Chapter 54
Meeting Again
What an exciting night!
Ludwig was glad for it, above all else, positively tickled really, because at long last he wasn't so mercilessly bored anymore. Hadn't ever been so glad to see Toris, saving him from Ivan's forced monotony.
Ivan's excitement seemed a little less enthusiastic than Ludwig's, to be fair, as Ivan wrenched him along down the street. Ivan's ruthless grip had long since cut off blood flow to his arm and made it fall asleep, had already bruised him, but Ludwig was still smiling away as Ivan very literally dragged him back through town and up to the house.
Such a pretty night, good weather, and Ludwig was glad he had gotten to see a good show to go along with it. Toris had put on a surprisingly grand one.
Had never heard Ivan's voice go quite that high, and had certainly never seen him run. Adorable, really, looked just like a little tiger cub pitching a fit. To think that it would be Toris that could somehow make Ivan so angry. Wished he knew what Ivan had been shrieking.
Comical.
Ludwig had never been so pleased to disobey Ivan. He had been right to squirm out from underneath him in bed and down the stairs. Liked so much seeing that look of tired exasperation on Ivan's face when he was forced to give chase behind Ludwig. Couldn't help it—it was Ivan's fault, cooping him up inside like that. Usually just ended when Ludwig had gotten out enough energy and let Ivan catch him by the collar and drag him back, but tonight—ah.
Tonight, though; that had been something spectacular.
Most fun he had had since before he could remember.
Toris was stuck in the mine, though, so Ludwig didn't really understand why Ivan was dragging him along so brutally. Didn't understand why Ivan had just left Toris there so abruptly, and why Ivan was looking over his shoulder and all around so restlessly. Didn't understand why Ivan looked so nervous, so agitated, when Toris had been put out of commission.
Ludwig knew better than to ask, knew better than to irritate Ivan, because his arm would have been snapped, so he just stumbled along at Ivan's side and kept on smiling.
At least until they reached the house, and Ivan spun him around to grab him by both arms instead.
Ivan's voice in his ear, a very deadly hiss, "Get inside, inside, go inside, you wait for me. Inside. Now. And if you see anyone that's not me, you shoot them, you hear? Go to the office, and get the guns. Shoot anyone. You understand?"
Keys jingling, as Ivan frantically pulled them out of his pocket and shoved them into Ludwig's hand, and then shoving Ludwig so forcefully through the doorframe that Ludwig stumbled backwards.
Ludwig's smile fell.
Ivan shut the door in his face, and Ludwig rolled his eyes in absolute irritation as he lifted the curtain and watched Ivan from the window, stalking off around the house. Really? Where the hell was he going now? Couldn't he make up his mind? Why had Ludwig had to come back? Didn't understand why he couldn't go along. Just knew that he was once more barricaded up inside this damn house. As usual.
Barely felt like it, but he tossed the keys up and down in his hand, and then decided to go to the office as instructed. Why bother, though? Ivan hadn't even waited for Ludwig to get him a pistol, had already jogged off, and Ludwig had Toris' gun yet. What was Ivan looking for? Didn't understand. Toris was back at the mine, so what was Ivan looking for here? Was so desperately curious, really was. Had always been so nosy, and this time just couldn't get any answers.
With an annoyed sigh, Ludwig just shook his head and tucked the keys away.
Ah, hell, maybe Ivan had just gone back to kill Toris and was so mad he had forgotten which way he even needed to go. Maybe, for whatever reason, Ivan just hadn't wanted Ludwig there when he killed Toris, and Ludwig was a little annoyed at that too because he really wanted to enjoy the finale of the show if that was the way it had to be. Had given Toris a lifeline, yeah, but didn't wanna miss it if Ivan really was gonna kill him.
Ludwig started walking, mindlessly, because Ivan had given him an order, and an order from Ivan he would never disobey. ...well. Most of the time. Sometimes. Certainly not right in front of Ivan, at any rate. Nothing for it. Ivan was in an exceptionally livid mood, one level of rage that Ludwig hadn't yet seen, so maybe, until he had concluded more experiments, it would be best just to do as Ivan said for the rest of the night.
Didn't matter, suddenly, any of it, because as soon as Ludwig stepped down the hallway, he knew immediately that something was amiss within his house. Something was off. Couldn't put his finger on it, but knew it all the same.
The air smelled of gunpowder.
He didn't make it to the office then to get the guns from the safe, because an obstacle in the hall stopped him short. Raivis was hardly noticeable at first, dark as it was. Ludwig saw him there when the moonlight broke through the cloud front and gleamed in through the curtains.
Dead there on the floor, a pool of blood underneath him.
How—?
A long stare of incomprehension, and then the anger surged. Wrath. Absolute fury. Raivis—that kid had been theirs.
Raivis was going to be his project, theirs, Ivan had created Ludwig and Ludwig had wanted to try his hand at it, had wanted to make something with Ivan, had wanted to be the one to lead and guide, and, for that, Raivis had been his. Raivis was supposed to be Toris' replacement, and Ludwig was going to be the one who would have made him that way. That kid had been his.
His.
One day, Raivis would have fit into their circle. Would have been theirs.
Who had had the nerve to do this? Had it been Toris, before Ludwig had run into him? Had to have been, no one else could have ever had the gall. Would have shot the bastard dead, alright, had he known beforehand.
Fuck—!
Ludwig kicked out and struck the end table with his boot, cursing, took several deep breaths to steady his heaving chest, ran a hand over his hair, cracked his neck, and tried to compose himself. A hand over his face, and a sigh. Calm down. He could be calm, collected, because, well...
He did pull it together, very shortly after, and the anger ebbed down.
Ah, hell.
Well. It wasn't Ivan, now, was it, and therefore he would get over it. Come to think, he already was, and he was very, perfectly calm when he lifted his foot, stepped over Raivis, and made once more for the office.
And, once more, he didn't make it there.
This time, when he pulled the keys out of his pocket, he was distracted by a sound.
He turned his head, ever so slightly, listened, and then straightened back up, keys once more sliding into in his pocket. Ah, so many interruptions! What was going on tonight? Full moon must have had something to do with it.
Feeling more irritated and annoyed than excited now, Ludwig just made once more down the hall, careful not to slip in the little stream of blood that was making its way down the floor. He walked silently, making no sound as he went, and tried to pinpoint the noise he had heard.
Found it, shortly after.
From within a closet, there was the muffled sound of sobbing. Hm. Curious. Noises from within the closet—must have been one of those ghosts. Ludwig wasn't scared by any means, but dutifully pulled Toris' gun from his under his shirt anyway, holding it steady in his hand and ready as he reached up and grabbed the doorknob. He pulled back the hammer, just in case, because Ivan would be disappointed otherwise perhaps. For all the good it would do, anyway, if it was just a ghost.
Very steady and quite unconcerned, Ludwig yanked open the door.
Darkness. Sobbing, gasping, sounds of distress.
When his eyes adjusted, he felt himself scoffing and lowering the gun. Not a ghost at all. Just Irina, huddled up on the floor, knees to her chest, curled up into a ball and sobbing away. She didn't even seem to notice that the door had opened at all, and Ludwig stood there, shaking his head and throwing out his hip.
How annoying.
Ludwig raised the gun up, grimacing, scratching irritably at his hair with the muzzle, and took a very good look around. No one there, no sounds at all, no moving shadows. No one, and nothing, and well...
Well!
Ludwig snorted to himself, gave a little laugh, and remembered that Ivan had, after all, instructed him to shoot anyone that wasn't him.
Anyone.
Hadn't made any other exceptions in his order, not one at all. 'If you see anyone that's not me, you shoot them!' His exact words.
Ivan had slapped Irina, for the very first time; as far as Ludwig was concerned, that meant the bond was broken. The illusion of Irina had shattered. She had been absolutely untouchable before, because if Ivan wouldn't lay hands upon her, then no one on Earth could. Not anymore—she was suddenly just as human as everyone else.
Ludwig lowered the gun from his hair, looked around one more time, just in case, and then he raised the gun back up and pointed it at her. Hell, she hadn't even looked up yet, hadn't noticed the door was open, and, after all, she apparently hated it here so much that she wanted to go. Wanted to go back to Moscow. Wanted to leave so badly. If she didn't want to be here, then she could just go, alright. She didn't want to be here anymore, and if she didn't want to be here, then he didn't want her here, either.
Suddenly, she finally lifted her head, saw him there, and turned up her bleary eyes. A long stare, and then she gave a heavy sigh of relief when she saw who was above her.
"Oh, Ludwig! It's you, oh—"
If she saw the gun pointing at her, then she wasn't aware that it was pointed at her because Ludwig knew who she was. Thought he had just opened the door and had been prepared for anything. She was unconcerned, and raised her hands to wipe her eyes.
A gasp and a wavering sigh.
"Thank you. I was so scared in here, you don't know."
Ludwig tilted his head, and whispered, "I do know."
What, did she think she was the only one that had ever been locked in a closet?
She still didn't look up at him, trying to catch her breath and gather up her strength and will, and Ludwig took one final look around. No Ivan. No one.
So Ludwig just said, "I'll help you escape."
She inhaled, so sharply, and looked up, and he saw the elation there on her face. He knew then for certain that she really had been trying to leave, to get away, to escape, as it was, and that somehow offended him enough to give him a sense of justification when he pointed the gun into her forehead.
She barely had time to even understand what was happening before he pulled the trigger.
A bang, silence, and then a thud, as she fell backwards into the closet.
He hadn't given her time to be scared, and he felt pretty good about that. Because she was Ivan's sister, he killed her when she had been happy, because Ivan deserved that.
Ludwig scratched his head once more with the gun, looking around with a smile and a giggle, and then he just said, "Oops!" and kicked the door shut.
Shoot anyone, Ivan had said. Couldn't ever say he had disobeyed.
Could barely bite down his laughter and smile, and shook his head again to himself as he once more set his mind on getting to the office.
Blood began to leak out from under the door.
Well. Ludwig tucked Toris' gun under his shirt and into his belt, lifted his chin, smiled to the air, and carried on his way. Toris had killed Raivis, after all. Was it so hard to believe he had just killed Irina, too? Nah, not at all. Toris had a blacklist that Ludwig absolutely aspired to, an impressive record behind him, and it would never have shocked anyone, Toris shooting Irina, because Toris would have shot anyone.
That was all. Case closed.
This was all, of course, assuming that Ivan could even be bothered to ask or care, which didn't seem very likely.
Ah, Toris, Toris, Toris. What a ruckus he had caused.
Ludwig hadn't shot Toris, when it came down to it, because in a way he wanted Toris to be alive when Ludwig surpassed him. Wanted Toris to still be well and kicking when Ludwig caught up to all of his records. For that, Ludwig spared Toris, because he was jealous of him, underneath it all. Couldn't show Toris up if Toris were dead. And anyway, Toris had amused him in that moment, had been humorous to him, but only because he had been so bored for so many months. Shame that Ivan was murdering Toris right now, because there would be no showing him up after that. Toris had given him a good laugh for a while there.
Oh, well.
This time, finally, Ludwig actually made inside the office, but when he knelt down before the safe, there was another damn interruption.
This time, the sound of footsteps.
A surge of fury.
Okay, it wasn't funny anymore, really it wasn't, and Ludwig cursed under his breath as he once more pulled out Toris' gun. Had the sense to open it and actually make sure there were more bullets in it before he stood up. There were, but he wasn't even sure why he checked because Ivan had probably already gone back and strangled Toris to death there in the mine. Was probably Ivan's footsteps he heard then, but pulled the gun anyway because not doing so would be foolish and rather disobedient. Couldn't have that, and so Ludwig crankily smoothed back his hair, straightened his collar, sighed to calm himself, and stepped out of the office.
Realized immediately that the footsteps he heard were coming from upstairs. Odd; hadn't heard the front door open, and hadn't heard footsteps going up, and yet some were coming down.
More ghosts, maybe.
Ludwig once more held his gun at ready, and began the creep over to the staircase, as the heavy, thudding footsteps came very quickly down. Was so intent on looking up at the ceiling as he went to the stairs, so focused, that he actually jumped when something ran by him and touched his leg.
He jerked his gun down, finger contracting on the trigger, but stopped himself short at the last second with a scoff.
Just the cat. Must have known that he had almost gotten shot, too, because he sat there in the hall in front of Ludwig, bathed in moonlight, staring up and him, and hissed at him. A first. Ludwig stared back at him, felt as offended as he had earlier, lifted his chin, and said, in a drawl, "Sorry, Sasha."
The great brown cat stood up and turned tail, darting away, and Ludwig wondered if he was so mad because he had seen what had happened to Irina. Luckily for the cat, he couldn't speak, now, could he? Would have been in trouble otherwise. Ah—hardly. Ivan would scarcely turn his head at that had Ludwig ever told him the truth. Wouldn't have batted an eye or cared.
The footsteps were ever closer.
He looked up then, towards the encroaching phantom.
The footsteps had reached the top of the first level, and Ludwig waited there around the railing, gun ready.
And it actually was a ghost that came down the stairs then and around the bend and nearly ran right into him. Had to be a ghost, and not just because he was so white. A loud cry of alarm and a motion, and the ghost had suddenly aimed a gun right in Ludwig's face as much as Ludwig had his.
That face.
Ludwig held the gun straight out, the ghost's gun pointed right back at him, and they stood there at the bottom of the stairs in a breathless impasse. Their guns nearly touched each other's foreheads.
That face—
For the first time in a good while, Ludwig found himself immobile and utterly frozen, breathing through his mouth and eyes wide and so still that he had stopped blinking and thinking.
Just shock then, absolute shock.
That ghost.
In the moonlight streaming in from the window, the ghost's eyes lit up a silvery-pink, his hair lit up white, skin glowing and pale, and Ludwig couldn't stop staring at him, couldn't look away, could barely even breathe then, so caught was he in those eyes.
A strange, strangled noise from the ghost, and his gun suddenly dropped down to his side like lead.
For a dumb moment, Ludwig twitched, to lower his too, and he didn't know why he did that, but it fell a few centimeters all the same, because, hell, could he even shoot a ghost? Didn't make sense. Had come from upstairs, no doubt, because it had escaped from that room.
Ah—! That was it.
Ludwig exhaled, heavily, shakily, and although he felt relieved, in a way, he still didn't let his gun fall farther down than the level of the ghost's chest. Damn, had given him a good start, that was for sure. Wondered then how long it would take for the ghost to vanish. Maybe when the moonlight went away, he would fade.
Christ.
Took him a while to steady his breathing, as the ghost stared at Ludwig as if Ludwig were the damn ghost.
Felt that breathless smile cross his face, felt so oddly giddy suddenly, so jittery and nervous, and he didn't know why he didn't lower his gun, he really didn't, because he knew he was just seeing things. Force of habit, he supposed, to aim. Ivan had beaten that into him as much as everything else. Always be ready. If he were more like Ivan, though, he wouldn't need a gun at all, because no one would ever be able to shoot him. He may have been able to harness Ivan, but Ludwig was still painfully aware that he could never perfectly emulate him. Emulation—had been how he had come out of the fog. Couldn't remember who he was, so he just had to be Ivan. Had to attach himself to Ivan and draw his personality from there.
But sometimes...
So he held the gun on the ghost, and tried to stop breathing through his mouth. Felt so dizzy. He laughed a little, suddenly, because he was nervous out of nowhere and didn't know what else to do.
Misty.
Everything had been so clear lately, that fog had long since vanished, he had been so sharp and focused and able to think with no hindrance, mechanically almost in how smoothly, and yet suddenly it felt like the mists he had fought his way out of were back.
Couldn't think. Clarity was gone.
Sometimes, no matter how sure he was, no matter how much like Ivan he tried to be, he just couldn't ever shake it off; that awful lack of self. Sometimes, no matter how clear his head had seemed, he just didn't know who he was. Ivan wasn't here now, and Ludwig suddenly realized that he wasn't really so sure about himself. Hated that vulnerability.
The ghost just stared at him, eyes as wide as Ludwig's and breathing just as heavily.
And then the ghost suddenly opened his mouth, took a half-step forward and then tottered back, as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to come forward or not, and suddenly he spoke.
"Oh, god! It's— Ha, oh, Ludwig, it's really you! Oh—"
That voice. Damn, so familiar, so familiar, just couldn't think, couldn't, but his head was starting to twinge a little. An ache.
That voice.
Ludwig felt so hopelessly stuck then, couldn't remember the last time he had been so immobile and helpless, so still and stunned, as he stared at that ghost, who stared right back at him.
The pale moonlight dulled a bit, from the clouds, and those pink eyes turned a dark silver. The moonlight faded, but for some reason the ghost didn't. Was still very much there.
His headache intensified.
The ghost reached out then, stretched out his hand, and Ludwig was far too dumb and dazed to even attempt to elude him. Just stood there like an idiot, paralyzed. A pale hand, so close to his face, but then there was a sharp gasp, a noise deep in the ghost's throat, and suddenly he had stopped short and withdrew his hand. Maybe the ghost knew he would have just gone straight through Ludwig.
This ghost.
Knew him, somehow, just couldn't think.
A look that Ludwig could never really have described on that pale face. Looked a breath away from bursting into tears, looked terrified, looked so scared, and yet at the same time looked so happy, so excited, so elated.
Couldn't figure it out.
So he just stared.
"Ludwig... Oh, Ludwig! Why are you lookin' at me like that? Don't you know me? It's me. Oh! Hey! Don't you... Please! It's me!"
'Me'? You, so what, who the hell were you? This ghost. Who was he, who did he think he was, and who did he think Ludwig was? Ludwig didn't even know who the hell he was, let alone who this ghost was.
Was suddenly so confused, so confused, felt so mixed up. Like an awful fever he couldn't escape and everything was surreal.
So Ludwig didn't really know why he opened his mouth and heard himself say, in a low voice that he didn't entirely recognize, "You left me."
Left him? Just a ghost. Didn't mean anything at all. Didn't even know why he was bothering to speak. Anyway, that had happened long ago, if it had really even happened at all. The past didn't matter, really, so why had he said that? That came to him sometimes only in dreams that felt years and years apart from each other.
Wasn't real.
The ghost shook his head, defiantly, and when he spoke again, his voice had grown thin and high. Cracking with the effort.
"No! No! I didn't leave you, I didn't! I was stupid, I know I was stupid, I was so stupid, but I never meant for that to happen to you! I didn't! Please! I came all this way, please, Ludwig, you can't do this now! You got the rest of your life to hate me, just come with me now, please!"
What? Go with him where? Made no sense.
Ludwig, bewildered and squinting against the awful pain behind his eyes, just held the ghost's gaze and was silent.
Didn't know what to do.
Suddenly, the ghost hung his head, exhaled, and seemed so tired. So exhausted. How? He was already dead. Not like a damn ghost could wear itself out, no matter how hard he was trying to haunt Ludwig.
The ghost seemed to be hardly standing anymore, swaying a bit, but lifted his head and asked all the same, in a pitiful wisp of a voice, almost lost to the wind, "Ludwig— Where's Toris?"
Toris?
Ha—Toris was just a ghost, too. Ivan had made him one, by now.
Ludwig, feeling so dumbfounded, dazed, just lifted and lowered the gun in his hand in show.
"You know him? Then, ha— Don't you recognize his gun?"
Weren't ghosts all-knowing?
The ghost's eyes fell to the gun, he hissed a gasp as his face seemed to crumple, collapse, and then he finally unscrewed his eyes and glanced back up, and Ludwig could see then that he was crying. Ghosts could cry, huh? Learned something new. Curious, indeed, but...
Couldn't remember this particular ghost ever crying up there in the dark. Was this the right one, even? He'd gotten all mixed up suddenly. His head was pounding, throbbing.
He lifted his left hand up to his temple as his head started blazing in agony, and shook it a little to clear it of the fog building up. Couldn't seem to think straight, clearly. Felt like his head was full of sand. Chest too, because the air kept getting thinner.
A low, trembling, thick whisper.
"Oh, Ludwig. What's the matter with you? What's happened to you? You—you gotta come with me, please. Don't you get it? You have to come home."
Home?
Wasn't he already home?
Oh, no, wait.
It was Ludwig suddenly who gave a strangled gasp and almost crumpled up, at the thought.
Oh, no, maybe he was just locked in that room again, couldn't remember, he really couldn't. Maybe he had gone too far with his experiments, maybe he pressed Ivan too far, had been overconfident, maybe Ivan had gotten angry with him and had locked him once more up in that room. He had been above the fog and had been so bold for it, maybe he had just gone one step too far. Maybe this entire crazy night had been all up in his head because Ivan had gotten mad at him and had thrown him back in the dark.
That room.
In a panic, inhaling so hard it hurt his chest, Ludwig looked around in a daze.
Didn't look like the room, didn't, looked just like home, but the ghost was here so god almighty was he really back in there? An awful clench of his chest, a sting of his eyes, a burst of adrenaline. Panic, once more threatening to take over and lock up his diaphragm. Couldn't stand to be back in there, just couldn't—
Ivan hadn't put him in there in so long, Ludwig had been so confident, everything had been so great, he had gotten a little bit of control back, had found a foothold, had stopped feeling so helpless all the time, had almost had it.
A very small step forward from the ghost. Another lift of his hand only for it to once more stop short and pull back. Looked as close to bawling as Ludwig then, the ghost, and his voice was trembling.
"Oh, please, please, you can't do this. Please, come with me, Ludwig. Please come with me, I've come so far for you, so fuckin' far, Lutz—"
That refocused his eyes, and because he was so terrified all of a sudden, he clenched the gun so tightly that his palm ached, and he heard himself cry, in a rather rough voice, "Don't call me that!"
No one called him that anymore. Not anymore, that was someone else, someone in some other life that may not have ever even happened at all, and no one called him that anymore.
'Lutz, you're gettin' so tall, knock it off, will ya?'
Anymore?
If no one called him that anymore, then that meant that someone used to call him that, and he couldn't remember who or where or why, and it was making his head hurt so bad that he wanted to cry all of a sudden.
Felt like the walls were closing in.
No air.
Oh, Ivan, where was Ivan, needed Ivan to come get him out of here, didn't remember what the hell he had done wrong this time. Didn't want to be in here, he didn't, couldn't stand it, couldn't stand the way it made him feel. Didn't wanna be in here with this ghost, not this one.
Hated that feeling.
Panic was ever clenching his chest, knew that feeling as much as anything else, knew what was going to come soon if he couldn't start calming down, knew it, and couldn't find anything within reach to stop it, because Ivan wasn't there to grab hold of and find stability in.
Was damn near hysterical then, was starting to shake, could find no air, was so close to breaking down, and then suddenly—
Oh.
Suddenly, the moon came back out in full force, bright and white, and when the moonlight hit those silver eyes of the ghost, they lit back up a bright crimson.
It made his breath hitch in his throat. The hysteria stopped short. An awful, burning rush of familiarity.
Knowing. Déjà vu.
He had been here sometime in a past life, he knew it somehow. Had walked this path, had known this ghost, had heard that voice, had looked into those eyes. Knew that face. Knew this ghost.
Knew this man.
So close, he was so close to figuring it out, so damn close, even if he just couldn't get the light to come on, he could see the shadows moving, really could, just couldn't get the bulb to fire.
All the same, he heard himself utter, so weakly, "I know you. I do."
Knew he did, knew it, was so close. Right there.
His hand started to fall, so slowly and entirely of its own accord. As much as his voice suddenly did what it wanted, so too did his hand. It was right there on the tip of his tongue, right there, right there, could see it, could taste it, could hear it there in his ears through the ringing.
Right there.
Ever more, his hand lowered, and millimeter by millimeter the gun fell.
So close, he knew it, was so close.
The ghost gave a great sob, inhaled, and smiled, as he took another small step forward.
"Lutz."
Oh, that smile. He knew it, it was coming, that familiarity was creeping up, and he was so close to remembering. So close. Hadn't remembered anything in so long, so long, just lived day by day and took it one step at a time. Every morning was like a new life, because he could never remember too much.
Was so certain that that smile had been the last thing he had seen so many nights before falling asleep, was so sure, and yet couldn't think of how that was possible, couldn't focus.
Falling asleep at night...?
"Oh, Lutz, you don't know how much I missed you, so much, we're so close, please, please—"
That voice.
Stories at night. Someone holding him to his chest. Someone reading to him as he had lied in bed. Every night, someone there pulling the blanket up and smiling at him right on the brink of sleep.
Someone?
'We're brothers,' Toris had said, but that wasn't true, never had been, but that word kept rising up, kept surging, couldn't push it away all of a sudden, couldn't get rid of it.
Someone else.
Stories.
"We're so close, Lutz, please. Come on, West, don't you remember? Huh? Please—"
West.
East of the Sun and West of the Moon, someone had read that to him once, he was sure of it, someone once in a different life, someone.
Someone—
Oh—!
And then suddenly, as Ludwig's brow shot up and he opened his mouth, the air changed. Could feel it, before he comprehended, before he heard, before he realized entirely what was happening, the air changed, because the ghost had suddenly cried out and waved his gun, and Ludwig followed the motion with his eyes as if through a blurry daze. Felt like slow-motion almost, the blurs, and it was making him sick.
The front door had banged open, slammed into the wall for the force, and every bit of thought Ludwig had gathered fled at the sound, he gave a cry as much as the ghost had, and his own gun flew back up without thought.
Just panic, utter panic, at the sound of the slamming door.
That glimpse of clarity was again obscured. Every little bit of the puzzle flew away, the pieces fell apart, and he went once more into that old sense of autopilot when he saw.
Ivan stood there in the frame, bathed in moonlight.
Oh—Ivan. Had needed him.
He stood there, tall and imposing and frightening for the bright light streaming in behind him, in the middle of them as they stood there in the hall in front of each other. The ghost hadn't turned away from Ludwig, still facing him with his body, but his arm and face were turned to Ivan. Pointing his gun at Ivan.
Oh, god, the look of Ivan then was terrible, so frightening. The scariest man Ludwig had ever seen. Someone Ludwig was truly and completely terrified of, and maybe it was just because Ludwig was a wreck then, because he hadn't been afraid of Ivan in so long, not even a little. He loved Ivan, really, so he couldn't place why he wanted to run away screaming from Ivan, why he wanted to suddenly hide behind that ghost, why he wanted to bury his face in that ghost's chest and beg, 'Take me home!'
Home? Where was home?
Everything was muddled.
For a dumb moment, everything was utterly still, and Ludwig gave a weak scoff that was really just a little hissing gasp. Ivan probably couldn't even see what the hell Ludwig was aiming at, because of course Ivan couldn't see Ludwig's ghosts, only he could.
So hard to breathe all of a sudden, and he couldn't figure out why, really couldn't.
Ivan must have thought he was crazy.
Ivan looked as utterly breathless and dumbfounded then as he had when Ludwig had found him staring at Toris, that same expression. Eyes so wide and breathing heavily, chest heaving and feet splayed, arms stiff at his sides. A twitch of Ivan's eyes, a glance down, and Ludwig felt another second of relief. Right, Ivan was just looking at Raivis on the floor, had seen him there, and that was why he looked like that, because Ivan couldn't see the ghost.
Had worried, for just a second.
The ghost was still aiming his gun at Ivan, arm shaking so terribly that his shoulder shook too, and his eyes kept darting back and forth between Ludwig and Ivan. Ivan didn't move, didn't speak, just stood there, and Ludwig didn't know why he was still holding his own gun up. Ivan obviously couldn't see the ghost, because he would have said something by now.
Ludwig turned his own eyes briefly to Ivan, met his gaze, and waited, waited, for Ivan to offer him some kind of comfort, some kind of stability, some kind of sanity, if only by asking, 'What are you aiming at?'
Say something, please, because his head was hurting so bad and he was more and more confused every second, couldn't even breathe anymore and for some inconceivable reason he suddenly felt devastated. Felt as if the entire world had fallen down around him. Didn't know where that feeling came from, and wanted it to go away.
Wanted Ivan to say something.
Wanted to know if he was locked in that room or not because honest to god he didn't know and he was one wrong move away from either bursting into tears or having a panic attack. Needed to know where he was and who he was and if he was even real or not.
Say something.
Please.
Tell him what to do, anything, something, please, 'cause he didn't know what to do, didn't, was so confused, felt so lost, so alone all of a sudden, and god, for a horrifying moment there he could barely see Ivan at all because his eyes were stinging and getting bleary as they filled with tears.
But Ivan just stood there, and Ludwig turned his blurry gaze back to the ghost.
Oh—it had been so close. He had almost had it.
His nerves were so close to giving out, shot out, he was so near the edge, losing his balance, slipping on the ice, and no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't get himself together. Everything in his head was suddenly a mess. Didn't even know where he was. Didn't know what his name was. Where his home was.
Above all else, more than anything, he just wanted to know why he felt that awful despair, that awful longing. Didn't even know what it was, but it was making his stomach twist up, and for some stupid reason even though he was standing inside of his own house he felt so homesick.
Homesick.
Suddenly, with a short exhale, the ghost stopped shaking. Utterly still, calm. His arm had steadied, his aim had steadied, and it was so strange, because Ludwig could see then that the ghost was going to shoot Ivan. Could see it there on his face, in that suddenly determined and fearless stance, could see it, and that was stupid, because obviously the ghost gun couldn't hurt Ivan. Ivan couldn't even see him at all, and if he had then it was still stupid, impossible, because no one could shoot Ivan. No one had ever been able to. Ivan knew it, Ludwig knew it, the world knew it. No one could shoot Ivan.
So Ludwig just didn't know why Ivan swallowed then, why his pupils were so dilated, why he had bristled out, why he looked so alarmed, as he had looked so frequently recently.
Didn't know why Ivan looked like that, and didn't know why the ghost was even aiming at all.
The ghost and Ivan stared at each other, although one end was surely staring at something else, and maybe Ludwig really was going crazy after all because he thought for a second that he saw Ivan's hands shaking.
The ghost suddenly scoffed and turned his head and caught Ludwig's gaze, gave a horrible smile that looked every bit as devastated and homesick as Ludwig was feeling and yet somehow so happy, and then, one more time, the ghost spoke.
A beautiful, deep, warm whisper.
"I love you."
That voice.
That beautiful stare, and then the ghost turned his eyes back to Ivan, and was ready to fire. Thought he heard Ivan's sharp inhale of breath.
At last, at long, long last, one second before Ludwig dissolved completely into tears at that voice, Ivan finally said something.
"Ludwig! —shoot!"
Static.
His finger contracted on the trigger before his brain had finished digesting the words.
Automatic. Completely mechanical. Autopilot.
Ivan's order.
Obeyed instantly, robotically, even if it didn't make sense at all to him to shoot a ghost.
The sound of the shot echoed in the still house.
Afterwards, silence.
The ghost stood there, slumped and still smiling, and the way he stared at Ludwig had no description. None that Ludwig could think of, anyway. The gun slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor, and Ludwig lowered his own shortly after.
Just a ghost.
Short, sharp gasps, as the ghost took to breathing through his mouth. A sway. Unsteady. Took Ludwig a long minute to see the red spreading across the ghost's shirt.
That made no sense, none at all, because he didn't think ghosts could bleed.
Just a ghost.
Only a ghost, and so, really, when Ludwig thought about it, it didn't—
—even hurt all that much.
It was kinda funny, really. Sounded so scary, was so terrifying, was everyone's worst nightmare, standing before the barrel of a gun, but really, it just didn't hurt that much at all.
Just a sting. Pressure. As if he had just had the wind knocked out of him. Didn't really hurt at all, at least until he lost his balance, so lightheaded, and toppled backwards onto the floor. That had hurt, a little, slamming into the stone like that.
Just lied there for a second, feeling clammy and dizzy as the world spun.
Damn, though, he had been pulling the trigger. Just one damn second more, and he could have done it. Ludwig had just been a little quicker, as he always had been. Had been so close, but, ah, hell, seeing the look of terror on that bastard's face had been absolutely worth it. Ha—had scared him. After all of it was said and done, Gilbert had managed to terrorize that son of a bitch. That look on his face.
Woozy.
And then, there above him, was the sun, at long last, looking down at him. Had waited so long for sunrise, and it had finally come, as Ludwig came over to him.
Ludwig knelt down beside of him, pressing the gun into the floor, and his other hand fell towards Gilbert's chest so slowly. He stopped short though, at the very last second, and looked so confused. As if he were trying to sense, in a way, if there was something really there or not. As if Ludwig wasn't entirely certain if any of this was real. If there was really anyone there.
And then, as Gilbert tried to catch his breath and gather his strength up, Ludwig finally lowered his hand onto Gilbert's chest. Rested it there against him, for a long second, and there was a gasp that was actually more of a cry, and Ludwig tottered backwards onto his haunches. His eyes were wide as could be, breathing frantically through his mouth, and Gilbert tried damn hard to sit up then, but couldn't manage all the way.
It was Ludwig who had suddenly come back up onto his knees, pressing his hands this time into the floor and hovering over Gilbert.
Could never have hoped to understand that expression on Ludwig's face, but didn't even need to, because just seeing that face was so much, too much, everything.
Ludwig had always been the most breathtaking thing he'd ever seen.
Worth it.
God almighty, to see him again! No words for that, none, nothing could have ever described that elation he felt then there on the brink. The pain didn't matter then at all when pushed his palms into the ground and forced himself upright at the waist, gushing blood in torrents for it. Ludwig stared at him as if in complete awe, didn't move a muscle, and Gilbert somehow found the strength to sit up just enough to lock his arms around Ludwig's neck and embrace him.
Oh, to have Ludwig in his arms, to hold him again, to feel him, to smell him, to have him there under his palms, god—
His happiest moment.
A long silence, as Ludwig knelt there so stiffly still, and then, suddenly a hand on his back, propping him up. Ludwig fell back down onto his knees, and the next thing Gilbert knew he was being held up in Ludwig's arms, his own still stubbornly locked around his neck, and their faces were pushed together.
Everything he had wanted for years, everything, and he couldn't stop kissing Ludwig's cheek, couldn't stop, just couldn't, and Ludwig just held him there and didn't move or speak.
As if Ludwig were somehow in a trance.
Didn't care, didn't care, just clung to him and kissed his cheek as many times as he could, even when he lost all strength and was only held up by Ludwig's arms and not his own. Ludwig turned his head then, mouth open and eyes wide, and their noses pushed together.
Ludwig looked so absolutely astounded, dumbfounded, as if, somehow, the touch had knocked all of his senses right out of him.
And then, at last, Ludwig spoke.
A deep, guttural whisper.
"Gilbert."
Ludwig's voice, that thunderous rumble that came deep from his chest, that voice that Gilbert had always known. The real Ludwig's voice.
There he was, at last, the beautiful bastard! Had known he was still in there somewhere, knew it, just knew it. Had found him. Had taken so long, but he had found him. Oh—enough. That was enough.
If he had had anything left in him, any strength at all, Gilbert would have told Ludwig how much he loved him, how much he had always loved him, how much he always would, but when he opened his mouth only blood came out.
So he just stared at Ludwig without once blinking because he didn't wanna waste a single second, not one, and hoped that dazed and misty Ludwig could just see in his eyes what he felt. Maybe he did, because Ludwig's face twitched, he could see it, a crinkle of his brow, a sharp intake of breath, eyes filling with water. Gilbert was so ecstatic that he pushed his lips into Ludwig's, found the strength to kiss him, and wished more than anything that he could have stayed in that moment forever.
Ludwig held him there, and just stared at him.
Blood, all over Ludwig's face, when Gilbert pulled a hand back and ran it adoringly over his cheek with the very last effort he had. His hand fell down to the floor after that, because he just couldn't keep it in the air any longer, but he still stubbornly pressed his lips into Ludwig's, until Ludwig finally began to lower him back down.
When Gilbert was lying back on the floor, Ludwig hung over him, hands clenching the front of Gilbert's shirt, eyes still wide and locked onto his own, and Gilbert managed to get enough blood out of his airway to say, thickly, "Damn, Lutz— Oh—you're so damn beautiful, you really are. Sure am glad—I got to see ya. That was all I wanted. Just to see you. God. Bein' together again—"
He was forced to silence, when blood came up more than words.
The edges of his vision started getting a little bleary after that.
Ludwig's eyes were suddenly flitting over Gilbert's face, quite restlessly, endlessly, and Ludwig's voice was still deep and rumbling, still his own, when he whispered, "Together? Ha. Forev—...was that you sayin' it? Was that you?"
Gilbert just gave Ludwig his best smirk, even then.
Trying to look as good as he felt, in spite of dying.
Ludwig just continued to stare at him through those wide eyes, swallowing, his gaze still darting over Gilbert's face as if he had never once seen another human being. The tears were there, could see them, but hadn't fallen yet. Ludwig wasn't crying. Just looked so confused.
Vision kept on getting darker, and that fuckin' sucked, 'cause he was really loving the sight of Ludwig's beautiful face, even if he looked so alarmed and lost.
"Gilbert, I—"
Ludwig just couldn't seem to really wake up, not all the way, and just kept on staring at him.
And Gilbert could swear, suddenly, that he heard Roderich's voice, too. Ludwig laughing, just that happy little kid he had been once. Came to him faintly, as if from across the sea.
Whispers.
Footsteps, running across the kitchen floor, and a squeal as Roderich's laughter echoed in the hall, as Ludwig was swept up into Roderich's arms—
Ludwig's hand had come up to his face, settling on his cheek, as if Ludwig were still feeling to make sure that Gilbert was actually there.
Ah, couldn't be mad at the dumb son of a bitch. Loved him too much, and anyway, Gilbert had always been the crazy one. Woulda been so unfair to even bother calling Ludwig crazy.
Ludwig was still holding his gaze so intently. Gilbert was still smirking away, couldn't help it, because he was so happy, felt so happy. So far, all that way, halfway across the Earth itself, and he'd made it. Every fuckin' possible obstacle had been thrown at him, that bastard had tossed everything he had had at Gilbert, and Gilbert had still gotten him over. Had still made it, despite it all, had crossed the finish line.
The prize was Ludwig's hand there on his cheek.
Damn. Couldn't beat that.
Movement in the dark edges of his vision. Coulda sworn he caught a glimpse of someone familiar. A distant whiff of Roderich's cologne. That jerk—please, come haunt his ass, really needed that right now, because air was harder to find. Come yell at him a little more, just once more.
Ludwig was suddenly grabbing Gilbert's shirt again, eyes wide and brow low and pulse racing, and with one great yank Ludwig had pulled Gilbert upright and straight back into his arms. The way Ludwig stared at him, then...
Best damn feeling in the world, held there like that above Ludwig's knees and clenched up.
Ludwig still didn't speak, as if he just couldn't. Didn't matter, because in the distance Gilbert could still hear Roderich and little Ludwig, so this Ludwig didn't need to say anything. Feeling him was more than enough.
A low murmur, as Roderich held Ludwig on the couch beside of him, and Gilbert sat there on the other end, that very first day Roderich had ever brought Ludwig home. The one damn time he and Roderich had ever just sat there together and had almost liked each other, just that once, as Roderich had comforted Ludwig and Gilbert had told him jokes to make him smile. Looking up, to meet Roderich's eyes above Ludwig's head and feel no hatred there—
With the very last of his strength and consciousness, on the very last brink, Gilbert managed to breathe, "I'm sorry."
There—he said it. Might have taken him his entire damn life to say it, but he'd said it. Was on his deathbed, sure, but he had said it all the same, and he just hoped that that was enough.
Had to be enough, because he could never say it again.
No more air. His lungs collapsed.
A forehead briefly against his own.
He managed to clench Ludwig's sleeve within his hand, and held on for dear life.
Had Roderich heard him say it? He better have, the asshole, 'cause that was as good as Gilbert was gonna give him. Just in case, though, he said it one more time up in his head. Just in case. If that was really ever even gonna be enough, just sayin' that he was sorry. Breakin' Roderich's heart, over and over again as he had.
Suddenly, astoundingly, Ludwig's lips pressed into his forehead, one hand on the back of his head. Everything he had wanted, for so many years. Everything he had wanted and nothing that he had done to deserve.
A deep whisper in his ear as consciousness and alertness dulled into a haze. He didn't know if that whisper he heard then came from the real Ludwig or from his own subconscious, and he didn't care, because it was exactly what he needed to cross the river.
Together.
"I love you."
Forever.
Touching him had been worth it. A long journey, a damn exhausting one at that, just for the opportunity to clench Ludwig to his chest one final time.
Worth it.
Worth it for him, anyway, and he knew it was selfish, knew it, but that was all he cared about then. Knew that maybe it shouldn't've been worth it. One moment in Ludwig's arms; maybe that shouldn't have been worth Roderich and Erzsébet. Maybe it shouldn't have been worth Alfred. Eduard, pushing him out of that window first.
Toris, taking him east when they should have gone west.
Shouldn't have been worth it, but it was, because Ludwig was everything and Gilbert was a selfish damn bastard, always had been.
In a way, it was the best way a guy like him could have ever gone out, feeling like that, feeling that love, that horrible, wonderful burn of adoration and elation that Ludwig brought out. Loved that feeling, always had, only got it from Ludwig. Had torn the world apart to find that feeling, had sought it relentlessly in every possible way. Had tried to replicate it with drugs, had tried to get it any way he could, but it only ever came when he was with Ludwig. No comparison with anything else. Had never found it anywhere else but in Ludwig.
That feeling.
Didn't die alone, like he had always feared, because Ludwig stayed right there above him, holding him up there, and Gilbert was beyond certain that Roderich was there too, maybe having at long last forgiven him because he had finally apologized. Didn't even matter if he was just hearing things there on the brink, really, because Roderich's voice was still pretty great. Hell, could say, truthfully, that he felt more loved then in that moment than he ever had in his life, there between Ludwig and Roderich.
Go figure.
Dying in Ludwig's arms was the best damn thing that had ever happened to Gilbert.
The last thing he saw was Ludwig's face, and that was perfection.
Love.
Ludwig didn't cry.
FIN
Driving.
All he ever did was drive.
Every time he looked over, it didn't change the fact that the seat was still empty. No more glints of silver in the sunlight. No one beside of him. The only glinting now was of the diamonds he had managed to collect from the KGB office before fleeing with his tail between his legs, covered in dust and dirt.
Still kept looking over, though.
Emptiness.
Once more, Toris was driving, and yet this was the first time he was doing so of his own volition, with his own destination and his own plans.
Only stopped when he needed to pick up a phone.
He called those men for the last time. Using them for his own personal gain, just one more time. One last favor, and would never use them again.
As he hung up with that man, for the last time, the farewell he received was a low, 'Surprised to hear you alive, man. Hear 'bout that body they found in the mine pit? Thought it was you, honestly. Or did you do that?'
He set the phone down without a word.
In a way, yeah. He had done that, through stupidity and his own weakness. Didn't cry too much about it. Couldn't, really, even when he tried to. Had gotten his one good cry in, there in the dirt, and just couldn't summon that emotion again.
He was just like them, in the end.
For all of his talk, for all of his self-pity, for all of his stubbornness to admit what had always been there, for all of his denial, when everything was sat side by side, he was them. Had been, the whole time. So long he had called them 'Ludwig and Ivan', and had neatly omitted his name from their company.
He had set out to kill Eduard and Gilbert, and had succeeded. Just hadn't gone the way he had originally planned it, but it had happened all the same. He had led Gilbert back there, knowing what would happen, and hadn't even tried to save him.
That desperado run after finally hauling himself miraculously out of that pit; he had started flying the second his feet had hit solid ground and hadn't even tried to go to the house. Hadn't even tried to check, hadn't tried to intervene. He had known from the second that Ivan had bolted off that Gilbert was dead, and didn't see the point in killing himself, too.
Those last few minutes.
Instead of being a dead hero who had gone to the house to try to save the life of the man that had possibly loved him, Toris was a living, self-serving bastard that had run as fast as he could straight from that mine in search of diamonds and from there straight to a fuckin' car.
He had bolted out of town so fast that he hadn't even remembered to turn on the headlights until he had run off the road.
And he hadn't looked back.
Gilbert was dead, and he wasn't, and there it was. That was that. No changing it.
Just took that memory of Gilbert in sunset with him. All that was left of him.
Couldn't escape that, maybe, no matter where he went. Couldn't escape the fact that he was everything they were.
The Ivan-Toris.
"Passport?"
Toris reached into his pocket, and pulled out his papers. His new ones, made by his guys, always faithful and reliable, and suddenly, for the first time in his life, Toris was no longer a citizen of a satellite state of the Soviet Union. Wasn't a Red soldier, anymore.
"Have a nice day, sir."
Toris had woken up that morning suddenly Swiss, and his name was Eduard.
Someone out there should have kept the spirit of that name alive.
He drove right out of the Soviet Union, and for the first time he was never going to go back. On another road-trip, to friendlier lands where a man like him didn't belong. Would stay in Switzerland for a while, try his hand at a normal life, and then perhaps in a year or so he would cross the sea and go to America. Or perhaps Argentina, where Ivan had always wanted to go.
He rolled the window down, hair loose and blowing away, arm hanging out as he enjoyed the cold air.
West.
He went alone.
No one beside of him.
He waited every day for someone to find him. Figured it was only a matter of time before one of the men that had once been 'his guys' tracked him down. Now that he was gone, maybe they would become Ivan's guys. Maybe they would be Ludwig's. Nice to think that maybe they would stay loyal to Toris, even after it was all said and done, but he doubted it. No honor among thieves, after all.
Ivan wouldn't let him go that easily.
No one ran out on Ivan and lived to tell about it. It had taken years to get Eduard, but, eventually, Ivan's hand had found him, even if it had been through Toris. That hand would reach out again, this time towards him, and maybe, poetically, it would be Ludwig that would find Toris and strike him down. Ivan wouldn't be wronged like that without setting it straight.
Toris was a threat to Ivan, as long as he was alive, and always would be. Toris was the only man on earth that could have shattered everything Ivan had built up. The only man that could have ever threatened Ivan and Ludwig's fantasy world. The only man that posed any sort of threat to their living lie. For that, Ivan would chase him down the world over. Wouldn't ever stop until Toris was taken care of.
Would never stop, until he finally got a hold of Toris.
He spent every day looking over his shoulder and jumping at shadows. Fearing the dark. Fearing what was behind every door. Fearing the outside, and then outside fearing to come back inside. Fearing every car that drove by.
The rest of his life would be condemned to that. His punishment. He had hurt so many people. The list of bodies behind him was as long as Ivan's had ever been. Hell, it was probably longer.
He had been the worst of them all, always had been.
He deserved this life. This constant panic and fear.
Every time he turned a corner. Every time he stepped into the street. Every time he walked past an alley. Every time he crossed a stranger on the sidewalk. Every time a flash of gold caught the sun. Every time he lay down to sleep.
Couldn't even enjoy the cool wind blowing through the trees, the sun coming out from behind the clouds, the smell of the grass or the colors of the flowers, because, in the end, every time he opened his front door—