A/N: I'll have the epilogue up probably by tomorrow - I'm just putting the finishing touches to it!

I took the Valkyrie card concept from the movie (I couldn't find much confirmation of the existence of these devices anywhere else), but I did true research on the other mentioned concepts. The three men named were executed.

The emphasis in this chapter is on the total confusion Ludwig feels as his world seems to collapse.

Chapter 7

This time, Gilbert didn't ask how it had gone in Italy; he could read it all on Ludwig's stony face (and it read like an overly dramatized tabloid scandal).

"Something wrong, West?" he offered instead, pretending as though he was preoccupied with afternoon soap opera he'd been half-watching. "You weren't pickpocketed at the airport, were you?"

"Nein." He inhaled as though about to add something else, then thought better of it and began to climb the stairs to the upper level without another word.

Flipping on the light in his bedroom, he crossed to the full-length mirror on the far wall to stand before it. He looked no older than he had back in his own time (admittedly, nations didn't exactly age at the same rate as humans), but for a few worried wrinkles that had become just slightly more pronounced than before. He still had the same face, the same eyes, the same broad set to his shoulders that he had trained so long to achieve. However, as he stripped away his shirt, he began to notice the differences he had spotted briefly in the shower that morning.

There were scars, some deeper than others, that twisted and jabbed and discolored his flesh until his chest and back had become a map of injury. Worst of all were the old burns, stretching across large pinkish patches to distort what at one time had been smooth, pale skin. True, some he'd had from the First World War, and others from long forgotten eras before that, but those seemed to had faded slightly with time and forgiveness.

One of these in particular put Ludwig very ill at ease. Gnarled, white scar tissue cut clear across his left pectoral, splitting what would have been Berlin clear in half. He recalled Gilbert saying that part of the war reparations had involved the division of his capital, but he hadn't seriously considered it until he's seen the scar. His body had actually seen the war to the end… and beyond.

Not entirely wanting to believe, the German nation shook his head at his reflection only to catch sight of a small, yellow card hanging out of the mirror's frame. Above it was a small snapshot of Ludwig with his brother and Feliciano, all smiling (though, perhaps, not so much Ludwig as the other two) and standing in front of a building he didn't quite recognize.

Curious fingers plucked up the yellow slip, turning it over as Ludwig struggled to connect it to something, anything, but coming up short.

"Hey, West, you wanna go grab a drink in a few hours with me?" Gilbert popped his head into the room. "I mean, so long as you keep your head down and don't talk to anyone, I'm pretty sure we'll be okay."

"Bruder, what's this?" Ignoring the other's invitation, the blonde waved the card at him.

An interesting mixture of emotion flickered across his brother's face when he caught sight of the item, his crimson eyes widening slightly before narrowing in pleasure to accommodate his sneering lips.

"You kept yours, too?" he asked, a low chuckle bordering his speech. "That, West, is probably 'bout the only goddamn thing we did right back then."

"A card?"

"That was to prove you were part of the operation."

"What operation, Bruder? You're not making sense."

"Valkyrie."

"You don't mean the measures to be taken in the event of der Fuhrer- Adolf Hitler's death?"

"The very same," he replied with a nod. "Well, we made a few… minor changes, and tired a few things for ourselves…"

The pieces fell into place, and Ludwig's eyes bulged. "You assassinated him?"

"We tried… Gott, did we try." A cloud seemed to descended upon the albino as his earlier smirk faded in favor of an almost mournful expression. "We lost quite a few brave kids then, West, but they risked it all for you."

"For me? What do you mean?"

Gilbert pulled his cell phone from his pocket, toying with it as he had his officer's pistol so many decades ago. "They were shot for treason, West, when all they were trying to do was save you from that goddamned lunatic."

"To save me?"

"Yes, to save you!" Phone clattering to the hardwood floor, the shorter of the two snatched up his brother by the shoulders instead. "Remember what I told you? Hitler was bad fucking news. He killed hundreds of thousands of people – even your people – for some bullshit cause that he glorified in all those damned patriotic speeches! You want to know people who really did something for you? Stauffenburg, Haefton, Olbricht… They gave you their blood. Hitler shot himself in the head when he knew we were all fucked. Some leader he was, the coward."

"Stop!" Ludwig shoved the former nation away with a little more force than he had originally intended. Then, catching himself, he snapped, "Stop lecturing me, Gilbert, I'm not a child anymore!"

Wheezing from when his back collided with the wall, the albino sat heavily on the floor. "You know I'm right, West. Quit lying to yourself."

Head pounding and heart racing, the blonde edged slowly from the room as though anticipating one last, desperate attack from his gasping brother. They'd talked about it before, about the destruction and mayhem sown by the mustached dictator and his skewed ideals, and Ludwig had understood to a degree. Now, he only felt irrational and confused. In his time, Hitler was being praised as the savior of the German people. It this time, Hitler was regarded as a hack and a monster. In his time, he was the ideal male. In this time, he was homosexual. Suddenly, all Ludwig wanted was some consistency. Surely something was still the same. If not the refrigerator/icebox, or his bedroom, or the shower, or the cars, or buildings, or his relationship with Feliciano, then to what could he turn to find that peace of mind?

"West, watch out!"

He had heard Gilbert's call a moment too late seeing as his foot had just hooked under the belly of the dozing Rottweiler who had decided to make the top of the staircase the location of his nap. Tilting dangerously far forward, Ludwig felt himself losing contact with the ground as Berlitz shifted in time to keep himself from tumbling down the stairs along with his master.

"West!"

"Berlitz!"

And, for a moment, all Ludwig could hear was the sound of a strangely familiar little girl's voice calling him back home.