For Sand. Thank you for everything. Sorry the chapter is so late!

Chapter 3: An Uncertain Future

(warnings for attempted suicide and dark themes)

Gilbert knew he wasn't alright. He stayed away from everyone as much as he could. He began acting in ways that even he could not convince his brother that he was okay. Soon he didn't even care that there was no excuse he wouldn't come out of his bedroom, even for meals. Gilbert stopped telling his brother that he was busy with some made up project he was working on to instead saying he was just tired or not feeling well. His excuses became flimsy and soon he stopped making them. Soon all that greeted Ludwig when he knocked at the door was silence.

Gilbert knew Ludwig would have bust down the door if it wasn't for the fact that he kept it unlocked. Every now and again Gilbert would hear a creak at the door, the sound of his brother checking on him to once again to see him curled up in a ball on his bed. Gilbert didn't respond to the beam of light that streamed in from the hallway or Ludwig's questions anymore.

"I am going to the store. Would you like to accompany me, Gilbert?"

"Your appointment with Dr. Anderson is at three. Are you going today?"

"Gilbert, are you alright?"

"Why won't you say anything, bruder?"

The room was Gilbert's only sanctuary. Perhaps this was the reason they had started calling mental wards 'Asylums'. Gilbert felt he would go mad in his safe place.

Despite never leaving that room, lest it be for necessary human tasks that could not be ignored, Gilbert found that the breach in his head of memories was only widening, letting more and more of them escape. His defenses were down, crumbling. Curled up in his bed, staring at a dark wall, it was all he could do to help it. He focused on keeping himself together, but that only made the wall fall apart faster.

"Gilbert, your new job is quite to my liking." A man with blonde, shoulder-length hair swirled a stemless glass of dark red wine. He wore a purple button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up a few folds, and a pair of sensible-looking slacks. He had an accent. Not like the one Gilbert and his brother had, nor one like Elizabeta's. Perhaps closer to Feliciano's, but spoken smoother and less rapidly. Both accents had a musical way to them, yet the blonde's sounded slightly more melodic.

"Watch out, Francis," Gilbert's own voice rang out into the scene. The bar they were in was packed, noise coming from every corner and every mouth. Still, it was as if Gilbert's voice, and his alone, echoed throughout the room, "I don't want to lose this job from you abusing the free wine."

"Oh, Francis knows better than that," Antonio said, a dark-haired man sitting next to the blonde. This man's hair bounced in every direction in loose curls. His eyes were green and relaxed, his smile bright and carefree. He held a beer in one hand, which surprised Gilbert who stood across from them on the other side of the counter. It wasn't uncommon for Antonio to have a beer, he was the type to switch between it and wine (though he certainly never drank the same beer as Gilbert. "Too strong," Antonio would say. "Too awesome," Gilbert would reply), but usually, when drinking with Francis, he would decide on wine to drink the same. "He knows he can't afford for you to lose another job, or you'd be sleeping on his couch again."

"Why is it that he never sleeps on your couch, mon ami?" Francis asks, in which Antonio promptly responds.

"Because you know how Lovi is! He's very particular about that kind of thing."

"Hey," Gilbert interjects, "For your information, I quit that last job! I'm too awesome for a boring job like that." Gilbert wiped his hands on the bar towel he had just used to wipe the counter with. "And by 'particular', Antonio means to say that Lovino hates me." Gilbert went on to collect glasses from down the counter as Antonio tried to make excuses for his boyfriend.

Francis ignored Antonio and continued to talk to Gilbert who was walking back now with three glasses. "You know you cannot always have your dream job, Gilbert. Sometimes you must choose the 'boring' job in order to pay your bills."

Gilbert laughed as he cleaned the glasses one by one. "Two things, Francey. One, this is my dream job. No more looking for me. I will be here for the rest of my days unless I get fired, but, come on, who's gonna fire the awesome me?" Gilbert glanced around the room, from the boisterous laughter of the people in booths to the loners and flirts on the stools at the bar. There was a mixture of smells circling the air: liquor, day-old cologne, desperation. It was the type of bar that office workers often came to after a long day behind a desk as their wives blew up their phones demanding where they were instead of at home for dinner. It wasn't Francis' type of place. Antonio... well, he could fit in anywhere. Gilbert though, he loved it there. He couldn't imagine a place he would rather earn his living.

"Two," Gilbert continued, turning his attention back to his audience of two, "Both of you have your quote, unquote, 'Dream jobs.' Francis, you've wanted to be a chef since you were three and what are you now? Antonio, you've wanted to teach since I've known you! Come on, guys. Don't tell me we can't have our dreams."

Antonio and Francis looked at each other. Antonio looked back at Gilbert with a grin on his face. "You are right, Gil. We all have our dream jobs and life is good." Antonio grabbed his bottle and lifted it into the air, right above eye-level, "To us living our dreams!"

Francis looked on with amusement look on his face, until he took his own glass and held it up as well, "To realizing our dreams."

"Really, guys?" When they both just met Gilbert's gaze with raised eyebrows, Gilbert relented, lifting one of the empty glasses he had been cleaning to the toast. "Alright, fine."

The glasses clinked together and his friends swigged a fine gulp of their drinks. Gilbert put his glass back onto the counter.

"And..." Gilbert couldn't help adding, watching his friends turn to each other with a new conversation on their lips. "To a happy life..."

This memory was sweet. Gilbert didn't have many of those anymore. The happy ones were the ones to be most suspicious of anyway. There was always a reason they cropped up. There were always questions they created that were best left unanswered.

Who are Francis and Antonio? Why haven't they come to see Gilbert? How could there be so much that Gilbert still didn't know?

And why was there still some part of him, the tiniest part of his heart that he tried to shove down and forget, that still wanted to remember?

-/-

Gilbert couldn't stay put any longer. He couldn't lay still in that room. He couldn't be where anyone could find him. The apartment was suffocating. Gilbert couldn't breath with these thoughts swirling around and around and around and ar-...

Gilbert slammed his palms into the side of his head, relieving his arms from the tearing of his nails. He pulled at his hair and jumped up from his fetal position on his bed, throwing open the door to his room and stomping out. He passed the living room, the hallway, the kitchen. He knew his brother would be on his tail soon which only made his escape feel all the more pressing. Ludwig's concern was wearing on him as much as his constant memories. Gilbert needed to get out of there. He needed to leave. He needed to GET OUT!

The next thing he knew, Gilbert was in the park. Everything had been a blur before then and he couldn't quite remember how he had gotten there or how he had fled the apartment. Only that Ludwig hadn't followed him and that he was finally alone. He almost sobbed in relief, but stopped to contemplate his solitude. Did he like being alone?

Gilbert sat on one of the park benches, gazing around at his surroundings. The sky was blue and the sun shone just brightly enough that it warmed him without scorching his sensitive skin. The trees' leaves were a shade of green that made Gilbert relax and the sound of chirping from within them almost made him smile. Yeah... Gilbert liked being alone.

It was such a pleasant day. Children were running across the grass, chasing after one another for no apparent reason anyone but they could see. Gilbert noticed as one broke off from the group after falling to the ground. The little girl had scraped her knee yet no tears welled in her eyes as she limped back to her mother. The mother fussed over her when the girl arrived at the bench she was sitting at, a stroller parked next to her and a baby's curious eyes peering out over the edge of the plastic table part fastened to the front.

Gilbert's mind's eye was closer to the child in another moment, but, instead of seeing the young girl's baby sibling, Gilbert saw his own little brother, blue eyes watching him from inside his own stroller as Gilbert showed his Vati what an unawesome scrape he had gotten on his knee.

Gilbert shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He now saw that the mother had completed her fussing over the girl who sat beside her, swinging her legs which now had a single bandaid on and sipped from a juice box in her hands.

It was odd. Even though Gilbert could not escape his memories here, he still found this park peaceful. It was the most relaxed he had been since before the memories started to return. Gilbert liked this serenity. It was so much better than the emotional turmoil he had felt only five minutes ago. Gilbert closed his eyes for a moment, letting the feeling wash over him and forgetting everything. How easy it was when he let it happen. He counted to twenty and then opened his eyes.

He should not have opened them.

There was a man walking down the sidewalk to his left. He had bright blonde hair, styled in a messy sort of look. He was tall and his face had all the same features and angles that Gilbert remembered. Immediately, Gilbert's pulse began to speed up. Panic seeped its way into his bloodstream, rising into his head and pumping through his heart. The signs of a scream built in his throat unable to escape because of this terror-like feeling that overwhelmed him. He felt trapped, like a bird in a cage too small.

Then the man caught his eye and Gilbert noticed his glasses. Rectangular and modern-styled. That wasn't right... This was familiar too, but it wasn't right... This thought stopped Gilbert's thoughts dead in their tracks. Panic still laced his veins, but Gilbert let himself freeze long enough to think. He knew this man... But it wasn't him...

The man took an indecisive step towards him and Gilbert's adrenaline shot sky-high, causing his legs to crave fleeing the situation. Why couldn't Gilbert move though? If his body wanted to run, why wouldn't it just do it?

Gilbert's eyes were stuck on the man who still seemed unsure as to what he should do. He had frozen as well, as if time had stopped around the two. Rather quickly, the man seemed to make up his mind, pulling himself together and continuing along the path. He was coming straight toward Gilbert with a determined resolution set in his face. Gilbert remained paralyzed, unable to do anything but watch him approach.

Gilbert continued on like this until the man was close enough that he could see his eyes. His suspicions were correct. It wasn't him. But... why... he did know this man as well...

His eyes were different the day he had come to tell him. His eyes were never so... hollow, lifeless. Shock ran through those blue eyes as if he had been struck by lightning and was still trying to piece together what had happened to him. Usually he looked so happy and carefree. It was unnatural to see him like this. In this respect, he was a lot like Gilbert.

"Alfred..." Gilbert's lips moved of their own accord, his voice barely loud enough for his own ears to hear what he had said.

Alfred hadn't heard him. He was only a few feet away now. "Hey, man..." Gilbert couldn't describe what emotions were mixed into his voice. Uneasiness. Fear. Guilt...?

Alfred's tone was impossible to understand. Shock. Sorrow. Guilt...? It didn't matter. None of it mattered after those words.

"Antonio is dead."

"I'm sure I'm the last person you wanted to see today." Alfred scratched his head, having paused a little ways away from the bench as to not get too close. "I didn't really expect to see you either..."

Another voice now. "It was unnatural seeing him like that, Gilbert. He doesn't belong like that. Antonio... he... It isn't right."

"I'm sorry, Gilbert." Alfred's voice was softer than Gilbert remembered. In that moment, it almost reminded him of someone else's...

"We belong together, Gil."

"It's no excuse. I should have done something sooner..." Alfred's eyes are pleading. "He was my brother, Gilbert."

"He was my brother, Gilbert." Tears streamed down Alfred's face. Matthew was gone and so was Gilbert's mind. People would call Alfred a hero and the man would never accept it. It had been at the price of his brother's life.

He was remembering too fast. Gilbert didn't understand anything that was going through his head. One memory after another demanded to be played in his mind's view, pushing one another aside before any could be completed. He was receiving them all in fragments. What was going on? What was happening? What had happened in all these fragments of his past?

"Francis is gone too. That was the final straw. I knew what was happening then. I knew who it was that had taken you... I was so blind before..." Alfred was sobbing uncontrollably. His words sounded empty, but he spoke them anyway. Finally he couldn't take it. He couldn't try defending what he had done any longer.

"MATTHEW!"

Gilbert couldn't take it anymore. He had to get away. He didn't want that face looking at him. Alfred looked too much like him. Alfred brought back too many memories. He had just met the man, yet he had torn down everything Gilbert had fought to keep together. Gilbert was shaking... he was crumbling... he was broken.

When a tear fell down his face, that was when Gilbert had had enough. He stood abruptly and raced off in the other direction. Grass crumpled under his feet and his arms burned, having not done this in who knew how long. Alfred tried to get him to come back by yelling after him, but he did not move. He let Gilbert go.

Gilbert did not know where he was going because he was already gone.

-/-

Gilbert felt like a penny at a wishing well. A small, insignificant object waiting to fall down into the water. Would he make a little metallic clang when he fell down? Would there be a ploop when he hit the bottom, waiting to sink down to an indiscernible fate? What would it be like when he was gone? Could he finally escape the horrors of the life before his? Could he forget every pain and sorrow that hurt him?

The river below was far down from the bridge, falling over sharp rocks in freezing rapids and ready to sweep away any leaves or pennies that dropped in. Gilbert had run until he had found this place and, looking at the bridge and water, Gilbert had stopped with a thought in mind. Now he was standing on the wrong side of the bridge, the outside where he'd had to hoist himself over the railing. He wasn't shaking or scared like he had thought he would be. He could only look at the water below. It was impossible to look away.

His feet were so close to the edge. He knew that if he just let go of the railing behind him his body would fall forward and he would drop. Was it like flying? Or was it simply falling? Would he feel the air as it swept past or would he feel numb to the world in his final moments? Did death open the senses? At the moment, all Gilbert could see or hear or even smell was the rapids below him. All he could feel were the biting cold of the wind around him. When had the weather turned? Gilbert wondered absentmindedly.

The ledge was comfortable. His knuckles were turning from their tense white to a soft pink as they lost their grip. His shoulders were relaxing and his eyes were slipping closed. The world was quiet.

"GILBERT!"

Gilbert involuntarily strengthened his grip, eyes popping open but remaining downcast at the water below. The voice was unmistakable. Gilbert had no idea how he had found him, but here he was. Ludwig had found him just in time.

Guilt flooded Gilbert's body. How could he have done this? How could he have considered doing this without even considering his little brother? He barely remembered the guy, yet he was still the closest person he had. He hadn't left Ludwig a note. He haven't even thought about how this might affect him.

But maybe it would help him. Maybe this would be better for Ludwig. Gilbert's grip slackened again, only leaving enough strength to keep him up. Ludwig wouldn't have to worry about him anymore... Ludwig could focus on his own life and not have to babysit his amnesiac brother anymore...

"Gilbert! Stop!" That's when Gilbert felt a hand on his arm, grip like iron. His brother's breath behind him was labored, almost frantic. Ludwig was in such great shape; he must have strained himself even past that to get there.

Gilbert remained silent, his gaze downward. He couldn't look at his brother. He knew what he would see in his eyes. Fear. Panic. A familiarity from their younger years that would undoubtedly take Gilbert back. His mind was swirling with the mixture if memories trying to take over. If he looked back, he wasn't sure what would happen.

"Gilbert, get back over here. What are you doing?" Gilbert almost smiled. There it was. Ludwig always sounded so demanding, like a drill sergeant. That was his little brother, perhaps the only person who hadn't completely changed from his past memories.

Gilbert decided to tell him the truth. "I think I should jump, Luddy." Even in such a serious situation, Gilbert couldn't help using the pet name.

Gilbert imagined Ludwig looking at him as if he had gone crazy. "What? Gilbert, no. Why would you want to do that?"

Gilbert began to think of his answer to that. That's when the whole situation became very real to him. He was no longer numb; he was a man who had been ready to jump to his death. A man still ready to jump to his death. He began to shake uncontrollably.

"It's too much, Ludwig. I can't handle it anymore." Gilbert's voice was shaking as much as his body. "I want it all to go away. I'm remembering so much pain and so much of it is confusing. It hurts my head."

"We can work it out, Gilbert." Ludwig's voice had become more frantic. "It's just confusing because you don't remember all of it yet."

"And should I remember?! I don't want to and I really don't think you want me to either! Whatever happened to me before is something that tore me apart and will tear me apart again. If I don't do this now, I will be back."

Nothing Ludwig could say would make him change his mind. It was here and now. This was the best for himself and it was the best for everyone else too. They wouldn't have to take care of him anymore or deal with his breakdowns. They would be free of him and he would be free of his pain.

Then, Gilbert stopped. "Gilbert," Ludwig's voice said behind him. It was soft and... and... "Please don't do this..." Crying. His brother was crying. "I can't lose you again."

Gilbert looked behind him and in a split second he saw his brother's tear-stained face. His blue eyes seemed to be shaking and breakable. Gilbert hadn't seen Ludwig like this in a long time. In fact, it hadn't been since... Then, Gilbert's memories took over and he saw a little boy before him, tears streaking down in the same way his brother's were. It was his brother at six years old.

Then Gilbert slipped, lost in the glimpse of recollection before him. He screamed and he could hear his brother, now no longer his younger memory, yell, "Gilbert!"

Ludwig's grip tightened but the momentum was too much and Gilbert fell from the edge.

A single memory repeated in his head. It wasn't any from his past life though. It was from only seconds before. They were words spoken to the person he was now, not to that Gilbert he barely knew from before.

I can't lose you again. I can't lose you again. I can't lose you again. I can't lose you again. I can't lose you again.

He couldn't leave Ludwig now. Not like this! He couldn't leave his little brother!

But sometimes you don't get to decide what happens to you. Sometimes, you just fall.

-/-

BEILSCHMIDT

Their last name didn't look right on a headstone. It didn't look right engraved on a grey slab of rock, still smooth because of its newness. The tombstone became the person when they were buried there. Not human. Not flesh or life. Death was a tombstone and tombstones were not good conversationalists. He hadn't talked to this particular headstone very much. Hell, he hadn't talked to headstones in general. He hadn't encountered death this personal before.

Then again, Gilbert still couldn't remember half of his past life.

Gilbert walked up to the grave, a bouquet of cornflowers in hand. They were his favorite, he had decided and knew they were just the kind he would want to give to his grandfather.

"Hey, Vati." Gilbert placed the flowers down beside the rock and stood back up, "They told me I would find you here. Sorry I didn't come sooner; I've been working some things out."

There had been a lot Gilbert had been working out. He could remember more: mostly things that were relevant to the past year. Gilbert knew he would need to remember everything eventually, but he was taking his time. Now, he thought back to the past month, memories he hadn't needed any keys to unlock.

It had been a miracle that he had survived at the bridge. It had been a miracle that Ludwig had already had his hand on Gilbert's arm and unbelievable how he had managed to hold on as the momentum of Gilbert's fall had caused him to fall forward himself. There had been many miracles that day.

No matter how strong Ludwig was, he simply wasn't strong enough to lift Gilbert back up. He had used both hands and they both had stayed there, Gilbert barely breathing and Ludwig's coming out in laborious puffs, waiting for someone to pass by to call for help. It had taken so long and Gilbert had been suspended there for quite sometime before someone had passed by. Gilbert had tried to convince Ludwig to let go, afraid his brother would fall in with him, but, in the end, they had both made it out alive.

The month was a blur, yet it stood out clearly in Gilbert's head. It wasn't something Gilbert wanted to think about at the moment. It had been a long recovery and even now he still wasn't fully healthy, but here he was. Alive. Visiting with his grandfather's grave. Thinking about his past without feeling the urge to run away from his memories.

Speaking of memories...

Gilbert had remembered Antonio and Francis: his two best friends since high school and another thing Matthew had taken from him. He remembered many of the times they had laughed together and told jokes to each other. He remembered playing pranks and sharing heartaches. These memories were happy and made Gilbert smile. Most were bittersweet, tainted with the knowledge he now had from his seven months of absence.

He remembered the day Alfred had come to tell him that Antonio was dead. He remembered how Francis had said that Antonio didn't look right like that... that it just wasn't right. He had gone to Antonio's funeral and seen his grave. He had never gotten to Francis'. Francis had died only a month before Gilbert had come back.

Gilbert remembered Antonio's funeral... that right there had been a personal death if he ever knew one. He remembered seeing Lovino, Antonio's boyfriend, crying and Alfred's hollow eyes and Matthew... Matthew had simply looked on.

Gilbert remembered a lot about being with Matthew those seven months... it was painful to think about it. He had felt so hopeless... so trapped...

But there were other memories too. The glimmers that had remained strongest until the end of his memory came to mind easily now. They were joyful, yet he could now remember them being his only solace as he curled up into his blankets and staring at a dark wall in his locked room.

A wop upside the head. Gilbert could smile at this. He knew who that must have been even when the old memories still didn't have faces to them. He didn't need a face for that memory though. Elizabeta had gotten back into the habit of hitting the backside of his head when he did something stupid. Some things never change.

Stern words from his brother. He didn't need an old memory of this anymore; he had plenty to draw on from now. Ludwig had been nagging him since he could remember and far beyond. There had one time when Ludwig, at the age of fourteen, confronted Gilbert for being late home when he had been out with his friends that night. And once when Gilbert had broken his arm and little eight-year-old Ludwig had lectured him the whole way to the emergency room as their grandfather had driven them.

The trill of his flute. He'd made many memorable days with his flute and as many happy moments. Johanna said that music could help with pent-up emotion, but Gilbert knew he couldn't. The memory of his silver flute would be all he would have of it. He couldn't go back to his Thursday sessions with Roderich. He would never pick up his flute again.

He had been attending therapy more since the incident on the bridge. Among his many problems, he had come to find that he was scared of being loved. That was an odd revelation to those who knew him, yet they all still tried their best to help. It was difficult, but they tried. Feliciano gave him hugs and Ludwig had even trained him to not launch himself at Gilbert without warning like he used to. Hugs were nice to Gilbert and he suspected that he had enjoyed them in the past. They were warm and comforting... Gilbert only had to bat down his rising panic at times when he accepted them. 'Bat down'; more like 'wrestle' or 'strangle'... Fear was a tough emotion to control.

Johanna said that he shouldn't hide from his emotions or tuck them away so others couldn't see. They 'bottled up', was the term she used. Gilbert couldn't agree more- at times he felt like a shaken up bottle of Coke. The more important question, though, was how to manage the emotions without the bottle exploding from the pressure of it all. They hadn't come that far yet. So far Gilbert couldn't even write in the little journal Johanna had given him, always imagining the blank page as that blank wall he used to stare at. He didn't want to go back there. If he wrote anything on those empty white pages, the same flat and hollow feelings would fill him and he wouldn't be able to shake them away.

Old memories cropped up everyday, but new ones were made as well.

He had made plenty of them in his own life. That's what he had taken to calling all the things he had after the amnesia. Because that was what it was. This was his life now. Before may technically have also been, but Gilbert didn't really consider it that way anymore. Even when the memories did come back it was only as if it was a dream. He had heard of people experiencing flashbacks in a traumatic situation, but, even in his memories with Matthew, they were never like that. He felt empty and lonely and occasionally even scared, but it was all like a dream to him.

That past was no longer his life. His life had started in the hospital the day before those flowers had arrived. Those wilting flowers felt like a lifetime ago...

Gilbert still felt guilty about this. No one's life had simply stopped when he had gone, nor had they started when he had gotten back. Everyone had memories of a life before and, unlike with Gilbert, those memories weren't merely dreams to them.

Gilbert felt guilty about a lot lately. His fears and amnesia. Not being the same person all these people once knew and the death of his dearest friends... They said not to blame himself, but who else was there to blame?

Matthew. They had said to blame Matthew. But how could he blame someone who too was dead... and because of him? The guilt was always on Gilbert, no matter what he tried to think. If he blamed someone else he could loop it around back to himself. It was an endless cycle.

Gilbert remembered a time when Matthew was his friend. He had been a normal guy - someone to talk to or grab a beer with. The guy who loved pancakes and red flannel. The guy who kept a stuffed polar bear that his mother had given him. Gilbert had known him as a normal guy, someone with a personality and past and memories of his own. Yet, he really hadn't been that 'normal guy' at all, had he?

Gilbert looked down at the stone monument he was still standing a few feet away from and folded his hands in front of himself. He thought of this man. His grandfather. The man he had known all of his life, yet had never met. Because that was in his past life. He had so many memories of the man, but he couldn't call them his own. He couldn't call this man his grandfather; he couldn't call him anything. That was not what Vati deserved though. His grandfather had given so much to Gilbert and it was up to this new Gilbert to pay his respects. Finally, Gilbert knew what to say.

"Seven months can be a long time, can't it?" So much happened while I was gone..." Gilbert was still fidgeting with his hands. He could never stay still when he was nervous. "But I'm back. Not quite quick enough, I see..." Pause. Gilbert's voice had gone to a whisper in surprising emotion. He wasn't sure if he could do this. He didn't even know the man! But the unfairness of it all had struck Gilbert. This man had never asked for his grandson to be kidnapped. He had never planned on dying only a month before his grandson's return. This man would have never wished for a stranger to stand at his gravestone in the stead of his grandson, talking to him through the same mouth that should have known him.

"I'm sorry I've come back to you like this. I don't even know who you are and you probably wouldn't recognize me." More silence. Merely a short pause, but Gilbert couldn't hold the emotion from his voice now. He had never been able to speak to his therapist or anyone in this way since he had been back. He had never been this open with Ludwig or Elizabeta or Feliciano. It was easier talking to an empty graveyard or to silent headstone. It was easier talking to Vati, a man he had never known. He didn't know if this was because it was like he was talking to a stranger or because of some spectacular emotional bond he had with the man. Maybe it was because he was talking to the green grass and colorful flowers of the headstones that decorated the lot. Perhaps he just really trusted Vati in some weird way.

"I'm sorry I've caused your real grandson such a hard time." Gilbert laughed humorlessly. "It's nice having a brother though. He's probably the only one that I would consider as part of my past. That sounds weird, but I just can't get it out of my head all the times I was his big brother. Maybe one day I'll feel like that again with everyone else. Maybe one day... I'll be your grandson again." Gilbert closed his eyes. His fists clenched and he bit his lip. He was getting emotional. Damn it. His next words came out as a sob. "I'm sorry, Vati."

As quick as it had come though, Gilbert stoppered the flood. A thick cinder block wall kept his emotions at bay and Gilbert wiped at his eyes, remembering that Ludwig was in the car not too far away waiting for him, watching. Gilbert's voice came out as a whisper now, "But I'm going to work on it, okay? I'm still terrified, but I'll get there. Ludwig will be happier then and so will everyone else. Hell, I might even be happy."

Gilbert sighed. "I don't think you'll ever get your old Gilbert back. I don't think I'll ever be the same. I hope I can give Ludwig a brother back though... and you a grandson back." Gilbert then laughed. "Wow, I'm all mushy gushy today, aren't I?" Gilbert's voice was closer to its loud and brash tone, one that had rarely come out since he had been back. He lowered it again, not down to the whisper it had been but to a more neutral level.

"Alright, I guess I'll see ya later, Pops! Haha, who knows if I've ever called you that before! Well, maybe you. Maybe me if I would actually remember crap." Gilbert laughed again and shrugged. Then Gilbert turned and strode down the lawn, away from the grave markers and to the car where his little brother awaited him.

"I'll see ya later, Pops!"

Gilbert's grandfather chuckled at the odd name his grandson had used. He watched as Gilbert ran for the school bus, ready to take him off to his first day of school. He had never heard his grandson call him 'Pops' before, but with Gilbert as a grandson, he wasn't quite surprised. Gilbert sure was a strange boy. He would do fine making friends at school.

He waved to the white-haired boy as he peered out the window by his seat. He smiled. "Bye, Gilbert." He said, knowing the boy was already far enough away that he couldn't hear.

Thank you so much for reading. I've had a lot of fun writing this! Go check out gdesertsand's work and the prompt exchange we've done! I still have one prompt left to write for you, Sand, so stay tuned!

(oh, and sorry about the title. it was supposed to be something about Gil's failing memory but I didn't incorporate it well. oops!)