Comatose

Gilbert isn't entirely sure why this man is here. He's obviously not German, because when he talks, the words are foreign. English. And with a very noticeable British accent. Gilbert thinks that it's possible the man might know some German, but he's too ignorant to realize who he's talking to.

"My son, Matthew," The Brit goes on, and Gilbert is forced to listen because he can't move or speak. "He's gone missing."

The man has been visiting him for days since Gilbert arrived in this strange place.

Gilbert can't remember how he got here or what happened. He doesn't know why his eyes refuse to open or why his body refuses to move. He remains immobile despite his fervent attempts to move.

Occasionally, Gilbert would hear a rumbling in the distance, and the Brit would go quiet...

"Alfred was told to return home until further notice, but he refused. He thinks he can find Matthew somehow."

Gilbert has a missing brother, or so his conscience says but he's not sure if he should believe it. His memories have disappeared along with the distant thunder.

"If something happens to that boy..." The Brit trails off and when the preceding silence remains unbroken, Gilbert assumes the man won't continue, or he's simply left him alone.

Gilbert is still too frustrated by his immobility to care enough.

---xxx---

Gilbert still can't move the next day. Or the day after that. He remains immobile and silent, but very much alive.

The Brit continues to visit every day, and every day he has something else to tell him.

Gilbert's not entirely sure he's correct; he knows his train of thought is rather self-centered. But he thinks the man is doing this to distract him. If he were left alone for so long...he's sure he would have been pushed into a silent insanity.

Gilbert decides that if he's ever able to move again, he'll thank the stranger.

---xxx---

There's a storm outside. At least that's all Gilbert can gather. He can hear the creaking of lights swinging from overhead as the thunder shakes the building. Everyone is silent, but there's people moving about. There's a light tapping to his left, where the Brit usually sits and he has to wonder if he actually is there. But the stranger is just as silent as him, and they both listen uneasily to the storm.

Gilbert can't very much do anything about what's going on, except wonder why there's no rain to go along with the tremors from the sky.

---xxx---

"You're probably asleep right now..." The Brit murmurs, his voice is soft and tired, but Gilbert is indeed asleep. Conscience switched off in favour of dreams where he can walk and see. "I received a telegram..." If he were awake, Gilbert would feel his heart clench in dread. Just those words foreshadow what's coming next. "It's a wonder they were able to find me in this dingy old place..." There is a brief pause of silence, even the thunder outside has halted for the time being.

"Matthew is dead..."

There is a brief twitch of fingers that catches the Brit's attention. He reaches out, warm fingers brushing against cold ones. But they don't move again, so he draws his hand away.

"Your name is Gilbert." It's a statement that, if Gilbert were awake to hear it, and if he were able to respond to, he'd be giving a snide remark about it because yes, he does know his own name.

But he sleeps.

"I asked a nurse earlier. She said you had a set of dog tags with your name on them." There is utter silence around them except for a loud snore and coughing from somewhere in the makeshift hospital. "You were a soldier at one point...weren't you...?"

The Brit wants to know so many things...

"From Germany..."

So many things that it makes his head hurt. He wants to know why one of his sons is dead. Why it was that his Matthew was taken prisoner and killed.

He wants to know more about the comatose man lying before him, body riddled with burns and scars. But most of all he wonders.

"Why did you save me...?"

Any other German soldier would have shot him down after all...

---xxx---

He sees explosions in the sky. Hears the whistling of bombs as they plummet to the ground. He can feel the dirt and grime caked on his skin. Feel the warmth of blood as it oozes from the right side of his face.

He doesn't know why he is here. But he's not alone. There are people running, fleeing from buildings to escape being crushed when they collapse. Several of them drop dead for no particular reason, but Gilbert assumes it has something to do with the gun shots he hears.

One man simply stands there and stares at him, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his trousers. Gilbert doesn't know his name, but he knows he's seen him at some point.

"Where is your brother?" He asks, voice thick with a familiar accent. The words are German, like everything in his dreams, but he can tell when someone's a foreigner.

Gilbert opens his mouth to respond, but no noise comes out. Blood, however, does. Its metallic tang is sharp against his tongue and he wonders why it's coming out of there of all places.

"Where is Ludwig?" The man asks for a second time, and Gilbert wonders if he even knows the answer.

He doesn't. And what's even more frustrating is that he can't remember what this Ludwig character looks like, or what the name of this strange man is.

"He's gone, isn't he...?" The British man replies, emerald eyes strangely cold. "Just like my Matthew."

There is a noise from behind him, a soft click, and Gilbert whirls around. He catches eyes with a young boy, his grey eyes wide in fear as he aims at him down the barrel of a rifle. Gilbert frowns, the action making his face muscles ache.

And then there is fire.

Gilbert feels his feet go shooting out from underneath him and he falls forward. He never touches ground, but he still has the feeling of dread just before impact. Everything is suddenly silent and white, a loud ringing echoing through his ears, pounding on his eardrums.

He can't move.

"Ludwig is gone." The Brit's voice is loud and clear. "Your brother isn't coming back..."

Gilbert surges back to consciousness, mind in frenzy. His brother is gone. His brother is gone. He doesn't know why it bothers him so much; he can't even remember what he looks like. But it scares him, and he feels like screaming. He wants to thrash about, to cry and rage and break something. But all he can get is a light twitch.

He can't move. He can't do anything.

Gilbert knows he's worthless at this point. And he wonders why they don't just kill him or let him die. It would free up a bed for some other wounded soldier. Someone who needed it more than him. Gilbert can't do anything but lie there, hot wet tears sliding down his cheeks no matter how much he tries to stop them.

"I suppose you have a lot more to cry about than me." Says a soft voice. It's that British man again. "That's fine. I don't blame you..."

The man holds off on mentioning Gilbert's immobility, and Gilbert is glad that he does.

"You'll get better...I promise."

Gilbert can only hope.

---xxx---

His name is Arthur, and he's from a town in England, just outside of London. It explains the English at least, but not why he's here.

"Matthew and Alfred moved across sea, to America. Must have been four or five years ago."

Gilbert doesn't particularly care when or why they moved, but he listens anyway.

"Because of the depression, it was a little rough for them at first, but they managed."

Gilbert briefly remembers a depression of his own. When money was close to worthless and he would burn it just to keep warm. He can remember blue...almost like a robin's egg...gazing at him from across the fire and a low voice asking him questions that he doesn't know the answer to.

"Alfred was the first to decide he was going to join the army. Matthew tagged right along." There was a brief pause and a sigh. "Those two were inseparable..." Arthur murmurs, and Gilbert thinks it's possible him and his own brother were like that.

To a point.

"Gilbert...I wonder what kind of life you lived before this..." Arthur murmurs.

A normal one, Gilbert supposes.

"Did you have a family?"

Gilbert would have responded with a scoff if he could. He'd have to have a family to even exist, right? His lips twitch slightly, but the movement is unnoticed by both of the men.

"You seem like the type to own a pet...perhaps you had one..." Gilbert again sees a flash of colour on his subconscious, but this time it's yellow. "I can't see you as a cat person very much." Neither can Gilbert, so he assumes that he never owned one. "A dog maybe? German's love dogs." At that, Gilbert can't help but think of the number three. But he knows he's never owned any himself, so he's left to wonder what the significance of it is. "Perhaps a bird...?"

The yellow from before takes shape, and suddenly there's a canary flitting about in his head. It tweets and whistles and flies about.

Arthur sounds as if he's about to say something, but the building rumbles and he falls silent for quite some time.

"Did you have a lady in your life?" He asks when the building falls silent and still again. Gilbert feels slightly annoyed at the question, but can't come up with why. "A strapping young lad like you," Not quite young, Gilbert wants to correct. He's already in his thirties. "There must be some lovely woman waiting for you at home."

Gilbert doesn't think he does. He was never much of a ladies man, however...

"She'd be missing you terribly, I'm sure."

Gilbert wants to frown, to tell this strange man to stop making up things about him. But his train of thought is suddenly cut off when he remembers something. Or rather, someone. A woman.

She's sitting in a rocking chair, gazing out a window as the canary continues to sing from somewhere in the distance.

"She'd want you home."

The woman has a pink flower in her hair, just above her right ear. He's overwhelmed with a sudden fondness to the flora, and he wants to reach out and touch it, which is so unlike him to do such a thing.

"For her sake..." Arthur murmurs, and the woman turns in her seat to gaze at him. Her eyes are shadowed by her brunette hair, but Gilbert knows that her eyes are emerald. Just like the man from his dream but hers are gentle.

"Gilbert," The voice suddenly morphs, and he knows it's Arthur speaking but it's the woman now. Her lips forming the words, Her voice enunciating each syllable.

"Please, wake up."

There is a fluttering of wings and then everything is black and silent...

---xxx---

"Eliza is gone."

Gilbert swivels his wide stare from the bird cage in front of him to the man standing in the doorway. He's tall and muscular, with slicked back blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Gilbert knows him. He knows that they have a close connection, but he can't pin a name to him. He stands there, pale red eyes flickering down toward the floor briefly as he licks his chapped lips.

"Gone?" He repeats, and the burly man standing in front of him nods.

"Roderich said her door was open when he went to visit. And a lamp had smashed on the floor."

"She was taken you mean." Gilbert says, voice hard and edgy and mouth feeling impossibly dry. The nameless man in front of him nods gravely, eyes sliding over to stare at anything but the albino's blank stare. They land on the cage Gilbert had been staring at moments before, at the small canary flitting about on it's roost. There is anger behind Gilbert's expressionless visage. It's evident in the way his eyes seem to harden and his nostrils flair.

"Why would she be taken? She's not even je-"

"Her parents ar-" The man says. "…were…" He corrects himself, and Gilbert flinches.

"Lutz…" It's a nickname, not the man's actual name. But he's finally able to figure out the missing information. The burly man standing before him is his brother, and his name is Ludwig. How he could have possibly forgotten is absolutely beyond him. The name is much too common. "Lutz, you don't think…"

Ludwig is silent. It's not strange for him, the blonde man is usually quiet like this. Only typically it's because he has his angular nose shoved into a book or he's busy with work. "I can't be sure…" He murmurs in a low baritone.

It is unspoken whether or not the woman named Eliza is dead or not. But the brothers' know it's more than likely that she is. Gilbert slowly sinks down into the chair behind him, hands coming up to cover his face. "Liz…" He mumbles, but his voice is lost in the flesh of his hands.

Ludwig watches as his brother's usually ramrod straight posture ( much like his own ) slumps forward, elbows on his knees. He can understand why the usually arrogant man is now in such a crumpled position. His best friends since childhood has been taken by the very men he used to serve.

"I hate them…"

"Bruder-"

"I hate them, Ludwig!" Gilbert snaps, raising his head to glare at Ludwig. The blonde's stony expression shifts slightly, a wrinkle appearing between his brows as his lips tug down in a frown.

"Please be careful with what you say, Gilbert." Ludwig's voice is soft. "You know more than anything how things are…"

"You're damn right I do." Gilbert snarls. "They have the gall to discharge me on the grounds that my services are no longer needed? And now they're storming houses like it's nobody's business? I'm telling you, Lutz. They're bad news."

"Bruder, please…"

"Herr Hitler can kiss my ass for all I care." Gilbert stands up angrily, the chair he was sitting in sliding against the ground in his haste. "I'm done with this!"

"Gilbert, do you have any idea what they would do if they found out that-"

"That what? That I'm against the party? They're lucky I don't grow a beard and start prancing around with a yamaka, Ludwig." Gilbert raises his hands to his head, thin pale fingers curling into his colourless hair. He lets out a frustrated growl, turning on his heel to start pacing. "They took Elizibeta, Ludwig! The took her!"

"I know…" Ludwig says quietly, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"They took her! She's gone! Sh…she's gone…Ludwig…" The younger brother watches as Gilbert comes to a halt facing away from him. One hand drops to loosely hang by his side, the other slides down to press the heel of his palm against his eye. It's rare to see his brother so emotional, and Ludwig knows better to try and comfort him. It would only make him angry.

"She's gone…"

---xxx---

Gilbert never thought about what would happen after he died. Nor did he ever think about whether or not the stories of Heaven and Hell were true. He knows he's not a good man, yet here he is. At least he thinks so anyway. He doesn't know what heaven is like, but there's a bright light in front of him, so he can only assume that it's there.

It's vibrant, blinding almost and he has to close his eyes against it before he looks again. When he tries to move closer, nothing happens.

He can't move...

He wants to reach out towards the light, grasp it with his hand, but the appendage remains immobile.

There's a low rumble from somewhere, and the light shifts. He blinks, slowly, as he watches it swing back and forth. Back and forth until it settles in front of him again.

How curious...

Gilbert doesn't know what to make of it. Heaven never moved as far as he knew. But he doesn't want to think about it. It's making his head hurt. Instead, he closes his eyes against the light, and wonders if it's possible to fall asleep when you're dead...

---xxx---

The man from his nightmare is sitting next to him now. Dimly, Gilbert wonders how it is this man came to die as well, but something is off.

This isn't heaven at all.

"I see you can open your eyes now."

There is a pleasant smile on the man's face as he looks at him. His eyes aren't the sharp icy emerald from before. They are much more worn and tired. There are dark circles beneath them and there are frown lines beginning to appear on his face. He looks much older than he imagined.

"That's good. You're making progress."

His arm is in a sling, Gilbert notices, and there's a crutch lying across his lap.

"You're Albino." Arthur states, and suddenly Gilbert feels rage begin to bubble up in the pit of his stomach. He doesn't know why though. "Fascinating." The anger ebbs, but only slightly.

"Can you talk yet? Or move?"

Gilbert tries. His lips part and he lets out a breath of air, but there's no sound. He can, however, curl his fingers. Arthur sees, gives a nod of approval, and folds his hands together in his lap.
Arthur doesn't say anything for quite some time. Gilbert finds no reason for him to. Instead, he lies there and observes.

There's an IV stuck in his arm, he notices. And his right arm is bandaged, along with half of his face. He still can't feel his legs, and briefly he wonders if he even still has them. But he tries not to worry about it. He tries instead to focus on the fact that he can see now, and that he's steadily regaining control of his body.

---xxx---

"It's not safe for you to be here anymore."

Gilbert looks up from the Iron Cross dangling between his fingers, ruby gaze settling on Ludwig as he closes the door and shucks off his military issued coat. The albino arches an eyebrow at him, although he's fully aware of what the blonde has said.

"They know." Ludwig says simply, folding the coat over the crook in his arm. "And I don't know what they're going to do about it but it's no longer safe for you."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying you have to leave." The expression on Ludwig's face is as stoic as it always is. But there's something about it that's different. Perhaps it's the way his brows are knitted together, giving him an almost worried look. It's comical, in a way, because Gilbert can't really attest to seeing anything but irritation on that burly man's face.

"Leave?" He repeats rather flatly, unamused stare shifting back to the iron cross. "And where exactly am I supposed to be going?"

At that, Ludwig's shoulders slump, and his visage cracks a bit. "I don't know…" He admits quietly, laying his coat over the back of the chair seated across from Gilbert before he sits down. "Switzerland, maybe?" He offers, and Gilbert lets out a derisive snort.

"Sounds promisin'." Gilbert says with a dry laugh, swinging the cross up into the air before snatching it into his fist.

"I'm serious, Gilbert." Ludwig props an arm up on the table, leaning towards his brother. "You know what happened to Eliza," Gilbert's lips pull back into a ghost of a snarl. "They'll drag you off too. It's one thing that you're…" Here the words catch in his throat, as if he's not sure he's allowed to say it. "…albino. But knowing you're openly against the Nazi party is…It's…"

"Absolutely ludicrous?" Gilbert offers and he gains a stiff nod from his brother. "Relax, Lutz. I'll be fine." A sly smirk spreads across the albino's face as his brother shoots him an incredulous look. "They're not gonna nab me any time soon. Trust me."

"Bruder, you don't know that…" Ludwig murmurs, but Gilbert just knocks his foot rather painfully against his shin.

"Trust me." Gilbert says again, leaning forward to ruffle the slicked back flaxen hair. "Ain't nothin' gonna happen to your big brother…"

"Bruder…"

---xxx---

Gilbert sort of thinks that he would much rather still be in that comatose state from before. He's glad that he can sit up now, and that he can finally talk. But he's also finding out the awful truth of what exactly happened to him in the first place.

The explosion had knocked his legs out from under him, he remembers. Had sent rocks and shrapnel out to embed in his flesh. His legs had taken the brunt of the blow.

He reaches out, hand curling around the bandages around where his knee would be. It's not there anymore. Neither of them are. His legs have been amputated and all he's left with are stumps.

"I suppose you got off with a little worse luck than me." Arthur says as he watches him. He has his hands folded over a cane. He switched the crutch out a few days ago when he found he could walk a little easier now. "They got infected a few days after you were admitted here. They were forced to amputate so there really was nothing they could do." Arthur explained. "I'm sorry about your legs."

"Don'd be," Gilbert says quietly, and he's surprised to find he's not that angry about it. "Id's deh cost of var." Arthur gives him a rather curious look, but nods.

"You don't deserve all of this damage though. You saved me," Arthur motions toward his still bandaged face, attempting to mention how Gilbert probably won't be able to see out of both eyes ever again. Gilbert isn't paying attention though, he's still running his hands over the bottom of the stumps that were his legs.

"Id's weird...I can schtill imagine dem being dere..." Gilbert murmurs. "I can'd..." He wants to say he can't believe they're gone, but he's not sure if that would be a true statement or not. Arthur reaches out, places his hand on top of Gilbert's and draws it away. He doesn't let go.

"You'll learn to live with it." He says in an offer of comfort. "If I can get used to a cane, you can get used to a wheel chair." Gilbert looks at him this time, face unreadable for the briefest of moments before a light smile tugs at his cracked lips. However the action is short lived, and his lips quickly tug down into a deep frown.

"Ahrtur," The Brit knows he'll never get accustomed to hearing his name said that way. Gilbert's accent is so thick sometimes. "Ahrtur, I don'd know dat I hef anyding lefd…" He says slowly, and his ruby gaze flicks back down to the bed sheets briefly.

Arthur's lips draw into a tight line, and he watches as Gilbert's fingers start to curl around his own. The grip is weak, but it's only because Gilbert is weak. Lying in bed for so long has caused his muscles to deteriorate.

It's been a while since the last time Gilbert genuinely cried. Even when he received the news of Elizabeta's disappearance, he didn't shed a tear. Arthur says nothing about it, he merely reaches over for a small hand towel and raises it to Gilbert's face. Gilbert finds himself thanking him. And he says it repeatedly, almost like it's a mantra for him that won't go away.

Arthur remains seated by Gilbert's side, even after the man has lain back down and gone to sleep. The towel is back on the side table, but Arthur still has his hand firmly clasped around Gilbert's.

---xxx---

The Allies have won.

Gilbert somehow feels relieved that they did, because if they hadn't, this war would have dragged out even longer than necessary. He knows that it's also a bad thing. A horrible thing, because Arthur is sitting silently while another man describes what he's seen.

"Dad, those camps...it was like hell on earth. I've never seen anything like it." The man's blue eyes look haunted as he speaks. He's perched on the edge of Gilbert's bed, staring at the floor. "I thought the war itself was bad but..." He trails off, shaking his head slightly.

Arthur remains quiet, and Gilbert is quite literally horrified. After all he had served that very country for years. Ever since he was able until the military decided that his assistance in the fight for the Fatherland was no longer necessary.

But listening to this man, to Arthur's son as he retells the things he had seen...Gilbert realizes that the reason he was dismissed had nothing to do with an over production of officers.

They simply didn't want an Albino in their ranks...

"Wie viele...?" He asks quietly, barely aware that he has switched back to his native tongue. When he receives a blank stare, he corrects himself. "How many vere dere...?"

Alfred looks over at him, a frown on his face. "Thousands. I couldn't even begin to count them. They were like ghosts..." He shakes his head again. "How could anyone even think about making a facility like that?"

Gilbert doesn't know either. As ruthless an officer as he was, even he had morals. Just from what this man has described, he knows that even he couldn't take the sight of seeing those death camps. Of seeing the skeletons walking around aimlessly.

"That's horrid..." Arthur murmurs, and it's the first thing he's said since Alfred began talking.

Gilbert shifts in his bed, feeling rather restless. He hasn't moved from his spot in almost two months. He can't think of anything to say. He's too overwhelmed with shame to, and he's afraid he might say something that he'll regret.

"Berlin is in shambles, by the way." Alfred is talking to Arthur now. "We passed through trying to get here. It's practically leveled." Arthur glances towards Gilbert, and watches as the albino grimaces rather painfully. "The Reds took it."

Gilbert wonders if Ludwig might have still survived. He hasn't heard from him in almost a year. Maybe even longer, he can't remember. He's afraid that he might be dead though, and Gilbert would wish for anything but that.. If he lost his brother, he lost everything. He'd have nothing left to live for.

After all, his hometown had been taken over as well. And now all of Germany laid at the mercy of the allies.

Gilbert admits that he's probably a little scared about what will happen next.

But the thunder is gone and the war is over. He should be happy, right...?

"Is...is your brother actually...?" Arthur tries to keep his voice even, but it cracks near the end and he draws his lips into a thin line.

"Mattie?" Alfred sits up a bit straighter, but his voice is very quiet and his expression very solemn. "Yeah...I was surprised about it too...Kid fought harder'n I did..." He let's his head droop down a bit as he begins to rifle through his torn and dirtied uniform. After a few moments, he pulls out a set of dog tags that clink like muffled wind chimes.

Gilbert watches closely as the tags are handed off to Arthur, who takes them delicately between his fingers. He grabs at the chain first, and brings up another hand to cup the tags, laying them out flat on his palm so the letters pressed into the metal are visible.

"God, he's really gone..." Arthur says, and the words seem to catch in his throat slightly.

Alfred is silent, and he glances towards Gilbert briefly. "He died as a prisoner of war. You..." He pauses, licking his lips slightly. "The German's captured him. I don't know what they did to him after that..." He looks away from Gilbert, almost as if he hates to even look at him, and swivels his gaze back towards Arthur. "They're not exactly known for their gentle nature...Y'know...?"

It occurs to Gilbert that Alfred probably doesn't like him that much. At all, really, but he doesn't blame him.

Gilbert wants to nod in agreement, but the action would be horribly hypocritical. Instead he keeps his lips tightly pressed together, gaze trained on his hands where they fisted into the threadbare blanket resting over his lap.

"He died honourably. That's all I know." Alfred added quietly. Gilbert and Alfred both look towards Arthur then, watching as he leans forward, pressing the tags to his forehead. He's clutching them in an iron grip and Gilbert can't help but wonder if the worn metal will dig into his skin or not. But it's not a moment to talk. And it won't be for a while.

Alfred doesn't move from his spot. He doesn't shift, or reach out to give Arthur a comforting pat on the back or attempt to murmur words of condolence. It's strange that he doesn't, Gilbert thinks, because that's his father who is damn near in tears. It's his brother that he's grieving about.

But Gilbert doesn't move either, and he can't even conjure up a single idea of what he could possibly say to Arthur.

Instead, he wonders that if Ludwig really is dead, if he might have the same gracious opportunity bestowed upon Matthew as to have died honourably.

---xxx---

The wheelchair creaks under his weight. It's annoying and grating against his nerves, but he learns to deal with it. It's much better compared to the stiff cot he was forced to sleep in for two and a half months. But he refuses to give up his blanket ( however threadbare it is ) because he hates looking down to see that his legs don't extend past his knees.

Arthur is behind him, pushing him down the halls of the makeshift hospital. Gilbert would have liked to have done it on his own, but his arms refused to get past the first few pushes. He is still much too weak.

"Alfred said he would be back within the week." Arthur says as he glances out the windows they pass. "His commanding officer is rather generous. Any other battalion and he'd be forced to stay within ranks," He sighs slightly, and Gilbert tilts his head back to try and look at him, but the angle hurts his neck. "Guess there's no real reason to anymore...What with the war over."

Gilbert hums lightly in agreement, and tilts his head to gaze out the window as well. "Dis is Potsdam...isn'd id?" He asks slowly as he glances at the buildings outside. Most of them are untouched by the war. And Gilbert wonders why that is. He imagined everywhere to be in ruins, but this place, at least this part of the town, is perfectly untouched.

"Yes." Arthur says. "Somewhere in it. I'm surprised you could figure it out just by looking."

"...Nein, I jusd remember..." Gilbert says, his voice quiet. "Und I remember vhat happened..."

"What do you mean?"

"The boy..." Gilbert murmurs, and Arthur lets out a slight "ah" of understanding. Gilbert frowns, huffs lightly, and rips his gaze away from the windows. "Id's sickening...vhat dey did."

"Who?"

"Us. Deh Germans. Drafting a kid like dat into deh army." He shook his head in distaste, a sour expression crossing his features. "Id's disgusting..."

Arthur lets out a bit of a dry laugh as he maneuvers the chair around to open one of the doors. He rolls Gilbert out into the sunlight, bringing him to the edge of the terrace before he moves to the albino's side. Gilbert watches as the Brit folds his arms over the railing. His cane isn't with him today, he notices. But it's probably because he used the wheelchair for support.

"You wouldn't think the war actually happened looking at this..." Arthur murmurs, and his expression is very solemn and serene. "I've always admired the architecture here..." He adds in, seemingly out of nowhere. "Very old timey like the rest of Europe. But it has a certain charm to it."

Gilbert hums a bit, gazing through the gaps in the railing at the town. After a few moments of observing, he tilts his head back to stare at the sky. At the various clouds floating aloft and birds flying about. "Vhy vere you here?" He asks after several moments. "In Germany of all places. During a vorlt var."

Arthur peers over towards him, massive eyebrows raised slightly. "I'm a writer." He says matter-of-factly. "A journalist, really, but it's basically the same thing any way you look at it." He turns back to stare at the town. "I knew it was risky business to begin with, but I had already been in Switzerland for a while, so i figured why not get a better look at things."

"Du bist geisteskrank."

"Sorry?"

"I said you're insane." Gilbert tilts his head slightly to shift his gaze over toward Arthur's bemused one. "Marching into a var zone jusd to get someding to write about." He lets out something of a hiss that was meant to be a laugh. Arthur seems at a loss for words for several moments before he finds himself laughing alongside him.

"Y-yes, I suppose it is. Isn't it?" Arthur straightens his posture slightly. "But I found a good story at least." His voice drifts off at the end, and Gilbert arches a brow slightly. Arthur was looking just beyond the horizon at the smoke drifting up into the sky from a city in ruins. "You mentioned a brother some time ago." He says, clasping his hands together over the edge of the terrace. "Ludwig, wasn't it?"

"Ja," Gilbert lets his gaze drop down slightly to stare at his lap with a deep frown. His pale fingers are running along the metal spokes of his wheelchair. "I did."

There is a long silence between the two of them, and a gentle breeze starts to pick up. It's coming from the east, from the smoke, and with it carries a scent of death and gunpowder. Neither of them comment on it. They find no need to. The scent is so ingrained into their senses that it has long since been indistinctive among others.

"I wouldn't lose hope on him,"

Gilbert looks up suddenly, toward Arthur who still has his gaze trained toward Berlin. His fingers curl more stiffly around the spokes, making the chair shift back slightly.

"Warum?"

"Because if you lose hope, then he's definitely not coming back."

Gilbert is silent as he looks up at Arthur, pale gaze blinking as he watches the Brit twiddle his thumbs. There is a low rumble in the sky, and when Gilbert glances up, he sees dark clouds starting to creep over the bright blue blanket behind it.

"I wonder how long it will take for the world to go back to normal…" Arthur murmurs as the wind shifts back toward the east. The smell of death and destruction is replaced with a cool breeze filled with the scent of rain.

"Years." Gilbert murmurs, and it's not a guess. "Probably efen decades…" He knows from experience. He grew up surrounded by a war torn nation. This isn't the first world war that Germany had been involved in. "Who knows…?" He murmurs, his fingers finally relinquishing their hold on the spokes of the wheels.

The wheel chair continues to creaks under his weight, but Gilbert isn't about to say anything about it anytime soon as they make their way back through the halls of the hospital. His pale gaze is trained on the floor that glides beneath him. He only looks up once when they pass a nurse closing all of the windows, shutting out the impending rain. She gives them a small charming smile, but other than that ignores them.

When they're back at Gilbert's cot, Arthur slides an arm behind his back and pulls Gilbert's arm over his shoulder. With a bit of a grunt, he hoists Gilbert out of the chair and back into the bed. The feat takes a lot out of him, as Arthur isn't exactly the best in upper body strength, but it gets Gilbert into bed.

The albino shifts slightly, his hand fisted into the back of Arthur's shirt for a bit of leverage. When his fingers uncurl from the fabric and Arthur starts to pull away, Gilbert grabs for his arm.

"Hey," He's not looking at him, his gaze is on the bed sheets. Arthur blinks, watching him curiously as Gilbert struggles to find words. "I…shoult hef said dis a long time ago…bud…" He breaths in deep, his hand finally releasing Arthur entirely to rest in his lap. "Dank you…"

Arthur doesn't give a response. His posture is still hunched, a hand still placed on Gilbert's back as his emerald gaze crinkles a bit. "For what?" He asks.

"Eferyding…" Gilbert's tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and it's not because he's speaking a different language. It's because he's hardly ever thanked anybody in his entire life. But he remembers when he was still trapped in his own mind, unable to see or move or talk. He remembers how Arthur had sat next to him for days, weeks even, and talked. Simply talked. "I vould hef gone crazy if you hadn't schtayed vid me…" He admits, and he finally lifts his gaze up to Arthur's.

The Brit pulls away finally, straightening his stature, although he shifted his weight onto his right foot.

"Danke." Gilbert says again, letting himself flop back onto the flimsy cot.

There is a low rumble that shakes the building, and then the sound of rain. Gilbert can feel his eyelids grow heavy with the sound. Arthur grabs ahold of the threadbare blanket that fell off onto the floor and pulls it up around Gilbert. The albino gives him a slightly exasperated look, because he's not a child and Arthur is suddenly treating him like one.

"You're welcome." Arthur tells him simply, pulling away to shove his hands in his pockets. "Now get some rest."

---xxx---

"Hauptmann Ludwig Beilschmidt?"

"..Yes…?"

The trampling of military boots on the ground rings throughout his ears even though they're outside. Four men are stood in front of him, and one steps forward to address him personally.

There is a battle raging around them. And before the men had approached, Ludwig was in the midst of reloading his rifle. His uniform is dirtied and torn in places, and he has a cut on his forehead that has left a trail of blood clear down to his chin.

"In the name of the German people, I hereby condemn you to death." The man who had stepped forward says. Ludwig feels his mouth go dry, and for the briefest of moments, he can't help but wonder why they're doing this now of all times. A mortar goes off a couple of meters away, but none of them move. Ludwig doesn't even blink.

"Under what pretense?" He asks tersely, lowering the butt of his rifle to the ground. The man clears his throat slightly.

"You have violated the will of the German people in the refusal to give up the location of a one Gilbert Beilschmidt." He says. "Who is accused of treason against the Fatherland."

"My brother has done nothing wro-"

"He is known to be openly against the Socialist Party, Hauptmann Beilschmidt. It is your responsibility, as an Officer in Herr Hitler's army, to report such disloyalty. You have disregarded these rules, and therefore shall be punished."

Ludwig frowns heavily, icy gaze sweeping across the streets around them for enemies. His company has already moved on without him. He's doubtful this area will be secure for long, though. "By killing me...?" He says lowly.

"These are the orders." The man says, and reaches back for his pistol.

"Now is a hell of a time to be cutting down your own soldiers." Ludwig says sourly his voice rising slightly.

"Orders are orders, Hauptmann."

Ludwig knows that if Gilbert were here, he would be throwing a right awful fit. But Ludwig is nothing, if not loyal, to his country. He presses his lips into a thin line, glancing down at his uniform briefly before returning his gaze back to the officer standing before him. He gives him a nod, stepping back slightly. His posture is ramrod straight, chin held high.

The officer raises the pistol, aiming towards Ludwig's head.

Ludwig swallows thickly, extending his right arm into the air. His lips part, expression fierce as he barks out "Heil Hitler!".

The pistol shot goes unheard. It is drowned out by the rest of the gunfire raging through the capital city.

---xxx---

"Halten Sie jetzt!"

"Bloody-"

Ker-pow!

Arthur stumbles forward as a bullet whizzes mere millimeters from his head. His green eyes are wide as he continues to barrel through the streets. There is a soldier chasing after him. His heavy boots make for loud footfalls with every step he takes. Crushed cobblestone crunched beneath their feet in the chase.

All around them there is chaos. Up in the sky are planes that are dropping bombs on the city, and in the streets are soldiers swarming after pedestrians. There is gunfire and explosions, and a distant wailing of an air raid siren that is crackling horribly.

If there is one word Arthur would describe this as, it would be "hellish". But he can think of so many more ways to describe it. There are words and phrases popping up into his head but he's trying to drown them out. Now is not the time for poetry or a bed time story. Another gunshot from behind him tells him just that.

"I haven't done anything to you!" He hollers over his shoulder. His foot catches on a bit of raised stone and he stumbles, barely managing to gain his footing again.

"Ich sagte halten!" The soldier barks, and Arthur regrets not taking a foreign language class back in his university years.

He's been running through alley ways for several minutes now, but he finally comes to an opening. He jumps out into the street, taking an abrupt left when he gets the chance. The soldier follows him at an impeccable rate. He can hear the heavy breaths of the young boy, and then he hears his own heavy wheezing. He's much too old for this. He's damn near in his fifties, he should be planning retirement, not running until his heart bursts.

There is an explosion off to the side that sends him tumbling with a yell. He cries out when his arm suddenly erupts into pain and he curls up on the ground where he's fallen.

He expects to hear the soldier approaching him, but he doesn't. He hears voices instead.

"Zuruckgehen an deine mutti." It's a rough voice, not one he's heard before. Arthur rolls onto his back, eyes tearing up as he clutches his injured arm to his chest. There is a man standing between him and the soldier. The rifle is now pointed up at the newcomer.

"Was sind Sie machen?" The soldier snaps. "Wie sind Sie?"

The stranger glares back into the soldier's grey eyes. The longer Arthur stares, the more he notices just how young the soldier is. He can't be more than sixteen years old.

"Junge." The stranger snarls, and steps forward. The boy stumbles back a bit, a horrified look crossing his features as the stranger advances on him. "Ich wurde einmal sagen. Zuruckgehen an deine mutti."

The rifle trembles as it is lowered, and the stranger tilts his head to look back at Arthur.

He's standing now, albeit heavily slouching as his body smarts in pain. "Wh-what are you-…?" He trails off as he tries to look at his "Savior". The man is taller than him, and despite his dirty looks, he has an arrogant air about him. He isn't afraid.

"Sind Sie gut?" He asks, but Arthur doesn't understand. He opens his mouth uselessly, only to close it again. The stranger frowns a bit, and speaks again. "You are gut?"

Arthur barely notices that the man has switched to English. His green gaze flickers toward the boy's. And he watches in mild horror as the rifle is raised again.

Gilbert turns back around, his ruby gaze locking with gray eyes. His lips pull down into a frown.

There is a whistling through the air…

…and then there is fire.