Title: Still

Author:Dani C. (mystictwilight)
Pairing:House/Wilson; Gottfried/Jakob
Rating: PG-13
Prompt:51. House and/or Wilson have lived multiple lives. Written for the hwfest
Summary:House. Wilson. Past lives. Nazis.

A/N:I've had a morbid desire to write a House/Wilson Holocaust AU since watching Swing Kids about six months ago. This prompt was really an excuse for that. I researched to the best of my ability, but feel free to point out any glaring historical errors. I'd be more than happy to fix them. Because it is meant to be a past life, the characters representing House and Wilson are not named House and Wilson. I did opt to keep the same initials, though, just to have that touch of familiarity.

I tried my absolute best to stay true to the canon characterization, but I had to bear in mind the different time and setting. I made adjustments to keep the story realistic for the situation. That said, forgave me if I failed horribly, and I hope you enjoy the story.

Warsaw, Poland

April, 1943

There were three things which Gottfried Hartmann could never let his parents – especially his father – friends, or the general public of Warsaw find out. The first was that he was in love. Alone, that may have been of little consequence; he was seventeen years old, after all. Combined with the other two, however, it held the distinct possibility for damage too severe for even his quick wit and sharp tongue to escape. Gottfried Hartmann was in love with another seventeen-year-old male. And that male had been living under a set of loosened floor boards in Gottfried's closet for the past three months.

Gottfried had always been a big eater and not one for nuclear family dinner discussions, so his parents barely noticed when he began taking generous second helpings of dinner upstairs to his room. He claimed he was going to eat the rest while finishing his homework.

He couldn't stand his father at dinner. 'Found a whole group of 'em nestled in a cellar downtown today. We removed them right away and sent them to where they belong. Filthy rodents.' He'd smirk that damn smirk of his like he was so damn proud of himself. For murdering a family, like it made him a hero. He left dinner mainly to get food to Jakob, but it was also his escape. Sometimes he couldn't even look at the bastard. He was afraid if he did, he'd snap. He'd kick him, stab him, shoot him, or worse- he'd slip and give Jakob away.

Gottfried wasn't stupid enough to have long, drawn out conversations with his hidden roommate while his parents were at home. Not since his mother had poked her head in once and asked who he'd been speaking to. He quickly replied that he'd been reading his biology notes out loud – easier to memorize them for the test that way. They'd never again been so close to a discovery. Gottfried intended to keep it that way.

"Jakob," he tapped on the door. "Mum's out shopping and he's at some Top Secret Meeting," (He said the words as though they deserved capitalization.) "We're safe."

He heard scrambling against the wood, and then Jakob Wüterich cautiously opened the closet door. He was a skinny boy- he'd always been that way, but his recent diet of scraps hadn't helped. His formerly neat dark hair had become longish and unruly in his three months of confinement. Gottfried would never, ever tell Jakob this, he thought it made him even more attractive. The dark eyes that peered out at Gottfried were deep and reflective of the loss and cruelty the last four years had brought him.

It was a cruelty Gottfried was determined to protect him from.

"Here," he passed Jakob the roll, bowl of soup, and glass of water he'd brought him. "Sorry there's not more. It's all my mother left for me to heat up tonight."

"Thank you," Jakob said around his bite of the bread. He didn't seem to mind the "small" ration.

Gottfried watched as Jakob inhaled the rest of the meal, pausing only to breathe and gulp down water. "Thanks," he said again when he was finished.

"Still hungry?" Gottfried asked.

Jakob shrugged, "I'm fine."

"I didn't ask you to lie about your physical and emotional condition- I asked if you were still hungry."

Jakob sighed, "A little."

Gottfried nodded after a second, then scooted over to sit beside Jakob against the closet door. "My parents will be home soon. I'll bring up a full plate of real food as soon as dinner's over."

Jakob opened his mouth, most likely to tell Gottfried again not to worry about it. Gottfried glared at him before he could get the words out, and he nodded. "Right. Thank you."

The boys sat quietly. Both listened for heavy leather boots, breaking glass, and a roaring voice signifying that this was all over – and they'd be forced apart. They just heard silence. Gottfried shuddered and slowly wrapped an arm around Jakob's shoulder. The smaller boy instinctively turned into the embrace, leaning his forehead into Gottfried's shoulder and gripping his arm tightly.

"I fucking hate this," Gottfried whispered as he slowly stroked Jakob's back. "Those bastards don't even know you."

Jakob took Gottfried's free hand- the one that wasn't moving lightly around his back- in his own and linked their fingers. Jakob didn't find it necessary to express his agreement. He turned his face into Gottfried's chest. He shakily exhaled and tried to let his friend's ministrations ease the perpetual terror in his chest.

"So many times, I've looked at him across the dinner table and just wanted to scream. Tell him our secret. If I didn't know it would get us both hauled off in one of those little boxcars… Jesus, I'd love to see his face."

While Jakob remained in the silent dark for most of his days, he, unlike Gottfried, did not have to repress and lie about all his thoughts and feelings to the point of combustion.

Jakob let out a dry laugh. "Least we'd have a pleasant image to take with us."

Gottfried smirked and pulled out of the embrace. He looked at Jakob in quiet for another moment before clearing his throat and saying, "I have some homework to get done."

He stood slowly and lifted his books from his desk to the bed. Jakob got to his feet and went over to sit beside him. "What kind is it?"

This had, in the last few months, become something of a routine between them. Jakob hadn't been to a real school in five years, since the laws banned him from his junior high. In school he was inquisitive and excelled at his classes – especially literature and physics. Feeding off Gottfried's schoolwork was the closest he would come to an education of any sort. He soaked it up, treasured whatever morsels of knowledge the practice problems or reading passages could offer.

The boys worked quietly over the next hour or so, reluctantly ending the activity when they heard Frau Hartmann's car pull into the driveway. Jakob looked up from the textbook to catch Gottfried's eye; Gottfried did the same. Gottfried's eyes held the same guilt and regret they always did at this time; Jakob's held the same forgiveness and fear. Though it had happened every day for the past three months; eventually, Jakob had to go back into his silent hiding place, it didn't make the moment any easier.

They moved swiftly, knowing they had only a minute or so between Frau Hartmann's getting out of the car and reaching the front door. Gottfried helped Jakob climb back into the hole. "I'll bring more dinner later," he promised again.

"I'll be fine," Jakob whispered. Gottfried rolled his eyes at the familiar statement (a.k.a. lie) and quickly lay down on his stomach. He leaned into the opening to meet Jakob's lips for a brief kiss. They held eye contact until Gottfried had put the last loose board back in place and they could no longer see each other.

"Gottfried!" his mother called from the kitchen, "Come help with the packages!"

"I'll be right down!" he yelled back and softly closed the closet door.

Jakob sighed into the familiar darkness and let his eyes adjust. He rested on his pillow and picked up the book Gottfried had given to him. If he squinted hard enough, he could make out the words. He read a few pages, but it could not hold his interest, as his mind wandered elsewhere.

His mind was back in the dirty, ill-kept buildings behind the wooden fences; back to the disease, the fear, the hunger… constant, numbing hunger. The terror in his younger brother's eyes as the first shots rang out that night. His mother crying out to him….

Jakob squeezed his eyes shut, but nothing would stop the flood of memories now.

It was freezing. Years from now, if he were even still around, he'd still remember the way the air seemed to stab icicles into him with every movement he made. The gnawing hunger in his stomach did nothing to help. He clutched his ratty excuse for a coat more tightly around himself and watched the puffs of clouds his breath made in the cold.

Years ago, he might have loved this weather. He might have run outside and stared up at the silver sky and waited there until the inevitable snow arrived. Now, the frosty air was only harsh and painful, and staring at that gray sky only reminded him of the life he once knew outside of these walls.

Before Hitler. Before the laws. Before the damn yellow patch that dictated every action he could, or more accurately could not, take. Before he and his family were shut into this place, and disease killed his father less than two months later.

Three years. Nearly three years now his life had been closed in by brick and soldiers. So many of the people he'd known and cared for during that time were long since gone. Starved, killed by disease, or simply "Taken Away".

No one knew when they'd come to deport the next batch of victims. But next time… next time the boxcars came to take them away, they weren't going to stand for it. Next time, they'd fight back.

Jakob grabbed his brother's hand and slid an arm around his mother's shoulders. His gun had been lost hours ago, knocked out of his hands and presumably yanked up by an unarmed inhabitant. He was defenseless now, but God help him if he didn't still fight for his family's freedom.

They ran as far and as fast as their emaciated bodies would allow. They would have continued; they could have made it those hundred more feet to the bordering wall. But somehow, somewhere in the shouting crowds and showers of gunfire, his hand lost its grip on his brothers, and his mother's fingers no longer clutched his shoulder.

"Mama! Julius!" he screamed. He pushed through the crowds, frantic, heart pounding. "Mama! Julius!"

"Just go, Jakob!" he heard, and whirled around to find his mother choked with sobs, crouched on the ground over a dark, huddled form, "Go! Run and don't look back!"

"I… I can't leave without you two!" he ran to their side, feeling hot tears sting his own eyes as he tried to force away the truth.

"Jakob, your brother… he's…" but she didn't have to finish, because Jakob could already see the dark liquid surrounding the small form, and he didn't want to hear it anyway. "You have to just go. I'd never make it anyway. I'll only hold you back, and I refuse to put you in danger."

"No, Mama, I--"

"Jakob, listen to me-- one of the Wüterichs will make it out of here tonight. One of us will be free. And you are the only one who truly has that chance. Please, please don't give it up. Promise me you'll escape here and never look back."

His heart screamed for him not to consider his mother's plea, but Jakob knew she was right. He could only nod; he couldn't speak anymore through the lump in his throat if he'd wanted to. There was a pain in his chest that went far beyond the one caused by exertion. It hurt to breathe.

"Get away from here and find a place to hide. Stay safe. I'll be fine as long as I know you are, alright?"

He nodded again, tears streaming down freely now.

"Good boy. I love you, Jakob."

"Love you, Mama," he whispered, then bent down to kiss his brother's pale cheek. "Love you, Julius."

"Good bye," his mother said.

He couldn't say it back. He just met her eyes one last time, then backed away, turned, and ran. The trails of tears began to freeze on his cheeks in the biting wind, but just as he'd promised, he didn't look back.

All of the soldiers were away from their normal posts, assisting with the battle. Jakob found a darkened alcove, as far away from the noise of the resistance as he could. Grabbing every solid object he could find-- crates, broken glass, fallen bricks-- he made a pile five feet high, clambered to the top, and scaled the remaining five feet of wall.

He was sure he'd dislocated his shoulder hitting the ground on the other side, but it didn't matter. Only one thing mattered: reaching safety. He scrambled to his feet and began to run, clutching at the infernal, tattletale of a badge and tearing it off. He shoved it into his pocket even as his feet continued to fly.

'Get to Gottfried's, get to Gottfried's.' His brain played it over and over like a mantra. He ducked through alleyways and the backs of buildings, careful not to cross the paths of enemy eyes. Finally, he reached his destination. He was stupid for coming here; he knew that. Gottfried's father was a member in good standing of the Nazi party, a proud soldier of Hitler's army. He'd happily have Jakob executed on the spot if he caught him, not to mention his own son. Especially if he knew… if he knew the truth about their friendship.

But Jakob had no where else to go, and no one else to trust. So when he was sure he wouldn't be seen, he carefully climbed the Hartmanns' backyard tree, crawled to the roof, and tapped on Gottfried's bedroom window.

It slid open quickly, though the shock was apparent in the other boy's blue eyes. Jakob let himself in and shut the window behind him. He took a deep, wobbly breath and met Gottfried's gaze. Gottfried stood frozen, eyes unreadable, mouth slightly open. "Jakob...how…?"

Jakob didn't remember moving, but suddenly, there were arms around him, tightly enclosing him, and he was silently sobbing into the other boy's shoulder.

"It's okay… it's okay… you're okay now," Gottfried whispered, rocking Jakob back and forth until all the tears were gone and only exhaustion was left.

Jakob stirred from his memory and found that the fatigue wasn't limited only to his imagination. He shut his eyes and fell into a light sleep, the promise of a satisfying meal calming his troubled mind.

End Part 1/?