He awoke in something of a daze. But what a surprise, right? If he succeeded, he expected those eyes to be nearly glued shut; those limbs to be bloodied and broken. He was anticipating bullet holes and nerves twisting up in rotten pain.

"Oh! Look at that, Mr. Weillschmidt. You're awake." A nurse adjusted the drip they had worked into his arm. "Did you really cross over the Berlin Wall? I didn't really believe it when they told me."

"I guess I did…." Weak eyes managed to pull themselves into the room. It was pleasant. Sun light filtered into that space. Colorful pictures hung about the walls, pictures of sunflowers and women smiling. A radio sat on a shelf, and the whole damn place looked like an all too pleasant dream. So was it real?

Gilbert assumed he must have died; after all, East Germans were East Germans until their government decided they couldn't be East Germans anymore. But it looked like he made it.

"I'm alive, aren't I?" That voice was hackneyed from not being used in several long hours. "This isn't Heaven or something?"

"No, no. You're in West Berlin, dear." That kindly nurse offered a smile. "You did a very brave thing…I hope you recover quickly soon, Mr. Weillschmidt."

"Thank you." That tired body attempted to move, but it could not. Those joints were too tired and far too torn apart to attempt anything of that nature. "Nurse, can I have a mirror? I want to see how awful I look."

"Not as awful as you should. But certainly. Give me a moment."

And a moment later, that sunny woman returned and held a piece of reflective glass out for the refugee. He reviewed himself. That face was alright. A single scratch, but those arms were torn to shreds due to the malicious teeth of the barbed wire, and his shoulder was well wrapped in gauze. He could tell they had torn out the bullet that had lodged itself inside his shoulder blade. It still hurt, but it felt so much better to be free and damaged than to be unharmed and oppressed.

"Thank you." Finally, as that woman walked away, Gilbert cast his attention to the leg that had also been wounded. He barely felt the bullet charge through his flesh. Honestly, it felt as though his skin had merely been glazed, not pierced. Oh well. He would heal quickly. That silvery-blond was always too active to be captive for too long anyway.

After he had admired his coming battle scars a good couple minutes, the former soldier laid right back down. It was amazing how much adrenaline cost. His whole body was still encased in a wearing exhaustion. He was submerged in a pool of iron. There was no moving around, no swimming through it. Now it was time to rest. The temporary invincibility took a toll.

Besides, he would not call his brother looking like this. Gilbert wanted to see Ludwig, not scare the living shit out of him. A few days would be taken to heal. Those bandages would be made fresh and less bloody, like dressing up for an occasion. Then he would summon his brother. Then they would have their reunion. But the moment had to be perfect. Such a momentous occasion couldn't be documented with the elder just coming from an intense boxing match, and not to mention one he almost lost.

Good Job, Gil. You took down the Berlin wall.

That must feel amazing.

It did.

So, the sponge baths and pills were accepted, as was the sleep. It never really hit the man how tired he actually was. Gilbert slept as a man who had not tasted dreams for months. An insomniac who finally managed to get better. Stay up a few years, sleep a week. Hey, it all worked out, right?

And then, after those tired bandages had been replaced and those arms were beginning to work again, Gilbert asked to give a phone call to what family he had. After all, he had waited. He had earned this. Now he was simply tired of waiting.

So they allowed him to walk down that hall to the pay phone-the very pay phone that they had given him a few coins for, since poor Gilbert had no money of his own. And he placed them in. One clank. Two clanks. Three clanks. Then the numbers. His weak fingers turned the dial, the phone speaking to him with each digit that was registered. You're getting closer. Come on, you can do it!

Then, there was the ringing.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

"Please, pick up. Don't tell me you moved. I'll scream."

"Hello?"

Gilbert sucked in a huge breath.

"Hello?"

"Ludwig?" Please tell me it's you. I'll die if that's not you. Do you understand that? My whole heart will explode just because you're not the right guy. It sounds like you. Don't tell me I'm wrong. Please.

The other end was silent, but not for too long. "Gilbert?" There was a breath. "How are you calling me?"

"It's-it's a long story…" That mouth was growing stupid due to emotion. "Listen, I'm at the hospital-"

"Are you alright? What did you do?"

"Something really stupid." A sad laughter. "But I'm doing just fine. I'm getting better every day…" Pause. "Can you come down here? I think it's about time you scolded me for doing something rash, don't you think? And for God's sake, bring some beer…"

"No beer, Mr. Weillschmidt." The voice of a nurse called in from the background.

"Never mind about the beer…We can do that later. But do you think you can make it? Actually you better make it. I switched out all my bandages and everything to look nice, so I'm going to be pissed if you don't come down here right now." Laughter. Tears were falling down the proud man's face. "Alright? I'm doing this for you, kid."

"Of course I can, Gilbert. Give me twenty minutes."

"I'll be watching the clock."

"You better be." That breath hitched. "I'm leaving now."

"Good-bye, Ludwig."

"Good-bye, Gil."

Ludwig was there within fifteen.

When the two saw one another, the experience was almost surreal. It was like staring at the one thing you had wanted for years upon end. That needed salvation, that long awaited goal that was thought constantly impossible. They doubted it at first. The missing brother in the flesh? This was nothing more than one of those sadistic dreams that left the one who had concocted it in a sea of rage and regret.

But neither awoke.

So they ran toward one another, those forms hitting as two grand tsunamis. No words were birthed. It was not time for that, as no syllable could express the sentiment either held close as their very blood.

Simply, they sobbed. The stories would come later. The explanations-later. The nagging for doing such a stupid, stupid thing- later. But now, they had one another. They held the family they had lost within their powerful arms, the memories both good and bad, the sorrow, the happiness, the world. They had all of those things wrapped up within one another, and nothing would -or ever could- take them away a second time. Their muscles were grasping too tight. They were sobbing too hard. It was far too passionate a moment to mar with the opening of eyes. No. This was absolutely real.

The risk, the blood, the bullets, the pain. It was all worth it. Now those things did not matter. They were long gone, kept in a shoe box and buried stories beneath the earth. Now, after years of having nothing to look upon, there was a future. There was freedom. There was unfettered happiness, eating up the ashen remains of that sorrow. At least, what sorrow wasn't left in East Berlin.

Everyone watched as this occurred. And they found tears upon their faces as well.

After all, it was not every day one met a man who could say he faced down that monster of concrete and wires and won. And it was not every day that one witnessed two lives broken apart come back together again. As magnets. As puzzle pieces. As the million shattered bits to a broken figurine. As two brothers ripped apart by a moronic idea.

Finally, after tortuous months of flattened lungs, Gilbert Weillschmidt could breathe. And all he had to do was kick a wall's ass.

He wondered why he had not done so before hand.