Chapter Text
That night as Arthur had retired to bed, exhausted from his time with Ludwig, he hadn’t seen eye nor extra arm of his magical companion. Though he fell so quickly to sleep, at the time he didn’t think too much of it. However, in the morning while he was brushing his teeth, mindlessly talking out loud, he noticed there was no high pitched witty reply. He was concerned of course, this was a foreign country to the little faerie after all, how could he possibly get lost at the greenhouse?
For now, the thought was shrugged off. He’d turn up. Maybe he was just out partying with some German creatures he found, or had woken up early to go off somewhere. But there was no denying it. The lack of annoying faerie was keenly obvious, and entirely uncomfortable.
Arthur dressed as usual, this time looking in each of his pockets and carefully inspecting each sock expecting to find Puck snoozing. When he didn’t turn up, he did his best to put out any disturbing points from his mind. As long as he got those samples out of the way, today they had brainstorming to do, and while talking to himself wasn’t something unfamiliar to Arthur, having someone to bounce off of was much easier.
The growling in his stomach led him downstairs to the kitchen, here he could also grab the milk he would owe Puck for his work, but as there was no sign of the creature, he decided his stomach came first.
He was greeted in the kitchen by his two hosts, chattering away in German. Gilbert sounded in higher spirits, and upon entering the kitchen, he could see why.
“Kirkland!” The Prussian grinned widely, leaning on one of the counters with his arms crossed, beside him a jar with a gauze lid on top of it. All Arthur could do was stare at the jar.
“Ha! See. He likes her.”
“He looks horrified.” Roderich sat at the table, coffee to his lips and paper in hand, “As am I.”
“What is it…?” Arthur asked, stepping forward to look at the contents of the jar more closely. There, hanging on to a stick, a soft pink mantis looked towards him with large, beady eyes.
“She’s an Orchid Mantis.” Came the proud reply,
“it’s a bug.”
“Insect. Bugs are the ones that suck blood and stuff, Rod.”
“My apologies, I didn’t mean to insult the thing you picked up off the dirt.”
Arthur swallowed, a sudden fear washing over him as he looked into the jar. He recognised this, and he most certainly was not happy with it. Every inch of his brain began to hatch out as many plans to steal the poor thing out of it’s jar, free it back into the open.
“What are you going to do with it?” He asked, best to know before making rash decisions.
“I think I’m gonna study her for a bit.” Gilbert nodded, “Then I’ll put a proper lid on the jar, wait a while and pin her.”
“Pin…?” He could feel the colour drain from his face.
“As long as you don’t bring it into your room again. I don’t want to deal with an infestation.” The sound of Roderich’s newspaper straightening tore his eyes away.
“Yeah sure whatever. I’ll go to the library or something.”
“You’ve already tainted one of the counter tops, why not use all of them?”
“Whatever, fussy pants. I’ll study her right here then and your precious kitchen will get covered in bug stuff.”
“I thought bugs sucked blood and stuff?”
“Yeah well shut up.” Gilbert huffed, crouching to be eye level with his catch, marvelling at it with a big grin on his face.
“Dunno how she got here though, these things only appear in southeast Asia. To think I just picked her up in the greenhouse last night.”
“What were you doing there?” Arthur frowned, trying to brush away his distress at seeing the insect by looking for food. Breakfast hadn’t been made today, perhaps something to do with the jar on the counter.
“Couldn’t sleep. Heard you wandering about thought I’d try find you.”
He swallowed, grabbing some milk from the fridge, “I was indeed wandering…”
“Guess I got distracted.” The Prussian shrugged, finally looking up from his catch, “Why were you out then?”
Arthur returned the shrug, “Couldn’t sleep.”
He returned shortly to his room, the glass of milk and some biscuits on hand, hoping to greet his little friend as he entered. Silence. Nothing. Arthur set down the food and glass, hoping to entice the faerie, finding himself checking under the bed and in extra drawers. He wanted to turn around and see that smug little pink face somewhere, fluttering above him to play some kind of trick. But no matter how hard he looked, Puck was no where to be seen.
Panic set in. Arthur sat himself on the bed, rubbing his eyes under his glasses to think, think. Where the hell could he be? Anywhere but that damn jar. It had been a while since he’d seen Puck out of his usual form, the more comfortably human looking body and small stature, the idea that he could have possibly pulled himself into some disguise wasn’t out of the question. Faeries were tricky. But in his surprise, Arthur did worry.
He got up, pacing the room up and down to get his mind going. Before jumping to conclusions and working on a plan to free the insect Gilbert had trapped, he would need to look in a few places, see if Puck had simply gotten stuck somewhere. It pained him dearly to think of him hurt. Damn those parental instincts.
The greenhouse was his first bet, that was where he had told the faerie to go. So, he pulled on his jacket and swept back down the stairs, two at a time, back through the kitchen.
“Oi, where are you going?”
“Smoke.” Arthur replied as he passed the pair again, chancing a short glance at the jar unmoved on the counter. The insect inside seemed to follow him around and he was struck with guilt. He couldn’t chance it now. As he moved outside, he quickly found himself pressed against the brick of the house, as if something was pinning him down. It wasn’t a person, nor any kind of force. As he slid down, he tried to take in some air. Slowly, calmly, no need to panic. All will be okay.
He sat there for a moment, getting his breathing under control before he succumbed to the creeping panic attack. This was his fault, he thought as he let his head roll back against the brick with a groan. Had he not told Puck to get samples, he would not be missing – or worse. It couldn’t be helped. Right now he needed to stay calm until he could get at that jar, preferably before the lid was securely put on it.
After being sat against the wall for a while, Arthur let out a long breath. No use letting himself get in a panic. Puck was strong willed and had certainly been in worse situations. He used that idea to calm down, silently cursing at how quickly he let that take over him. The thought of losing someone now was just a little too much while still making up for the loss of soldiers.
Arthur stood again, slowly, brushing off the dirt from himself. No one had followed him, thank god no one saw that display. The greenhouse was in sight, perhaps if he couldn’t find his little faerie friend, he could at least clear the evidence of him being there until the night, when it was safe to explore – or so he thought. If Gilbert also had plans to be wandering, who knows what he might run into.
As he entered the greenhouse, he struck a match, lighting the cigarette he had promised himself. If he wasn’t a creature of bad habits, there would hardly be much to describe him. It was empty in here, as much as to be expected for the abandoned plant pots, their company lacking in conversation or life, he made quick work getting to the only living things he was aware of that weren’t original. Behind that one watering can, he kicked it aside looking down at the glass vials, poking out from the shelf where they had been quickly abandoned, much like everything else here. And, again much like this greenhouse, it’s swift evacuation only spelt bad news.
Before Arthur could crouch to inspect further, a voice cleared its throat, causing him to spin so violently that the wind resistance might have put out the embers of his cigarette. Roderich stood in the doorway, preferring not to dirty his boots inside, with his hands neatly behind his back and nose held high as if he had better things to do that look at dried up plant life.
“Be careful not to catch anything on fire.” He commented, a light gesture to a particularly dry twig like plant beside the Englishman, “This place is practically kindling.”
“My apologies.” Arthur didn’t try to hide the sarcasm in his smile, deciding not to waste the nicotine floating from the cigarette by taking a light drag.
“You followed me?”
“Mildly.” The Austrian nodded, never moving to much from his spot. These damn German speaking countries and their uptight ways. “You ran out quite quickly. I don’t recall setting a rule saying you can’t smoke indoors.”
“I was just being polite.”
“I didn’t imagine a derelict greenhouse to be quite the smoking spot. Do you share Gilbert’s strange interest in bugs?”
“God no.” He laughed, shifting his weight between his feet, “I was just curious.”
“Curiosity killed the cat, you know.” Roderich suggested, never letting his voice sound overly threatening.
Arthur tried another laugh, acting friendly and calm as he stayed in front of what he had previously been looking at. It didn’t seem to land well.
“I should hope you don’t think I’m an idiot, Arthur.”
He faltered, his smile now a little shakier on it’s feet, “Whatever do you mean?”
“You came here for Ludwig. And you’ve discovered his little project.” The Austrian gestured behind him to the collection of small plants, an eyebrow raised.
For a moment, perhaps one a little too long, Arthur thought about defending himself. No no, he only just saw this, he’d been in his room the whole time. But, he sighed, deciding the attempt would be futile. “How did you figure it out.”
“The wandering, hours in the library, talking to yourself.” Roderich reached into his pocket, “Oh, and you left this in his room.” He chucked the item over, allowing the other man to catch it. A small glass stirring stick.
“Bugger.”
“Quite.”
The Austrian straightened himself out again, smoothing his shirt down and adjusting his ascot briefly, “I discovered it while giving him his breakfast this morning. I thought he’d been in higher spirits than usual, turns out there’s a reason.”
“What kind of spirits is he usually in?”
“I would prefer you not investigate so much, your presence is intrusive. I was not here and cannot give you a run down of everything that happened. You can make an educated guess.”
Arthur sighed, pocketing the glass stirring stick and looking back to the plants behind him. Some confirmation would be nice, he didn’t much like the conclusions he was coming to.
“I know he tested poisons on himself, it’s why that I can’t get my head around. Or how he ended up like… that.” He looked back, scuffing the sole of his shoe on the concrete floor.
“There’s more than just this project to look at, a bigger picture. From what I understand, most of it is self inflicted. And he was shot to subdue him.” Roderich remained tight, unmoving and lacking in any emotion, either not wanting to show weakness, or simply preferring the facts be clear and consistent.
“What happened to make him do that?” he pressed,
“That’s a guess you can make. Whatever it was hurt him deep enough, and whoever did it seemed worth poisoning himself for.”
Wind seemed to move between them in the broken down windows of the greenhouse. One in too deep and the other preferring to remove himself entirely from the idea of it, each still not clear, neither knowing enough. If Arthur felt comfortable or confident enough, he might ask the Austrian to continue helping, perhaps they could find these answers together. But both had too much pride running through them that fought back against concern, and pushed them apart, as wide as the space between them and just as full of death.
Night couldn’t have come quick enough, truly. Most of the day had been spent waiting for Gilbert to finish with his study of the insect he found, popping in and out of the library to return and gather more books, occasionally peaking over his shoulder at the sketches of it’s wings and various limbs. If he hadn’t been so aware of what was to happen next to the thing, he would stop to admire the work.
But now, Arthur waited at the door of his room, ear to the wood to listen for when he hosts retired to their rooms. This was his final night. But before he could go see Ludwig and press for the answers he wanted, he had to free that mantis from it’s certain doom – suffocating alone in a glass jar for all to see.
Finally, Gilbert’s footsteps were heard in the hall, making their slow way towards his room and inside. No time like the present, he thought, snaking out of his own room to the dark hall, keeping his movements as quiet as possible. As his door closed, all he could see was the beam of light, shining from the Prussian’s partially open door.
He was quick on his feet, the carpet muffling his footsteps to prying ears. Until he heard the sound of a whistle, making him freeze in place. It was only a quiet kind of whistle, a little far off, but it still made him turn slowly, half expecting Gilbert to be in the doorway looking at him. But, he was faced with just the cracked open door, light flooding from it as he heard some quiet speech and chirping.
Once again, Arthur was at the will of his curiosity, and despite much more pressing matters, he couldn’t help but move slowly and quietly towards the doorway, each step as wide as he could make it until he was peeking inside the room. He kept himself planted firmly to one side, though his peeking was still obvious, the door was open wide enough.
Inside, within the golden glow of light, he saw Gilbert sitting on a desk, wearing not much but his shirt and – thankfully – underwear. In front of him, a perch sat by the window as a little yellow bird bounced along the wooden bar, tweeting and chirping playfully at the man in front of it. In return, Gilbert would whistle a short tune, replying to it’s noises and flutters with a loving smile. He outstretched a finger, petting under the bird’s beak softly as he cooed to it, “It’s bed time, kiddo…” he hushed, letting the bird hop onto his hand, “You ready buddy? I’m sorry you gotta be all cooped up in here.”
The bird chirped again,
“I know, I know. Don’t worry, when we get home, you can fly all you want.”
It was an endearing sight, seeing him be so careful with the little bird as he began to walk it over to it’s cage beside his bed, limping slightly without the use of his cane. It became apparent when he turned as to why. A large, heavily bruised gash marred its way up the back of his right calf, stopping just before his knee, making it difficult to bend as he walked. He used surfaces around to steady himself, but ultimately, Gilbert never once sat back down. Even as he opened the cage, urging the little bird to head inside with a few more whistles; he kept his weight mostly on the left, but seemingly forcing the other down in a way that couldn’t be helping it heal.
Arthur had been so distracted by the large wound, that he had failed at first to notice that the little yellow bird had in fact refused to enter its cage, preferring instead to hop along onto its owner’s shoulder, tweeting towards the doorway.
“What you up to...?” Gilbert asked, following the bird’s line of sight.
The Englishman who had been spying felt he had never moved so fast in his life, spinning to pin himself flat against the nearest wall and hopefully out of sight. As footsteps moved closer, he covered his nose and mouth, trying desperately to shallow his breathing. Somehow, the last thing he wanted right now was for Gilbert to catch him not only wandering about the house at night, but spying on him, and gawking at his leg – a sight that would not leave his mind for a while.
“You’re so fussy.” He heard Gilbert’s voice as he reached the door, “Making me walk all this way to close a door. I’m a cripple you know!” With that, the door shut, the cooing words now muffled by the wood. Arthur let go of his breath in relief. What was he doing here again?
The realisation hit him a little harder than he would have preferred. That time spent staring at Gilbert’s leg was precious time he could use saving his friend, so with panic giving him a sudden rush of adrenaline, he hurried back to what he was doing and down the stairs.
Without shoes on, his swing from the bottom bannister and onto the hard wood floor, had less of an impact, and thankfully sounded nothing more than a dull thud. Even then he didn’t spend much time cringing over the sound, nor looking up to see if anyone would rush out to find the source of it. He hurried towards the kitchen, feet barely touching the ground as he practically leaped through the doors, only turning to catch them before they hit the wall and close them gently so as not to make a sound.
Now in the kitchen, he took a moment to look around, his eyes settling on the jar, now moved slightly against the wall and out of the way. The lid was firmly on, and inside, the insect seemed to be barely clinging to life, it’s legs weakly clawing at the sides of the jar. Arthur bolted over, immediately forcing the lid open, trying not to jostle the jar too much and hurt it in the process.
The lid popped off and was swiftly swept across the counter, his hand now inside the jar, tilted to almost pour the thing out onto his palm. It began to crawl up his hand, clawing onto his shirt sleeve and continuing, catching its breath. He stepped back until he was against the nearest wall, watching as the insect slowly gained more human appendages, body, and a face. Somewhere between his usual, more human look, and a strange kind of insect, Puck clung onto his saviour’s shirt and hugged him, wings pushed back, and pointed fingers gripping.
Arthur slid down the wall, his hands up to support the little thing and return the hug to the best of his ability. As he sighed in relief, he found himself whispering a soft song in a language unknown by history, a song his mother would sing to him. A song of the Fae.
---
When he got back to his room with a more than worn out faerie kept snuggled against his collar, he had placed him neatly on the pillows pulling the blanket up to cover his small frame. He was breathing, but clearly tired, the milk that had been left out for him had suffered over the day, and Arthur threw it out, promising all the fresh milk and cream he wanted when they got home. Puck seemed glad to hear it before falling asleep, still retaining his mantis like attributes with his twitching antenna and fluttering wings.
Arthur had grown quite tired himself what with the moderate stress of saving his friend from near suffocation. Gilbert would have to suffer without his latest specimen to pin to a board and study, he had plenty of research down. The only thing that kept the Englishman awake currently, was the knowledge that this was the last night he had for answers. And he was in need of something warm to hold onto.
He now stood in front of Ludwig’s door, feeling the shock of his near loss still weighing down on him as he contemplated his reason and a plan of action; what questions he would ask, what he already knew. He couldn’t leave here tomorrow with nothing but speculation. And so, he opened the door, finding it unlocked. Perhaps Roderich was always the last in, and their silent agreement had allowed him some access.
As he entered, he was met with that sterile smell, but today it held a warmer undertone, like a dark polished wood. The room was cleaner and the sheets were new, leaving the man in them quite comfortable, still propped up with pillows, but his head somewhat to the side as he slept. To wake a sick man and demand answers for something that clearly caused him more pain than necessary, he had to be mad.
Instead, he walked around to the opposite side to where he usually placed himself, sliding onto the empty space left beside the German and snaking his way under his arm. That warmth, the slightly ragged breaths as his chest moved softly, all of it things he himself would easily fall asleep against. His movement against the man seemed to disturb him, light confusion coming over his face as he didn’t quite understand the feeling now under his arm. Sick he may be, but his sharpness hadn’t left him.
“Arthur…?” He spoke, still not quite awake.
“I’m sorry.” Arthur replied quickly, hiding his face in the soft bandages over the other’s chest. He didn’t really want to get up and move, and he couldn’t find a worthy explanation. The arm he had pulled around himself tightened slightly and a hand took his. Shifting down to reach, Ludwig pressed his warm face against the other’s hair, taking in the familiar smell of smoke and nature. It was comfortable. It felt right.
“Something happened.” Arthur began, the comfort he felt being held allowed him to relax, forgetting the questions he had planned at the door in favour of his own problems.
“My friend… he got into a rough spot and it was my fault. It almost killed him.”
The man against him stayed silent for a moment, listening as his hand lightly rubbed the other’s shoulder, taking in what was said and formulating a reply in his damaged throat. “What happened?” He asked, voice crackling with the strain,
“I asked him to do something for me, and he got trapped… in a jar.” Arthur had to pause to go over that, but if he still held the status of a dream, was there a point in skipping over details?
“A jar?” Ludwig questioned, brow knitted lightly together,
“He’s quite small.” The Englishman huffed in amusement, tangling his fingers with his. But the humour faded again, leaving him to sigh, “If I had left him any longer, he would have suffocated in there. He’s been my friend for this long, I couldn’t bare losing him.”
Ludwig hummed, having to clear his throat mid way and give way to a few coughs before looking up to the ceiling. “But you got there in time.”
“I could have been quicker… or not let him get involved at all.”
“If he is your friend, he would be glad to have helped. You’re not at fault.” The sentence was punctuated with a long, gentle kiss pushed into his hair, and Arthur felt his heart flutter in his chest, his cheek pressed against the warm skin of the German’s shoulder.
He didn’t reply. The contact was enough to keep him consoled, god knows how long it had been since he’d been so intimate with anyone. After a while of them held together, he found his fingers running over the dressings on Ludwig’s chest, mind wandering back to the questions he had, yet never quite settling on one. It could be easily be summed up in the most simple question of all, somehow, one that had escaped him whenever he was here.
“Ludwig, what happened to you?”
The German man gave a long, ragged sigh, the hints of a whine at it’s edges as he tightened again. But with his face pressed against the other’s hair, he composed himself, thumb tracing over his hand for comfort. “You said that my subconscious would know, but it would withhold some information from you to let me open up… right?”
“I suppose.” Where the idea of him just being a dream was brought up again stung his heart, he pushed the feeling down, choosing instead to listen, just as Ludwig had for him.
“Then, what do you already know?”
Arthur thought it over, piecing together what he already had gathered, what Roderich had told him, the poisons, the book. With an intake of breath, he relayed what he knew, be it out of order or not.
“I know you were testing poisons on yourself. The issues you have breathing are hemlock that’s stuck itself to you because it shut down your respiratory system. I don’t know why or who for, but I know whoever it was had something to do with your eyes… and you were shot to stop you from causing more harm.” He looked up, trying to gauge the reaction on Ludwig’s face where the bandages let him. It was stoic, but his heart beat fast upon hearing the events, eyelids moving under the dressings.
“That… sounds about right…” He muttered with a slight cough, clearly trying to calm his nerves.
“Would you tell me the full story?” Arthur pressed, voice hopeful but quiet, “I’ll listen…”
“I have no doubts you will. You’re kind like that.”
The Englishman fought back a small smile, choosing instead to press his face into his shoulder, chancing a little peck or two.
“Alright…” Ludwig sighed, keeping hold of the other man for comfort, “I’ll tell you what I remember. Not that I could entirely forget.”
It took another few moments for him to start, trying to keep his composure as he thought back, his words shaky at best, “When I was station back here, there were four soldiers in charge of taking care of me. But they were… horrible people. They would sit around and drink, discussing with laughter the benefits of their roles in the war. After so long, I grew bitter. The continuous loss and their gloating brought something up in me, and I decided that if anyone were to lose their life in this war against people, it should be them.”
“You wanted to poison them…?”
“Not just that.” Ludwig’s jaw clenched, speaking through his teeth as he pushed back the anger he felt, “I wanted it to hurt. Quick wasn’t enough… But I failed. I went too far and ended up with more damage than I thought possible.” He brought the Englishman’s hand to his cheek, allowing his jaw to loosen at the touch and relax into a softer, melancholy tone.
“I was sick for a long time. Gilbert found me and had to assist as I got my strength back… but I still had to work. All I had to see, and everything done in my name, I no longer wanted to see it. I watched those men shoot innocent people, and I lost control. I think back to it now and realise it was stupid to have lashed out, even if it was mostly at myself…”
“Who shot you…?” Arthur found himself asking, the implications of this tale twisting uncomfortably in his gut.
“I don’t know.” Ludwig bit his lip, “It was a blur, I had already tried to gouge out my eyes.”
“Then what of the soldiers?”
“I never saw them again, though I briefly recall throwing one into a wall. Good riddance…”
The Englishman hummed, something between agreement and thought. As much of it as he had expected and deduced from his findings, it still came as a shock to hear from the mouth of the man who had experienced it. But it had already happened, and he couldn’t change any of it. There was only really one thing he could do, and that was to be a comfort. A grounding rock, if not just for this moment.
So, he moved his hand that still rested on Ludwig’s cheek, slipping his fingers under the bandages on his eyes and pushing them back, a large hand still comfortably over his wrist, allowing him to remove the dressing. As they came away, he was met with those wounds again, and now he saw the desperation behind them.
Before the bandages had even hit the sheets, their mouths had already connected. Ludwig’s mouth was warm and soft, much like the rest of him. He returned it with a tightening of his arm around the other, pulling him closer into it. And when they finally parted, Arthur felt the breath leave him, heart beating hard inside his chest.
“Do you feel better…?” He asked, pressing his forehead against his as he looked into those eyes, still misted over, but glistening. Healing.
“Yes… just a little bit.” A small smile fluttered over Ludwig’s lips before he dipped them down for more.
---
“I would thank you for coming, but you were entirely uninvited.” Roderich stood in the front doorway, watching as Arthur loaded his case into the boot of the cab that had been called for him that morning. As the Englishman walked up the steps to take his last case from the doorway, he smiled brightly,
“I think we had a good time despite it. Thank you for putting up with me.”
“A trial, I assure you. Will you be heading to France then?”
“Yes, I think so.” He nodded, “Just for the next few days and then I’ll get right back home, not to bother the rest of Europe again for the next month or so.”
“I’m sure we will all be glad to hear it.”
As Arthur pushed the last case into the back of the car, he looked up at the house, aimlessly reminiscing not only on the past few days, but the past this house had seen. Laughter and the horrors he had heard. No wonder Ludwig was so eager to get away. Soon, his eyes met with a window on the top floor and the figure that stood in it. He smiled brightly, waving up to it before climbing into the car.
It was a long ride back to the station, at least it felt far longer as he sat in the back of the car, watching the river Rhine pass by. He would be glad to get home, curled up in his own bed with his own food and his own home. But he wouldn’t mind someone to share it with. He found he already missed that place under Ludwig’s arm, and disappointed he couldn’t allow himself to fall asleep there.
He had been given the money for his train, it seemed that his two hosts couldn’t wait to get rid of him. And so be it, he wouldn’t refuse a free train ride. Though he was so distracted the whole way, he had barely registered that he was on his way until the train had started pulling out from the station, taking him away from that one little slice of heaven. At least he could relax, no more conspiracies to think about or uncover.
Yet he went back to his notebook, flipping through the various little notes he had made while trying to figure out what had happened. Now he knew, but it wasn’t his story to tell.
Puck sat on the small table set by the window of the small cabin, they were alone for the journey, and so he had deemed it safe enough to come out and munch on a few slices of apple he had been given, teeth easily biting through the tough skin and into the soft flesh of it.
“How long are we stopping in France?” The little thing asked with his mouth dripping,
“Just another few days. Can’t be exact, Francis never wants me to leave.”
“Then we stay home, yeah? Don’t like all this travelling stuff.”
“Yes.” Arthur nodded, “We’ll stay home for a bit after that. I have nowhere else to go.”
“I don’t know whether to say that’s great or that’s sad.” The faerie sniffed, looking back out of the window, licking off his sticky hands.
Arthur watched him for a while, endeared by the little thing sitting with his legs crossed, forgetting all about being almost suffocated, only having promised flat beers for a very long time on his way out. A special kind of friend. One that didn’t mention his near death for the sake of helping.
“Sehnsucht.”
“Wassat?” Puck turned, frowning.
Arthur merely huffed, tapping his pen onto the notebook, “Hiraeth.”
---
Ludwig stood at the window, his eyes uncovered and vision still blurred. But he could make it out, just about. The man waving towards him as he got in that car. He waved back, a dumbfounded look on his face. He watched the car go until he could no longer make out anything but random blotches of colour, taking his heart with it.
He couldn’t quite wrap his head around it as he made an unsteady way back to his bed, but soon, there was no room for questions. His hand held the side table to keep him steady as he began to climb back into the bed, his fingers brushing over something unfamiliar. First, it was something small, glass. He let his hand explore, still not entirely used to his eyes, and found the long glass stick set on the side. He looked at it, his eyes just about focusing on it enough to see the bottle set next to it. He took both as he climbed onto the bed, curious to find out what they were both doing here.
The sound of the door opening caused him to push them under his pillow for now, just managing to pull the covers over himself as Gilbert entered the room, smiling his usual harsh smile, and walking strong on his cane. He made no effort to hide it – at least he didn’t try too hard.
“Your bandages are off, huh?”
“Yes… I think I’m starting to see better.”
“Awesome!” He seemed more positive than usual today, pulling up his chair to inspect his brother’s eyes, “The scratches have gone down a lot. That’s good. And you’re walking.”
“I am.” He could barely hide a smile,
“That’s my baby brother! You keep trucking!” in return Gilbert pinched his cheeks, laughing like this was all nothing.
Once they had settled down slightly, the Prussian now organising the medicines on the table. The mood had lessened, and Gilbert found a new place to speak. “Look… I’m really sorry about everything. Just, ya’know… don’t scare me like that again.”
“It’s okay… I’m sorry for scaring you.” The German’s hand reached subconsciously to his chest, touching the bandage under it, “it was necessary at the time.”
“Yeah well, you got me back good, huh?” he tapped his damaged leg with a laugh, “I’m still limping!”
They each laughed, quietly to each other, lightening up the subject of how each of them got such wounds. What they both went through to inflict them. At least now they could smile about it, as sombre as it may be. The last resort of having to shoot someone to subdue them, and the blind attempt to catch one last attack to the leg. Memories best left under silence.
Gilbert was older than he acted, and often spoke in their early years of scars. Sometimes, when something felt personally significant, you could choose for a scar to form, or you could allow it to heal away completely. The Prussian was littered with scars, each with a story he would tell, a victory, or maybe a loss. Now it seemed, that it would be Ludwig’s turn.
“I think… I want to keep it.” He spoke, fingers brushing over the bandages on his chest, “how would I do that?”
“Your body will know.” Gilbert replied, now happy with how the bottles had been ordered. He glanced over with a smile, “That better not be about me.”
“No, not at all.” His brother returned the smile, his face somewhat apologetic as he scratched his head, “Just… thought I should have something. And really, I’d like to be able to see.”
He watched his brother’s expression go through some change, that cheeky smile becoming a little softer, something like pride in his eyes. “Well, that’s makes a change.”
“I… I guess.”
“C’mon.” he set his hand down on the German’s arm, his skin rough but familiar, “You’re sounding a bit hoarse. I’ll get you some water.” With that he stood, struggling a little on his bad leg, but guiding himself round towards the bathroom. “I gotta take a piss as well.”
“Wash your hands.”
“Who are you, my mother?” He scoffed before closing the door, leaving Ludwig once again alone in his room.
He sat there smiling for a moment until remembering the bottle under his pillow, and it’s matching glass stirrer. Taking them out, it was the bottle that caught his interest most. A clear liquid swirling around the spherical glass, bubbles quick to disappear after a light shaking. Ludwig’s eyes still weren’t working to their best, but he could make out the label just about.
Are you sure that we are awake? It seems to me that yet we sleep, we dream. – A. H. K.