Ack! Sorry, sorry, sorry for taking forever. First I had a ton of school stuff to do, and then when I finally got to writing I just couldn't make the chapter flow, so I sort of changed the entire chapter's general plot. Then I managed to get more homework. If school behaves, I should try to update faster.

Rated for Gilbert's mouth/third person narration, which as probably worse than his mouth. Er, and on that subject, my Gilbo-narration is kinda ADD, because, in my opinion, a worried Gilbert equals nervous wreck/spastic irrational, and slightly childish, anger.

Despite my excuses, I still continue to hate how this chapter came out. I'm sorry.

"He's feverish."

Gilbert Biellschmidt stopped abruptly, his absent-minded pacing being interrupted by that little, annoying buzzing sound, the one that sounds like a fly fluttering right next to your ear.

Like, buzzhe'sbuzzbuzzfeverishbuzzbuzzbuzz.

Oh wait, that was Roderich.

Same difference. Actually, a fly complained at lot less. Well, about every living creature on Earth, and probably on all the other planets too, complained a lot less.

Then again, the Austrian had been checking on the kid, hadn't he? So, he could've said something important. Because the truth was, Ludwig was unconscious and dying, no doctors in sight, and in the hands of Gilbert and Roderich. Neither of which, he was sad to say, were very capable in dying child care. Frankly, when together, the two of them couldn't do much but argue.

"Maybe we can set aside our differences for the sake of Ludwig, just this once," the Austrian had said, which resulted in the usual rejection.

Them dealing with each other was about as likely as Francis and Arthur getting married.

Or Ludwig surviving this…

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

Gilbert was completely positive that his brother was going to make it. Ludwig knew damn well that if he died that his big brother was going to bring him back to life just to kill him for being stupid enough to fucking die.

As long as he was able to ignore Roderich's droning, the Prussian could care for the Ludwig, right? Austria never said anything important enough to be listened to, so as long as he blocked him out, then everything should work out fine, without any pointless bickering.

Right?

"You do know that feverish means that he is sick…?"

Buzzbuzzbuzz.

Wait. There were three people in the room. Him, Wuss, and West.

There was no way Roderich was talking about him, because that would involve some personal space invasion to figure out that he had a fever. And although Gilbert wouldn't put it past the Austrian to speak in third person, Roderich knew that unless he was dying, Prussia didn't care whether he was sick.

Which left Ludwig.

Which meant Ludwig was sick.

Figures.

Spinning on his heel, Gilbert marched over to the child, brushing past Roderich with little to no acknowledgment.

Their relationship was so warm and fuzzy.

The horrifying thing was that Austria had been right. The kid was sick. And Austria had been right.

Neither of those should ever, ever happen.

And, yet, they did.

Alright, the fact that Ludwig was burning up was much more important. And this wasn't the standard kind of fever; this was the touch his forehead and scald your hand kind.

This was really, really bad.

"His neck thing, it's infected, isn't it?"

Neck thing. That was descriptive. But, hell, what was he supposed to call it? Huge gaping gash, caused by the one and only Francis Bonnefoy, one of my former best friends.

"That or it's because of the status of his nation."

"Psh. You mean the fact that your prick of a boss abdicated himself from his position as the Holy Roman Emperor, effectively abolishing the entire freaking empire? Or were you trying to rub it in that someone I used to trust with my life did this to one of the only people who matter to me? Huh? You going to answer me, prissy boy? Or are you just going to sit there and be useless, 'cause that's all you ever do!"

Well. If anything, that felt pretty damn good.

Of course, he should have figured that his little rant would piss Roderich off.

"You make it seem as if you are the only one in the world who gives a damn about him. Do you know…Can you imagine what it's going to be like to tell Elizaveta, to tell Feliciano? Yes, maybe now that he's actually seen as a he, his feelings might have changed, but you cannot deny that Feli might still care for Ludwig, can you? Do you think I don't care? I raised him! Yeah, so maybe he left me, maybe he came to you. Does that mean I don't care? Does that make it any easier to accept that he could die, because of my incompetence?"

Gilbert finally turned to look at Roderich; his crimson eyes alight with hatred.

This wasn't about how hard it was going to be to tell everyone. This was about his little brother, how his little brother is lying on his freaking death bed.

This wasn't about Gilbert, this wasn't about Roderich.

This was about Ludwig.

At the same time, it was about them. It couldn't be about Ludwig without it being about them. They were all connected.

But, Gilbert still wanted a reason to yell at the aristocratic priss,

"Oh, get the hell over yourself, buddy. Yeah, it'll be hell to tell people that he's dying. But, oh wait, did I forget to mention that he's fucking dying? How do you think Ludwig feels right now? What do you think is going inside that head of his? Do you think he's happy, skipping in flower fields and all that shit? Not a chance. See that look on his face," he paused, dramatically gesturing towards the boy, "That's pain! I know you've never seen it before, being too much of a sissy to handle a little fighting, but that right there is pain. Pain worse than you ever felt. I bet its bad enough that he wants to die. It has to be."

At this point, there wasn't a pause between one of them yelling and the other. They weren't thinking about what they were saying, they were venting. Letting out all the anger, the regret, the sadness, the misery.

It was their special way of crying.

"You don't know what's going on in his mind right now, Gilbert. You're not him. If you were in the same situation, maybe those would be your thoughts, but Ludwig would never give up. Now would you please shut the hell up so I can see what's wrong with him."

Being the stubborn ass he was, Gilbert refused to let him through, "Don't you think you can get out of this mess you've made. You don't know shit about my little brother, and as much as I, oh god, agree with you that West would never give up—"

"Just stop, Gilbert," Roderich cut him off, proceeding to shove past the fuming Prussian, "I know your pride is easily bruised, but you must understand that Ludwig is a bit more important than your arrogance."

With a heavy sigh, Prussia turned away, receding to a small corner of the room. Although it continued to pain him to admit so, Austria was right. As usual.

Rational bastard.

"Oh no, you're just stupid, and I'm going to show off and be all pompous and perfect by pretending I care about your little brother more than you do, while you sit there and look stupid because, even though I started it, I became the bigger man."

Damn him.

In all honesty, what could he do? He was a Prussian, made for fighting, for winning, not for sitting on the sidelines and healing the wounded. That was the sissy Austrian type thing to do. Right?

Damn, damn, damn!

Gilbert wanted to scream. Why was he always so useless? Why could he never do anything right? Everyone he had ever come to care for, he failed them.

He always ends up hurting them in the end.

He really needed to hit something. Right now. Hard. Although punching the wall generally freed him from the pent up anger, breaking his hand was not high on his to-do list.

Unless he broke his hand on Francis's face. That would be fine.

Actually, that didn't seem like such a bad idea.

Hadn't he wanted, needed revenge, just hours ago? Wasn't now a perfect time to do so? What else did he have to do other than to wallow in self-pity?

"Hey. Roderich. I'm going over to talk to Francis."

The Austrian craned his neck to look at him, eyebrows raised in skeptical curiosity, "Why? Nothing he has to say will justify what he did. There's no point."

"Heh. I don't know what I'm going to do, but it beats sitting here and being useless. Just make sure the kid's alright, okay?"

Glaring, Roderich turned away, "I can't promise anything. We still don't know if he'll live or die. Actually, if he asks, tell Francis he's dead. Just in case."

"Just in case of what?"

"God knows what Francis will do for power at this point. He tried to, and succeeded for the most part, kill his best friend's brother. There was no remorse, no regret. If he finds out that Ludwig has a chance to rise again, do you think he'll sit back and let it happen?"

It was frightening how disturbingly true that was.

Gilbert and Roderich seem so Bi-Polar.

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