A/N : Nine years, and it's finally over. To every single one of you, all I can say is thank you. Thanks for reading, thanks for sticking around, thanks for encouraging me. Thanks for everything. Without all of you, I never would have finished this. It's really as much your accomplishment as mine, and for that I'll always be grateful. Thank you. ((if you need a good laugh after finishing : ( www. tumblr .com dashboard/blog/repent-jester/180267025663))

Chapter 29

The road had ended.

The destination had been reached.

Home, sweet home.

The leaves had already started dropping from the trees. The temperature was cooling down rather sharply and drastically. The air was dry and cold. No fireflies anymore; they'd all gone. Toris just parked the car a good ways out of town at noon, and started leading Gilbert into the forest.

Didn't mention to Gilbert that there were bears and wolves and the odd tiger and whatnot, because it didn't even matter. No predator in that forest could have ever scared them more than the predator that was waiting there in that stone house.

As he always did, Gilbert walked behind Toris blindly, asked no questions, and trusted him without waver. They walked for hours, and it wasn't too horrible, really, because shortly after they had entered the trees Gilbert had trotted up to Toris' side and reached out to snatch his hand. Gilbert was scared, and so was Toris, so Toris just clenched Gilbert's hand like a little kid and dragged him along.

Oh, missed this place, so much. That awful squirm of homesickness in his stomach, these familiar forests, the scent of the pine and distant river. The smell of home, that could never truly be replicated anywhere else on the earth.

The last time he would ever see it.

The plan was essentially the same as the rough draft Toris had put together in his head. The only difference was that, when (if) Gilbert finally turned and left Ludwig behind, he was to run into the town and meet Toris at the prison, where there were cars that Toris knew he could easily steal. After all, he still had keys to every single door in this town. Still owned it, even if Ivan pretended that he didn't. Was just worried that Gilbert would get lost, despite how many times Toris had drilled the path into Gilbert's head and how many times he had repeated the directions aloud back to Toris. Worried that Gilbert, in fright, would forget or take a wrong turn.

Didn't expect to survive, so he wasn't really going to have his hopes dashed.

They came then to the top of the hill at the edge of the forest, and the town was visible below them at a distance. The house, alone there at the end.

The end of the line.

Gilbert had let go of his hand to come forward and look the town over from above, and Toris could see that his eyes had fallen immediately upon the vast diamond mine in the distance, gaping out like a whirlpool in the sea.

The sun was hanging just over the horizon.

Home.

Toris looked over at Gilbert, as Gilbert stared in awe at the mine, and he felt himself smile a little. And, just in case...

"Last chance," Toris said, lowly. "Be sure. This is the last chance to go back. Once we go down, it's too late. Be sure."

Hoping, under it all, that Gilbert would turn back, but knowing that he would never.

Gilbert was still for a moment, as he looked out into the dusk of the distant town, and he was pretty sure that Gilbert's hands trembled when he took that first step forward. Must have been so terrified, so pumped full of adrenaline, and yet Gilbert stepped forward then all the same, because he had known all along that it would come to this.

All Gilbert said then was, "I'm ready."

Right.

"Then," Toris said, as he came forward and clapped Gilbert on the back, "Let's go."

Gilbert's hands suddenly stopped trembling, he fell utterly still, and he exhaled.

Gilbert stared at the town, golden in the setting sun, that warm glow of the last days of fall, and Toris stared at Gilbert, because somehow he knew that it was going to be the last time he ever saw him. Tried to take in every bit of him. Tried to remember him. All those little details he had noticed over the months Toris committed to memory.

Would always and forever remember that moment.

Gilbert standing there in the orange light of sunset, hair silvery-gold and eyes lit up a beautiful shade of maroon, face so calm and peaceful, as if everything in Gilbert's frantic mind had suddenly found some happy place. Had seen Gilbert at his worst, and Toris knew that in that moment he was seeing Gilbert at his best.

Maybe that was the very first time that Toris could look at Gilbert and understand why Ludwig had crossed the wall for him. Seeing, so briefly, what Ludwig had seen. Had never understood, not one single time, until he saw Gilbert in that moment.

Would never forget it.

Gilbert inhaled, deeply, and turned to look at Toris, and if he had committed Gilbert to his memory, then he was very certain then that Gilbert was doing the same with Toris.

Felt like eternity before Gilbert suddenly gave a slanted, charming smile, and said, in a voice that must have been what Gilbert had sounded like so long ago, "You're a real asshole, you know? You're such a jerk. You're the worst guy I ever met. And I'm so glad you came with me."

Seeing Gilbert as he had once been, confident and brazen and fearless. Strong and ruggedly handsome. Charming and rather appealing. Could say then, even, that he found Gilbert beautiful.

Made it harder, though, to let him go.

Gilbert's hand flew up, rested on Toris' cheek, a long stare between them, and Toris didn't care if Gilbert really saw him there or if he saw Ludwig. Didn't matter at all, because he felt happy then.

Toris clapped his hand on the side of Gilbert's neck, gripped, and Toris just replied, gruffly, "If I'm the worst guy you ever met, you must never have owned a mirror. Probably for the best, 'cause you're an ugly son of a bitch."

Gilbert gave a short laugh, a real damn laugh, for the first time, and Toris was hypnotized by him then, entirely. Could see what Gilbert would have been if everything had worked out alright in his head and in his life. Guess being on the brink had that effect, and Gilbert pressed forward suddenly, pushed their foreheads together, and his voice was rich and warm and so pretty when he whispered, "Please don't die. I kinda like ya."

Behind the sting of his eyes and the clutch of his throat, all Toris could say, thickly, was, "Likewise."

Gilbert stepped back then, looking the brave one for once, and smiled at Toris one final time, as the sun set. It hurt like hell to see Gilbert at his most handsome and sincere and sane just to let him go like that. To open up his hand.

The last time seeing Gilbert in daylight.

Toris took it with him, that memory, and started walking.

A call behind him.

"See you on the other side."

And Toris knew, as they split up and made in opposite directions, that Gilbert did not mean on the other side of that wall.

All Toris could do was walk on, and try his best, as he had his entire life.

Wanted so badly, more than he had ever wanted anything, to look over his shoulder and back at Gilbert, but he didn't. Couldn't, because if he did he would lose his nerve, his courage, would founder, and would turn back.

He didn't look.

The sun was gone.

Stars coming out. The moon was full, but was frequently hidden by the white clouds rolling through, breaking through fronts from time to time and lighting the world up silver. Toris slunk down through the trees and towards the mine, and Gilbert went down to where Toris had told him to wait, in the forest behind the house.

Gilbert waited for Toris to draw Ivan out, and Toris could only hope that he would be able to dodge and sprint just fast enough to make it back to the mine without smacking straight into a hurdle in the form of Ivan's bullet. Could already see himself up in his head, bounding and zigzagging like a damn rabbit as Ivan bolted after him as the fox, bullets flying everywhere. Ha—actually made Toris laugh aloud, that thought, because that was just the kind of man he was.

If all went accordingly to this impossible plan, Toris would get Ivan far out beyond the mine, get around him, and when Ivan had to stop and catch his breath because he was a big son of a bitch, Toris would get enough of a head start to start backtracking around the town and make it out to the prison. There, if there was ever any shred of hope left in the world, Gilbert would be waiting. Toris would hijack a car, and then they would be on their way again, just like before, driving together. Gilbert would have his last look at Ludwig, and Toris would get his final blow in on Ivan. They'd be together, safe and ready to move on.

Yeah, sure. That would happen, alright, and Toris had no doubt whatsoever that he and Gilbert would be side by side driving together tonight, only it wouldn't be a car; would be in that little boat as they crossed the river into the gates of hell.

Supposed it was all just fair, in the end. No less than they probably deserved.

Toris reached the edge of the forest, and there was the vast field, littered with sparse trees here and there and the huge, clunking machinery used to work the mine. All quiet now, lit up in the moon and glittering with frost. Toris took a deep breath for courage, reminded himself that he was going to see that wonderful look of absolute awe on Ivan's face, and he finally darted out.

Shivered.

Too much adrenaline, anticipation.

Couldn't have asked for a better night, really. It was beautiful weather. Just cold enough to see his breath in the air, cold enough for the ground to glitter, but not unbearable, and without his coat Toris was quite comfortable yet.

Was so glad he had preened his uniform so much. Gave him more confidence than he otherwise would have ever had.

He passed by the mine, and found the dirt path that led into town. He took the first step up it, and was already envisioning Ivan's face. Ah, couldn't wait to see it, just couldn't. Couldn't wait to walk up the drive towards the house and have Ivan come charging out of the front door like a bull, never guessing that Gilbert would be on the completely opposite side.

Toris walked.

A glint in the moonlight.

Suddenly, randomly, everything went horribly wrong, and every bit of plan that Toris had clumsily put together was shredded apart.

He reached the first corner on the path, glanced up at that glint of silver, and there was Ludwig coming down towards the mine.

They fell still at the same time, stiller than each of them had likely ever been, not breathing at all, either of them, because there were no longer any puffs in the cold air.

Jesus fuckin' Christ, couldn't be—

They had just started, there was no way everything had gone so wrong so quickly, he had to be seeing things, because there was no way that Ivan would have let Ludwig out of that house knowing that Toris was on the loose, no way. Couldn't fathom it, really couldn't, couldn't comprehend.

Ludwig wasn't even dressed to be outside, not really. Was just in slacks and one of Ivan's thin grey button-ups. Didn't have a coat, no hat or gloves. His gun was there, though, as always; could see the bottom of the holster, poking out from under his un-tucked shirt. Why was he out here like this? What could he have possibly been doing? A few strands of his hair had come down in the front, as if he had been running around.

Ludwig tilted his head, suddenly, as he often had when observing Toris, and Toris didn't even feel himself pull his gun, but it was suddenly pointing at Ludwig's chest all the same. Ludwig, entirely unprepared, just stood there, staring, and didn't move. Didn't try to pull his own gun, Ivan's gun once, on Toris in turn. Didn't move at all.

Just stared at Toris.

Couldn't breathe—

And then Ludwig's tilted head dropped down, face hidden from Toris, his shoulders shook just a little bit, and Toris could hear that Ludwig was laughing. Only, it wasn't a laugh Toris had ever heard before. Giggling, really, but not the same as Ludwig had given when he had shot those men in town. No, this was different, so different, and all Toris could think of then was that it sounded just like Natalia's giggling when she had been tormenting someone she hated.

The first thing Ludwig said when he caught his breath, as he stood there in the light of the white clouds and lifted his eyes up, was, "I'm supposed to shoot you, Toris. If I saw you again."

A clench of his chest. Yeah, that figured. Ivan obviously would have told Ludwig to shoot Toris on sight without even saying a single word to him.

Oh, god, the sight of Ludwig then.

Could barely fathom it.

Hair lit up white, eyes silver and skin as pale as the hidden moon, he just fuckin' stood there, arms straight at his sides and stance steady and jaw set confidently. His broad shoulders were low and easy, neck arched downward so that he was looking up at Toris through his lashes even as he stood taller, and Toris was fairly certain that his blank face might have been threatening to twitch into a smile.

Didn't even flinch, with a gun right at him.

Ludwig terrified him, Christ almighty, was like looking right through into the other side of a black mirror. Once upon a time, Toris had opened the doors to the back of a vehicle and had been certain then that he had seen the most unspeakably terrifying thing anyone ever could, coming face to face for the first time with Ivan. Oh, had he been wrong, dead wrong, because what he felt right then, looking at Ludwig—

No words. Had no words at all, could never have described it.

Ludwig suddenly cracked his neck a little, reached up to smooth back his hair, and then he gave a light snort and took a step towards Toris. And even though Toris was the one with the gun, somehow it was Toris who felt the most in danger as Ludwig very slowly advanced on him.

Every single hair on his body was absolutely on end.

So genuinely horrified that he was numb, terror so strong that it had knocked his senses out. Had never felt that way, never, and he knew in that moment that Ludwig scared him a hundred times more than Ivan ever possibly could have.

Ludwig took another silent step.

Shit. Nothing was going according to plan. What the hell was Ludwig doing out here? Why wasn't he inside? Ivan had actually let him out, knowing that Toris was coming? Maybe restless Ludwig had just slipped out of his own accord. Maybe Ludwig didn't listen to Ivan anymore. Maybe Ludwig was in charge now, and it was Ivan following orders.

Ludwig's silver eyes pinned him down like knives.

What to do, what to do, because Ludwig took another step, Gilbert was waiting, and Toris couldn't breathe.

Couldn't get through Ludwig. Trying to get around Ludwig was as impossible as trying to get around Ivan himself. Just stood there, so dumbly, as Ludwig very slowly advanced on him from up the path.

Silence, as his gun shook in his hand and Ludwig stood firm and unafraid, and it was Ludwig who spoke first again.

"Where did you go, Toris? Tell me. I've been so curious."

That voice was an unrecognizable as anything else there before him, perfectly smooth and silky and unruffled, so much higher than Ludwig's normal voice, so pleasant, even as that gun aimed straight at his heart. As if Ludwig were having a congenial conversation with an old lady.

Well, then. Time to not die, and that was Toris' favorite time of day.

Ivan might have known how to program Ludwig, but Toris knew how to push a few buttons here and there. Or had been able to before, anyway. He had been gone for a long while and maybe Ivan had patched those gaps. May as well give it a go. Literally had nothing to lose by trying.

Shaking off that horror enough to get his throat to open, though, was much harder than he had anticipated, as he bristled yet and everything in him, every single survival instinct, every cell, was telling him to turn and run away from the terrifying creation. Couldn't run—Gilbert was waiting, and even if he hadn't been, Toris couldn't flee because Ludwig would shoot him the second he turned his back if he tried to.

So Toris tried to keep his voice calm and steady as he replied, "I just went out for a while. You know how it is. You show up a little late sometimes. What are you doing out here, Ludwig? It's freezing. Where's your coat, huh? Aren't you cold, Ludwig?"

Silence.

He waited, hand shaking so badly now that he couldn't have hit the side of a fuckin' house, and he wasn't sure whether he was relieved or not when Ludwig finally did smile.

"I thought you'd gone for good. I thought you'd left me again."

Again?

Nope, no relief, just another wave of terror, as that pale smile was as fixed as those eyes. Ludwig's lashes lit up white when the moon came out from behind a cloud, and he took one more step.

"I didn't leave you, Ludwig. I wouldn't do that. I came back. We're brothers, remember?"

Ludwig didn't blink, didn't twitch, and seemed very thoroughly unfazed.

Toris was full of shit, and Ludwig knew it. Stupid. He wasn't any better than Feliks, when everything was said and done. Was no better, not at all. Would have sold Ludwig out very easily had it saved him. He'd'a left Ludwig, if he could have. Wouldn't'a looked back. He was only here now because of Gilbert, and Ludwig was not his brother.

But not Gilbert's, either.

Ludwig wasn't anyone's anything then, because he was something that no one could ever put a claim on. Wasn't even Ivan's then, not really, because Toris was so certain suddenly that Ludwig had come from the other side of some dark closet. Opening the door one day and there he just was, borne from the shadows, because he was very real and yet not there at all.

Scariest damn thing Toris had ever seen, and if he had thought that Gilbert's breadth of comprehension wasn't wide enough to see Ludwig's change, then Toris was guilty of that suddenly as well, because what he was seeing with his own eyes was somehow still so well beyond him.

No answer, nothing, and Ludwig just stared at him.

Ludwig took a another step forward, and then another, and then, god, god, he was close enough to push Toris' gun into his chest. Pushed himself right into the gun, pressed it there right into his heart, and didn't even seem to feel it. Ivan had once pushed himself into Feliks' rifle, and yet somehow that hadn't seemed half as terrifying as it was when Ludwig just smiled there at him.

A shift, a movement, and Ludwig reached out. Toris flinched. A hand fell on his shoulder, fingers squeezed muscle, and Ludwig didn't even seem to be truly aware of the pistol sticking into him.

"I missed you, Toris. I told him I'd shoot you, and if he were here, I would. But it's just us. I can pretend you were never here. I can spend some time in the dark for you."

Didn't deserve that, honestly, assuming of course that Ludwig actually meant it.

Oh, god help him, the awful thought he had then—to shoot Ludwig.

Wanted to shoot him, he did, because this wasn't Ludwig, this was just something murky and radioactive that would destroy the world. Ivan had opened the floodgates to the abyss, and Ludwig's black water would drown the Earth. If Ivan could set fire to the planet, then Ludwig was the gas leak that would cause an explosion. Ivan had been dangerous enough on his own. It had been even more dangerous when Ivan had been commanding Ludwig, but now...

If Ludwig was suddenly the one commanding Ivan, then there was only destruction.

All Toris could think to do was ask, again, "Aren't you cold, Ludwig?"

Ludwig pushed forward suddenly against the gun, and Toris felt himself take an automatic step backwards. Ludwig took another. So did he. Paces backward, as Ludwig kept pressing him farther and farther back, and he was just so damn mesmerized and terrified that all he could do was follow Ludwig's lead and keep their eyes locked. Couldn't look away, couldn't, because it was the same as staring at the tiger; if you blinked and your gaze twitched, for just a second, it would lunge.

Couldn't break that gaze, because Ludwig would pounce.

His hand trembled. The gun was pointless, all show; he couldn't shoot Ludwig. Not because it would kill Gilbert, not because he was scared, not because he had any glimmer of hope that Ludwig could come back. No. None of that. Couldn't shoot Ludwig, in the end, because even though Ludwig would cause only chaos and hurt, it wasn't his fault. Wasn't Ludwig's fault, it was Ivan's, for making him that way, and Toris couldn't shoot him, had he been mobile enough to do so. Not Ludwig's fault that he was that way. God help him, even though he knew he should have, needed to, was the right thing to do really, Toris couldn't have ever done it. Couldn't shoot Ludwig, would never have been able to.

When he looked at this dark Ludwig, all he really saw was himself if Ivan had loved him. Everything he would have been, so he couldn't shoot Ludwig.

Pebbles rustling as Ludwig pushed him back. Steps in the dirt.

The trees in the distance swayed in the wind. The scent of pine and dying grass. The glitter of mica in the moon.

Hooting of owls.

Something hard pressed into his back then, he jumped and sucked in a breath, and he realized that Ludwig had walked him back to the guardrail around the diamond mine. Cold steel.

Oh, shit, oh shit, what did he do? What could he do, what was he supposed to do, time was wasting and fleeing and Gilbert was waiting there in the trees, Gilbert was so impatient, was so antsy, and if Toris didn't show soon then he was going to just go right to the house and get himself killed—

Ludwig suddenly lowered his right hand, his left still very much clenching Toris' shoulder, and now the gun was within two sets of fingers. So stupid. He was so stupid. Ludwig pried the gun gently from him with little protest. Seemed that Ludwig could fascinate him now as much as Ivan ever had.

Toris had always been so steady with the gun. When he held his gun, his hand never shook, never, everything within him was rock-steady, always had been. This was the first time that his hand had ever betrayed him, had trembled. Not once. Never, and yet that time, his courage had failed. For the first time, Toris was successfully disarmed. Hadn't thought it possible at all, but Ludwig had made it look so easy.

Couldn't fight off Ludwig's stare. No one and nothing could, because suddenly staring into Ludwig's eyes was the same as staring into the black hole. By the time you got close enough to see it, it was too late; the event horizon couldn't be escaped.

Space.

And it occurred to Toris, then, that Ludwig would probably shoot him with his own gun and then kick him down into the mine below.

Now that Toris was disarmed, Ludwig's posture changed. He straightened up, lifted his head back up to stare down at Toris, his shoulders rolled up and back, and his smile seemed much more sincere and very, very amused. He reached out, patted Toris' cheek with a snort, playfully, and shot him a wink. Another quick giggle, and then out of nowhere Ludwig was turning his head this way and that, as if looking for something, and all Toris could do was stare at his gun.

What a damn feeling it was, and not a good one, having his own gun in someone else's hands, as Ludwig suddenly raised it up to scratch at his temple with the muzzle, scoping the scenery out yet with those endless eyes, looking around relentlessly.

A scary sight, Ludwig peering around, line in his forehead as he raised his brows up and kept that gun up near his own temple, smile still on his face and looking so pleased.

What was he looking for?

Glinting in the dim light, as diamond dust and rocks lit up.

Toris sucked in another breath, tried to play it off as a laugh, and said, "Ludwig! Are you gonna shoot me, Ludwig?"

Ludwig. He hadn't been around to tell Ludwig who he was. Hadn't been there to say that name, and maybe Ludwig had a different one now. Maybe he had no name at all, because he didn't really seem human. Felt to Toris then that Ludwig was more like something someone had accidentally conjured up during a ritual gone wrong, and maybe that was why he had never parents, Christ—

A movement. Again, Toris flinched.

Ludwig didn't turn the gun around on him, though, and instead suddenly tucked it into his belt, underneath his shirt behind his back. He didn't once release Toris from that piercing stare, and for whatever stupid reason it occurred to Toris that Ludwig could now very easily stare down Ivan. Invincible. Ivan would be the one now trapped under Ludwig's eyes.

Toris' heart hammered loudly enough to hurt his chest.

A motion, a jolt of panic, fear, as Toris could only stand breathless and so motionless when Ludwig suddenly reached out his hands, grabbed Toris' face, leaned forward, and kissed him upon the forehead.

Felt so cold then, utter ice, chilled down to everything, and the shudder he felt forced every single muscle to move along with it, it was so powerful. Wasn't even sure then what he felt. An awful mix of terror and fascination and elation and hate and fear, everything possible. Only Ivan had ever been able to make him feel that, but so too now could Ludwig. He just stood there and stared at Ludwig in that trance, hardly breathing and so captivated.

Ludwig pulled back, then, as quickly as he had leaned forward, and finally took a step back to distance them. The spell was broken, and Toris snapped out of it with an inhale and a rush of adrenaline so powerful it made him dizzy.

Ludwig's look had suddenly hardened, right back into that expression of annoyance and distaste that he had been showing Toris before he had left, as if he had grown bored.

"Get out of here, Toris. Don't come back. Or I will shoot you. Go."

A look of finality.

Toris didn't doubt for a second that Ludwig meant it.

Ludwig's patience and interest in Toris had ended for good. Ludwig had only said what was needed to get the gun out of Toris' hand. The task was complete. The little kiss had just been a permanent goodbye. That was the last time Ludwig would ever speak to him, and if they crossed paths again that night, Ludwig would shoot him.

Just couldn't figure out, at first, why Ludwig hadn't shot him there to begin with. Ludwig would shoot him if they ran into each other again, so why not just shoot him now and get it over with? Why wait? Ludwig felt nothing for Toris, so why not just kill him?

Something simple, actually : just because Ivan wasn't there. More of an instance of 'when Ivan's away, Ludwig will play' sorta thing. That was what Ludwig had been looking for. Ivan. Making sure that somewhere, somehow, someway, Ivan wasn't watching. Ivan hadn't been, so Ludwig did what he wanted, and for whatever reason Ludwig just hadn't felt like shooting Toris at that particular moment. It was boring to Ludwig, maybe.

Toris had been spared only because Ivan hadn't been there and because Ludwig had decided he had more interesting things to do. Had Ivan been there, of course Ludwig would have shot him, but Ivan hadn't been, so Ludwig had been playing around a little, like the way a cat paddled around before pouncing. Ludwig spared Toris in that instance because it had been fun for him, and maybe, in some way, Ludwig was tormenting him by prolonging the inevitable. Maybe Ludwig was just letting him fly a little then to see how far he could get.

Torturing him without even touching him.

Oh.

Where was Gilbert now? The plan had been delayed, the time had been set wrong, and Gilbert, so impatient, had probably tried to go the house anyway. Ludwig would hardly be more sympathetic to Gilbert, not now. Ludwig had let Toris go, perhaps, because Toris had never wronged him. Gilbert had, in Ludwig's mind because that was what Ivan spent so long planting there, and for that Ludwig wouldn't let Gilbert off so easily.

Ludwig wandered off, feet making hardly any noise as he went.

Toris watched him go, and knew that there was a new plan—get the fuck out of there, and yesterday.

Couldn't go to the house, not with Ludwig going up that path and not knowing where exactly Ivan was. Could only turn back and get the hell back into the forest, and hope that dumb fuckin' Gilbert was still waiting in the trees, that he hadn't gone down. Couldn't go after him, if he had.

He turned on his heel, and meant to bolt right back past that mine and into the forest. Made it a many good few meters, too, into the cluttered field, before he ran into another obstacle.

He had gotten rid of Ludwig. He found something else in his stead.

Ivan.

Just ran through sleeping machinery, abandoned for the night, turned his head to the side and there Ivan was, fuckin' hell, just coming up out of nowhere from behind a crane.

Why were they out here? What had they been doing? What the hell had they been fuckin' doing? Wandering around out here like ghosts? What could they have possibly been doing? Were they admiring the forest at nighttime? Target practice, to sharpen Ludwig's eyes in dim light? Stargazing? Was Ivan courting Ludwig out here, amongst trees and stars and diamond dust? Using that instilled Russian romanticism to woo Ludwig somehow further into the shadows?

They had been separate; hide and seek? Was Ludwig eluding Ivan in some sort of game? Were they running around town trying to pin each other down?

Or maybe, more likely, Ludwig really had escaped the house in a fit of boredom and Ivan was trying to hunt him down and bring him back inside, but Ludwig just kept playfully hopping away from him like a disobedient cat.

Toris skidded to a halt mid-sprint, knocked senseless once more, and Ivan had been walking, falling as still suddenly as Toris as they stared at each other. Couldn't be more than three meters between them, so close, and Ivan had fallen so completely still that Toris almost thought he had just run into a very ill-placed Soviet statue.

Good god, could anything else have possibly gone wrong for him that night?

A sharp inhale, but it came from Ivan, not Toris.

Ivan. The sight of him stunned Toris into immobility, thrust him into the atmosphere, as that awful wave of emotion hit him over the head.

Ivan.

Love.

Damn near stupefying, that burst of adoration and fear and hate and everything else.

Oh, that man—! How Toris loved him.

So damn beautiful while at the same time horrifying, the most spectacular and also the most terrifying thing Toris had known, his entire world right there before him, the reason he had ever gotten out of bed, the reason he had had for living at all.

Ivan.

There he was. Could scarcely believe it. Oh, damn, was Toris' heart suddenly hammering away. That glorious son of a bitch. Toris stared at Ivan then harder than he had ever stared at anything, feeling so elated and so wrathful at the same time.

Ivan's hair was a mess, uncombed and sticking out every which way, being blown as it was by the gentle breeze. Heavy stubble on his face. Just like Ludwig, he wasn't dressed for the outdoors in any sense, wearing wrinkled black sweatpants and an even more wrinkled button-up shirt that was barely even buttoned up at all. No coat, no hat, no gloves, no belt, nothing. Probably didn't even have socks on under his boots. As if he had been in bed and had rolled out to run outside in a hurry.

And Toris was beyond certain then, just at the look of Ivan, that Ivan really had been out here trying to corral Ludwig. Had been darting around and going in circles trying to get Ludwig to sit still long enough to grab him. Must have been in bed, ready for sleep, and Ludwig had just decided to get up and writhe out of Ivan's clutches and straight out the door, and Ivan had had no choice but to trot helplessly after elusive and clever Ludwig.

Ivan had been outside to coax and pin his obstinate cat, and had found his lost dog instead.

Ivan looked positively dumbfounded.

The first thing that Toris really noticed, beyond the beautiful, overwhelming sight of him, was that Ivan didn't have his gun. Had been unprepared, for once, running outside after Ludwig as he likely had, maybe only because Ludwig was always armed and so Ivan just hadn't thought about it.

Ivan was unarmed.

Well. Actually, needed to rephrase. Not armed, at least in the sense that he was carrying a gun. Ivan didn't need a gun to kill someone, anymore than Toris or Ludwig did.

Toris could already see it up in his head : after a short stand-off, Ivan would probably lunge forward, so fast that Toris could barely see him, and this time maybe Toris would actually have the gall to try and fight for his life. Couldn't stand up to Ivan for long, though, not long, and he knew it. Toris had always relied on smarts, but he was strong, too. Had to be, to be in the Red Army, to be in Ivan's world. But even though he could have taken down any normal man, Toris couldn't ever have taken down Ivan, because Ivan had been trained to kill, really trained. Ivan had been taught to feel no pain, to never stop. Ivan had been beaten into a pulp by his superiors until he had learned systema, until he had been able to hold them off, until pain didn't faze him anymore. Toris had never been trained like that. Eventually, Ivan would overpower him, one way or another, and really the only thing left to question was whether Ivan would pin him down in the dirt, knees on arms, and strangle him to death, or choose to beat him to death with those iron fists and steel-toed boots instead.

Toris couldn't really say which would have been worse.

Ivan didn't need a gun.

A long, breathless look, as he and Ivan stared at each other. Ivan seemed absolutely flabbergasted, and Toris might have felt a little proud for it.

So, then. Ha.

Ivan sure had been thinking of him, alright, that was obvious. Ivan had been undone, had been fretting, panicking, had spent every day waiting for Toris. Ivan was astounded that Toris had had the nerve to return.

He said as much soon after, his soft, breathy voice barely rising above the gentle wind.

"You came back. You really came back."

Toris hoped, beyond anything, that Ivan was realizing he had made a mistake again. That Toris really could be brave, after all. That Ivan could have had something there, maybe, if he had given an effort. That if Ivan had put effort into Toris, Toris could have been great. Hoped he was realizing that right now.

Ivan kept staring.

The longest that he and Ivan had ever stared at each other, because it was the first time that Toris had been brave enough to hold his gaze.

Felt so brazen now, so bold, so breathlessly fearless. Ivan still terrified him, absolutely, so he couldn't have really described what gave him the nerve to look at Ivan like that. Maybe Gilbert had emboldened him as much as the other way around. Maybe because the bond had been broken.

Toris just fell loose all of a sudden, chin dropping as much as Ludwig's hand, shoulders easy and hands lax, and he stared at Ivan with a sudden scoff. Felt suddenly so damn relaxed.

Ivan had been everything. Ivan had been boss. Ivan had been god. Ivan had been the reason Toris had burned the world. Ivan had been the captain. Ivan had been the one pushing the buttons, the moon that caused the tides, the one pulling the strings, the one that had made Toris dance, the one that had made him function, the one that had made him him.

Everything.

Nothing now.

Or maybe Toris was so brave then, so bold, so unbothered, because he had just gotten done looking into Ludwig's bottomless eyes, and nothing Ivan could ever do now would scare him. Suddenly, Ivan was no longer the most sinister man alive, and Toris didn't fear him. If Ivan was a god, then Ludwig was just the black of space above him, and nothing Ivan could do then from that moment would shake Toris.

Had seen oblivion.

Ivan was nothing.

Again, Ivan whispered, almost dazedly, "You came back."

Only the bravest men trekked of their own volition into Siberia. Ivan could see it now, and so Toris stood up straight, lifted his chin, rolled his shoulders back, and that might have been the first time in his life that he himself had ever actually been able to perfectly emulate Ivan, because he felt like Ivan in that instant. Felt better. Felt haughty. Felt in control. Impervious. Invincible. Untouchable. In that instant, in that split second, Toris felt like Ivan.

Felt like a god.

And it felt goddamn glorious.

Toris was sure that his brow had gotten lofty and his lips had curled into a sneer when he asked, simply, "Are you proud of me?"

Ivan just stood there.

Toris held his arms out at his sides, ever so slightly, mockingly, the very image of Ivan. Absolute adrenaline rush. Had never felt anything like this.

High.

Ah, to know what Ivan had really felt all those years. Addictive.

"Tell me you're proud of me," Toris pressed, his own voice stronger and louder than Ivan's, and this time there was no tremble in his hands, no waver, no fear. His voice was perfectly silvery and calm, as Ivan's always had been. "Tell me. Say it. Tell me you're proud of me. Tell me I did a good job. Tell me you couldn't have done it without me. Say it. Tell me how proud you are. Tell me how brave you think I am. Huh? What's the matter? Can't you talk? Say something. Tell me how much you miss me. Don't you miss me, huh? Haven't you missed me? Haven't you been thinking about me? You can't do anything without me. Say it. Admit it. Without me, you're just a man. You couldn't have done any of this without me. Say it."

Ivan didn't utter a word, didn't move a muscle. Still staring at Toris with that astonished look upon his face. Thought maybe, though, that Ivan's hands had twitched at his sides.

One more taunt, one more demand, one more sentence fell from Toris' lips, as he took a bold step forward, hands ever there at his sides.

"Tell me you love me."

Ivan should have loved Toris, because Toris had loved him for ten years.

Toris took another stride, wide and aggressive, and Ivan, as entranced then as Toris had been under Ludwig, took a step back.

Ivan stepped back.

Extraordinary.

They were family. They were linked. They were connected. Toris may have been nothing without Ivan, but without Toris, Ivan would have been irreparably damaged. Would never have been where he was now. Ivan had built Toris, but Toris had been the foundation beneath Ivan's feet. Toris had been what had made Ivan's life smooth and limitless. Toris was what had really made Ivan truly powerful beyond compare.

Could see it, now that it was gone.

Ivan would never forget Toris.

Seeing Ivan so caught then under his eyes, his, Toris of all people, Toris felt that he wouldn't even care if he died then, because his entire life had suddenly been justified and made good use of, when he took one more step forward and Ivan took one more back.

Pushing Ivan back without once touching him, as Ivan had done to others for countless years. Ivan's pupils were dilated as could possibly be, jaw clenched, and Toris could see him suddenly swallow.

The wolf had been forced back by the dog.

Ivan may have lived here, but all along, it had been Toris that had truly run this town.

For one delirious, surreal moment, Toris almost thought that he could have just sneered and lowered his arms then and walked slowly away, and Ivan would be too utterly mystified to even lift a hand to him. As Ivan had evaded death so many times by being far too hypnotizing to shoot, so too Toris thought he could just walk away and leave Ivan paralyzed in his wake.

Was so certain he could have done it.

Didn't get his chance to try it—a footstep to the side. Toris looked over, so haughtily, still sneering and so confident, still in that high, and Ivan looked too, eyes so wide and breathing through his mouth and pulse hammering in his neck.

Ludwig had come back.

That black mirror shattered.

With Ludwig's appearance, the flipped tables returned to their rightful places; Ivan woke up with a vengeance, and Toris' hands started to shake. The reversal was broken. Toris was petrified again, but not of Ivan. Ludwig was back, after all. That spinning pulsar.

Ludwig blocked the path. Ivan blocked the forest.

Where to run—

And then, suddenly, that pale, wide-eyed Ivan had lowered his arm down and behind him, reached down into his waistband at the small of his back, and pulled out a gun.

Oh. Shit. Ivan had had a gun after all. Had just never hidden it like that before, not once. Had never carried a gun like that, and must have grabbed it at the last second on his way after Ludwig.

Now, Toris was afraid, alright. That illusion of being in control evaporated, and Toris' mind barely had time to go into flight mode when Ivan took a stalking step forward and pulled the trigger.

The sound was too loud in the still air.

A miss.

Ivan had missed. Missed, because for once in his life, Ivan's hands had been shaking. And he wasn't happy about it. A snarl, an actual snarl as if from that wolf itself, a jerk, another aim, but Toris had already bolted, sprinting as fast as he could, darting here and there in the midst of that field of mine equipment, like that rabbit he had envisioned, as Ivan kept on firing at him.

Kept missing. Toris wouldn't sit still long enough.

Could hear Ivan's heavy footsteps behind him in pursuit.

A furious shriek from behind.

"Toris! Hold still! Fuckin' sit still!"

Hardly! Yeah, sure, he was gonna sit still, alright, once he was back in the fuckin' car and on his way to the West. Then he'd sit still.

Hadn't run so hard, so fast, ever, nearly snapped his damn ankle at the sharp turns he was making, skidding about as he was.

As it had been once before, heavy Ivan was goddamn fast, spurred on by adrenaline and hate.

More gunshots, one hitting the machinery nearby and ricocheting off far too close to him.

Ivan's voice was higher, thinner, more furious, breaking and cracking more and more every time he screamed.

"Toris! Don't you run from me! You come back!"

No, thanks!

How many shots had that been? How many?

Couldn't think.

Didn't need to, suddenly, because Ivan shrieked a curse and Toris could hear clicking.

The gun was empty.

Ivan pulled the trigger long after the chamber had been spent, and when Toris looked over his shoulder briefly, he looked positively livid for it. Had never once, not once, seen Ivan so angry, not even that night that Eduard had run out, not even when Ivan had been ready to shoot Toris there in the office. Almost hadn't known anyone could be so angry. If Ivan had dropped dead of an aneurysm right then and there, Toris would have felt no shock, he was so goddamn furious.

Toris' sprint dropped into a trot, because there were no bullets left and Ivan couldn't keep up that pace.

He fell still for just a moment, sucking in air and trying to catch his second wind, and he looked over his shoulder again. Ivan was lagging far behind him, sweating and panting, and Toris watched him carefully as he caught his breath to make sure he was ready to run again. Gasping and bent over to rest his hands on his knees, sweating, Toris just smiled at Ivan, so breathlessly, and laughed to himself.

Ah. That had been almost as satisfying as staring that bastard down, that run.

Exhilarating.

And Toris would have thought that salvation was near, if it hadn't been for fuckin' Ludwig trotting up behind them, apparently keen to watch the action. Ivan wasted no time in grabbing Ludwig by the arm, wrenching him forward, snatching his gun, and aiming it at Toris.

Goddammit—another surge of adrenaline, another awful second of his hair standing on end, staring once more down the barrel of a gun.

A click, another aim, and Ivan was ready to take Toris out for good.

Once more, Toris bolted when Ivan pulled the trigger. Just in time, as the bullet whizzed by.

The chase was on again.

More shrieking from behind, just as breathless and cracking and shrill as before, as Ivan tried to run and scream and shoot all at the same time.

"Sit still, Toris! Fuckin' bastard—I'll be proud of you if you sit still!"

Another shot, far too close by.

"HOLD STILL!"

A scramble, a sense of desperation.

The mine was suddenly right in front of him.

Couldn't run around it. He was running out of options, but Ivan was running out of bullets. A bullet whizzed by his leg then, grazing him just barely, and Toris didn't see much choice; he leapt forward, bounded over the railing, and slid down. Not a second too soon, either, as what he hoped was the final bullet hit the railing.

He hit the first road, and then quickly rolled over and slid down onto the next one. He slammed into the dirt, the wind knocked out of him, and stared up in a daze.

No more bullets, surely, had he counted right?

Ivan reached the railing and grabbed it up in his left hand, leaning far over and meeting Toris' eyes in a second. He aimed the gun at Toris, and damn, Toris couldn't even breathe yet and was utterly helpless there, sprawled on the road.

Had he counted right—?

Stared into the barrel of that gun and right into the void.

Ivan pulled the trigger.

Nothing. Just a little click.

No more bullets.

Toris inhaled as air came back, he gave a gasp that was almost a laugh, staring up at Ivan with wide eyes and feeling so fucking tired. Couldn't even move. Just laid there, as red-faced Ivan stared down at him in fury. Felt good to lay down, even then.

His damn uniform was ruined, covered in dust and dirt as it was. Shame.

A snarl of frustration, as Ivan kept on squeezing the trigger long after there had only been clicking. Panting for air so heavily that Toris could hear his chest rattling, even all the way below, forehead gleaming with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, and Toris had never seen Ivan look so unraveled. Had come absolutely undone.

No more bullets, the bastard, and Toris would have laughed then if he hadn't suddenly remembered that hidden under Ludwig's shirt was Toris' loaded gun. Remembered, because Ludwig was suddenly there at Ivan's side, resting folded arms on the top of the railing, chin perched above them, and Ludwig just stared down at Toris with a wide smile, like he was watching the best show on earth.

Shit.

Toris could only look up and wait for Ludwig to hand the gun over to Ivan. He wouldn't have been able to dodge anymore. Woulda just waited to be shot. Had nothing left, not a thing, had given all of his energy to that effort.

But Ludwig didn't move.

Ludwig just stood there, smiling away, but he didn't reach under his shirt and hand Ivan that pistol. What was he saving it for? Could he sense a need for it in the near future? Or did he just not want Ivan to know that he and Toris had already come across each other, and that Ludwig had done as he pleased while disobeying a direct order to shoot him on sight?

Who could say, now, the way Ludwig was.

Ivan snarled and huffed and panted and suddenly wrenched open the gun in his hand as if to confirm that it was really empty, and when he saw that it indeed was, Ivan raised up his arm, and pitched the gun as hard as he could at Toris' head with a strangled cry of rage.

Like everything else, it missed.

All Toris could do then was smile, crookedly, and drag his hand up to his forehead in one final, mocking salute to that son of a bitch.

Ludwig gave a loud bark of laughter.

Ivan could have just imploded, from the look of him.

Ivan's hands gripped the railing as he leaned so far over he could have toppled right in, and he shrieked, furiously, "Yeah, you lay there, Toris! You fuckin' lay there! I'll get you one way or another! Just fuckin' wait! Just you wait! I'm gonna fuckin'— I'm gonna— You don't— Fuck, you—"

Couldn't even talk anymore, suddenly, couldn't form coherent speech he was so mad, and Ivan suddenly hauled himself up. A step up onto the railing, as if Ivan really intended to slide down the ore and dust just so he could throttle the life out of Toris.

Well, guess he was gonna be strangled to death after all. Supposed he wouldn't complain too much, really, because it would be a hell of a lot better than being shot in the stomach.

The sound of Ivan's other boot on the railing.

And then a hand, pale and eerily graceful, suddenly reached out and fell on Ivan's shoulder.

Ludwig.

Ivan fell still, turned his head to Ludwig, and Ludwig was speaking. Could see his lips moving, but couldn't hear his whisper. Didn't care what Ludwig was saying, anyway, because Toris was so fascinated, even then, by Ivan. Had fallen still in a second under Ludwig's touch, as if it had frozen him, and Toris could see that, even in that impossibly red cloud of rage, Ivan was pinned under Ludwig's gaze.

Knew it. Had known it somehow, the second he had looked into Ludwig's eyes.

Ivan just stood there, still breathing through his mouth and eyes so wide, nostrils flaring, hands clinging to the railing and feet up on the first rung, and he seemed absolutely hypnotized by Ludwig. Ivan didn't slide down to murder Toris, despite his oaths, and suddenly had stepped down back onto the ground.

Toris dared a glance at Ludwig.

A slanted smile there, narrowed eyes, and a lowered chin. A look of outright satisfaction, and of triumph.

Toris figured it all out then, figured out everything, and he probably should have realized it long ago.

All of Ludwig's actions, every time Ludwig had saved his ass, every time Ludwig had taken Ivan's wrath away. Every time Ludwig had slunk around Toris and had interacted with him when Ivan wasn't there. Had been a game alright, but not one that Ludwig was playing for amusement. Ludwig had been testing the ground not beneath his own feet, but of that beneath Ivan's. Seeing how far he could push Ivan and bring him back. Seeing how quickly he could wrangle Ivan. Seeing what set Ivan off and what brought him down.

Toris had just been a good start for Ludwig. A practice run.

From the very day Ludwig had first stepped out of that room, Toris had lost him, and just hadn't known it at all. Had tried so hard to keep him after that, when he really hadn't been there anymore.

No going back.

Ivan had lost control of Ludwig in every way that wasn't physical. Had gotten in so far over his head, had pushed and pushed and pushed, and now that he had Ludwig, now that he had broken down that wall, he suddenly couldn't ever hope to turn the tide. If Ludwig did what Ivan said then, it was only ever really because Ludwig wanted to. Ludwig had surpassed Ivan. That awful look on his face then. As if Ludwig commanded the universe in its entirety.

In this one single instance, however, Ludwig's triumph may have been partially misplaced.

Ivan had slid off the railing, alright, but not because of Ludwig's hand, and not because of whatever Ludwig had whispered.

Something else.

A light had flipped on in Ivan's mind, and it must have been so clear that it completely overrode that rage. Toris could see it then; that wide-eyed look. The way Ivan's brow had crinkled and yet his eyes were as wide as they could be, the way that Ivan's lips parted but no words came out, the way his knuckles were white as they clenched the railing, the way his entire body had seemed to tense up.

That look of understanding. Comprehension.

A sudden scope around the mine, over both shoulders.

And Toris knew that Ivan had remembered at last that somewhere out here, Gilbert was lurking. That Gilbert obviously wasn't far behind Toris. Ivan knew it. Just in that breathless, almost horrified look. Somewhere in those eyes, Toris almost thought he saw a little betrayal. The first time he'd ever seen anything like that on Ivan's face. Was that hurt? Hoped so. Hoped Ivan was feeling hurt, was feeling betrayed, was scared.

Welcome to Toris' world, ya miserable son of a bitch.

Hoped Ivan was hurting.

A long stare, a sudden shake of Ivan's shoulders, and not in anger, and then Ivan released the railing.

And just like that, with one whirl, Ivan was gone. Ludwig, snatched up in Ivan's iron grip, was dragged along behind him. Toris was left alone.

Oh, Gilbert. He was dead.

Knew it, knew there was no chance, no hope, because it had been so long now, and impulsive Gilbert could never have waited, wasn't still waiting. Gilbert had gone down to the house, Toris knew it, and there was nothing more he could do.

An awful, vulnerable moment of gathering his strength and catching his breath, and then Toris sat up at the waist, rolled over, somehow pulled himself up to his feet, and looked around at the fuckin' mess he had gotten himself into. The road around the mine was unfathomably long. Would take him hours to run up it like that and get out, and by then Ivan would have already murdered Gilbert and would have come back for Toris.

The only chance he had at all was to try to climb up.

He looked up, saw the steep incline, the loose dirt, the great distance, and felt no hope. None. He couldn't get out of here before Ivan came back, and he knew it. Realized it, accepted it.

That being said, he was gonna fuckin' try, anyway, because he wasn't gonna go down like that, wasn't gonna just plop down cross-legged and watch the stars until Ivan came back with more bullets. He'd come too damn far, had done too much, had given so much, had felt that wondrous sense of immortality, and so he'd be damned if he was gonna go out like that.

Hell no. Not like that, not tonight.

With a rush of adrenaline that he desperately needed, as those survival instincts kicked in again, Toris dug his hands into the dirt, steadied his boot, and tried to scale the incline.

Made it a couple of meters, maybe, before the loose dirt betrayed him and he started sliding back down. Tried to dig his boots in, tried to grab anything, anything at all, but there was nothing but dust and suddenly he was right back where he started.

He tried again, and made it farther.

And then he slid back down.

Frustration, rising, and so was hysteria. Gilbert had said he was ready to die, and maybe Toris had pretended that he was too but that was a lie, really, because Toris hadn't ever wanted to die and wasn't ready, not at all.

Didn't wanna die.

The slag kept giving out beneath his fingers, and no matter how hard Toris tried to scratch his way up, he just couldn't seem to get a foothold.

Gilbert was dead, and Toris didn't want to join him, because he was a coward, under it all. By the time he got out, if he got out, it would be far too late. Couldn't catch up to them. Couldn't get to Gilbert in time, and wasn't even going to try. Just wanted out. Gilbert was dead, and if Toris couldn't climb up out of this mine then he was dead, too.

Kept sliding back down.

Oh. How it gone this way?

...Gilbert had stood there in the sunset, just staring down at the town, so calmly. Had looked so peaceful, something Toris had never once felt.

Somewhere down the line, Toris pushed his face into the wall of dirt and cried for the first time in forever, sobbing and gasping into the dust and feeling so pathetic. So frustrated. It wasn't fear for Gilbert that made him cry then. It wasn't terror.

He didn't know why he cried then, except for that maybe everything was done.

Over.

The line of finality had been crossed. He was here, where he was sure he never would be again, Gilbert was here, Ivan was here, and Ludwig was here. Everything had come around. Full circle. The game ended here. So overwhelmed.

It was done, all of it, and unless he wanted himself to be done too then he had to get out of here.

Finished. It was over.

They had lost, as Toris had always known they would, and yet even though he had been so prepared for that, it still hurt. So much more than he thought it would. Hadn't known it hurt that much, that it would feel like this, that it could ever feel like this.

Stood there for a long damn minute, crying into that dirt wall, hands cupped around his face and inhaling dust.

It was finally finished.

Gilbert should have just gone back home, and Toris wished that he could have been enough for Gilbert to ever want to.

Come with me, he had said.

Maybe, if Toris had ever just sat down and gathered the courage to actually ask, just maybe Gilbert would have gone back with him.

Would never know.

Finished.

In all of his life, Gilbert had never felt such abject horror as he did the second he saw that house.

Scariest place he'd ever seen.

That house; had come straight from his nightmares, he knew it.

The full moon broke out from behind the clouds, as Gilbert waited there hidden back in the trees, and he saw suddenly the house in its entirety.

Made him shudder, every bit of him, and he hadn't ever thought something as simple as a house could really ever make him feel that. Wasn't a house, exactly, so much as more of a manor. Too big to be a house, and too scary. Stone and tall, standing there so white in the moonlight against the dark sky. The frozen grass was glittering all around in the massive yard, and yet somehow that just made the house seem so much colder. A few short pines here and there before it, a long drive obscured by a hill and a curve. Looked like ice, all of it, and the leafless trees around didn't help matters.

Frozen house in a frozen land, how appropriately droll.

Wished Toris was there to hold his damn hand, because he was fuckin' scared, pitiful as that was, just looking at that house.

He lied low within the forest, crouched down and hand against a tree for balance, and just watched.

Hated having to sit and wait, hated it, but had no choice.

As the time passed, he tried to imagine Ludwig, sitting there in that house, waiting, too, but somehow that didn't make him feel any better. Made it so much worse, because he couldn't stand thinking of Ludwig being trapped in that stone prison. Even looked like some medieval damn fortress or something, with that gaudy tower there on the side. Felt like he had dropped down back in time there.

Tried hard to just envision himself being the knight, coming to save the damsel from the tower, but couldn't really take it to heart much as Toris' words kept on running through his mind. That fantasy, no matter how hard he tried to play it out in his head, had a large problem.

'Gilbert! You—! Did you climb up and get in through that window?'

Ha, this time if he climbed up and entered the window into Ludwig's room, Ludwig might not have tried to throw Gilbert right back out, but it almost wouldn't matter this time, because how could he save Ludwig from the tower if he couldn't touch him?

Yeah...

He'd said it, he knew he had, and he wanted to mean it, really, but he couldn't really fathom the thought of seeing Ludwig and not being able to touch him. Didn't understand at all what Toris had even meant. Didn't understand anything at all, not a thing, these guys were so far above him, so out of his reach, just didn't get it.

Not being able to touch Ludwig? Impossible.

He knew it, and Toris probably had, too.

...just didn't wanna die, now, not now. Had come so far, done so much, and now there was so much more at stake. It wasn't just Ludwig now that he wanted to save from Siberia. Had someone else that needed him too, now, although really Gilbert needed them more than they needed him. Just wanted to save them both. Wanted both of them, Ludwig and Toris. Didn't wanna leave either one of them behind, didn't want to lose one of them. As he always had, he wanted to be the hero, wanted to have everything, didn't want to lose, wanted to come out on top of the world, wanted to win.

Couldn't fathom leaving Ludwig behind here, not now, not looking at this house.

Wanted so badly to take Toris over that wall, but he couldn't do that until he had Ludwig, just couldn't, even if he had tried to convince himself that he could be happy with a look. Happy—how could he be? Ludwig had crossed that wall for him, Ludwig was only here now because of him. How could Gilbert ever go back with just someone else? Leaving Ludwig behind? Couldn't.

No matter how much he wanted Toris, too.

Couldn't leave without Ludwig.

So many years wrenching Ludwig out of Roderich's arms, so many times, even though he had always known deep down that Roderich was the best fit for Ludwig. Knew that Ludwig should have stayed with Roderich, but hadn't let him, and now here they were. Roderich would never forgive him if he couldn't get Ludwig out of here now, never.

Couldn't leave Ludwig here, because Roderich was...

Damn.

Time kept ticking.

He waited and waited in the trees, but never saw anyone. Toris shoulda been there by now, should have, everything had been planned so perfectly, so carefully, even down to the minutes. Toris was so smart, so damn smart, knew every inch of this town and how long it took to walk it, and yet he hadn't appeared there.

No one had left the house, and no one came up.

Toris didn't come, and Gilbert kept checking his watch, growing more and more restless and terrified with every second that passed.

Oh, Toris—was he alright?

Couldn't stand thinking about, couldn't, and the awful things running through his head was making him so sick, so sick, making him so nervous. It was getting harder and harder to just sit there and wait, because the minutes kept ticking, and Toris still hadn't come. Up until that moment, everything Toris had done had been meticulous and perfect, down to the very last detail.

Something had gone wrong, he knew it, and it was driving him to the brink.

He stood up, far too jittery to keep crouched, and started looking around desperately, stretching his neck out and scanning the grounds below.

Nothing.

Didn't get it, but just knew all of a sudden that something was wrong, and that he didn't wanna wait anymore. Couldn't wait, couldn't. Would have lost what little of his mind he had left, if he waited any longer.

Shit.

He knew he shouldn't have, knew it, but couldn't help it. He drew his gun, looked around one more time, took a deep breath, and bolted as fast as he could out of the trees and down the yard towards the house.

Flying, over dead grass and frost.

The smell of fallen leaves in the cold air.

Hadn't run so fast since that border, had almost forgotten he could run so fast, his chest was about to explode from that pace, but he didn't stop, didn't slow down, and only barely managed to dig his heels into the ground in time to keep from crashing straight into the concrete foundation of the house. Rested back against it to catch his breath, gun up to his chest, clenched in both hands as he darted his eyes back and forth across the grounds in panic.

Nothing moved. Nothing stirred.

So far, so good.

Couldn't see anyone, anyway. No one was shooting at him yet. Now. What to do. He turned his head, to the closest side of the house, and crept along, as quietly as he could, always looking over either shoulder as he went.

Was so damn scared that he was actually pretty numb, which made it easier to not lean over and throw up or start crying.

The moon was hidden again behind the white clouds, and Gilbert had crept across the side of the house and towards the front. Could see the steps at last, could see a car out near the drive. He looked around one more time, saw no movement, and turned his eyes upward. Didn't see any lights, none at all. No curtains moving. Nothing, not a thing, and he wasn't sure if he was really relieved by that or not.

So terrifying, everything about this place.

He took a step, another, so quietly, carefully, and made it up the stairs without anyone creeping up behind him or lunging out at him. The only sound then was the rustle of the forest when the breeze blew gently. Dead leaves blowing over the frosted grass.

Suddenly, the front door was right in front of him.

Looked more like the portal to the abyss.

Ludwig lied in wait within. Couldn't falter, couldn't retreat, had to be brave, because he was already here, had gone through so much, had already felt too much terror. Couldn't go back, not without Ludwig. Wouldn't let all of it be for nothing. Eduard had let him go first, and Roderich didn't pick up the goddamn phone still, the jerk, and so Gilbert couldn't leave without Ludwig. Wherever Toris was, whether he was waiting there at the end or not, he wouldn't leave this house without Ludwig.

Fear held him still, for just a second, but there was no other way.

The only way was forward, because that was where Ludwig was.

He sucked in a great inhale for courage, breath puffing out in the cold air, and then he pushed open the door.

Dark.

The door creaked in the cold, Gilbert panicked for it, gun straight out and waving all over the place as he slunk inside, eyes trying so hard to adjust to the low light. The click of his boot on the floor. His own heart thudding. Dread. He shut the door behind him as quietly as he could behind him, never once taking his eyes away from the black void of the hallway right in front of him.

No sounds.

Nothing.

He leaned against the door and let his vision catch up to the dark.

The foreboding hall in front of him. A staircase to the left. Could see at least two doors farther down the hall, but couldn't see the end.

He breathed through his mouth, tried to stop his hands from shaking, and even though every bit of him just wanted to start calling Ludwig's name, even he wasn't that damn stupid, and so he weighed his options. To go up, or to check the hall. Didn't want to go upstairs, didn't wanna get trapped up there if he came in, but then, really, if he came in then Gilbert was in trouble, no matter what story of this house he was on.

With that thought, he held the gun out, braced his shoulders, and started creeping down the hall.

So quiet, it so damn quiet. Stone floor. Everything was pale, grey and white, and what very little of it he could see just seemed so foreboding and terrifying. The dim moonlight wasn't helping at all, casting shadows as they were. The air was cold, even inside. Could still see his breath in here. Maybe the people who lived here just didn't feel the cold at all anymore.

He approached the first door he saw, stood before it for a good long while in terror, and finally found the courage to grab the handle and twist it. Pushing it open, though, took a hell of a lot longer.

He peered into the darkness.

Couldn't see anything, really.

He pushed it a little farther, just a little, and yet, for all of that fear, it was entirely uneventful. Actually, the room, when he could finally see it, was alarmingly bare. Empty. Nothing at all inside. Just a blank room. How strange. Who had a perfectly good room on a downstairs level with not one single thing inside? Could have sworn, though, as he shut the door, that he had caught the scent of Toris. Familiar. Comforting. He looked at the front door, hopefully, but there was no one there, of course.

He shook it off, and went to the next.

The second door was locked; he jingled the knob, but it didn't turn.

One more door, and then past it there was a kitchen, pale and open from the light streaming in through the curtains. He crept carefully around the corner and checked the kitchen first, saw nothing and no one, and finally braced himself for the third door.

Had an outside lock on it.

Gilbert twisted it, as quietly as he could, heart pounding so hard that his damn ears were whooshing with the blood flow, and then he pushed it. Didn't move. He pulled it instead, and it started creaking.

Once more unfounded fear.

Just a closet, dark as could be, but empty. Nothing inside. Standard issue closet.

Whew—what a relief.

Well, then. Suppose there was no choice but to go upstairs and see what was there. More doors to check, no doubt, more rooms, and he really hoped that he would actually find Ludwig in one of them before he made it to that terrifying tower bit, wasn't looking forward to that, not at all. Hoped still that Ludwig would suddenly just come downstairs and right into his arms.

And then, as he turned with a jittery sigh of relief to head to the staircase, there was a figure in the hall.

Fuckin' Christ—!

He jumped in panic, crying out and gun flying up and aiming in a second, heart hammering so hard and adrenaline coursing so powerfully he was surprised he didn't pass out right there.

Hadn't heard anyone come in, had heard nothing at all, no footsteps. Where had this shadow come from? Had been utterly silent, impossibly so. How? Hadn't heard a thing.

Couldn't see at first who it was, only a dark silhouette against the backdrop of moonlight. Took a long second for his eyes to adjust. Wasn't Ludwig, though, he knew that right off. The hair lit up in the dull moonlight was brunet, not blond. Not Ludwig.

The figure took a step towards him, even though the gun was pointed at him, and then one more, and Gilbert's hair was already on end. Could barely breathe.

Suddenly, he could see well enough, just enough.

Hell. A kid?

His gun didn't fall, but his guard did, a little.

Just a kid. Didn't understand why there was a kid here. Had Toris ever mentioned him? Raivis, wasn't it? Had to be, but Gilbert didn't think he was so young, somehow. Gilbert had never thought he would be a kid. Hadn't expected a kid. Gilbert stood there, gun aimed at the kid's chest, and he heard Toris' warning ringing over and over in his head, loud as could be, knew he was supposed to shoot on sight, he knew it, he did, he just...

Oh, Toris. Sorry. Just couldn't do it.

Made him so sick. No matter how hard he tried, how much he knew he needed to, he just couldn't do it. Didn't have the stomach or heart for any of this, really didn't, was in so far over his head. He just couldn't stand there and look at someone and kill them. Wished Toris had been here, more than anything, then, because he was scared.

Pitiful.

Then suddenly, absolutely out of nowhere, the fuckin' kid charged at him, like a bear, and started tryin' to take the gun. Gilbert froze, fuckin' froze, even though Toris had warned him so much not to, and he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger before the kid had reached him and grabbed the gun.

Shit—

Kid was stronger than he looked, so much stronger, and the panic came rushing up when suddenly Gilbert was no longer entirely in control of the gun waving around.

Terror.

"Stop! Stop it!" he cried, as he wrestled furiously with the kid suddenly for control of his own gun, and in was the sheer panic that gave him the strength to save his own ass, because for a second there the kid had actually turned the gun around on him, for just a second.

Had wrenched it up and away, and Gilbert's terror was unrivaled.

Somehow, someway, couldn't ever say how, he had managed to twist them around and get the kid's back to the wall, and used the force of the obstacle to push the kid's arms back. The gun was turned again, the right way this time, and still the kid was trying so furiously hard to overpower him, as the gun was steadily turning farther and farther towards his chest.

"Stop!" Gilbert cried, one final time, and even as he said it he could feel himself squeezing the trigger.

Fuckin' kid wouldn't stop—

The gunshot was far too loud in the hall, far too loud. Echoed down it and was amplified.

His hearing went out.

Dumb and dazed, stunned, Gilbert could only fall completely still when the kid suddenly did. An awful, horrible stare between them, in that silence. A crinkle of the kid's brow, incomprehension, confusion, and the hands holding the gun suddenly fell down.

The kid fell soon after, slumping down against the wall and then toppling forward onto his stomach in the hall.

It was so quiet.

Could already see the blood pooling out there on the stone floor.

Felt like he stood there for years, staring down at that stupid, stupid kid. What had he been thinking? Gilbert hadn't wanted anything more than for him to go away. That was all. Hadn't wanted to fight, hadn't wanted to hurt him—

Footsteps from above.

Pumped full of adrenaline and horror and everything else, Gilbert looked up at the ceiling, over at the stairs, and then leapt over, hiding there by the side of the staircase, gun aimed and ready, and waited.

Waiting, couldn't stand it, this anticipation and fear, it was killin' him.

Oh, please, please, please be Ludwig, please be Ludwig, please—

It wasn't.

A shape, a shadow, and then someone came down, and before Gilbert had gathered the nerve to pull the trigger at last, he saw it was a woman. Irina, that woman, and Gilbert knew that Toris had told him to shoot her, too, but just like before he froze.

Oh, he wanted Ludwig so bad, so bad, but he still couldn't pull the trigger. Why couldn't he pull the trigger? He'd already killed two people, two, hadn't wanted to but he had all the same, so why wouldn't his finger work?

All he had wanted was Ludwig.

The woman hit the bottom step, and instead of shooting her, Gilbert lunged forward from behind, grabbed her, clamped one hand over her mouth and pressed the gun into her temple with the other. She reached up, instinctively, grabbed his forearms, and started trashing and screaming. The sound was muffled for his palm, but she was fighting, struggling, and he knew he should have just shot her but instead he shot his gun into the air to startle her, pressed it back into her head, and hissed, "Shut up! Shut up or I'll shoot ya!"

He just couldn't do it. Admired Toris so much, so much, but could never be like him and honest to god he really didn't wanna be.

She must have been able to understand him, or maybe the gun pressing into her had gotten the point through, for finally she stopped struggling and stayed quiet.

All he could do then was look around, feeling helpless and panicked, and search for a place to stash her. Didn't really wanna shoot her, too, didn't. Hadn't ever wanted to kill anyone. Didn't really have the stomach for it. Natalia had been an accident, that was all. He hadn't meant to do that. The stupid kid had forced his hand. He had her subdued now; no point in killing her.

At last, he regained his senses, and he kept a tight hold of her as he whirled her around, her back to his chest, and kept his hand tight over her mouth. He tried to walk over to that closet with the lock, to stuff her in there for now so she wouldn't get in the way.

She didn't cooperate as much as he had wanted, and she was damn strong. Took too much effort and too much of his remaining courage to drag her over and toss her in the fuckin' closet. She raised holy hell, Christ almighty did she ever, and fought tooth and nail to keep him from shutting that closet door. It took everything he had to overpower her, and maybe when he finally got her in far enough he banged her head into the hard wall intentionally. Enough to stun her for a second, but that was all he needed. He shut the door, and twisted the lock.

The air was freezing.

He leaned up there against the door, head thrown back and temples pounding, and closed his eyes. Exhaustion. Muffled screeching and crying from behind him. The gun hung loosely in his fingers, as his breath turned to smoke in the air, and he felt then that he had reached his limits. So tired, and didn't even know if it was physical or all in his head, but he was so damn tired then he could barely keep standing.

Where was Toris right now? Had he found him? Couldn't stomach the thought.

Thumping on the door.

His chest was killing him. Lungs stung with the air.

The banging on the door bumped him up and down. Why was she shrieking like that? As if being locked in there was actually killing her.

His breathing felt erratic. Clumsy.

Where was Toris? Oh, was he fuckin' safe? Was he still out there, running? Had he gotten away, or had he cut it too close? Toris was so strong, so brave, so confident and sure; had he gotten in a little over his head for once? If Toris died, like Eduard had, Gilbert wasn't sure that even getting Ludwig out would ever be enough to make him forgive himself for it.

When the early light of dawn had broken through the window, Gilbert had always looked over at Toris there sleeping, and had felt happy, calm, because when Toris was asleep—that was the only time that Toris looked peaceful. The only time Toris looked tranquil was when he was sleeping, and Gilbert stayed awake just to watch him because he couldn't see Toris' face like that any other time.

It was stupid, he knew it, but Gilbert just wanted everything; wanted Ludwig, wanted Toris, and wanted to get both of them back home without losing anything else. Didn't wanna lose anything else, not anyone else.

Roderich—

Couldn't lose anyone else, so Toris had to be safe. The only way he could focus, could move, could press forward, was to convince himself that Toris was safe. Toris was the craziest, bravest, strongest son of a bitch Gilbert had ever met in his life, and Toris wouldn't go down so easy. Maybe, hell, maybe Toris had even somehow managed to kill that bastard. Maybe it was all already over, maybe Toris was on his way here, right now, and they could all go. Together.

Wanted everything.

Could barely breathe, as that door kept on banging up and down behind him. She was still going at it, still shrieking and pounding.

Fell into space for a minute there.

Toris. What a bastard. When they were back in Berlin, he was gonna take all of them on a trip out to Vienna, all three of them, and they were gonna tear that town apart for days on end. Was gonna take Ludwig to all those museums he had loved, and Toris too because Toris had never seen them. Ludwig and Toris would get along so well, because they were both so smart and so brave, and Gilbert could have stood there in between them, one arm on either shoulder as they walked and talked. Ludwig could stand before Gilbert and they could look at each other as equals, because for once in his pitiful life Gilbert had actually kept one of his promises, after so long. Ludwig could go back into the world that deserved him, Ludwig could make it a better place, Ludwig could help people like he had wanted to, maybe even Roderich could finally have his dream come true and adopt Ludwig and Ludwig would one day become an ambassador. And Toris could see for once that there was a world out there behind the curtain, could see that there were good people, people like Ludwig, that not everyone and everything was just dark. Toris could stand in a world where he wasn't just a number, where he was actually a person with rights, where he didn't have to carry a gun at all times. Coulda been happy, all of them, would have been happy, would have made them both happy, and maybe even one day Gilbert could have actually done something to make Toris smile, and maybe after that he could find a way to make Ludwig proud of him. And maybe, if he could finally say that he was sorry, god willing maybe Roderich would forgive him, for everything.

Ha. Yeah. In his dreams.

He opened his eyes, and instead of stone Vienna he was in this terrifying stone house, Toris was lost and Ludwig was missing. Roderich, no matter how many times Gilbert refused to say it, refused to think it, refused to acknowledge it, no matter how many times Gilbert forced himself to forget it, Roderich was dead. Roderich was dead, Toris had killed him because of Gilbert, and for that Ludwig would never be proud of him.

Roderich was dead. No amount of denial would change that. Not being able to say it aloud wouldn't change that. Pretending that Roderich was still waiting on the other side to take Ludwig out of his hands wouldn't change that. Saying 'sorry' wouldn't bring Roderich back.

Sometimes, it was impossibly staggering to sit here at the end of the line and realize that all of this had happened, so many people had died, so much had passed that could never be taken back, so much hurt, all of it, all because Gilbert had thrown a grenade at a door.

That was all.

The flick of his wrist had set all of this into motion, and so he wouldn't leave until he had Ludwig, because all of this was his fault.

He had been impatient, and innocent people had died. Wouldn't let Ludwig be just one more.

He stood there for who knew how long, and when he finally got his head screwed back on and came back to the world, the banging had stopped and so had the crying.

Silence.

He pressed back, and could hear muffled sobbing. Ah—hell. She'd live. Being locked in a closet never hurt anybody.

He finally found the nerve and will to push off the door, and finally made it to the stairs, taking the first terrifying step up.

Had to do it, had to, had to be brave, because Toris was. Had let so many people down, so many, so many people had gotten hurt because of him, and didn't want to add one more name to the list. Not that name, not that one, because Ludwig was everything, but when Ludwig was safe and didn't need Gilbert anymore, when Ludwig left him and went somewhere else, when Ludwig flew away from him for good...

Toris seemed to be the only one that was immune to Gilbert's attitude, to his selfishness, to his arrogance and his insanity. Ludwig had been too sweet and good-natured to put up with him forever, Roderich had been too strict and austere. Toris was a crazy, violent asshole, no other way around it, and so was Gilbert. The only one that could ever possibly hope to put up with him.

Ludwig was everything, but one day, maybe, Toris could have been.

Toris, sleeping.

For that, he kept moving, and scaled the stairs.

Oh, Ludwig—where was he?

It was always so hard for them, it seemed, no matter what either of them did. Destined for misery, and it shouldn't have been that way, because they had loved each other. All he had ever wanted was Ludwig, since the day he had first laid eyes on him.

Roderich was dead.

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, 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.

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—