Kapitel Eins.

1954.

The surname Beilschmidt once occupied a city called Bernau. And even though Ludwig, the last scion of this house, still lived near Berlin, he had promised himself he'd never return to his old home. Or at least, whatever dredges still stood left over from the war.

It was a morning in mid January now. The fifteenth of the month to be exact. Ludwig stood in front of a calender, adorned with pictures of landscapes painted by some long lost Italian painter. His eyes were focused on a single date, three days from now. He would have been thirty-one this year, he thought to himself, just like he would have been thirty last year. The tall man sighed, turning away from the wall with his hand to his head. He didn't know why he tortured himself like this. But he did it the same every year. Whenever Gilbert's birthday would come around, he'd make himself something special for dinner, not really pretending he was in the company of his parted brother, but more for the sake of the memories that once were. It was always the same, and each time he'd go to bed with a headache and nothing resolved or eased.

Maybe this year, Ludwig turned towards the window. Maybe this year I'll go out for your birthday bruder. Have a beer or two in your name. You bastard. A smile nearly touched at his lips. He wasn't kidding himself. It was three days away and already he could feel the headache setting in.

Ludwig lived alone. He had for quite some time now, for such a time that he was rather used to and even comfortable in this quiet solidarity he had settled into. He didn't have much of a choice though. His parents had died back in 43' from a bomb raid in the city. And his brother, well, he couldn't quite say. Gilbert left for the war in the year of 1940, and after Ludwig left Bernau, he never heard from him again. Thirteen years had passed and still to this day Ludwig had convinced himself his brother had faded in a blaze of glory, like he always spoke of doing. With the exception of the dog, Ludwig kept his company to himself. No friends, no girls. But it wasn't bad. Ludwig had a big mind, and he spent most of his free time wound up in thoughts that wouldn't have meant anything to anyone but himself and the ghosts from his past.

He sat himself down on a chair by the window he had been staring out of and pulled his coffee cup towards him. It was a quiet day in mid January. A day where he could recoil back into years past with nothing to stop him but the slow moving effects of the day's time. And that's exactly what he chose to do.

1934.

"The mighty fatherland. Blessed be, Deutschland, above everything, above everything in the world!" Gilbert cried out over the voice on the grainy old radio that sat on the wood stove. His hands were fisted and he beat against the arm of the chair he sat in, his pale hair wild and his eyes wide and determined. "When for protection and defense, it always takes a brotherly stand together!"

"Stop that," his mother scolded before clicking the knob on the radio and shaking her head. "You know I don't like that."

"Because you're a traitor to your own blood!" Gilbert rolled out from under his mother's quick hand, avoiding the firm slap to the back of the head he would have received. He hit the floor with a heavy thud. "Father will have ya shaken for that woman!"

"Don't speak to me like that in front of your brother!" Though she sighed in exasperation she knew her son well, not even a pipe beating would shut him up.

"Aw but mum, he's not even listening." Gilbert fell forward onto his hands and knees, crawling close to the six year old blonde boy that sat underneath the window sill with a school book spread on his lap. "Are you listening Lud? See? He's doing homework."

His mother picked up a sock from the floor and threw it in the basket that occupied her other hand. "Something you should be doing also." Gilbert sat himself next to his younger brother and kicked out his legs, he waved his hands at his mother and piled on excuses before she eventually gave up and moved on to continue her laundry. When he heard the door shut he scrambled upwards, turning the knob on the radio until the static cleared and a distant voice filtered in. It spoke words of political oaths and recognition of the new Fuhrer, all nonsense to Ludwig who spared a single look up from his book to examine his brother. Gilbert sat on his knees, his elbows on the arm of the chair and his chin perched on his thin hands. His mouth was parted open, dazzled by the words Ludwig doubted made much sense to his older brother either. He watched for a good moment before bending the corner of his page and closing his book.

"Bruder, come play with me, I'm tired of sitting in here all day." He pushed his book to the floor and stood up, dusting his pants off with small hands. His platinum hair fell in his face and he impatiently pushed it back. "Hey, did you hear me? Turn that dumb thing down!" At this, Gilbert cast a flat look over in his brother's direction.

"You're the only dumb thing in here, did you know that? You should be listening to this too, father said it's important."

"Yeah, well mama said she didn't like it, so play with me or I'll tell her you're still listening."

Gilbert snorted, "I'll hit you if you do. I'll make you cry." He turned back towards the radio, edging closer till his face was only inches away from the peeling mesh panel that adorned the front of the box. Ludwig sighed, turned to look out the window and frowned. It was a nice day out, a little cold but for early August that wasn't bad. His small hand pressed up against the window longingly and he sighed again, this time louder in hopes that his brother would hear. After a second failed attempt, he turned and crossed his arms.

"You said you would."

"When? I don't 'member saying anything like that. Liar."

"You said it last night. You said, 'Ludwig, tomorrow we'll play ball if the sun comes out, we'll play as much as you like."

Gilbert turned his face up to consider and then with a straight face said, "I said no such thing." He closed his eyes pompously and tilted his head up momentarily before flashing a wide grin at the impatient sound that emitted from the younger boy's mouth. "Fine, okay, I 'member! But we're only going to play as much as I like, alright?" Ludwig smiled and clapped his hands together.

"I'll get the ball!" As he ran off into their bedroom, Gilbert turned towards the radio. Father said it was important. Father said it wasn't only his future, it was Ludwig's future too so he'd better listen good. But Father wasn't here anyways so Gilbert turned the knob and went to join his brother in the other room. After all, he was still only twelve years old.

Helena Beilschmidt watched from the kitchen window as both her boys ran in circles, laughing and yelling. She wished deeply that they could stay so young forever, untouched by the harsh influence of the world, but she knew better. Her husband would be coming home from work soon, bringing that dreaded influence with him. It would be another night of bitter propaganda, with Gilbert hanging on every spoken word and Ludwig silently watching, learning. Her heart ached. She busied herself with dinner preparations, trying hard to nurse her long tendered wounds until the sun began to set and she called her children in to wash up.

It wasn't until she was laying dinner on the table that her husband, a tall man by the name of Peter, pushed through the front door. "Helena, where is Gilbert?" He noticed his boys hadn't greeted him at the door like they usually did.

"In his room," she brushed her hands off on her apron. "Why, is something wrong?"

"No, no," he replied offhandedly. "I just wanted to tell him that he's going to be moving groups this week."

"What do you mean?"

He stepped into the kitchen, kissed his wife on the cheek and surveyed her days work laid out on the table. "They're shutting down his boy's group. He'll be required to register with the Hitler Jugend next year when he's thirteen. So he'll be transferred for the remainder of this time into Deutsches Jungvolk. Anton is moving his boys too."

Helena repressed a shudder. "I don't like that man, his groups or teachings, he's-"

"Please," Peter held up a hand, his stern features pulled into a tight frown. "You'll be right to keep your thoughts to yourself on this matter Helena. I've already made the decision."

"They aren't just your children, Peter." She replied chidingly in return. "I don't want to see my boys shipped off to war, and these damned groups, all they're doing is teaching him how to kill. I won't stand for it." Peter stepped closer, his voice growing colder.

"You don't have a damn choice. Whether you like it or not that boy-both boys, will serve this country. Just as I did when I was younger. You should be proud of them!" Helena turned her cheek, that familiar pain was back again. "He'll be taught the proper skills to succeed. You can hold him back from these groups all you like and when he's serving, he'll die within the week. Is that what you'd like to see instead?" His hand hit the counter next to her.

She remembered for a moment how her husband once was. A good man with an infectious laugh, whose ease had pulled her in the second they met. He never had been aggressive. Not until he had a son to call his own, it was then he had changed. And now, as Gilbert got older, these moments came by so regularly they were nearly routine. He would get mad, he would shake her, sometimes slap her until she saw it his way. He was a stranger.

"He'll die anyways," she said woefully. When his hand made contact with her shoulder, and he squeezed so hard she knew her pale skin would bruise in brilliant shades of violet days later, she took a sharp breath inwards.

"He'll fight for the future of his country. And you will accept it. The Lord gave you two sons for a reason, don't try to pull them in to your female notions. Gilbert is a smart kid, Ludwig too. Now, this conversation is over. Do you hear me?" Helena opened her eyes, she hadn't realized she'd even closed them. In the doorway to the kitchen she saw Gilbert, his eyebrows pushed together and a worried frown on his lips. His hand rested on Ludwig's shoulder, the youngest boy wearing a nearly identical expression.

"Yes Peter. I hear you." He let go and she turned away. She didn't want her boys to see her cry.

Dinner was, as she had expected, full of conversation that made her ill. She picked at her plate, every now and then looking up to survey her children. Peter spoke loudly, joyously about the new boy's group Gilbert would be moving into, and every now and then Gilbert would ask five questions right after the other, so eager he was forgetting to eat. She looked over at her youngest son, his bright blue eyes were affixed to hers and she quickly looked away. Clearing her throat, she spoke. "Gilbert, eat your dinner. It will be bath time for you soon after."

"Aw, come on, can't it wait till morning?"

"No, I said-"

"It's fine, it can wait for morning." Peter cut in, he took a drink of his liquor and didn't bother looking up. A sudden guilty expression crossed Gilbert's face but he refrained from speaking. Helena waited in silence until everyone had finished before she stood to clean. Peter moved the boys into the sitting room next to the radio and she worked slowly until a small hand was grabbing at her apron.

"Goodnight mama," Ludwig said quietly. Helena bent down on one knee and even with her soap sodden hands, she pulled her youngest into a tight hug.

"Goodnight, Mausi. Sleep well, okay?"

"Okay." She pulled away and watched him walk away. He stopped though in the doorway, hesitated and turned around. "Mama...is Gilbert going to be okay?" Her hand fluttered to her chest and she forced a smile.

"He'll be just fine, as will you, don't worry about the things your father says. He doesn't mean it." Feeling a little more confident, Ludwig nodded then walked away.

But his father's words never entirely left him. Only a few minutes had passed since both Gilbert and himself had crawled into bed, the door was shut and with the curtains drawn, it put them in total darkness, but he knew Gilbert wasn't sleeping yet. "Bruder?" Ludwig said in a very small voice. It was silent for a long second before an even smaller voice answered back.

"Hm?"

"...Are you scared?"

"Of what?"

"Of the things papa talks about. You know, the war, and...killing."

Gilbert rolled over, facing the wall, he didn't answer. It wasn't until Ludwig whispered his name once again that finally he got a response. "You shouldn't be worrying about things like that."

Ludwig cradled his pillow closer, his voice tinged with what could have been mistaken for excitement. "But he said that I would go to war too one day-"

"-you won't," Gilbert said firmly, no longer trying to whisper.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'll win the war myself if I have to, you won't have to fight for nothin'. I promise." Ludwig felt the taut muscles in his arms relax and he slunk back down beneath the covers. His eyes strayed from his brother's back to the ceiling and he stared until his eyes stung. He didn't reply and soon he heard the familiar sound of a light snore coming from across the room. And yet, as long as he laid there staring out into the darkness, still nothing made sense. Maybe it never would. Or maybe by the time he'd figured it out it would already be too late to stop it.

Time moved by at an alarming rate, the seasons passed and the propaganda that littered the airways became almost like a new religion in the year of 1935. Gilbert had moved up in the boy's rank, now a self declared valuable member of the Hitler Jugend, and Ludwig was forced into long lonely evenings spent hunched over peeling school books while his brother was away. The days began to blend together, a repetitive blur set in fast motion until one day it came to a sudden halt with a single sound.

It was startling. Ludwig dropped his book and snapped his head towards the back of the house. His mother's cry sent him running through the open door to his room, his small hands pushing off the walls to gain momentum. When he stopped in her doorway, chest rising in panic, he saw his mother in a pile of despair. Her hands were clutching at a yellow paper, her mouth open in a silent gaping breath. She cried out again, and standing so close, he could feel the tragedy that came off her in waves. And so, he cried too.

"Mama," he shuddered. He was too old to be crying like this. If Gilbert had ever seen him in such a sniveling state, he surely would have had a good laugh. "Mama, no." He caught in his words in a whine, but it was useless, he was sinking to the ground too. He had never seen his mother like this, she was always the pillar of strength that kept the family from falling, not the one who fell first and frankly, it terrified him. "Mama,"he repeated. Suddenly, as if the sound of his fear struck her, she looked up and clutched the yellow paper close to her chest.

"No, no, don't cry. Come here." He crawled over to her and she pulled him in her lap. Her damp cheeks brushed against his platinum hair and she took back a shuddering breath that had been robbed of her just moments before. "Shh, calm down." Her slender hands took to his cheek and she breathed him in.

Later that day, the news was spoken on the radio. The process of conscription had been reinstated, a sign that forebode not only the prospect of a foreign war but that those who had already had in depth training were going to be the first ones to go. Ludwig watched on shakily. For the first time Gilbert had been left without words. He listened to his father speak, about the war, about pride, about glory, with the realization of the situation finally sinking in. He had five years left till he was made into a soldier, just like daddy had always wanted.

He went to bed that night without dinner.

When Ludwig entered the room sometime later, the silence that had settled was unnatural and tense. "Are you awake?" Ludwig whispered as he closed the door. No answer. He walked over to his brother's bed and placed a small hand on Gilbert's head. He sniffed at the sudden touch.

"What do you want Lud?"

"...are you crying?" It was obvious by the small tremor in Ludwig's voice that he was worried about his brother.

"No."

"Yes you are. What's wrong with you?"

"I said I'm not crying. Go to bed." The older boy reached up and swatted Ludwig's hand away. "You always ask so many damn questions, it's annoying."

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Gilbert turned to look over his shoulder, squinting in the dark to make out his brother's tiny figure. Finally, after a moment of scrutinizing, Gilbert scooted over and opened his blanket for the boy. They laid there quietly, stiffly, until slowly Gilbert moved his arm over the young boy and pulled him close. And then, without warning, he pushed his head into Ludwig's hair and began sobbing.

"I don't want to die." His breath hitched and he shrank into his brother's back tighter. "I'm so scared, my teacher likes me, he say's I'll make a good soldier, but I don't wanna be one Lud, I really don't." The blonde boy reached over and wove his fingers in between Gilbert's. A small comfort, but it must have made an impact because Gilbert took a deep breath and his tears stopped. They stayed like that for such a long time that Ludwig thought Gilbert had finally fallen asleep, until his voice indelicately whispered in close to Ludwig's ear. "If I leave...I want you to know something."

"Hm?

Gilbert closed his eyes, briefly relishing the warmth the small body next to him seemed to be radiating. He had time still, and a part of him thought that things could easily change, problems could be resolved, and maybe he stood a chance of being able to live out a long boring life. But in the event that it didn't happen like that, he had to make sure Ludwig knew the complete and honest truth.

"I won't be fighting for this country," he nuzzled his brother's head sweetly. "No, I don't care about that. I'll fight for you. And when I win and come back, I promise, I'll never make you worry 'bout me again."

A/N: So, I regret to say that I'll be starting work soon so this story probably won't get updated super fast like I always intend to. But it will get updated, I promise. As regularly as I can manage, especially if I start getting more readers. But anyways. Thanks for reading :