirled around to emptiness, he had known that Roderich wasn't really gone. Roderich was always on the other side of some door. When he had woken up without Ludwig, that first morning after the wall had been complete, he had known that Ludwig wasn't really gone. Ludwig was just on the other side of those bricks.
Not this time.
There was nobody on Erzsébet's side. The door to Roderich opened up to empty space. And suddenly, even though he had tried so hard not to give up that little shard of hope, it felt more and more like the other side of that wall was as barren as his side had been, and Ludwig wasn't there.
Ludwig got closer and closer everyday, and yet Gilbert felt him drifting.
So hard to find the will to go on.
Eight days of wanting to give up. Eight days of almost forgetting why he was here in the first place.
Eight days of nothing, before that nothing finally gave way to houses, and then buildings.
Didn't know where to go, didn't know where she was, what she looked like, so he could only wander the streets, wobbling as he was, and hope that she would just find him. Some part of him hoped they would find him first and put him out of his misery.
He didn't know where he was, didn't know what month it was, didn't know what day it was, and he didn't really care much to find out.
So tired.
The sun had been low in the sky when he had been walking down some street, half-awake and moving mechanically, head so low that sometimes his chin bumped into his own collarbone. So tired, so tired, and then suddenly there had been a hand on his arm. Before he could even look over, someone was tugging him through a door. He looked up in time to see a hotel, rather unkempt and old, and then, before his dumb, slow mind could figure everything out, a door was shutting and someone was in front of him.
Took him a long time to figure out he was in a room, and she was the one who had dragged him there.
Huh. Strong hands, for a woman.
Meeting her for the first time, face to face, was so terrifying that it almost made Gilbert forget about that agony in his head and stomach, when he stood still enough to really look at her. Almost, but not quite. That pain never really stopped.
She was certainly enough to dull it though, even if she wasn't quite what he had expected.
Pretty.
Wondered, dumbly, if he was even in the right place. If maybe she had been looking for someone else and had grabbed the wrong guy.
At first glance, rather nondescript. Just another pretty girl. Blonde and a bit tall, hair combed and tied neatly, dressed nicely and well put-together. A pale blue dress that seemed far too thin for this freezing land, even though he knew it must have been almost summer. Hardly anything abnormal about her. She stood normally, as any other girl, and wore high-heel shoes that were a little too nice for this entire situation. Lipstick, even in the middle of nowhere. As if, beyond anything, she valued her appearance, no matter where she may have been.
"I was looking for you," she abruptly said, and Gilbert shuddered.
That fuckin' voice, though, and those eyes. Nothing about them was normal, that was for sure. Her voice alone made every hair on Gilbert's body stand up on end, and he couldn't even really meet her eyes at all. Might have keeled over. Pools of nothing, it seemed. Couldn't get anything from her.
She scared him.
Still, though, she was all he had, so he felt himself glancing up at her in intervals through his lashes, and then, finally, he gathered the strength to speak.
"You're...Natalia?"
Didn't recognize his own voice. Weak. Breathless. Pale. He hadn't ever spoken like that before, hadn't ever sounded that weak. Hadn't ever let his voice show how damn pathetic he felt, had always kept it loud and forceful and strong even when he hadn't felt that way. Couldn't, now, it seemed. If she had ever known him before, she wouldn't have recognized him either, then.
Luckily, she hadn't, so she didn't see too much out of the ordinary, and finally she nodded her head, before saying, "I didn't catch your name."
"Gilbert."
"Ah." She looked him up and down, no shadow of emotion upon her face, and then she asked, in that crooning voice, "Where's Eduard?"
He thought his face had crumpled a little.
"Dead."
His voice was scarcely audible at all anymore.
Missed Eduard.
"Ah. I could have guessed."
A burn of anger built in his chest. Bitch didn't even seem to care. She had known Eduard, hadn't she, had been speaking to him all this time, had been guiding him and warning him, and yet didn't even have the decency to show a little emotion at his death. Eduard had saved him. Eduard had been a good person, a great guy, and that alone should have been something astounding to anyone in this horrible world, everyone on this miserable planet should have felt something when someone good died, should have cared, but she didn't feel anything, and she didn't care.
Eduard had been a good person.
"I'm surprised you're not," she added, and Gilbert could already feel himself slumping.
He was so fuckin' mad that he just felt exhausted. So mad. Hurt. Alone. Eduard was dead. Hell, Eduard mighta been the only person on the face of the earth that had ever looked at Gilbert and thought maybe he was worth tryin' to help. Dead now, because of him. Felt like crying, then, but didn't even have the energy for that. Dull and numb.
So he just swayed there in front of her, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep, and finally asked, "When are we leaving?"
Just needed to get Ludwig as quickly as possible. Before he gave up. Could feel it creeping over him more and more every minute, the overwhelming desire to fall over and just give up.
Kept fighting it off. Couldn't give up on Ludwig.
She stared at him for a long time, observing him and seeming to look him over, and then Gilbert could see, for the first time, some sort of emotion upon her face. Wasn't what he wanted to see, either. Disdain, almost. Disappointment. As if she had expected something else. As if she had thought Gilbert would be different, and he could see then, too, the crinkle of her brow.
The sharpening of her eyes as she narrowed them just a bit. Scrutinizing him.
And then she spoke, and what she said made Gilbert's breath leave him as his heart sank down to the floor.
"I changed my mind. You came all this way, but you shouldn't have. I can't help you anymore."
The world stopped spinning for a second.
Felt as if a bomb had gone off outside, for the way his ears were ringing.
Shock. Desperation. His hands were shaking. He opened his mouth, tried to speak, and nothing came out. Just a hiss of air.
Didn't understand. He didn't understand. Couldn't. He had come all this way. So far.
Eduard was dead.
She spoke again, a bit more sternly, and added, "You have to go back home. I was helping you because I thought you could take him, but you can't. I think you're too late. I'm going back home. You should do the same. Let him go."
The shock started boiling over into something he couldn't ever have described.
Felt everything, and nothing.
A horrible, gnawing desperation. Wrath.
He found his voice again.
"You can't!" he cried, as his entire body shook as much as his hands. "You can't, you can't! Don't you get it? Don't you know what I've done to get this far? Don't you? You can't back out! You have to help me! I don't know what to... I can't do it alone, I can't. You have to help. I came all this way because you were going to help me! You got us this far, please, please, you gotta get me there. You haveta help me!"
His voice had come out, alright, but in yet another tone he didn't recognize. High-pitched, shaking, breaking, thin, absolutely pitiful.
He couldn't go back. Woulda done anything, anything she had wanted, as long as she helped him. He didn't understand why she was suddenly changing her mind. Why she had come this far and was now backing out.
She was unfazed by his outburst, and just shook her head.
"It's too late. I hadn't thought that it would go so far. I didn't think... Well. It doesn't matter. You can't go any farther. It's too late. I messed up, I admit it. I thought you could still get him, but you can't. You can't take him. You're too late. He's gone. Go home."
Go home.
No, no, he'd come too far. Too far. He'd done so much to get there, to be standing there right now, and the thought of going home without even finishing was incomprehensible. He had come so far for Ludwig, too far just to give up on him, to let him go like that. To throw his hands up in the air and leave Ludwig to the winds.
Roderich didn't pick up the phone. Eduard had let him go first.
Everyone was dead.
It wasn't just Ludwig now. Turning around, going home, giving up, would have meant that they had died for nothing. Would have meant that Alfred and Erzsébet had been snuffed out for nothing. Would have meant that Roderich had done so much, had given up so much, for nothing. Would have meant that Eduard had died for nothing.
Couldn't stomach that. Couldn't handle the thought of Eduard shoving him out of that window first only to have him go home right after.
He wouldn't. He couldn't. Wouldn't.
Stubbornly, he shook his head, and said, "I won't. Never, I won't ever go back without him. You help me. Get me there. Help me get there."
Why? Why? Why was she doing this? Why was she changing her mind? Did she see him for the first time and think he couldn't do it? He'd come this far; wasn't that enough? Had something or someone shaken her desire?
Just needed her to help him.
She didn't seem too moved by him, if she could have been moved by anything, and only shook her head again, before saying, simply, "Go home. You lost him. You came too late. Go home."
With that, she gave him one final look over, and then she turned around.
She turned her back on him.
Anger, rising up in full-force, such anger. Hopelessness. Despair. He couldn't get there alone, he couldn't, he couldn't have gone any farther without her. Didn't know how. He didn't really remember pulling the gun from his pocket, but he did remember aiming it at her, blearily.
Remembered screaming, again, "Help me get there!"
He needed her to help him. Just help him.
When she glanced back at him and saw the gun, she didn't even flinch. Didn't even raise a brow. Absolutely unruffled by his attempt to scare her, and it was really Gilbert who was scared, even though he held the gun. Scared to give up, after all of it. Scared to turn tail, after so many others had fallen. Scared of never seeing Ludwig again, never, when Ludwig was the only thing on earth that he was even alive for.
Scared.
She turned back around, as calm as ever, and drummed her fingers nonchalantly on her thighs as she gave him another look over. And then she smiled at him, and said, a bit condescendingly, "Well, if you want, then, I can take you back home. If you can't get there on your own."
No, that wasn't what he wanted.
So mad. So terrified.
Didn't wanna go home.
He raised the gun into the air in anger, lowered it back down, pointed it at her, and tried his damn best to force some kind of reaction out of her, but no gesture he made could shake her.
When she turned her back again, it was too much.
He felt as if the land beneath him had turned to ocean. Lost at sea.
Felt himself screaming at her, again.
"Don't! Don't you leave me here! You can't! You can't—"
A strike of lightning, and the air cracked. A pain in his hand. A shriek, terrified and high-pitched, and he thought it was her, at first, but then realized that it had been him that had cried out when the gun had gone off.
Gone off.
How?
And, really, he hadn't even realized that he'd pulled the fuckin' trigger at all until she suddenly fell to a knee with a sharp gasp. Thought maybe a sudden storm had come up, that maybe it had been thunder, until she had fallen. Until he could see the red, suddenly soaking her pale dress.
Shock. Absolute shock, so strong that he stopped breathing.
And then, confusion.
Hadn't meant to do that. Oh, Christ, no, wait, he hadn't meant to do that. She couldn't be hurt, he needed her. Needed her. He needed her, he couldn't get there alone, couldn't, couldn't go on alone. Oh, why had she been so fuckin' difficult? Why hadn't she just gone along like she was so supposed to? He hadn't meant to do that. He reached up, as she knelt there, and clenched his free hand in his hair, breathing through his mouth and feeling himself shaking, as terror and panic took over. Hadn't meant to do that. He'd just been so angry—
She was still for a minute, trying to keep her balance there on one knee, and it felt like hours that he stood there and watched her before she finally tottered forward with a whisper. Whatever she uttered then, he didn't understand.
And then she fell silent, and then she fell still, and then she didn't move anymore.
Stillness, so strong and absolute that Gilbert thought maybe time had stopped. But no; suddenly the air came back into his lungs, he realized that his heart was hammering, his forehead was soaked in a cold-sweat, and nausea was rising.
Was she dead?
He was too scared of her, even now, to touch her. Too scared to speak to her. It took him a long time to gather some kind of courage and creep forward, nearly tripping over his own feet, until he had gotten close enough to her to crane his neck forward and try to see some sign of life. Saw nothing. Another minute, another dumb hesitation, and then he leaned over, reached out, and shoved her shoulder gently with his hand. Nothing. Not a thing.
And then, the shock gave way to absolute wrath.
Fury.
"Oh!" he cried, as he wrenched his foot back and kicked the nearest table in a rage, "Why'd ya make me do that, huh? Why didn't you just do what you were supposed to do? All you had to do was help me!"
Pointless to scream at her now, but he didn't know what else to do. He hadn't meant to fuckin' kill her, for Christ's sake, hadn't meant to shoot her, hadn't ever wanted to kill anyone, but he had been so angry, so desperate, so scared.
Hadn't ever been that desperate.
He kicked the table again, shrieking something that even he didn't understand, and then he had to rest against the wall because lightheadedness had come up out of nowhere and threatened to take him down. Anger. Panic. What did he do now? How could he go on from here? He didn't know the way. Didn't know where to start. Didn't know which way to go. She was dead. Eduard was dead. Back home, nobody picked up.
Ludwig was gone.
He was alone.
The ocean had turned into outer space, and there was absolutely nothing. Just a black, endless void with no one and nothing else in sight.
Alone.
He wasn't sure how he made it to the door, but he did, one way or another, pulled it open, and staggered back into the street. Made it a few more steps before he burst into tears again.
All he had wanted was Ludwig.