It was told in a fragment of memories, interwoven by the strand.
He saw the little kid that was once by his side: small but tough.
The older man, the brother, saw the kid for what he was worth; he took after him with somewhat impulsive actions.
He was small though kind despite the occasional slip up of childhood; he made for an amazingly powerful enemy though despite his age.
Gabriel used to study battle tactics on Gilbert's knee and read books that told of gallant knights and their lovely wives.
He denied reading those books and denied his own very obvious feelings for a girl that he grew up near; she was the neighbor's daughter though her hair was cut short.
She wore green and white dresses and enjoyed the little things in life which included painting, a particular talent that neither Gilbert or Gabriel had ever picked up.
Gilbert remembered watching how excited his younger brother got to learn to paint if only to paint her; he denied the little bit of romanticism that swirled in his veins.
Then again, so did his brother.
The oldest of the two was never particularly honest with his feelings, the thoughts that left him worrying late into the night, or the many ways that he'd tried charming a childhood friend of his.
Gabriel must have inherited that trait as well though it was a fun game to convince the young child to play games with the older like hide and seek though Gil was always too easy to spot or tag in which the Prussian ran much faster than his younger brother did.
He remembered the day that Gabriel had became his to take care of, and the day that he'd had to sit him down and tell him that their father had passed away.
The Prussian knew even then that their father would never abandon them and found himself staring at the blue eyes that were so like their father's and wishing that the pain would be taken out to tide and left there.
He had watched those first tears fall before moving to pull him closer, anything to hide the tears from sight and to calm the ache in their hearts that would always remain.
Gilbert remembered their lives after that and how they fell into new routines; he'd seen the desperation in his brother's eyes and perhaps he knew what would happen then in that little brilliant mind of his.
He didn't dare say a word as he stared at his brother and finally admitted that life never worked the way one felt it should; there would be pain and suffering, but there'd be joy too that was found in the most unexpected ways.
Gilbert remembers the day that he found out that one of his best friends had killed him; he'd almost fallen before him before catching himself.
He whispered that he couldn't believe it; the boy that he had raised was no longer there to be raised.
Gilbert remembers the gravestone that he'd built with his childhood friend and remembers breaking down when she and her husband had left.
He remembers the little child that had joined him there at the grave and the tears that dripped lower and lower.
Gilbert remembers her voice then; it was not quite a girl's voice.
It was a question of how this could happen with heartbreak written on the words; she stared down at the inscription and read and reread his name over and over: Gabriel Beilschmidt.
His name didn't change.