#aldous haswell

[thedovahcat]

Pride commission for @cuddlyplaguedoctor WITH OUR FAVORITE HUNTER. And his favorite tamagotchi that totally fell into his coffee, totally... yup....

In his...favorite cat mug.... yea...

[nichtschaden]

@zehypocriticaloath | previous

The ravens bobbed their heads in excitement as the Medic called out to their beloved owner. From a far corner of the wing a curtain was swiftly pushed aside by a bloodied hand. There was a scrutinizing scowl on his face. The dark, almost cassock-like robes of his more morbid, custom looking uniform was flecked with just the slightest hint of visceral splatter. At least he wasn’t wearing the beaked mask or hat.

“The Spy?” His bright eye burned with ingenious wit. “He’s a piece of shit. Please tell me you took his head. He obviously isn’t thinking with it.”

Picking up a rag to wipe off his hands, the much shorter man strode briskly and confidently across the expanse of his lab towards him. He walked with the crisp. rhythmic cycle that could easily give one the idea of a military step. Giving him a wild grin, he gestured towards him in surprise. “What are you doing here? Not that you’re not welcome. I usually get some hint from my brother that you’re coming.” His expression fell, darkening. “Are you in trouble? Who do I need to kill?”

The ravens overhead in the rafters crowed along with their own laughs. They were tittering sounds of mocked human sounds, but they worked well enough for the occasion. Aldous took the moment to properly wash his hands before returning to him. With a silent gesture he motioned towards the stove. It was clear he was asking him if he wanted coffee.

Fritz couldn't help but smirk at the dramatic entrance, and he shook his head as a hand reached up to beckon Poe down. The biggest raven would move if he damn well felt like it, but it couldn't hurt to try.

"I'm not on the clock right now. Besides, wouldn't you be suspicious? Seeing my gangly BLU self in your base for the first time? Nein, he gets one free pass. At least until he starts to piss me off on the field. Poe, get down here and love me, you rude ass chicken."

For as taller as he was, Fritz rarely commanded any room that Aldous was in. The elder German held attention absolutely, and without question. In his own domain, Fritz was very much a visitor, and the inquiry as to his motives for the visit earned a cheeky grin.

"Your brother doesn't see everything. I dodge spies for a living, he can't catch me every time." Fritz gave up his quest for Poe's affection at the shift in his master's tone. "I'm not in trouble, and this may come as a shock, but I am a paid mercenary, I can handle my own people who need to be killed."

Fritz almost missed the gesture as he squinted for a look at Lenore in the rafters, and Aldous was given a nod. "Oh yes, always. I'll never turn down coffee."

He craned a neck behind the curtain to see the latest victim, well-deserved, he was sure, and thought better of it. Sometimes, when it came to both Haswells, it was best not to know. Though, while the man had his coat off and his back turned, Fritz turned a critical eye on Aldous instead.

"I've seen scouts with more meat than you, am I going to have to start meal prepping for both of us again? I'll fucking do it. Human needs, Aldous, you're a doctor, you know what they are."

[allysdelta]

Commission for @cuddlyplaguedoctor of a TTRPG version of her longtime RP character Aldous Haswell, here set in the Call of Cthulhu universe in the year 1990. Apologies for the watermark, but there have been far too many reports of art being stolen and minted into Not-Fun Tokens, and I refuse to make it any easier for those parasites.

For my commission info, go here.

[icomefromthewater]

Facts About Gabe

I’m not sure how Gabe lines up with other Tenta’s physiology, so here’s some facts about him!

-He doesn’t have a Respawn chip. He was a human Spy in the early days of the gravel wars, before Respawn was implimented. -He’s a former partial amnesiac. The process that changed him robbed him of his memory after the change was complete. For a long time he had no idea if he was born as he was. His memories were only jogged after he died and was resurrected. Before his resurrection, he went by the name that was given to him- ‘Krake’. He will answer to this as it kind of stuck, but prefers his real name- Gabriel Reynard Delacour, or any shortening thereof. -Oh yeah, he died. His former mate went berserk and tore his throat out. He was revived by the Medic Aldous Haswell, and he still has scars on his throat where his fatal wound was. -His tentacles are cobalt, with a gradient into lavender undersides. They need to be kept wet- when out of water they form a slime coating to keep them hydrated, and after four hours they will start to dry out. They are also very sensitive, moreso when aroused. -His gills are on the side of his neck. They close up when he is above water to allow him to breathe air. -His eyes are an almost luminous, somewhat unsettling, but nonetheless beautiful shade of aqua. This is different from when he was human, when his eyes were an uncommon but not impossible shade of glasz blue. -His claws and teeth are very sharp. He has learned to be careful when interacting with others so he doesn’t hurt them by accident, but in combat they can make him a deadly foe indeed. -He is roughly 85 years old but the appearance of a man in his late 30′s-early 40′s. The process that changed him had the side effect of slowing his aging to a dead crawl. He has no illusions of immortality, but imagines that a natural death will not come to him anytime soon. -With all this time under his belt, he’s managed to master his instincts. Not to say they will never show themselves. but he is determined to be a civilized sea monster- he finds the rumors of his kind being man-eating rape machines absolutely distasteful. That said, he is prone to hibernation in cold months, and is even more amorous than usual in springtime. -Speaking of amorous, Gabe is absolutely addicted to love. He is a shameless flirt and will happily try to get in anyone’s pants. A pansexual polyamorous person, he will gladly share his love- physical and otherwise- to anyone who will accept it. That said he is also very firm on consent, and will cease his advances the moment his would be lover seems nervous or uncomfortable. He is also a master charmer- once serving him well in espionage, he now uses it to make people feel good about themselves. And maybe procure himself some treats. -That said, there was one person he would have given himself to solely, forsaking all others. His name was Davey Monroe, RED Sniper at the same time he was a human BLU Spy. His adoration for Davey was absolute, with Gabe seeing him as his true love, and he concocted many complex, romantic schemes for them to run away together. Unfortunately, the Medic who changed Gabe got wind of this, and suspecting what would happen, left a half-mutated Gabe on Davey’s camper doorstep. Once fully changed, in the throes of mindless hunger, Gabe ate him, but was overtaken with regret once he came to his senses. His sole retained memory. Gabe has kept his hat to remember him by, and has never gotten past his guilt and grief. He fully believes that, having devoured his soulmate, he is cursed to have any serious relationship he attempts end in heartache. He has not been proven wrong yet.

[zecuddlyblumedic]

There is a crate addressed to- Coldfront, BLU Base, C/O Abelard Haswell. The crate is huge, as if it contains giant medical apparatuses- after all, why else would something this large be addressed to a Medic specifically? But this crate must have been terribly lost in transit- it looks somewhat worse for wear, is covered in redirect labels from what has to be almost every single other base... and for some reason, it doesn't exactly smell great.

Alright, he's seen weirder things addressed to him. Honestly, if it ended up exploding on him, or it secretly contained some spy wanting to jump out and stab him for a free kill, it wouldn't be too out of the ordinary. But the redirect labels were a curious thing. And he wasn't quite sure where half these bases were. In fact, some of the return labels seem faded, and further still some where just outright damaged due to transit.

He spent a few minutes debating whether or not he should open it. Leave it? Ask someone on BLU to assist him with this? Get his brother in on this? Aldous would certainly love snooping in someone's business, but he didn't feel like going over to RED and getting a dueling challenge declared by his brother. Aldous seemed testy as of late.

With a weary sigh and his hands thrown up in the air in defeat, he decided to proceed with opening the crate. A trip to Respawn wasn't bad, right? Just another day on the job.

[zehypocriticaloath]

Shared Nightmare pt.1

(incredibly long, my bad. Hopefully this makes up for my long absence)

The cacophonous echoes of his footsteps bounced against the barren, weathered walls. Those walls were erected in such a fashion that they still boasted of a long ago purpose, of this building and its myriad of labyrinthine hallways once being grand and pristine, free of decay and taint and filth. But now those walls were pockmarked with structural blemishes; chips and flecks instead of moles or scarring, and holes and crumbling concrete in place of cancerous boils. This building once had beautiful features, a beautiful face, that invited all into its many halls and many doorways with the offered premise of help and care. But now it was rotted and slumped, half dilapidated unto itself, like a gnarled old hag beckoning wayward lost souls into a timeless trap.

This place… was a hospital. It had to be. Even with the dust and mildew clinging to the air like a scorned heretic, he could smell the heavy stench of sanitizing agents and chemicals. He had gotten used to picking out the distinct differences when it came to the smells of a hospital. From the smell of medicines and sterilizing agents to the sickeningly sweet smell of a diseased body, sweating and wasting away as it languished in bed. He was used to everything. After all, he had spent a long time immersed in the atmosphere of a hospital. He was a doctor in his own right. Or he should have been. Either way, the past was the past, and his legal standings on whether or not he was a proper doctor had long been pushed aside. Nevertheless, his training, and his first-hand experiences dealt with hospitals and their diseased clientele had given him all the practice he had needed. His keen senses had become accustomed to the different medicines and chemicals used in his profession, and he knew the olfactory differences between sickness and health.

Yes. He could smell it all. He could make sense of it all. Except for the bleach. Cleaning and sterilizing a hospital was important, but this smell was overwhelming. The sickening, strong, cloying and all but suffocating stench of bleach took his breath away and made his lungs burn. Bleach that failed to wash away the taint and the filth and the disgusting grime that caked every surface and clung to every piece of furniture. Dirtied sludge and unsettling ichor, slipping down the wall, crusted every inch of this damnable place. The more this place had been cleaned, the more the creeping crud had all but encroached upon every spotless surface, every immaculate corner. Filth overtook purity in the end.

The lights overhead were worn out and flickering, the bulbs themselves struggling to make the filaments within functional. The shuttering glimpses of light toyed with the mind, casting loathsome shadows that shifted and morphed in their startling forms. A hunched over beast in one corner, a horned madman with a machete in the other. The color of the place didn’t help. It was gray and worn, walls the grimy pallor of a waxen corpse. Machines and medical instruments lay strewn about, as if the whole place had been disturbed by a self-made whirlwind, decades ago. Clotted bags and tubing of expired blood hung off their iv hooks, their grotesque and lumpy forms twisting, like fed and bloated snakes. They shifted and turned with the slightest hint of movement and wind.

His eagle-eye could make out the various shapes and lumps in the semi-flickering darkness: a scalpel here, a stethoscope there. He scoured the decimated objects and could see-- past the broken tables, and chairs, and the flung sheets and tossed about gurneys, of course-- that there were familiar machines and tools important for a particular profession, a particular career path in medicine.

The entire thing painted a picture. The devices he saw, the tools he bore witness to…

He gravitated towards a caved in table, the wood half-eaten by termites. He could see the squirming, writhing lumps of larvae wiggling in and out of the holes they created. The wood looked spongy now. At least it did on the outside. Who knew what the wood looked like on the inside. Had the termites gnawed out burrowing tunnels throughout the table's legs?

On its surface lay strewn a varying gamut of tools, each filthy and rusted, and long going without the proper protocols of sanitation or care.

A curved piece of metal grabbed his attention. To the unknowing eye, or at least to someone without little to no medical knowledge, they would have looked like tweezers, or perhaps some sort of pliers. The tips of their blunt ends met together, grooved teeth seemingly locking it into place, with two long handles and the two looped holdings for fingers, red with rust. He could see the dried on visceral gore left behind from some patient, or, perhaps, some victim.

A hemostat. That is what he was holding in his hands. He knew what it was. He had used one many times during his career. It was used to clamp off blood vessels or anything that was bleeding out during surgery or a procedure. Though these typically were used throughout the various medical fields, one subject, in particular, came to mind.

His mind told him the obvious. It told him, now, what all these wayward, lost instruments were for, who would have used them, and the age. The finely tuned age of some of these things. Some had been used in the 30s, while some… a bit more recently. But he recognized them all. He recognized every single tool-- from the lowly scalpel to the hemostat he now held in his hand-- he understood by putting together every single piece. He formed a picture. He formed a picture that stood resolute and solid, the only thing of such astounding clarity and sense. It was the only thing that he could make out; the answer that stood out among the filth and grime of this medical hellhole.

Ah, yes. The vascular system.

Someone in this place had worked on hearts.

The cardiovascular system was never a supreme topic of interest for him. He, Aldous, the eldest of the Haswell twins and first to enter medical school, had found the overall study of the cardiovascular system to be rather droll. Of course he understood and recognized its importance in the human body. Without the heart, the body would die. But his interests migrated towards an even tougher study. One that, to this day, he found delicious dark irony in all that it stood for.

He preferred the study of the brain over the study of the heart.

He furrowed his brow in concentration as he turned the hemostat over in his hand. This instrument brought back memories. Most of them were not good. Most of them involved the hostile grounds of an unknown territory, the barking of orders in one’s ears, the acrid smoke of gunpowder and destruction as the world had become embroiled in a detestable war. But like this hospital with its permeating stench of mildew and sanitizer, the memories faded away, but still it lingered. Like ghosts haunting the cemetery of his mind, the memories flickered back and forth, ducking between tombstones of thought, waiting, oh, just waiting to muddle clarity with his nightmares.

But his head was clear now. And as he put down the hemostat and returned it to its previously rotting state, he marveled at the fact his head was clear. There were no voices in his head screeching at him, bringing up his failures and his innermost insecurities. His head was quiet and clear, like an undisturbed lake in the presence of a thawing springtime. Clear and immaculate. Without taint, without violence, without chaos.

Without sickness.

This had to be a dream. Nothing else made sense. Even in his happiest moments, with medication pumping through his veins, they were always there. The voices, those whispers. Lurking, waiting. A thin, cruel voice, all too familiar but all too strange. Its only desire was to tear him apart and to plant doubt in his already paranoid mind.

Silence! Yes, indeed, he heard nothing in his mind. His mind seemed to be hollow. Nothing there, nothing to be found, but his own controlled thoughts. Such strange, new, uncharted territory.

And so, as he moved further down the decaying hallway of the hospital, his footfalls echoing off of chipped tile and flooring, he couldn’t help but come to the grim conclusion that he was in a nightmare. Another one, perhaps. One of his many night terrors that plagued and haunted his mind. But he thought this with such clarity and lucidity that that alone perturbed him more than the idea of another night terror robbing him of much needed sleep.

And yet, if that were true, and this was yet another night terror come to torture his already troubled mind, then why did he have such strong senses? Why did he smell and feel? He swore he could smell the stench of bleach, of chemicals and of sickness. He swore he had felt the rusted metal of that hemostat against the palm of his hand. He swore, and swore, and swore, but his confidence reverberated silently against the decaying walls of this hospital from hell until his confidence returned to him, a pathetic whimper of its former self.

He called out. His voice bounced back to him, drifting along the stagnant hall with the echoed mockery of a false ally. He called again. Nothing. Just his echoed return, and just the echoing footfalls as he made his way deeper into the bowels of the hospital. But those footsteps echoed less, and began to splash more.

Splashing?

The deeper he went, the more he became aware of a thin, visceral layer of fluid coating the ground. Not enough to really soak into his shoes, but enough to betray his given location if it came down to the usual ending of his night terrors. Being chased was never a fun thing to experience right before waking up. Especially when you were being chased by that hulking, mindless beast, Vladi--

A noise. He heard… a noise. A soft, almost hiccuping sound. Gentle in its tone, but bittersweet in its timbre. Lilting, melodic, but also discordant and warped. It snagged at his heart, making it hurt in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

“Is anyone there,” Aldous cried out in his native language. His voice was harsh and short, with a crisp, tempered feel about his tone. “Answer me! Is anyone there?”

Silence. The silence of creaking wood and crumbling walls. The silence of scuttling rats, disappearing into their infested hidey-holes. The silence of dripping water, steady and rhythmic in its falling pulses. The silence of death and rot and decay, the great ending to life’s story.

Moving over to a warped closed door, he pressed his ear to the aged wood. He tried to focus on the sounds within, to try and hear some sort of sign that might betray what hid within the next room.

Nothing.

Another door. The same repeated process. This yielded no result. With bated breath-- was he even breathing in this hellish dreamworld?-- he quieted himself in order to listen to what lay beyond. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Four more tries, four more doors. The same result each time. It maddened his mind and strung out his nerves, twisting them into a jumbled tangle of agitation.

The fifth door he came across sated his frustration and blunted his nerves. Ear pressed to the wood, he closed his eyes and listened beyond for that strange sound.

He heard… scuffling. Shuffling. Movement from within.

Without trepidation or any sort of logical hesitation, Aldous wrenched the doorknob in a vice like grip and jiggled it harshly. To his surprise the door opened. With a piercing whine of rusted hinges, it slowly swung open to reveal…

A room.

Not like he didn’t expect that. But it was the state of the room, and it's proper hospital decor (or, rather, lack thereof), that puzzled him.

The room was stately in its width and size. There was a long reception counter towards the middle of the room, a strange oblong rectangle shape that was missing one side, allowing entrance within. Only that. A counter, with no chairs for patients could sit in. A reception area without a welcoming vibe. Papers and files were dashed upon the surface of the counter like seashells tossed onto a beach shore; haphazardly and without rhyme or reason. The walls were once  uniformly white, the common staple for many hospitals. But the walls had yellowed with age, with posters and other such health propaganda hanging from the walls, peeling away like rotten rind from a fruit. He could make out the text of those posters and pieces of paper, even with the flickering lights overhead.

Das Krankenhaus, he read on one of the posters. Of course. This was a German hospital. It made sense. After all, the fatherland was his home. Deutsche was the first language he had ever learned. He may know English and a smattering of other languages, but he was the most comfortable with Deutsche. He was born in Germany and lived in Meissen. He had gone to a med school there for higher learning. He had, briefly, worked at a hospital for his schoolwork in his hometown. How could he not be familiar with German hospitals? Of course everything would be in a language he understood. That made perfect sense to his imperfect mind. Why wouldn't it?

But it also didn't make sense. He had read something where dreams never had words written in the languages you knew. Dreams were made of a number of jumbled up bastardized languages that made no sense; words that had unfamiliar shapes and sounds to their pronunciations. But he understood this. He knew what those posters were saying.

He walked along the posters, squinting at them in the semi-dark, cursing his half-blind state, wishing he had two functional eyes instead of one. But with time and care, he began to read them off under his breath.

Take your vitamins. Take your medications as prescribed. The doctor is a friend, don’t be afraid of him.

Standard stuff. Posters with smiling chubby children and the doctors who were taking care of them. The saccharine sweet false smiles of the nurses and of the dressed up looking mothers, their blissfully unaware children in tow. It made Aldous sick. Such blasphemous false pretenses.

He continued.

Come in to get that cough looked at. Fight illness and sickness with proper care. Fight disease. Fight tuberculosis. Listen to your body. Obey your body. Obey your health. Obey. Obey. Obey.

Aldous blinked. The posters were changing, warping. Images were shifting. Words were slithering around the surfaces like snakes rearranging themselves to form a proper, better message.

Support your nation and support the army. Listen to what others are saying. Are they spies? Are they degenerates? Are they weak minded citizens that will bring down the strength of our nation? Protect your nation. Notify your friendly polic--

No, wait. That didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. These posters suddenly changing their logos and captions didn’t make sense. The ominous feeling he got didn’t make sense. And the sudden piercing pang to his left temple threw him off.

Snarling, he pressed his palm against his head. It was intense, throbbing. His face screwed up into an agonized mask. Pain. Pain. He wasn’t supposed to feel pain in a dream. Not even in a nightmare. This felt like what he imagined a lobotomy to feel like. A pick driven straight into the brain. Deeper, and deeper, and deeper,

       and

                                       [ CR-ACK ]

             D E E P E R.

He stumbled back and away from the posters, buffeted by a blast of baseless, cold wind. It whipped at his face, ripping the posters off of the wall, flinging them at him. With unsteady hands he grabbed them from the air and shredded them in his spiteful rage.

The twisting pain stopped. The wind stopped. The attack of the papers stopped.

Everything stopped.

The gust died away, and the whirlwind of posters settled at his feet. He stood his ground, surrounded by a mound of disgusting propaganda.

He could feel his body tremble with rage. Slowly he raised his gaze up towards the walls, where the posters had previously been hung before the unknown but sudden gust of wind had ripped them astray. He expected to see warped walls or crumbling plaster and concrete, but something was hung in the place of those posters.

Paintings. But not just any painting. Not a series of different paintings, either. The most abstract concept he had ever seen in his life, copied over and over, hung in a militant straight row, one beside the other. Blank canvases, mostly white and devoid of any properly painted imagery, saved for a grotesque smear of cloudy gray across their middles. Same placement, same smear, same color. An unsightly blemish that caused Aldous to mentally recoil at how discordant it all seemed. He could sense the chaos and unbridled uncertainty that came with those marks.

Something wasn’t right. He felt an overwhelming sense of dread wash over him. He stumbled back once more, his footing unsure. He heard splashing. The water from the corridor hall-- it was now leaking into the room, making the floor a little slick. Like a sinister oil spill nearby, the water spread out and into the room, the thin river-like veins stretching out to reach every distant corner of the ill-begotten place.

He had to get out of there. He had to wake up. His mind was playing tricks on him, and the night terror was taking hold. He couldn’t make sense of the paintings. He couldn’t make sense of the flickering lights. He couldn’t make sense of the distant sounds of anguish and turmoil. He could hear it-- yes, yes! The sounds! The cries! Of chaos, the sins committed, of their wrought hell! The anguished cries not of a hospital, but of war.

Perhaps it was his imagination, but he felt the floor beneath him tremble and shake. There was a great rumbling sound from below and above, as if the very foundation had been shaken loose by the force of some bomb. With a lurching, stumbling step he made his way to the receptionist check-in counter, tripping against it and falling over the paper strewn surface. He landed behind the counter itself. The safety of the closed in space did not comfort him. He still had his unsteadiness. The paintings rattled and trembled, shaking like leaves in the wind. The papers, sodden from the water, trembled until they disintegrated into the liquid; no pulp, no residue, no reminder of those violent, cruel words.

“Goddammit,” he wrathfully spat under his breath. He braced himself against the counter, nails attempting to dig into the solid surface of the floor beneath him for a false sense of security. He could hear the chaos closer than before. He could hear that odd and strange bittersweet sound from earlier, louder than ever. All of this noise, all of this noise! He covered his ears, fearful the noise would attract the whispers and draw out his own personal hell from within his mind.

The noise, the noise, the noise.

Obey. Obey. Obey.

The gray smear across canvas. The dripping water from the ceiling, like tears. The rusted tools, filthy from disuse and lack of proper sanitation. Tools from the past, familiar and uncomfortable. The smell of bleach, strong and rank. Bleach to cleanse the rooms of filth and taint and grime, but still, the disgusting ichor crept ever closer. Threatening to cover up everything, to smother it all in its wake.

“Make it stop,” Aldous bellowed out in desperation, his voice raised so high that his words cracked. “Make it stop! Make it stop! Stop!”

The sounds melded together into a long, agonizing wail, like that of a siren. A siren alerting of an invasion. Of bombs. Of the enemy come to slaughter them all.

“Stop, stop!”

He crumpled in on himself, hands still covering his ears. The wailing of the sounds came at him like nails on a chalkboard. Like souls being tortured in limbo. Like the world engulfed in flames, mother nature shrieking out in her death rattle. The noise was too much. He felt himself screaming, his vocal chords straining to be heard over the offensive sound, but nothing escaped his lips.

Silence against the sound. Peace against the chaos. Stillness against motion.

And then… nothing.

Aldous could feel his panicked heart slamming against his ribs. Or perhaps he imagined it. There was no heartbeat to be had. This was a dream-- it had to be. Nothing else made sense. The last thing he remembered was reading a bit before bed, and---

But it was silent. The trembling and shaking had stopped. The world seemed to right itself once more. Slowly he slid his hands away from his ears and he opened his eyes. He was still in that hellish place, cowering behind the receptionist’s counter like some scolded child. Here he was, a fifty-something year old man, petrified and terrified of a nightmare. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.

His mind, however, began quarreling with itself. Was this a dream? Or was this reality? Maybe a twisted sub-layer of reality that he had slipped into. Or was this, in itself, one gigantic hallucination on the behalf of his mental illness?

Nothing made sense. But, for the sake of his sanity, he had to make sense of it.

Aldous cast uneasy glances at the papers around him. When he toppled over the counter surface, he must have brought the papers down with him. In the swinging gaze of the flickering lights overhead, he just managed to make out forms. Forms, and profiles, and faces all drawn up on the papers. These clearly weren’t medical files. They were…

Shakily he reached out and plucked a paper out of a fallen pile. He studied it closely. The profile of a man. A strong jaw, a jolly face. Short, shaggy hair and innocent eyes. And what a smile. He wore a smile that radiated with the warmth of the sun. The profile and facial structure spoke of Russian origins, but this wasn’t any Heavy he knew of or recognized.

He peeked over the counter, just to see if the paintings were still on the wall, and if they had changed. Most, if not all, had been knocked down. But none of them changed. Sliding back down to his previous sitting position, he began rifling through the pictures.

They were all expertly done in charcoal and ink. Immaculate in form and poise. Some were faces he didn’t recognize, like that presumed Russian man. Of course, there were people he recognized from the industry he worked for. People who worked for the mercenary business, too. And then there were people and faces he recognized who didn’t work for the industry. People he still knew, but whom were outside of the ugly profession of his.

As he looked through the pictures something caught his eye. Buried beneath the pile was a familiar face. Hesitantly, he uncovered it.

Charcoal, expressively done. The facial structure of the drawn man was unmistakable. The stern set to the man’s jaw, and the imposing nature of his gaze, was inescapably impactful. The regal professionalism, touched with unsettling mania. The countenance of a rebellious raven, full of a hidden fire and an insatiable desire to ram against the system and dismantle what he thought was unjust and unfair.

But one thing stood out when it came to that figure. It wasn’t his gaze, or how his jaw was set. It wasn’t the way his hair was styled, or how he glared out at the viewer with an indiscernible emotion despite his deeply set, intimidating scowl. It was the scar that raked across the man’s face, blinding his one eye. That scar. That damnable scar.

His scar. His face.

This art style. He recognized it. This was his br---

A strangled sound escaped his throat, and a fluttering noise reciprocated his shock. Aldous jumped, startled at the disturbance. He reflexively crumpled the picture in his hands, all but destroying it in a balled up, wrinkled mess. His heart began to thrum again, and he could feel the world subtly shaking once more.

No, no. Not again.

The fluttering! There it was again! A shifting sound, like the wings of a bird. His panicked mind flitted to the notion of his unkindness, and without thinking he pulled himself to his feet, rising up behind the counter to call out to them.

As he did so, he felt his stomach plummet.

The pictures on the walls were replaced. Everything had returned to its proper place (except for the disgusting posters). The paintings were no longer white with an ugly cloudy gray smear across the surfaces. They had form, and color; shape and purpose. Each one told a story. A story that blinded Aldous in its meaning.

A childhood. Two brothers. Family. A father. A grave. A home. Grief and mourning. A star. A mother. Love and safety in a mother's arms. Children growing up. A country torn. A death.

This wasn’t happening. No. No. It couldn't be!

Recognizing the faces of the people and the places depicted, he backed up against the opposite side of the counter, staring at the offensive pictures and their retelling of the past.

A war. Faith lost. A house on fire. A desire to protect. Pain and bandages, burns and a hospital. A mercenary base. The smiling Russian. Blood covering the snow. A death.

The pictures began to rapidly change and morph, the stories being told flitting from one subject to another so quickly that Aldous could no longer keep up. He could only get a faint grasp of the emotions and the vague meanings behind the images. Faces and figures began to run, like watercolors bleeding and oils melting off of the canvas surface.

Hatred and resentment. Cold and standoffish. Distant and closed off. Unsocial, uncaring, uncertain. Defensively fearful. Fear. Fear. Fear.

His racing mind tried to make sense of it all. The painted faces and places continued to become heavily distorted, warping with each passing second. A gruesome guise of horror; the terror of life.

A fractured family. A fractured personality. A grudge. A fight. Blame. Pain. Love found. Acceptance. Understanding and grief. Reconciliation. Faith found. Joy. Brief but glorious joy. A crash. Lost and alone. Pain. Sadness. Worthlessness. Uselessness.

Aldous took a step forward, as if to get a better look at the paintings hung up all along the walls, but he felt the ground shift beneath him.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

With a startling cry, the ground gave way beneath him. A crack like thunder ripped through the air. The floor crumbled and fell away, great chunks of structure and tile falling into the great maw of darkness. And he, too, fell. He fell despite his poor attempt at reaching out, hoping to grab onto that counter. But he fell down into the darkness, that never ending void. He looked upwards as he fell; the hole above him, created by the caved in flooring, remained the only small spot of lighted hope he had. It grew dimmer and more distant as he fell. Hopeless in its crushing entirety.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

The light of hope grew dimmer.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

The rush of the fall ended as he slammed into something. Something that gave way beneath him, allowing his intrusive form to fall into it. A rush of icy coldness enveloped his being, and his body reflexively thrashed in his turmoil.

His ears popped as the pressure changed around him. Pressure, so much pressure. He couldn't breathe. Had he been able to breathe?

No, no, no.

Water. He had fallen into a vast, deep, dark ocean.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

He couldn’t see anything around him. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t feel anything except the mind-numbing cold. He opened his mouth to unwittingly cry out, but in the inky darkness only bubbles escaped him. Water rushed in. His throat was strangled. His world was spinning. He thrashed. He struggled. He tried to make sense of his current state, his direction.

Discordance. Disconnection. Despair.

Was up really up? Was down really down?

Drowning.

Aldous bolted upright in bed, assaulted by his panic and dread. His still groggy mind swirled with the remnants of that nightmare. He felt drenched. He could feel that a cold sweat had settled on his clammy skin, and his body was numb and cold. His fingers were tingling from how tightly he had clutched the twisted up covers.

His chest rose and fell with each labored breath. Instinctively he reached over beside him, but, alas, he felt an empty space. Ah, that was right. Alexei Rosencoff, his beloved Heavy, had decided to sleep over in the greenhouse to make sure he got up, bright and early, to get a head start on his ‘springtime planting’.

His fingers curled in on themselves as he dragged his hand away from Alexei’s empty space. He could hear the gentle snoring sounds coming from his beloved ravens. A quick glance over at his dresser and table told him that his meagerly small unkindness had all gathered about his room and bedded down for the night, keeping him company in the absence of the gardener.

His beloved children cared about him. How it warmed his heart.

Flopping back down, Aldous let his head hit the pillow with an air of finality. He stared up at the dark ceiling, replaying the nightmare over and over in his mind. The hospital, the filth. The posters, the paintings, the pictures. The tools, familiar and uncomfortable. The piercing pain to his temple, the mirroring of a lobotomy. The water, the shaking, the hole. The falling down, down, down.

Drowning in that ocean abyss, detached from the world and everyone around you. Staring up at that tiny hole, far, far above, the only lighted source of hope to be found. But he couldn’t reach it. He just couldn’t reach it.

He felt himself trembling. Reaching up, he wiped at his eyes and was surprised to find moisture. Had he been crying? No, no. It was only a nightmare. Only a nightmare.

He told himself this several times, but he found no comfort in his mental repetition.

A voice from his past drifted to his mind. Such a sweet voice, feminine and kind. It sang to him a lilting mantra that served to settle his troubled soul and mind.

The morning is here, there is nothing to fear, the shadows have all gone away.

Repeating that line several times in his head, he forced himself to close his eyes. Soon it would be morning. He would wake up, make his coffee, and take his medication. Alexei would return for breakfast, and all would be well. The world would stop spinning and the walls would stop dripping. His nasty voices would leave him be. The chaos of that nightmare would be gone from his mind. No more filth, or rust, or ichor. No more water soaked floors and paintings gone awry.

Sleep did not come for him, however. He languished in the state between sleep and awareness, and he became tortured over the replaying memories of that nightmare and the faint hissing at the back of his mind.

Somehow… it all seemed familiar. But of course it had! Of course it was! He saw his mother and his father in those paintings. Their faces were mostly obscured, as if the oil paints that had been used to capture their image had been smeared forcefully, like wax melting, but he couldn’t miss them. He had easily recognized them. So of course the paintings would seem familiar. The events in those paintings… he could identify some of them. He had lived through them. He had seen his family thrive and his family die. But the other events? The kind smiling man, the blood on the snow, and the myriad of disconnected emotions and traumatic experiences... those did not seem familiar. Those memories seemed warped; to come from another source, another memory. They came from another person’s memory entirely.

As the first beams of watery, weak light crested over the alpine mountain range surrounding the base, Aldous had to wonder if that wasn’t a typical nightmare. Indeed, even as the snow lazily flitted about outside, and the frozen base began to rouse itself once more, the doctor obsessively ran over the details of the nightmare in his mind.

There was only one conclusion he could make.

The blizzard. The blizzard… would be stopping soon. In a day, perhaps. In two. At least slow down enough to go over there and check on---

The morning is here, there is nothing to fear, the shadows have all gone away.

He had lost his sense of time. He had somehow gotten out of bed, relieved himself with a trip to the infirmary’s bathroom, and had begun to ritual of making his coffee. And as he stood there, exhausted and slightly disheveled, idly turning on the coffee maker… he began to realize something.

Perhaps the nightmare he had was not of his own.

Perhaps… it had been his twin’s.

- - - -

[Pt. 1]

[P.t 2]

[P.t 3]

[Pt. 3.5]

[Pt. 4]

[Pt. 5]

[Pt. 6]

[umber-penumbra]

Mutter - 2016

---

Aldous Haswell, @cuddlyplaguedoctor ‘s TF2 Medic OC.

RP page located @zehypocriticaloath

 Check out my commissions post for more info!

[booletsandblossoms]

The Falcon And The Raven

(This is a joint... small novel, really, written by me and Cuddly. It is really long and can get really intense at parts, but there's content within important to the future of both Alexei and Aldous. I am posting the whole thing here, but for those of you who might find a read of this magnitude overwhelming, you can read it neatly divided into 12 parts over at Aldo's blog.

I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as we did writing it.)

“Brother! Brother, hold up for just a moment!”

The words were uttered in German, the native language of the soured man who was checking the condition of a company owned truck. It roused him from deep within his thoughts, a labyrinth of mental channels and avenues that he could get lost in far too quickly. It wasn’t good to get lost in this maze, though. No. It never was a good thing. It was quite horrible, in fact, and to hear these words from a familiar voice… he took brief respite and solace in that tangible feeling he got from them, and the comforting reaction it instilled within him.

Not that he’d ever admit to his relief whenever his twin was around.

Of course he quickly let his facial expression ice over. His frown deepened as he turned to look towards who was approaching him.

As he expected, there he was: his brother. Abelärd Haswell was fixated on him, hurriedly picking his way down the nature-torn trail. Living on a base deep within the heart of the frozen mountains often made walking anywhere a bit tedious. When snow or ice wasn’t covering the ground and crusting over the machinery, the rocks and bumpy, hard packed ground made it a bit tricky to transverse.

How funny. Quite a few people knew of them as individuals, but they were almost always referred to, in some way, shape or form, as a whole: the Haswell twins. It was obvious that they were, indeed, twin brothers, but they weren’t identical in every way. They came from two separate eggs, not one. Being that they were dizygotic twins, they had obvious differences. Identical in some key areas, but not with everything.

“What do you want?” Aldous’s words were drawled out and his tone was rather tired and exasperated. He truly didn’t want to hear any safety speeches from his younger brother. “I’m a little busy here. I’m making sure this rusted over junk of American technology doesn’t break down on me once I go down the mountain.”

“I hope you’re not going to drive it off the mountain,” Abelärd commented. His tone may have been joking and cheeky, but his look said it all.

Aldous took a brief second to examine his twin. His brother was wringing his gloved hands, the lower portion of his face covered with a thick, warm scarf. His nose was beginning to redden, and a few puffed plumes of chilled air escaped out from beneath the material covering his mouth.

The RED Medic scoffed internally. It wasn’t even bad yet, and already his brother was miserable. He knew his twin by now, though. He was loathing the cold snaps. He knew he’d be in trouble once the snow began to fall. They often got blizzards on this base, and he was the twin who didn’t do well in the cold at all. Abelärd’s warm, heavy coat did nothing it seemed; he always felt the chill on his bones.

Compared to him, Aldous was moderately dressed to beat the chill. Just a coat and gloves.

“I only did that once.” Aldous pulled away from the truck, only to stand up straight and fix his brother with a withering stare. “And it wasn’t my fault. I hit an icy patch and—”

“Be thankful you were within respawn range.”

“Be thankful I haven’t killed you outside of respawn range.”

Abelärd, the BLU Medic, shook his head. He had a small, fond little smile on his face. He exuded a warm and loving aura. It had quite a calming effect on most of his patients, and even on his lover. His brother, however, often got uncomfortable around him. The inner peace and happiness that he possessed further reminded Aldous of something he could never get.

“Still considering murdering me?”

“Always.”

Aldous moved to the front of the truck and popped the hood. It rose and halted in place with a muffled thunk. He critically eyed his twin. He wondered what on earth he was doing out here. By now he would have launched into one of his safety speeches. They felt more like interrogations these days, at least when it came to the dangers of smoking.

Well, damn his brother to hell and back. He wanted his cigarettes, and he’d smoke them all the way into the grave.

Everything under the hood seemed to be primed and ready. Nothing was frozen over, and there weren’t any surprises left by any of the colorful mercenary cast. Shutting the hood back down into place, he sighed. His breath rose into the air like a cobra, its long neck stretched out, ready for an attack. “Alright, brother,” he said, placing his gloved hand against the cool metal hood. “Just what exactly brought you out here? And where are your winged rats?”

“My mourning doves are not winged rats,” Abelärd replied defensively, getting rather huffy. He was tired of his brother considering his beloved doves to be winged pests. “And I’m here to see if you want me to go with you.”

The RED Medic felt a twitch with his blind eye. It happened randomly, a strange idiosyncrasy he had adopted over the years. It meant many plausible and possible things, both an indication and a warning at the same time. This time the twitch meant agitation.

Abelärd must have seen the twitch, and recognized its hidden meaning, for he quickly added on, “there is a chance the weather may get bad, and I know you’re going into town for supplies. The nearest town is quite a long way away, and—”

“It’s not even snowing.”

The BLU Medic wagged a single finger. “Ah, not yet it hasn’t! But it may. And when it does, and you’re out there on the road alone… what if you get stuck? Or what if your car freezes and it won’t start? It’d be good if I came along.”

Aldous couldn’t help but roll his eyes at this. “You’re rather pessimistic, you know. You always consider the worst that can happen in any scenario, the worst of anything before it ever happens. You know, for being the one that people like the most, you’re not as calm and serene as people peg you for.”

Abelärd seemed to wilt, if only for a moment. It was true he was the one who worried the most. He had a reason to! The responsibilities he had on his shoulders were his own, and he had to take care of them. Aldous, as a Medic, should know that. He should know that his brother had patients to help, he had a war to fight (at times), and he even had his lover to worry about. But he wasn’t pessimistic! Not by a long shot.

“All this worrying is going to send you to the grave far beyond your time,” Aldous added on, his voice crisp and sharp, like the edge of a honed blade. He was hitting all the right places, and he knew it. “The light gray in your hair shows it.”

“You talk to me about how worrying too much can send me to an early grave, but you fail to recognize that your cigarettes will do the same thing.”

“So says the man who huffs the kritz vapors when no one is looking!”

Abelärd raised his hands in a gesture of peace. Boy, that came out of his brother like a verbal punch. The tone and volume wasn’t needed. “That was a low blow, brother. I’m not a drug addict.”

“Like hell you aren’t!”

He sighed. This wasn’t going good. “I didn’t come out here to argue with you, Aldous, nor did I come to lash out with blows.”

“Oh, but you really seem to start one every damn time we talk.” The RED Medic bristled for a moment, visibly frustrated. He moved around to driver’s side and reached out for the handle. Before he could open the door his brother’s hand gently grasped his. With a jerk he ripped his hand free of his. “Fuck you! Don’t touch me.”

“Are you well?”

“What?”

“Are you well, brother? Are you healthy, or are you sick?”

"I don’t have a cold, if that’s what you’re asking. No stomach bug."

"That’s not the sort of sickness I am referring to, and you know it."

Aldous found himself staring into the eyes of his brother. They were like a winter sky, the blue clouded over with gray. He felt his blood pressure ease on down. He let out a small passive grunt, albeit still tinged with agitation.

He wasn’t well. He hadn’t been sleeping again. Since returning from their absence— since they both had been called away, for a rather long time, to return back home— he hadn’t been at ease. He had been eating less, choosing to just nibble on some fruit or grains throughout the day. He only drank water or coffee, and had increased his smoking. He was often seen meandering through the hallways of the base, late at night or even early in the morning, when the usual mercenaries were asleep. His tempers had flared up as of late, and he had become more agitated and possibly even neurotic as the days progressed.

“I’m… fine,” he said, after some hesitation.

“I don’t think you are,” Abelärd softly replied. He reached out and brushed some of his brother’s bangs from out of his face. His brother’s hair was mussed up and messy again. It was a clear indication that he wasn’t taking care of himself, and he was obviously having some issues. When he was well groomed, immaculate, with his hair slicked back and his eyes bright and clear, he was healthy. When he was disheveled, not as quite. Even now, when he looked into his brother’s bright blue eyes, they seemed dull. “Look how pale you are. And those dark circles under your eyes… yes, you’re sick again.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Are you relapsing? Taking your medication?”

“No, and yes.” The pushed his brother’s hand away from his face. “I take all the pills, and I swig it on down with a shot of gasoline and a lit match for an after-dinner mint.”

“Aldous…”

“I told you, I am fine. I don’t need you checking up on me every five seconds. I am my own person. We’re no longer in that tiny house on the end of the street in Meißen. We’re not kids anymore. I’m absolutely fine.”

“But you are my brother,” Abelärd said, his voice tender and rather melodic. “And that is something that will never change. I will always worry about you, and I will always do everything in my power to help you.”

“I hate you.”

“I know you don’t.”

Aldous fell silent. He let himself get pulled into an embrace. It was a familiar hug, the same sort of hug that his brother always gave him. It reminded him of home. Of the warm hearth, of playing out back in the wooded patch with the creek, of helping their mother cook the nightly meal…

“You don’t hate me,” Abelärd declared, adding emphasis to what he said, moments before. “Not truly, at least. You will always say that. You will always swear up and down that I am a blight on this family, and that we’re sworn enemies… but I know it is all just a bunch of lies. Why?” He smiled, a kindly twinkle in his eyes. “Because I know you better than anyone else.”

“Bullshit,” Aldous whispered hoarsely. He almost seemed scared, judging by how brittle sounding his voice was. His defenses were down, and he knew it. He squirmed a bit, as if to break free of the embrace, but he didn’t go all the way through with it.

“I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Bullshit!”

“I speak the truth,” Abelärd said, holding him at arm’s length in order to take his time and fix his collar. “And one day, I promise you, you’ll understand. You know exactly what I mean.”

Aldous fidgeted, trying to not focus on his twin. He hated being told that he didn’t know, or didn’t understand, something. That some piece of information was elusive to him, that he hadn’t obtained it yet. It was why he was a man of science, a man of experiments and research. It’s why he scoured over his medical books late into the night, reading them with the same passion he held for his favorite novels and stories.

Hearing that he didn’t understand anything, yet, ruffled his feathers. He gave his twin a tepid glower, the prowess of that glare very weak in comparison to what he usually cooked up.

“I wish you’d allow me to go with you,” Abelärd confessed. “I want to be there to help you carry things back to the base. I know you’re like me: we buy in bulk ahead of time, that way we’re both prepared.” He let out a little ‘hmm’ noise before adding on, “I’m quite sure that’s our heritage coming through.”

Aldous chose not to respond. He was right on that. He was ready to buy a lot of things, seeing as the snow would begin piling up very soon. It was the last ditch attempt by the mercenaries to get what they needed before hell froze over.

“I’m fine,” the RED Medic finally said, repeating the words he spoke a short while ago. “I don’t need help. I am just going to be out for an evening, or a day, tops. I won’t be long. I need things that our supply train won’t provide.”

“Like cigarettes.”

“And a new gun so I can blow some holes into your brain.”

“Fair enough,” the BLU Medic replied, a light sort of lilt to his tone. He was trying not to laugh. He knew that he was reaching the end of their conversation. With that looming in his mind, he simply took his brother’s hands and lightly squeezed them, reassuringly so. “Then know that I’ll be waiting in my infirmary with a hot cup of tea for when you return. Join me. We can warm up and enjoy the rest of the evening.”

“Sounds nice,” Aldous commented, not at all committing the idea to a promise. He had no intention of joining him for tea after all was said and done.

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Abelärd replied, his tone chipper and happy. He knew Aldous had no intention of coming by. He had offered it many times to his twin, and never had he taken the offer up.

Such strange lives they lead.

It didn’t take long for Aldous to slide behind the wheel of that dinged up truck. It started after one blank turn-over. The exhaust pipe belched out a cloud of smoke, the inner machinations slowly warming up.

Abelärd watched as his twin pulled out of the parking space, that little plot farther down, behind the base. He continued to watch as his brother drove down the path, down the winding trail, disappearing amidst the scattering of barren trees. He was waving all the while, only ceasing the action when his twin was no longer within sight.

With a heavy sigh the BLU Medic rubbed his gloved hands together. Making sure his scarf was still in place and that his half-moon glasses hadn’t been jarred by the small gusts of wind, he began to make his way back to the base.

He had no idea that this was the beginning of a nightmare.

--------------------

The hunter stalks his prey. He watches him, waiting for the right moment. For fifteen years he’s hunted this particular man, his chosen target. He wants to be sure, absolutely positive, he has the right person. After a week or so of observation he thinks he has him. He thinks this with much certainty. He has gained this vital piece of knowledge, but he has also gained a lot of interesting information, too.

So much he can use.

His prey had no idea any of this had transpired over the course of fifteen years. Absolutely oblivious from day one, not at all suspicious that such a sinister plot had been formed in the mind of his hunter. He hadn’t a clue that he’d been stalked and watched from afar all this time. No knowledge that his mail had been gone through, documents spied on, phones tapped….

Oh! How hilariously ironic, though! Ironic in the grand scheme of things. The hunter’s prey had been covering his tracks for decades now, for both similar reasons and for reasons completely different.

Paranoid not just from his sickness, this stalked man had a reason to be scared. He didn’t want to be found out for what he did, long ago. Though his crimes were of the past, and he probably wouldn’t serve jail time anymore for what he had committed during that turbulent and disjointed war… he didn’t want to take risks. He never was a risk taker, in all actuality. Or, at least, he never liked to take risks involving these sorts of matters. With his job? With cure patients, with fighting on the battlefields for his company? Sure. He was a combat medic, and risk was just another part of the job.

But he didn’t want to take risks where his life existed outside his job.

No. On this cold and dreary day, with the clouds overhead hanging low and heavy with snow, he hadn’t a single clue that today things would change. The change would not be welcomed. The change would disrupt not only his life, but his health and safety.

This change was going to change everything.

The hunter, of course, knew of this change. He concocted it, prepared for it. He was primed and ready. His father’s uniform fit like a glove. Sleek, black, with silver accents and fastenings all polished to a mirror shine. Buttons and little skulls, twin lightning bolts. Boots shined immaculately, cap set perfectly atop his head. It was clear he had dressed this way for a reason. He was on a mission, and he fully intended to be presentable for the occasion.

In the day, against the snow, he would’ve stuck out something awful.

This hunter, however, was smart. He waited until the perfect time. Winter was coming, after all. It was well known that Coldfront mercenaries made several trips to town for supplies and such before the winter snows would box them in, even halting their supply trains from arriving on time.

All he had to do was wait for Aldous Haswell to go on one such trip, hopefully alone.

——————

That day came, naturally. The combat medic always planned for this trip. Supplies were needed, as were some special goods that the supply train may or may not bring.

The big moment came towards the tail end of November, sliding right into the first half of December. It was right before the predicted heavy snowfalls. Aldous had decided to go on such a trip without alerting many on his team. His twin, Abelärd, of course, found out. Such a nosy little brother! He always snooped into his twin’s life, and he tried, in vain, to keep up-to-date with the man’s life. He had to do it in this fashion, seeing as Aldous rarely told him anything. The man kept to himself, much to the exasperation of the BLU Medic.

Abelärd had offered to go. He had wanted to keep an eye on his brother. Enemies on different teams, sure, they still were brothers. They were still family. As such, he’d offered to help him anytime he had to do errands. Hey, they weren’t technically on duty, doing their job of fighting some scheduled skirmish. They could do what they wanted— within limits, of course. And this…it was something they could do together, right? A type of bonding with one another.

Aldous had naturally declined the offer. His brother knew he’d say no, but he always had to try. It was normal for Aldous to want to be alone. He was like that towards Abelärd: austere, rough, cold and always wanting to be without company, especially if it was his brother’s. The only company Aldous enjoyed came in the form of his unkindness of ravens.

Abelärd knew he loved him. Aldous just had a barrier built up around his heart. He always had, ever since their father passed away and…

But the past was the past. No use dwelling on it now.

The trip to town was abysmal. Dreary was the weather, bitter with the dampness of rain. Aldous Haswell enjoyed the snow, but not the rain. Nothing was going right this day. Nothing at all. Then again, did anything go right at Coldfront? That damn base was plagued with mishaps and bad events. From machinery freezing over and breaking down, to being walled in by snow and kept as a prisoner of nature, Coldfront was the base tainted with bad luck.

Aldous took one of the company cars. A beat up truck that could take the snowy, wet, slick mountain roads. Town was as dreary as the weather. Not a lot of talkative people on the streets. There never was a lot of people around, seeing as mountain people usually kept to themselves in these parts. Rumor had it they didn’t quite take a liken towards the mercenaries, deep within the mountains. Only natural, of course. And yet it was good for him. He hated people in general, and being social was a tedious task with one was dealt with disagreeable folk. Or Scouts, for that matter.

——————

The hunter continued to wait. He waited for his chosen prey to take care of his errands. He followed him down the mountainous trail, right into the comely, quaint little town. The buildings here reeked of old wood and the paint jobs were faded and chipping in places. He watched as Aldous went about his business, entering and leaving several stores as he gathered his much needed supplies. He stuck to the shadows, the dark and blusterous weather helping his cover.

He waited until everything was done.

The patient are often rewarded with riches.

Soon enough Aldous Haswell had finished his chores. Bags in his arms, he went about making sure everything was put away and loaded up into the truck.

Now…

Now was the time!

——————

The unsuspecting Medic didn’t hear the quickly approaching footsteps. They lightly crunched on the gravel of that parking lot. They were light and soft, well practiced and equally well planned. Everything had been rehearsed over and over— perhaps not in physical reality, but in a sort of mental relay.

Aldous Haswell caught just a glimpse of something. It was out of the corner of his eye, brief and flickering. Merely a shadow! A dark shape, it moved towards him with a renewed sense of vigor.

The shadow changed. Something was raised. The arm of that shadowy image, that dark beast, was held aloft with something clearly in its vague outline of a hand. A blob, an odd shape that couldn’t be easily made out.

The Medic froze in fear as he stood there in front of the exposed truck bed. His breath came out in a thin, chilled sliver of mist. The gray, shapeless form spilled forth, dissipating in the air just as something slammed, full of force, into the back of his head.

The world was instantly whisked out from under him. Colors whirled together, a sickening myriad of shapes and forms that were swirling down an imaginary drain.

He gasped out, unable to form any words. The wind had been knocked out of him, the surprise and shock of the attack acting like cold water to his senses. His knees buckled and his legs crumpled, giving out. He saw the blur of colored metal as he fell to his knees, that dingy green of the beat up truck. His chin nearly hit the high back bumper as he went down.

Nothing made any sense.

His brain began to lag. He wasn’t aware of much, shock had robbed him of sense while the pain took away any other sort of physical sense to his surroundings. He couldn’t feel the chill of the crisp air. Lifelessly he felt his body fall to the side, right on the wet, dirtied gravel of the mountain pavement.

He felt sick. Colors exploded in the back of his skull. He could see his world swirling and sloshing about, like a watercolor destroyed with oil. He grunted in pain. He tried to gasp out a familiar name, merely from reflexes, but all he could do was drunkenly slur out some nonsensical words.

His eyes rolled back and he blacked out.

—————————-

Aldous Haswell woke up, finding himself somewhere no less cold, dark, and dank. Just as bad as the outdoors. But this place was not as comforting. The air was not crisp and clean; it was stale, musty and old.

Not at all pleasant to wake up to, that’s for sure.

The cold. Aldous was no stranger to. The dark, well, he was familiar to that concept as well. Both he typically embraced with arms open wide. It was why he did so well at Coldfront, where in the wintertime the days were short and the nights were terribly long. He could survive in that climate. No, not survive… thrive. He thrived and excelled in that environment.

As his head lolled to the side, he could feel the cold, hard floor beneath him.The ground wasn’t the gravel pavement of that countryside parking lot. The floor he was lying on belonged to a house, this much he knew. A house, some sort of shelter at least. It was made out of stone, not concrete, and it was damp and dirty. This was the type of stone that reminded him of some slab a poor, depraved soul would be cut upon for a ritual.

Wait, was this a basement. Is that where he was?

He tried to move, but he groaned out in agony. Decay and mildew. His nose scrunched. For sure, this was a basement. Maybe he was wrong, but it had all the classic signs.

He didn’t have much to go on. The darkness made for a rather convenient blindfold. Not seeing his surroundings meant he had to rely on his other senses to carve out a mental image of just exactly where he was. There were a few scrapped rays of light coming from a single, dingy, small window set high up on the wall. It made for some sense of bearing, but otherwise it did little good.

He tried to make out what was happening. There were the smells, that dampness, the solid firmness of the ground… but then there was a sound. It was a steady, rhythmic clip. At first he wasn’t quite sure where to place the noise. He knew he heard it before. But where…? Where?

The subtle clack-clack of the sound grew increasingly incessant, and he remembered it all too quickly. His blood grew cold as he recognized it. Footsteps. Jackboots pacing in perfect precision.

And then they stopped.

“Ah. You’re finally coming around. Good. I was tiring of waiting for you, I was becoming dreadfully bored.”

“Wh…What?”

Aldous’s tongue felt heavy, and his mouth was oddly dry. Parched, actually. His throat was irritated, and he began to wonder if he had been drugged at some point in order to stay quiet during transit. He thought this because, quite obviously, this was a hostile environment. He was not in safe territory. He was far away from his base.

The clicking of the jackboots against the stone flooring picked up once more. The person that had spoken to him had resumed his incessant pacing. The noise was unnerving, and it brought back a flood of unpleasant memories. Aldous remembered it. He knew that noise anywhere. How could he forget the maddening clicking of those types of boots?

That damn war!

That voice, though. He tried to focus on what he heard. He tried to remember it, pitting it against his memory. Was it someone he knew? Was this actually some sort of prank? Or was this something else, something much worse?

Who was he dealing with?

The pacing continued, and Aldous grew impatient. He opened his mouth, his throat sore once more from the dry irritation. “What,” he repeated, more of a demand and less of a question.

The pacing ceased once more.

“Ah, that’s it,” the voice said, its tone rather smug and pleased. He seemed to be happy that Aldous was talking to him. “Come on.”

“What,” Aldous rasped out, his voice raised just a bit more. He sounded horrible. How long had he been asleep, not using his vocal chords. “What!”

The man moves and stands right in front of him. This much he knows, just by the auditory cues. Blast this dark room! He could barely make out a form in that darkness. If he got closer to the person, he could see a little better.

Aldous made a move to get closer towards the person, but there was no need. The man took a step or two closer, just enough to stand in one of the pale, dying rays of light coming from that filthy, disgusting window. It was just enough for Aldous to make out a few details. Mostly those boots.

The boots were immaculate in comparison to the grubby surroundings, polished to a mirror shine. Militant in design, they were, indeed, jackboots.

The mystery man stirred. He shifted a boot, lifted it in order to prop Aldous’s chin up. He did this slowly. Ever so… slowly.

Aldous was forced to look upwards, to take in the visage of this man, and what he saw chilled him down to his very core.

The mystery man was was young. Much younger than he was, at least. Like his boots, he was wearing an equally pristine SS uniform. His hair was a dusty blonde, eyes cornflower blue. He was… handsome, yes. Quite handsome indeed. He could’ve easily been some Hollywood heartthrob, but that just wasn’t possible. There’s something terribly cruel in his smile. Terribly cruel, and terribly terrifying.

Aldous’s eyes settled on the SS uniform, and all color drained from his face. The twin lightning bolts. How he loathed that iconic symbol. It set his blood to boil, typically, but not on this occasion. He glanced upwards, staring into those cold, blue eyes. It was like staring into the eyes of the Schutzstaffel back home, back during the war. There was nothing in those pits but hatred and the sense of superiority.

Aldous swallowed, and his eyes widened in shock. His glasses were thankfully spared, they were still on his face, albeit cracked. Still, having his glasses meant he could see this handsome, godlike Aryan man in all his hideous, grotesque glory. He reeked of the Nazi party, so much that Aldous felt sick. Was that bile rising up his throat, or was he imagining it?

“My name is Rand von Schwert,” the man said, his tone rather even and controlled. “I’ve been looking for you quite a long time, Schwarzblitzen. Or should I say… Aldous Haswell?”

“Fuck,” he gasped out, instantly on the defensive. His mind was lagging behind, still foggy from just waking up and from that blow to the head. Despite everything against him at the moment, he was attempting to get to his feet.

Curses! Schwarzblitzen? How did he know of that nickname? He remembered Karl von Blau. The man once talked about that name, showing him clips and articles snipped out from newspapers. He had heard of that name, he had remembered it, but many did not. Nowadays, no one seemed to remember it, and Aldous very much approved of it. Knowledge of it, and remembrance, could bring unwanted attention to the subject, even long after the war was done and over with.

Aldous shot him a critically sharp glare, clearly unnerved. “I didn’t give you my name,” he snapped. “You aren’t worthy enough to know it.”

"You’re hardly one to speak of worth, Mr. Haswell. You do note that I am not speaking our mother tongue to you, yes? You are not worthy enough to hear it. You are not worthy enough to call yourself a German. You, Aldous Haswell… are a traitor.”

Rand suddenly jerked his boot out from Aldous’s chin. No warning, nothing. This motion caused Aldous to grunt out in surprise as his chin smacked hard against the cold, stone flooring.

Aldous winced in pain. That was not what he wanted, especially with the back of his head throbbing. He was still disoriented. He knew that he had to get to his feet, but he was just too out of it for the moment. And what if he stood up, only to find out he couldn’t walk? Was he chained or tied up? He didn’t know. He couldn’t really move his legs at the moment. He couldn’t see much of anything, just whatever the dim catches of light happened to fall on.

He did laugh the ‘traitor’ part. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. All he knew, though, that what he did what was right. He made those bastards pay for what they did to those innocent people. To all those who suffered at their hands, he made them rue the day they joined that order. He was a hunter. He was quick to attack, quick to take down, quick to extract justice.

“I’ve been watching you,” Rand said, continuing where he left off beforehand. “I know quite a lot about you. You are, without a doubt, the man I have been searching for. And, oh, are we going to have fun together.”

He’d been watching him? Aldous’s blood ran cold once more. What! He had been spied on, all this time? Had this Aryan rat put up surveillance posts outside base, or inside? Had he tapped into his phone lines? Had he set up cameras somewhere? Were there spies on his team, keeping an eye on him…?

“Fick dich,” Aldous snarled out, the hairs rising on the back of his neck. He raised his head, his face no longer resting against the floor. “I am German. Deutsch! I am worthy, more than you are! More than zhe entire festering sects and groups of Nazis combined!” He clenched his teeth for a moment, glaring at Rand. Oh, how he hated that man’s smile! His breath quickened as his heart began to race madly. “You are mere rats. Disgusting, writhing fat rats in filthy uniforms. And you! You’re nothing but a sick bastard. We won’t be having fun together!”

Like a maddened beast, Aldous pushed aside his disoriented senses. He surged to his feet. Using all of his strength and gathering it in his legs, he lunged at him.

“NOT ONE BIT!”

“First lesson.”

Those two words were followed by a sharp kick to the ribs.

Aldous had noticed, as he had gotten to his feet, that his hands were bound behind him. The rough rope used bit into his skin, much to his dismay. The rawness was uncomfortable. The bindings, of course, were simply a precaution on Rand’s part. Seeing as how Aldous’s own disorientation ought to keep him from running off, this was just an added bit of insurance. He had begun to violently twist his wrists this way and that, hoping to at least get one hand free, when he felt the strike.

That kick to his ribs caused him to cry out in pain and double over. His bindings forgotten, he let out a long and ragged wheeze.

Another kick landed upon his unguarded form. Then another, and another.

After the third kick, Aldous found himself back on the ground. His legs had given out, the pain in his ribs had increased. He couldn’t breathe. Curled up, like a damn maggot, he lay there on that cold, stone floor. A maggot in this cold, dank, decaying room. How sickeningly fitting.

The boots kick again… and again and again, striking as his captive victim curls up before him. Again.. and again, and again! When they finally stop, the boots rest neatly beside each other, Rand standing up straight. Yes, he knew that last kick as cracked a rib. He felt it, and he swore he heard the crunch. How satisfying that was!

“First lesson,” Rand repeated, his voice glowing underneath that smug and taunt tone. “You will speak to your better with respect. I don’t want to hear insults coming out of your mouth. As a bonus, I will give you a bit of advice- the quicker you learn, the less you’re likely to suffer.”

Aldous let out a gasping wheeze, accompanied by a rather wet sounding and painful cough. It was more of a hack, really, a rasping sort of sound that was rather rough on the ears. He swore that there was vomit in his mouth, or at least the aftertaste of it. It had irritated the back of his throat, making the soreness that was already present all the more worse. He wanted to wrap his arms around his stomach, to ease the waves of pain and discomfort, but he couldn’t. These bindings, of course!

Damn this man! Damn this filthy Nazi!

“Fuck… fuck you,” he whispered, his tone defiant despite being obviously shaken and in quite a considerable amount of pain. He aimed a weak, watery glare at him. “I show… not an ounce of respect or loyalty towards zhe Reich.” He knew he was digging his own grave with his words, but he couldn’t help it. He was far too angry. He wheezed again, coughing and hacking, before he hissed out a spiteful sounding, “you all should have burned in hell for vhat you did.”

Rand laughed. It sounded rich, musical… and rather carefree. In that split-second moment, he seemed to be just another man. An innocent man, free of any crimes or sins, merely being told a rather humorous joke.

He leaned down, his motions as perfect as his hair was golden and flawless. Yes, he looked like a flawless man. Flawless, with an unnaturally cruel smile. His voice was merely a purr as he reached down and patted the downed man’s cheek with a leather gloved hand.

Aldous snarled, though it sounded more strangled than anything due to his lack of oxygen. He tried to bite him when that hand patted his cheek. He lunged as if to sink his teeth into his glove, but he missed. A string of vehemently spat out curses were unleashed as he heard that light, musical laugh once more. Curse that laugh, curse his smile!

“You’ll learn. Oh, you’ll learn. Mark these words well- before I’m done with you, you will call me Master, like the beaten dog you are.”

“HA, calling you, a Nazi, my master? It will be a cold day in hell before I admit to any such thing!”

Turning sharply, Rand marched to the heavy old wooden door, and paused. Briefly he cast a glance Aldous’s way. He saw the man writhing slightly in pain, the blows to his ribs doing the trick of incapacitating him. As his captured prey struggled to breathe properly, he felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him.

As the handsome devil turned on his heel and marched away, Aldous couldn’t help but spit on the ground. He screamed out in rage, his own boots scuffing the stone ground as he writhed and squirmed, attempting to slip out of rope bonding. He wanted the usage of his hands, dammit! He wanted to strangle him, to squeeze his last breath from his cold, lifeless lips!

“Goodnight,” came the hunter’s voice, the tone a deliciously dark and honeyed purr.

And, with that, Rand slipped out. He shut the door and locked it behind him, leaving Aldous alone in the damp, cold, dark room.

“You bastard,” he cried out, “you VILE BASTARD!”

His screams were getting more and more hysterical and loud as the darkness took him over. The rays of dying light from the window were, ironically, dying out. Night was falling, as would the temperature. In this cold room, with this stone floor and without furniture, it’d only get colder. His clothes were torn and ripped in areas, and his coat had been removed. The only thing he was wearing were his casual, off duty clothes. He wasn’t prepared at all for the chill of the mountainous area.

Aldous shrieked like a banshee for a good hour or two, screaming and spewing profanities in German. But even as his voice began to give out on him, he screamed for another reason. He was screaming in the dark, hoping someone would hear him and come looking for him.

——

The passage of time was hard to tell. Hours could have passed, or possibly even days. There wasn’t much to go on, no real way to tell time. No clocks on the wall, no other methods of time divination. The only thing that could possibly give an inkling as to what time it roughly was remained set high up into a wall. There was a single window in the cellar. The light from the window proved to be a bit stronger today. It gave just a tad bit more light, lending a hand, visually, to those looking at the room.

One could see the presence of a few large old casks. This clue alone said that this place once housed wine. Of course, the casks were long since empty, their presence teasing with the promise of a deliciously aged wine, but their taps yielding nothing but moldering dust. The ultimate cruel gesture to a parched person.

The cavernous space of the room could lead one to imagine that the entire structure itself was grandiose. In many ways, that assumption was correct. The house that loomed above this large cellar was not a typical house, but a manor. Dilapidated and far past its prime, it was nestled in the heart of a forest. Secluded and kept a secret from the rest of society, it had once been filled with a happy family, and happy memories. Now it left to rot and perverted, the wooden beams became as warped as its current purpose. Instead of a family, it house a single man and his captured prey. Instead of merry laughter and clinking glasses, the hallways echoed with the enraged shrieks of a caged beast.

A once grand manor indeed, it had turned into a place of torture and decay. With its paint peeling and the furniture nibbled on by toothy rodents, it was an ill-fitting end for its old days of glory.

But it proved effective as a base. At least, it did in the eyes of Rand. He chose this place for a reason. A place such as this wouldn’t have been fitting for a man of his regal mindset, his profession and lineage. But he could deal with the musty, old building… for now. He could hold out long enough to complete his mission, to accomplish the goals he set forth.

He wouldn’t leave until the slavering mutt was buried beneath the stone flooring of that cellar.

Of course, he could wait. He had lessons to teach this mangy dog. He had to break him in, to make this man learn his place in the world. Until then, he would play with his captured prey. He’d take his time, and savor his long yearned victory to come.

He could wait.

~~~~~

Morning came to the prone figure on the floor. Morning… or afternoon. Or late evening. It was hard to tell, thanks to that lone window in the room. Dirt and dust was caked on rather thickly, obstructing any light that tried to filter its way into that dank, dark cellar.

The door creaked open. Its hinges were in dire need of a good oiling.

The person at the door spoke not a word. Instead, a single dish slid in. Its contents consisted of a water porridge, the smell itself not at all appealing. It seemed rather bland, just by scent.

Aldous felt himself rousing at the creaks, and the subtle noises of that day. His head still spun, he could tell that the blow to the back of his head had been a severe one. He hoped he didn’t have a concussion. At least he was a bit more alert this morning.

The room was still cold. He let out a strange noise. It was half a wheeze, half a whimper. His sides were still sore and aching from the previous night’s kicking. He had fallen asleep curled in on himself, and that only agitated his bruises that were surely forming by now.

Sucking in his breath, he braced himself before he began to stretch out. He had to warm up, get his limbs going. He had to get the blood flowing. He felt too… cold. Yes, he was cold, and it disturbed him. He may have liked the cold, but this was a different sort of chill. It was the chill of apprehension.

He groaned. What a lousy night’s worth of sleep that was. But had he even slept? He doubted it. Probably had only gotten an hour, tops. Clearing his throat, he tested how sore his throat was that morning. He tried to speak, as if to see if he still could. With a grunt, he spoke his name quietly under his breath. A test. Yes, he could speak, but his voice was an odd rasp. Hoarse. Obviously he knew what had happened; screaming most of the night, trying to make noise for someone to hear him, had taken a toll on his vocal chords.

Aldous glanced over at the dish on the floor. Made of metal, its sides and edges were pockmarked with dents. It’d seen better days, that’s for sure. His mind flitted back to the base, but with his dry sense of humor still intact he imagined some Soldier using it as shooting practice. It looked as if it had been used in a target range.

Sitting up where he was, the bruised and sore doctor fixated his attention on that dish. Placated with food. Given sustenance to keep nourished— or at least nourished enough to not starve. He knew men like Rand liked to prolong their little projects, especially when it involved subjects they could torture. He wanted to play with Aldous. Having him die of starvation… no, that wouldn’t happen. Not at first, at least.

Despite knowing Rand’s intentions, he glanced around the dish. To the left, and to the right, nothing. No utensils. Of course. Rand was an intelligent sonofabitch. He wouldn’t be given anything that he could possibly use to aid him in some sort of hackneyed escape.

As if to be traitorous to the captive man, Aldous’s stomach growled. He let out a long, lifeless sigh. That wasn’t something that he had wanted. He didn’t want to show any sort weakness, but he supposed he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t had anything proper to eat, not since yesterday morning. Weakness or not, he couldn’t help but let his attention gravitate back towards the dish. He glared at the porridge as if it were a loathsome, disgusting slug. He sat there, defiantly resisting his hunger. He couldn’t trust it. It was probably poisoned. Not enough to kill him, no, but probably enough to cause him discomfort. And it wasn’t just the possibility of it being poisoned. It was the idea that he would be eating like a sow from a trough, what with his hands bound and no utensils in sight.

Aldous wasn’t sure if Rand was around. Parts of the room were still so dark, and he wasn’t sure if the man would even stick around. As if testing the waters, he idly drawled out a question.

“No speech today?”

“It’s not poisoned,” came the reply, causing Aldous to jump slightly in surprise. “That wouldn’t be any fun at all, now, would it? I don’t want you dead, Haswell. Not just yet. Things need to happen first. You need to learn. You need to know your place.”

Aldous hadn’t a clue that Rand had been standing there, lurking in the shadows like the beast he was. He was good… real good. If it were a different situation, a different reason for their meeting, perhaps he could find a scrap amount of respect for him. After all, he knew a fellow hunter when he saw one. Sure, he hunted his kind, and Rand was hunting him, but they both were masters at their craft. But Rand… he was the kind of hunter that was a real monster in the trade. True beasts they were. Savage, yet graceful; calculating and menacing, and mad. Oh so mad. Mad… quite like he was.

Rand stood in the shadows, framed in the door slightly. He cut quite an intimidating figure. Still in full uniform, the uniform immaculate in every way possible. Appearances were important to him. Thankfully he’d managed to have a water pump rigged up into this place. It was impossible to find running water anywhere else in this decaying manor. He had to keep himself perfectly clean; his clothes, body, hair, everything. The superior person must conduct himself as such, raised above the dirty rabble. This was his life motto.

"I will note that this meal is what you will have to eat until you eat it. You will not be given fresh food. Even if it gets cold and moldy, you will get no new food until the last food you were given is eaten. You will eat what you are given and be grateful for it."

Aldous hissed under his breath, spitting out a nasty, crude insult in his native tongue. He had wanted to kick the plate over and let his rebellious pride take over, but if this man was speaking the truth, he actually had to eat it. He knew Rand would go through with his threat. Nazis were like this. He knew he couldn’t starve. As much as he wanted to rebel and never bow down to a Nazi, he couldn’t do so if he starved to death. Such a sobering, humiliating thought that was. Perhaps this man was different. He had originally calculated that Rand wouldn’t want him to die, that he’d do everything in his power to keep him alive so the game went on. But if he truly meant those words… he wasn’t dealing with an average killer.

"Oh, and here I thought you’d poison it," Aldous drawled out in his hoarse voice. He raised his head to look at him, to show he wasn’t backing down. That disgusting, filthy uniform. It set his blood to a boiling point. "I’m sure you made it, and put in a lot of love. Sugar, spice, and a good heaping dose of fascism."

He glanced down at the food and scowled. How he hated this. He’d have to eat it, and he was sure this man was just waiting there, wanting to watch him do so. Sick fuck! Just the idea of Rand watching him eat made him ill to his stomach. He’d try to prolong it, just for a while long.

"I suppose even zhe Nazis get a case of voyeurism from time to time.” Aldous shot a nasty glare his way. “Vhat do you want me to do, eat zhe food in a sexual manner? Hmm? You’re waiting around for that? Get aroused by watching someone ‘lesser’ eat like a pig?"

"There is a point to be made here, Haswell. About who is the better and who is the lesser. This needs to be made crystal clear. You need to understand. Once you understand, we can continue. This is only phase one.” The chuckle that came from Rand was dark and malicious, full of ill intentions and mischief.. “Now, I am not a pervert,” he continued, his voice lapsing back into that confident, superior tone he always held. “You, on the other hand… well, you really ARE lucky we never caught you, aren’t you? Because from my observations, you wouldn’t have been sent to jail with the normal folk. No, even a German criminal has more decency than the depravity you’re capable of.

Aldous snorted at his words, listening to him all the way through before replying. “Who is best, and who is lesser?” He gave a sarcastic sort of smile, a glint of hatred in his eyes. “Then get down here and eat. And for your dessert, lick zhe dirt from my boots.” After a chuckle of his own, however, he dropped his cocky attitude. He couldn’t deny it. He realized what Rand was insinuating. Just focusing on what he meant caused his anger to rise. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck, and he made a motion as if to get to his feet. He didn’t, though. He just sat there in front of the food, knowing full well if he got up now he’d only be kicked over. “And just vhat do you mean by that,” he questioned, his tone very much snappish in nature. “Killing Nazis? It makes me worse than a pervert? Vhat kind of ideology is THAT!”

"You want to converse. Let us discourse, then.”

On edge, Aldous watched as Rand strolled into the room, folding his arms. The scan sunlight shone on his back. It gave the Nazi a halo of sorts, giving him the false illusion that he was innocent in the grand scheme of things. Some angel he is. Nazis were not angels. In Aldous’s mind, they were as close to demons as one could get. Walking piles of pestilent filth, scrounged up from the deepest pits of hell.

"Are you a lover of the arts, Haswell? High culture? Opera? … Ballet, that sort of thing?"

That familiar, unsettling smile was there. It never seemed to leave Rand’s face, at least not yet. Such a conniving man he was. He had the epitome of a cat’s smile. He was batting at the mouse, claws sheathed, playing a game. Merely biding his time.

As Rand meandered through his thought process, Aldous began to get a very sick feeling that this won’t end well. The Nazi mentioned that he had been watching him for a long time. He was touching on this subject for a reason. He had some sort of ‘lesson’ to teach him. And by mentioning ballet, well, that’s grabbed his attention. He had a person he cared about related to that art. There wasn’t any denying it, his mind traveled instantly to a familiar face, and a familiar name.

Karl von Blau.

“Vhat if I am a lover of zhe arts? Is it a crime to be a fan?”

“Of course not,” Rand said dismissively with a wave of his hand. “I’m just making light conversation, that’s all. A little something so we can meet on common grounds.”

Bullshit, Aldous thought. He knew there was something to this. There had to be.

Rand rubbed the leather-sheathed knuckles of his left hand against his chest idly. “My family was quite rich, powerful. The von Schwerts enjoyed the finer things, as befitting of the royalty we were.”

Aldous huffed. Rand’s family, the Von Schwerts. Somewhere, in the back of Aldous’s mind, the name sounded familiar. He wasn’t sure, though. His mind played tricks on him often. Age and a mental illness did that to one’s memory. But it wasn’t just that. The war itself had been such a jumbled mess of events that anything he did retain, including names and places, often had a habit of dulling or fading over time.

Had he met this bastard’s family? Had he killed someone who was a part of the party bearing that last name?

“Ah, yes,” Rand continued. “We attended such things quite often. I recall, just a child at the time, being quite bored at a lot of it, yet noting one of the dancers. Such skill he had. Even as a boy I could recognize his talent. He seemed to float, his movements flowing like water.” He sighed softly. “I wondered after what became of him. Imagine my surprise when I found out that amazing dancer had been arrested and sent to Auschwitz for criminal perversion! It really was a terrible shame. Such talent… all wasted on a pervert who lays with men. A sick, common faggot. Such people are scum.”

Aldous had begun to bristle. He had to keep himself calm. In this sort of situation, he couldn’t show his real emotions. Hide them, wear a mask. Keep emotionless despite the rage whirling about inside of his heart. He tried not to focus on his words, despite how hard it was. He wasn’t a religious man, but he knew that the devil could take on many forms. Beautiful, handsome forms with the tongue of a serpent. He could speak such alluringly toxic words, spin webs of lies to lure his prey into traps. He tried to ignore him, as much as he was attempting to ignore the pangs of hunger, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

Sensing Aldous’s discomfort, Rand tilted his head to the side. He widened his smile, adapting an innocent tone as he asked him, “don’t you agree?”

No. Aldous couldn’t keep calm. It was apparent that Rand was talking about Karl von Blau, one of his dearest and closest friends. He considered the Medic to be akin to him, like a brother he never had. Ironically, his twin thought the same. They had an unofficial brother, unrelated by blood, bonds incredibly tight. Anger flared within him. It welled up, broiling and frothing far beyond his boiling point. He turned to look at him, the slurr ringing in his ears. Clenching his jaw, a look of feral rage passed over his facial features.

"Don’t you DARE speak of him in such a manner,” he snarled. “He is more of a man than you’d EVER be!"

"Oh, so you know him?” Rand had perfected the look of an aloof surprise. He used it now, studying Aldous’s face. He witnessed the rage building up; he could see it flickering behind the man’s eyes in the form of a passionate flame. “He lived, then? Pity. His kind are grotesque abominations, preying on decent people. There are no place for them in civilized society.”

Without missing a beat Rand strode on over to his captive victim, getting closer and closer with each uncomfortably precise step. His boots clicked against the floor with purpose. Aldous braced himself for some sort of reaction. He knew that by speaking out before, he had begun to process of steadily tapping a nail into the structure of his own coffin. He was going to throw himself into the grave the more he lashed out like this, but Karl was one of the handful of friends he had. He didn’t have many in this strange life of his. He didn’t have many he could count on and trust wholly. Yes, he’d even die for the man. Loyal to the end to those who didn’t think he was some sort of homicidal mad doctor, Aldous Haswell would do anything for those he cared about. If that meant taking a blow of punishment due to honoring a friend’s name, so be it.

Sure enough, he was punished for the outlash. A hand slapped hard across his, leather giving the strike an extra amount of pain.

Rand slapped Aldous a total of three times, each one in quick succession and each one harder than the last.

"I told you before,” the vicious man coolly commented, his tone flat, even and calm. “You will not speak to me that way. I can say what I please. You will not question, and if you disagree, you will hold your tongue."

Aldous hadn’t taken the slaps well, and the second one had driven him to the floor. His head had even hit the concrete flooring, and the impact alone jarred him. He had had too much trauma to his head now that even the smallest blow would cause him to lose a grasp on his senses.

Rage. Uncontrollable, unfathomable, undeniable rage rampaged through his body, running through his veins. It surged up his throat into a scream. The scream quickly evolved into an unholy shriek that drove his heart into a frenzied tattoo.

"DON’T YOU EVER FUCKING CALL HIM THAT," he howled, kicking out with his legs. Aldous was desperate, this much was true, but he knew his aim would be precise. He would strike Rand’s legs. His intentions were obvious. He wanted the scum down on the ground. He wanted him on his level, in his territory. Aldous wanted to see him in this sad state of affair, crumpled on the ground so he could stomp on his face. Beak his nose, break his jaw… break everything. His hands were bound, but he could still attack. He could still be a force to be reckoned with.

He was a Haswell: he’d never give up.

The kick did indeed connect with Rand’s shin, the force strong enough to cause him to stumble slightly. The young man yelped in pain. How that smarted! Backing up, he hissed vehemently as he rubbed it. His handsome face is twisted in a grimace of pain and fury. This common cretin had actually touched him! Had actually hurt him, caused him pain!

"I hope you enjoyed that,” Rand threatened, his voice finally dipping down into a dark tone. “I hope you enjoyed it greatly. Because you are about to be VERY sorry for it.”

Turning on his heel, Rand briskly exited the room. He was limping slightly, the blow obviously stinging him, a nagging echo of the hit he had taken from that beast.

Turning on his heel, Rand briskly exited the room. He was limping slightly, the blow obviously stinging him, a nagging echo of the hit he had taken from that beast. For a while heavy silence reigned supreme over that dark, vast cellar. The captive, the darkness. The damp stone floor, the dusty casks. The bowl of porridge, the scant rays of morning sun…

The silence was different than the typical silence one might experience on a cool, autumn morning, when the world was still slumbering and resting peacefully. This type of silence took on a malevolent form, the ambiguous, loathsome, invisible form taking on the appearance of a question. The question was what would happen when Rand returned. What would he do to Aldous when he came back?

Aldous sat back up, pain still stinging him. His cheek and face was rather red, but he didn’t care. That kick… oh, yes, Rand, he had enjoyed it. It was quite clear on his face. His savage, triumphant grin and the mania dancing in his eyes belayed the fact that he was quite pleased in what he had accomplished. He had connected with Rand, a blow struck upon his leg. Though it didn’t do much, it was proof. Proof that this Nazi scum was just like everyone else, just like all the other Nazis that he had hunted in his past. Yes, he was human. Because of this, he could be brittle and frail and flawed in quite a few categories. He could be broken just as easily as he was being broken.

Now he just had to figure out where his weaknesses were, and he might be able to survive this ordeal.

The hissing threat was noted, however, and Aldous knew he probably bit off a little more than he could chew. But he was a Haswell, dammit. He would not be caged without a fight. His family line was tough. Why, his brother, Abelärd…

Wait. His brother!

Merely thinking of Abelärd caused him quite a considerable amount of stress.

As he sat there, alone and back in the darkness, he wondered where his brother was. He wondered if he was alright, if everything was okay. As much as he swore up and down that he didn’t care about his twin, he honestly did. He found much of Abelärd’s habits and idiosyncrasies irritating, but he was his brother. He was the only remaining intermediate family member he had left. Those that remained in the family had moved off to other lands, other lives. But not him. Abelärd was always there for him, through thick and thin, and he found that he was bitterly missing him.

Yes, Abelärd was always there for him. He even made Aldous’s medication. Typical medication wasn’t enough, so Abelärd invented a concoction that used the benefits of what MannCo had to provide. It proved to be potent, enough to keep Aldous in a calm mindset. It may have prompted his dry, deadpan personality at times, but he was better off for it.

Abelärd provided him his medication. Without it…

Fear rose like a snake, ready to strike when Aldous least expected it. In an attempt to calm himself down, he tried to eat, doing so quite carefully. He truly didn’t want to get dirty. Well, not as dirty as he already was. Clothes ripped, dirt smudges masking some of his bruises… no, he just had to eat. He didn’t want to think about Rand’s threat. He didn’t want to think about what would happen when he’s off of his medication for too long.

Just don’t think. Just don’t… think!

Roughly fifteen minutes later Rand returned. That familiar clicking of the boots had alerted Aldous to his arrival. It did please him that Rand was still suffering from the blow.

He was walking as precisely as he could, but it was obvious that he hadn’t fully recovered. The leather of his boot had protected his shin somewhat, but the kick had been very hard. It still hurt. He tried not to let that show, though. Never show the lessers your weakness, your pain. Never show the beasts your emotions.

The most disturbing thing about Rand, though, was his face. His face was a mask. No expression, not even a flicker of rage behind those beautiful blue eyes. Instead, his eyes were frigid cold, as if the winds of winter had iced over his soul. Jaw clenched a bit behind his lips, his trademark smile had seemingly escaped him.

This wasn’t good. Aldous kept eye contact with him, not at all daring to look away. He kept calm as his abuser approached him. Flicking his gaze briefly down towards his captor’s hands, he took note of what could possibly become a bad situation made worse. In one hand Rand held a riding crop. It’s an object familiar to Aldous. Not only used by some Soldiers on the field, it was also used in certain intimate games. Not that he had a sex life, though. Women just didn’t stay with him long. He didn’t blame them, though. He was an old codger, a nasty and bitter man who was flawed too deeply that his heart couldn’t be ensnared. He hadn’t found a woman who could love him, and continue loving him long term. It always felt odd being in their presence. There had always been something missing, something out of place, and he—

A snap of leather, a rush of blood.

Aldous winced. He hadn’t been struck, but the noise itself had startled him. His train of thought had instantly vanished. It was clear, from the indication of Rand’s eyes, that he didn’t share that thought process at all. It was very clear that pleasure was the furthest thing from his intent. Rand wouldn’t dream of using that instrument of pain for anything else but torture.

With a twist of the riding crop, Rand let the ghostly remains of his smile flicker back to life for just a second. In that brief span of time he allowed Aldous time to let the sight of what he had, and the realization of what would happen, to sink in.

Rand rushed over and immediately began to whip his captive. There was no method or precision. Just strike after strike, he lashed out at his captive hard enough to tear through clothes, cause welts, and to draw blood.

Aldous cried out in agony, but Rand didn’t reply. He didn’t say a single word. He just kept whipping, each strike more vicious than the last.

As the onslaught continued, he tried in vain to suppress his screams of agony. He could only do so much keeping quiet. Every so often, after a particularly strong flogging lash, he’d find himself crying out in pain. He tried to kick out at him a few times, tried to fight back despite his hands still being bound, but it didn’t work. With each cry that penetrated the air his vocal chords suffered. Eventually they sounded ragged and hoarse. Based on the sound alone, one could wonder if the poor man’s throat was being ripped into.

In his mind it had been worth it. Standing up to Rand had been worth the flogging. Or, at least it was worth it in the beginning. By now, as his cries died away, he wondered if it was still worth his action of defiance. He felt his shirt get torn in yet another place, and he could feel some more blood as it trickled down his now exposed skin. It welled beneath what clothing remained intact. Yes, he wondered if it was it worth it. Was it worth everything?

A pained and defeated whimper escaped Aldous’s lips as he came to the conclusion: yes, it had been worth it. To honor Karl’s name, yes. The pain was worth his transgression. However, being worth it or not, he couldn’t endure it much longer. He felt himself slipping. No way could he pass out now. He had to stop Rand, to keep him from whipping, if only for a minute or two.

His mind began to process ideas beyond the hazy fog of pain that muddled his thought process. He had to figure out how to get him to stop!

And then it hit him.

"Halt," Aldous croaked out in German. He had nearly curled in on himself, trying to minimize what Rand could strike at. It was a smart maneuver. He was also attempting to shield his face, despite the action being quite moot. His hands were behind his back, still bound. "Bitte, halt…"

Rand paused. Blood dripped from the leather loop. His face was mostly devoid of emotion as he pondered over his captive’s words. “And why should I stop,” he asked in a crisp, taunt tone. “Explain this to me. I want to hear it. I’m ever so curious.”

“Bitte…”

Rand folded his arms, his nostrils flaring subtly from rush of adrenaline and rage he had felt, just moments before. He remained still, allowing Aldous to speak. He was giving him the mercy of speaking before the next volley of blows. Loop loosely held in his hands, his reflexes were still on his mind. He could lash out quickly at the drop of a dime. He could begin again at any second, and he would do so if this cretin didn’t speak up.

"Why,” the Nazi whispered, his tone soft and coo-like despite the steely edge to his words. “As vile-tongued and defiant as you have been, tell me: why do you feel you don’t deserve any more punishment?"

Aldous laid there, gasping and panting. He was gulping in as much air as he could, trying to ignore that familiar ache in his ribs. He felt colder now, much colder. He became all too aware of the chill creeping in from outside. It didn’t help that he could also feel some blood underneath him. It formed a pool, soaking into his clothes and dampening his spirits further. He felt a few particular fat streams of the crimson fluid dripping from some of his more severe wounds.

For a moment, perhaps only a minute, Aldous just laid there trying to catch his breath. The pain was overwhelming. He felt sick, weak, and frail. These sensations and emotions were things that he hated. He hated being so weak that something effected him so wholly that he caved in on himself. He was a combat medic! He could dish out pain, and he could take it. Why couldn’t he take it now? Perhaps it was the type of pain, or the way it was inflicted onto him. After all, he was certain a rib or two was cracked, and he had lost quite a bit of blood by now. He couldn’t even move without wanting to cry. He wouldn’t, though. He couldn’t cry in front of this man, this scum-sucking leech.

He knew he had to answer, though, that much was certain. He could he the soft tapping of Rand’s boot. He was getting impatient, and when a Nazi got impatient nothing ended right. If he didn’t answer, the onslaught would continue, and he wouldn’t last. He was already on the verge of blacking out.

"Listen," he gasped out, squeezing his eyes shut. He could feel them misting over. What could he do? What could he do? “Listen to me. Hear me out.”

“I’m waiting.”

Karl, Aldous desperately thought. Please forgive me for what I’m about to say.

The wounded man steeled himself mentally before taking that first step. Once he opened his mouth, there was no going back. He would speak those unforgivable words, and he’d lie through his teeth in an attempt to spare himself some more torture.

"I…understand vhat you mean. And I…”

“Yes?”

“I agree with you.”

“No you don’t.”

His heart came to a screeching halt. Aldous managed to keep quite a good poker face going, but inside his insides turned to sludge. Rand knew he was lying. Heck, even he knew it was a dead giveaway that he was lying. But he had to try it. Something, anything! He couldn’t take anymore.

“You’re trying to save your own skin.” Rand snapped the riding crop, and he smiled pleasantly as he saw the subtle flinch of the brave but battered man before him. Raising the bloodstained instrument of pain up, he paused. “But… I do like your tone better,” he admitted, lowering it once more, tapping his palm with the loop. “I am the one with the whip. I am the one with the keys to the cellar. You are, effectively, at my mercy. Your attitude thus far will only serve, if continued, to lead you to a long, slow, miserable, pain-filled demise. IF I choose to let you die.”

Of course, Aldous thought. A true Nazi, that he was. He had a perfect pedigree, this much was certain. He was also well trained. Well trained, heartless, willing to do anything just to get his way. He was an intelligent viper, and he was slowly poisoning Aldous in his death grip.

Rand drew a finger rather lovingly over the bloody loop before touching it to his tongue. “But that can change. I can be kinder to you. You do not deserve kindness, as traitorous, murdering scum, but I can be kinder. If, and only if, you learn the lessons given you.” A small chuckle, a flash of his sickeningly charming smile. The crop was tapped thrice upon his palm, a clear warning to his captured beast. “Now, apologize. Apologize for disrespecting and wounding your better.”

Swallowing some of the blood and bile in his mouth, Aldous attempted to sit up. He couldn’t. His body wouldn’t allow it. Far too languid, and in far too much pain to do anything about it, he merely looked at the man with a withering glare of defiance. That glare faltered, though, as his mind played tricks on him. No… was it playing tricks on him? Or was he seeing the real version to this scare-tale?

For a brief moment he stared in abject horror. Paralyzed and rooted in spot, he just stared at Rand’s face, at how he was enjoying the taste of blood. However, he wasn’t seeing his captor in that uniform. Like gazing through the cracked and warped side of a looking glass, he was seeing himself.

Shutting his eyes tight, he willed the image away. The two of them had that much in common. It was schadenfreude, though. That’s what their connection was. They both enjoyed watching the pain of heir victims. Rand’s victims were different, though. As for Aldous’s…

"I’m… sorry," Aldous said as he risked another glance at him. "I am sorry for disrespecting you, and…wounding you." The words seemed lifeless. Rather ashamed at himself, he couldn’t believe he was giving in. How pathetic. Yet he had to do what he had to do in order to survive. Live a little longer and he might just find himself finding a way to escape this hellhole.

"Good. I will consider accepting your apology." He glanced at the empty dish.

"And you ate as well. I’m pleased.” Rubbing his gloved hands together, he gazed down his nose at the bloodied brute before him. “Now, as promised, with good behavior comes rewards. But make no mistake- betray my goodwill and you will live to regret it."

At least I will live, Aldous had wanted to say. He bit his tongue on that one though. His rebellious side wasn’t that naive enough to speak it out loud.

A small knife was drawn. Rand approached Aldous. Watching his prey back up a bit, a little terrified, brought a sense of satisfaction to him. He had lost all of his rebellious demeanor. He had become a scared young man, the same young man who was terrified as the troops marched down his street, decades in the past. Not so high and mighty now, are you, Nazi hunter?

Moving around to his captive’s back, Rand took the knife and swiftly cut the bonds.

Instantly, upon feeling that his hands were freed, Aldous began rubbing his wrists. The flesh had been cut into, the skin was irritated by the rope burns he endured. He winced at the pain as he flexed his fingers. He didn’t feel any straining, any indication that his bones or ligaments suffered damage.

"I’ll bring some bedding for you later,” Rand said, moving back around to properly face Aldous. “Just so you need not sleep on the hard floor. I’m sure you haven’t been enjoying the stone flooring at night. Gets rather cold, does it not?”

Kindness. Rand was a true madman. Punishment and kindness. Of course the kindness and caring was laced with arsenic. Indeed, this man was a true foe, the kind Aldous would have gleefully hunted down so many years ago. But now the tables were turned, the situations were reversed. Though Aldous never kept one as a captive, he could surmise it’d be similar to this, if not worse.

Bedding. Aldous looked at him, wearily, as he continued rubbed his wrists. He could just lay there, exhausted, not caring about moving at all. It dawned on him that he was akin to a dog, now. Tormented and broken, he was to be trained and brainwashed, treated as lowly as a flea bitten mongrel until the ends of his days. That is, if he didn’t slip out of his leash and escape first.

“Do you see what cooperation gets you? Now, I imagine those welts sting quite a bit. I’ll leave you to recover, and to think on what just transpired. Good day.”

At that Rand took his leave, locking the door behind him.

“Rand, wait!”

Aldous’s voice falls on deaf ears as the door clicked shut. Hitting his knee with a balled up fist, blood smearing on his torn pants. The medic cursed under his breath as fear slowly built up once more. He could feel himself slipping, that familiar creep of an oncoming attack. He needed his medication. Somehow he had to get Rand to give it to him. He couldn’t go without it, as much as he hated to admit that he needed it.

Rubbing his face, he allowed his shoulders to slouch and for his stress to manifest in the form of a soft sigh. He was showing weakness, but that was alright. The darkness and that one shaft of light were his only witnesses.

——-

Hours passed sluggishly by as the temperature steadily began to dip. The shaft of light had passed over the cellar as the sun moved distantly in the sky. It had just begun to grow dark outside when Rand made his return. He carried a very large sack and a covered dish. His whip was at his hip, ready to be seized and used to strike with at a moment’s notice.

By the time of his tormentor’s return, Aldous had recovered only partly from the earlier whipping episode. He looked horrible. He could barely move without wincing or flinching seeing as the soreness had set in. He had taken the time to inspect himself, taking note of all the bruises and cuts that he had acquired over the past… what was it now? Hours, days? Weeks? He was losing track of time, and for the first time in his life he wished he wore a watch regularly

"Stay where you are."

Aldous didn’t seem to disobey Rand this time. In fact, he seemed rather obedient. It wasn’t that he was giving in to the man’s commands. He was just too sore to get up and move around. He was rather content to sit on the floor, right where he was.

Rand emptied the sack. A familiar smell was noted, and one could be reminded of a well kept barn. Indeed, a large pile of clean straw fell out. Along with it tumbled out a pair of blankets. The colors of the material were faded, and they were frayed on the edges. They were still serviceable, though far from fine quality. As if to make it look a little more respectable, Rand positioned the blankets so that they were laid out on top of the pile.

When the straw was put down, Aldous made a face. Thankfully Rand didn’t see it, or else he would be in quite a bit of trouble. He was mentally making more connections to sows. We was being made to live like one, eating and, now, sleeping in that sort of fashion. In normal situations, he’d be fighting tooth and nail against this. He knew, later, he would. Right now, no, he was simply biding his time. After all, he found himself more and more interested in the situation. He wanted to see what he would do. Call it merely a sense of morbid curiosity. He was a man of experimentation, after all.

The dish that was set beside the straw had an appetizing smell this time around. Clearly, just by scent alone, it wasn’t another bowl of porridge. Anything, of course, would be better than that. What the dish contained was far better than any watery slop dished out to prisoners. It was a piece of chicken schnitzel and some egg noodles. Utensils were nowhere in sight, but at least Aldous could eat with his hands and not solely his mouth. A little more dignified that way, and he wouldn’t feel like some low bred barn raised sow. Rand was rather kind, too: the food was not hot, but not stone cold. Like the blankets, the food was serviceable. Nothing more.

"There you are,” Rand said, turning around to face his captured prey. Raising an eyebrow, he had the air of expecting something. It was as if he were waiting on some sort of exclamation. He drummed his fingers on his whip as he sharply added, “supper and a bed, as I promised."

The food smelled good. Aldous wouldn’t deny that. This was a mocking gesture of generosity. Still, it wasn’t something he’d expect, coming from a madman like Rand. He’d eat it, that’s for sure. He felt starved. Maybe he was. At this point he forgot when he last had a decent meal. He rarely ate as it was, he usually just snacked here and there as he worked on base, but he often himself himself missing meals altogether. He should be used to not eating, but for some reason he had become all too aware of the hunger pangs.

Eying the food, Aldous didn’t even seem to care that Rand had refused to leave the room. He knew the man would watch him humiliate himself by eating with his hands. Screw it, let him watch! He didn’t mind one bit. Rand wouldn’t poison it, not yet. A man like him would wait quite a while before killing his source of fun. Eat to live another day, yes… eat to gain strength to fight this battle.

He may have quietly took the plate, but without hesitation he ravenously tore into the chicken. If he had to live like a beast, he might as well make the most of it. After all, he was the monster of Coldfront, wasn’t he? Time to live up to the title a little bit, and to have fun with it. Perhaps eating without manners would gross Rand out. He’d actually like that.

After a few minutes, Aldous glanced up at Rand. He was almost finished with his food, so if the man took this as a cue to take his dish away, he wouldn’t be too upset. But no, he was allowed to keep his food. Rand didn’t approach him. He continued to stand there, stiff as a board, his blue eyes boring into his own. He was a master hunter, a well groomed feline staring down its mousy prey.

By now, it was known that Rand would often wear a mask. Even when he smiled, which he did often, he smiled without the giveaway signs of any emotions. He had perfected this form, seeming aloof or distant, eternally cold without and devoid of feeling. Now, however, he had a major crack in his mask. He looked impatient., even borderline angry. His hand was clutched around the handle of his whip, fingers tense. The crop had been taken out of its holster, and Rand was currently tapping it into his open palm. Those eyes. Oh, those startling, beautifully cold eyes. They were fixed on Aldous, flickering with rage.

To Rand, it was obvious what should have happened. He was expecting a show of gratitude. Why, he’d gone out of his way to cook a proper meal! Out of the goodness of his heart, he was making sure he was being nourished. He even brought him a bed! The scum didn’t deserve any of that. He didn’t deserve a single thing. Aldous should be tripping over himself to show him thanks… and yet he wasn’t.

Rand would give him another few moments to correct this oversight before he corrected it for him.

Aldous, of course, noted the anger. It was hard to miss. Rand, up until now, had a very chilly sort of aura about him. But now he simply radiated rage. From how stiff he was, to the tapping of the crop, everything about him gave away the fact that he was furious about something. Curious about the situation, Aldous furrowed his brow. He studied Rand’s face for a moment before calmly asking a question that had been just underneath the surface of this turbulent, murky affair.

"…who did I kill in your family?"

He had spoken in such an odd tone. He wasn’t being mocking or haughty. He wasn’t rubbing anything into Rand’s face. It was a tone of realization, of utter understanding. Paying full attention to what Rand would do next, he put the remaining dregs of his chicken down on the plate. Expression curious, he placed his hands in his lap, showing that he wasn’t in an aggressive mood at all. He was quite the opposite, actually: he was calm.

"Is that what you think this is about? Is that why you think I do this to you?”

“I’m not quite sure,” he replied. “Tell me.”

Rand began to approach him. The familiar and chilling clicking of the jackboots echoed in that spare cellar. The whip is still in his hand, gripped tightly and ready to be used. His smile warped into a sneer as he began to speak.

"No one, for your information. My family was forced to scatter after the war. We had to run for our lives, like common peasants. My father, my noble, courageous father, a Kommandant, was hung like a common criminal. I have only the uniform you see before you of him, which was not even his principal. All of his medals he earned, lost. No. You did not kill any of my kin, to my knowledge." Pacing around Aldous, his face twisted into a feral snarl. His mask had been totally abandoned. "You didn’t NEED to. You murdered and deceived upstanding Germans. Men of rank and power. You’re nothing more than a common serial killer. You are no hero, no noble man. You are disgusting. You deserve to be killed yourself for your crimes.”

“Crimes? Enlighten me.”

“Crimes of betrayal toward the Reich and to Germany herself! You’re even worse than the traitors who tried to shelter the sewage we were trying to rid the Fatherland of.”

Abelärd. This bastard was referring to his brother!

Aldous continued to keep his emotions calm and under control. For the moment he felt clearheaded, and he wanted to keep a hold of that as much as he could. Giving Rand a steely gaze, his typical scowl became a neutral grimace. It was hard not to get angry at what he just said. He felt a flare of emotions, the urge to protect his twin’s good name

Abelärd Haswell had converted his home into a small doctor’s office. It was a walk in clinic for minor ailments. Runny noses, a cold— that sort of thing. But that had more or less been a facade. What it really was was a pit stop for those who needed shelter, and a place to stay. The mere idea of a clinic gave many of those outcast by society a way to pretend that they were merely getting treatment. Those that hid secrets well could come during the day. Those that were terrified for their life came under the guise of night.

It had lasted quite a while. Abelärd had taken care of quite a lot of people before he fell under suspicion of housing degenerates. Under fire, his house was stormed one night and his dog had been killed attempting to protect him. No one had been found, it seemed that the rumors had been false. Charges were not dropped totally, just changed. He had resisted orders to open the door, and had not worked with the police. He had resisted them as much as he could, and he was labeled as a nuisance and a traitor. In order to clear his name, and keep himself from being jailed, he had to work for the army as a battlefield medic. He had to prove his loyalty in doing so, working for his people and fighting against the allies.

It killed him to this day that he couldn’t continue helping people, and that he had to work for the very war he was against.

Nostrils flaring slightly, Aldous sighed. He couldn’t get mad. He couldn’t fall for the bait. His brother had been insulted, and he had to let the sleeping dog lie.

"A serial killer, perhaps," Aldous agreed, his tone as placid and calm as his demeanor. He knew that what he did was bad. He murdered and mutilated, maimed and massacred any Nazi he could get his hands on. He knew how to cover his tracks. He often made the murders look like accidents. Time had made him crafty and dangerous, it had bred him into a fine soldier and an even better killer. So, of course, he wouldn’t deny that he was in fact a serial killer. The thing that set him apart from Rand, though, was that he killed in order to keep the innocent safe. He sought revenge for those who had been unfairly outcast and tormented. Someone like Rand… he did it for the opposite reason.

“Yes,” Rand said, his tone still vicious. “You were a serial killer! And you still are. A common criminal!”

"Rather humiliating, isn’t it? To be talking to a betrayer of zhe Reich, of our beloved fatherland.” He couldn’t help but laugh. This was hilarious. “You, conversing with a serial killer who hunted your kind… and who is still alive.” Aldous smiled at him, a diabolical glint in his eyes. “Went so long without being caught. But if that is zhe case,” he said, raising a single finger to put emphasis on what he was about to say, “if that is indeed zhe case… why on earth are you just keeping me here as a pet and not making an example of me to boost zhe morale of zhe remains of your precious Reich? Isn’t that vhat your kind does? Hmmm? You said I should be killed. So, why haven’t you killed me? I’m sure your little game of cat and mouse can only go so far!”

Rand heard that laugh. From the moment he did, everything went red. It didn’t show right away- a flash in his eye, a tremble slowly working upward from his shoes to his cap. The sound of his captive’s voice came in hideous screeches and whines to his ears.

The rage finally broke. It came forth in a plume of flame in the shape of a young man wielding a whip. He struck across the face first. The face, then the chest, the arms… he struck at anything he can reach. Fury made his strikes hit harder. What’s left of the meal was kicked over and scattered, but Rand didn’t see it. He didn’t see much of anything but the color red. Once he saw it, he wanted to see more of it. More… more, more! More red spilled from this worthless excuse for a human being!

"DON’T YOU LAUGH,” Rand screamed, his face getting quite red. Spittle flew from his mouth as his rage hit a new all time peak. “DON’T YOU DARE LAUGH AT ME! FILTH! SCHWEIN! DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING LAUGH! AUFHÖREN ZU LACHEN, SCHWEINHUND!”

The first strike got him good across the face. Aldous gasped at it, his glasses flying free. He heard them clink against the flooring, and he hoped the lenses hadn’t been smashed. That wasn’t the least of his problem, though. He felt the skin on his cheek get lashed open. Blood flew as he turned his head, ducking it in an attempt to save himself from any more facial blows. He couldn’t afford to get his face anymore scarred up. He couldn’t afford to lose any more of his eyesight. Being blind in one eye was bad enough!

He refuses to cry out this time. He doubted his vocal chords would allow it, anyway. His voice was still so hoarse, rather raspy in comparison to how he normally sounded. He stayed silent during the beating, the vicious whipping. He wouldn’t dare give this man any sort of satisfaction from hearing him groan in pain.

He was blacking out, though. He had lost quite a lot of blood during the days he spent, here, in captivity. With no relief in sight, he knew he was going to pass out soon enough.

“Kehheh… hehh…”

Rand paused, if only for a moment. Irritated at the laughter once more, he snapped out a hostile, “what’s so funny?”

His voice shaking from pain, Aldous croaked out an amused, “you…actually went back on your words.”

Raising the crop once more, Rand brought it down as he replied, “and just what were they?”

In a split second, Aldous made up his mind. He lashed out with his hand, reaching out to grab onto the man’s wrist. Rand was speechless; the man attempted to jerk his hand free, but he was surprised at the strength his captive display.

"You said that you would never speak our language to me."

His face getting red once more, Rand growled out, “that I did.”

Feeling some weakness in his grip, Aldous tried to keep Rand’s hand at bay. He was too weak to do anything else but temporarily halt the whipping. Her spat out some blood, his grimace a disgusted sneer. He felt his grip loosen. His hand uselessly fell back down to his side.

Rand’s wrist was free. He could continue whipping at any moment, and yet he didn’t. He stared down at his bloodied subject, watching his chest rise and fall raggedly. Slumped over and uncomfortable, his prey was just asking for the final assault.

But he didn’t.

“Just kill me,” Aldous groaned, frustration lining his own words. “Kill me. Get it done with. Stop playing with a half-dead corpse. If you don’t kill me, my illness will. I’d rather die by hands that are not my own.”

Rand leaned down. His voice was a low hiss. “You’ll wish I had. You’ll dearly wish I had. No. You will not die. You will suffer. You will break. You will wish for death a thousand times before I allow it for you!”

Swinging his arm harshly, Rand tossed Aldous none too gently onto the straw bed. The force was considerable enough to jar Aldous. The poor man barely realized he had been tossed in the first place. He coughed and hacked, more bloody spittle flying. His lip had been cut during the whipping.

"How much you suffer and how soon I kill you depends on you. And for the record… when I bring you something nice, you THANK me, you ungrateful wretch.”

"You’ll wish you had killed me," Aldous said, his voice rasping and shaky. He slowly sat up, some straw sticking to the bloodied, damp splotches found on his torn clothes. “If you’ve been paying attention to me for so long, as you’ve said you have, you’ll have realized I have a mental illness."

Rand eyed him. He wasn’t quite sure where this was going, but he wasn’t about to have him get one upped by a vile cretin such as Aldous. “Yes? And your point?”

"I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Aldous mumbled under his breath, his tone desperate and honest. Flicking his gaze up at Rand, he found himself clenching his fists. “If I relapse, I can’t control myself. I hallucinate. I experience vertigo, paranoia… and I become irrational and hostile. I temporarily lose myself.” He raised his voice, near to a panic. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Not even you. Not even you, a gottverdamnt Nazi deserves that.”

Flashes of a soldier dressed in a BLU uniform tumbled through his head. Jane Doe. Yes, he remembered him. How could he forget? The lover of his brother. As much as he found the man irritating and annoying, the soldier had a heart of gold. He suffered from the same mental illness that he did, and Aldous felt an odd sort of kinship with his friend-enemy.

Jane had endured quite a bit in his life, but he remembered a time when the soldier suffered mightily at his hands during one of his biggest relapses of all time. He vowed to never let that happen. As much as he hated how the medication dulled who he was… he needed it.

“I need my medication,” Aldous whispered. “I can’t go long without it.”

“You don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Rand laughed. It was hardly sympathetic. In fact it sounded quite cruel and bitter, sarcastic with mirth. Here he had a serial killer in his clutches. A killer, a traitor, a man known for mad blood lust, and he was pleading with him, saying that he didn’t want to hurt anyone?

Still… he was loathe to admit that the man had a point. Rand didn’t want to have to deal with the unpredictability of Aldous during a relapse. He had provisions for that, but it wouldn’t be much fun… for an extended period.

Defensive at the laughter, Aldous hissed out, “yes, I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to be sick!”

"Alright,” Rand conceded. “I suppose I could be persuaded to get you your precious medicine.”

Aldous felt his hopes rise a peg. He looked at Rand, fully surprised. “On one condition.”

His hope sank like lead. “Of course,” Aldous said, his tone flat and rather deadpan. “Always just one condition. And vhat is it?”

“Come with me,” Rand said as he strode across the room, grabbing Aldous’s arm in order to lead him. His grip was far from gentle, and the man winced in response to it. “Do not try to run. Do not try to attack me. I would rather not shoot you like a dog, but so help me, I will. I will shoot you in the stomach. It will take you days to die. It will be painful. I am sure, as a doctor, you know this.”

Oh, he knew it. He was well are of what it was like to die with a gunshot wound to his stomach. He died of one recently, a few weeks back. A Scout had used his pistol on him. Unfortunately, Alexei Rosencoff found him before he died and respawn kicked in. The poor Russian had felt so guilty for not protecting him when it wasn’t even his fault. He couldn’t be everywhere during a battle. He didn’t know anything of that sort was happening to him.

Alexei…

How funny it was. He hadn’t been gone long— or so he thought— and already he was reliving so many old memories, and missing far too many people. Far too many that his bitter and soured heart was struggling to keep up with the emotions.

"If it is as you say,” Rand said, interrupting the medic’s thoughts, “and this errand takes me longer than I’d like, I do not want to return to a loosed madman. It would be foolish of me not to take… precautions.”

“Of course,” he managed to drawl out, his tone still lacking any sort of emotional response. He was rather bitter at being called a madman, though. He wasn’t a madman, he just had a mental illness.

“Come.”

“I’m going as fast as I can!”

~~~~~~

Rand lead the older man out a heavy door. It seemed as if it had been added recently, the newest thing in that old, rotting place. The door was made out of a thick metal, installed for security reasons. All too obvious that Rand had prepared ahead for this whole ordeal.

There was a large landing outside. A pair of stairs lead upwards, with one on the opposite side leading down.

Rand coerced his subject to go down with him.

It was apparent that they were descending into a sub-basement. It was the deepest, lowest part of the mansion, and judging by how long the staircase was it had been built underneath a swathing patch of woods nearby. The mountainous region got bitterly cold this time of year. If the cellar was any indication of how poorly heated the lower bowels of the mansion was, then the fate of the sub-basement would be worse. It’d be freezing down there.

Not only was it much colder, but it was damp and dank. It smelled of mildew, of rot. Whether the rot was of a carcass or of the woodwork of the entire building, who knew. One could easily felt buried alive.

No windows were visible, meaning there wasn’t any real sources of light. The darkness was all encompassing, smothering and stamping out any sources of light. There was one source of light that managed to cut through the darkness. It was Rand’s heavy flashlight. Its beam glinted over the moisture on the stone walls, causing some dewdrops to glisten like gems in a cave.

It was hard to tell what this sub-cellar was for- finer wine, or the bones of the dead.

Once inside the sub-cellar, Rand let his flashlight dance its beam over the contents of the room.

There, in the back of the room, was an alcove. The door on it looks jarringly new, just like the door from the cellar they had just been in. This door, however, is open. The walls have mattresses attached with and on a hook on the back of the door. On that hook there is something hanging. It looked like a coat of heavy canvas, but Aldous knew otherwise. One glance was all it took to recognize the contraption.

Tightening his grip on his arm, Rand demanded, “Hold out your arms. Now.”

Aldous’s heart started to pick up in a frenzied, frightened pace. He shuddered, finding himself balking in fear. He knew he needed that medication. He needed it, beyond anything else in this world. He wanted freedom of course, he wanted to be back at the base, but he wanted to be healthy. But was his medication worth this?

“That… that is a—”

“As I said,” Rand said, his tone that of a teacher bored with a aloof child. “It would be stupid of me not to take precautions. You don’t want to become a raving madman, and I don’t want one in an uncontrolled environment should I not make it back in time. I will get your medicine, and you will stay somewhere befitting of what you might become.”

Once again, comparing him to a madman! Aldous bristled, if only for a second. His fear took over once he saw Rand take the straightjacket off of the hook. That was the one thing he feared most. Aside from fire, that is. He was scared to death of the thought of being locked up in some asylum, left to rot and to be forgotten.

He couldn’t believe this was happening. No, he knew now that he must have died from that blow to the back of his head, way back when he was piling goods into the company truck. He died, and now he was in hell currently being tortured by some minion of the devil.

His smugness returning, Rand began preparing the jacket. “And perhaps, in the same go, this will teach you a valuable lesson about gratitude. Never think it can’t get any worse, Haswell. It can always get worse. It WILL always get worse. Now hold out your arms before I crack your skull.”

The need for his medication overruled any ill planned snark or response he had to everything said. Letting out a hallowed sigh, Aldous held out his arms. He couldn’t believe he was going through with this. Locked in that room, it would be so degrading to spend even a few minutes in such a state.

But, in the end, what could he do?

“Good.”

Rand took the moment to strap him in, nice and secure. It wasn’t as tight as it could be, thank goodness for small favors, but Aldous was restrained quite securely. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. There! Aldous was bound up, unable to slip out of the jacket.

He shoved his captured prey into the makeshift padded cell, the door slamming shut. Rand’s cold eyes peer through the small rectangular slot near the top.

“There we are. How do the Americans say? Snug as a bug in a rug. Heh. Americans and their ridiculous mottos. Quite amusing, really.” He chuckled for a moment, his voice suddenly adapting a lighthearted and joking lilt to its tone. “Ah, yes… In any case, I am off. Hopefully I’ll return while you’re still sane. It’d really be a bore to just leave you in here raving to yourself until you starved to death.”

Aldous turned himself around, facing the direction the voice was coming from. He glared at the vague outline of the door. It was hard to make out anything in that dark cell, and it would be impossible to do so until his eyes got adjusted. He could make out Rand’s eyes, and he wished he could gouge them out with hot pikes.

“Just come back for me, Rand,” he said, not at all liking that little ‘funny quip’. Yeah, leave him here, raving mad and starving to death. He’d die and haunt his ass, that was for sure. But he also knew a death like that would be a horrid one. All alone and in the dark, wasting away to nothing…

“Oh, I will. I can promise you that. I’m not finished with you by a long way. Don’t think I’m doing you a favor- this is simply to make things easier on me. Being good for you as well is a side effect. Believe me, if your poor crackpot brain could cause you fear and distress without putting me in harm’s way to boot, I wouldn’t be running your errands.” He let out a soft ‘tch’ noise, letting his words hang heavily in the air for a bit. “Anyway. I do hope you’re comfortable. I’ll be back as soon as I’m finished. Enjoy yourself…”

The boots clicked across damp stone flooring of that sub-cellar. A distant door was shut, the resounding thud echoing in that room. The silence reigned supreme, and Aldous was left alone in the dark with nothing but the cold and his thoughts.

It’d been three days at least. Three days, and something didn’t feel right. Alexei Rosencoff, a heavy weapons specialist employed by the MannCo to work for the RED team, couldn’t sleep. During the day he couldn’t concentrate. His performance on the battlefield took a hit without his partner, the medic that promised to be at his side. His mind kept wandering, he couldn’t even take time out of his day to partake of the one hobby he enjoyed the most: gardening. Tending to the flowers in his greenhouse wasn’t as bright and cheery as task as it had been in the past. He’d cut his fingers more than once on his gardening tools, something he rarely did. He knew those tools just as well as he did his guns.

Of course… maybe three days wasn’t a long time to not hear from someone, but Alexei’s gut seldom failed him. It was with this steadily increasing level of worry, this certainty that something wasn’t right, that he went to Coldfront’s administration offices. He didn’t head towards the administrator, though. No. This called for someone else, someone who had experience in such a thing. Namely, to the last resort, the one you went to when there was a problem that transcended traditional Team boundaries.

Alexei had a shaky relationship with the policeman he was about to visit. The friction between the two had been rough from the start. It wasn’t that he bore the man any personal ill will. He didn’t harbor a particular hatred towards any cops. The tension had grown because of a certain situation. It had all been about Aldous! What with him possibly under arrest for something that transpired overseas, Alexei had gotten protective. It was only natural. In the end it bore down to Alexei’s devotion vs. Adrian’s duty.

But that was some time ago. Things had been patched up. Misunderstandings were understood. And, in the end, things seemed rather good between them. The policeman didn’t even blame Alexei for any of the threats or hostility he was shown. After all, he was still human. Although he wore a policeman’s uniform and walked around with authority and a gun, he knew how hard it had to have been on the man. He understood Alexei’s tension as much as he understood the tension and hostility he got from some of the mercenaries to this day. A policeman had never been hired to keep the base out of the spotlight of the public. The thought of a figurehead of authority alone made some people nervous.

Alexei took a moment to steel himself before gently rapping his knuckles upon the man’s office door. It didn’t take long before a voice called out and beckoned him inside.

He got himself through the doorway, and he entered that rather welcoming office. This particular policeman was known for his professionalism, and one would think that his office would be bland in design, with white walls and strict seating. What Alexei saw was quite the opposite.

The walls itself were a soft beige, warm and inviting. The carpet was cream. Not too soft, but not too firm. The lighting came from lamps fixed to the wall, the bulbs not too bright but not at all dim. Brown filing cabinets lined one wall, kept clean and well organized. The air smelled of cinnamon. Possibly a candle, something burned for aromatherapy purposes. The chairs were not stiff and hard, with a straight and uncomfortable backrest. They were comfortable, rather impressive and new-age with their leather cushions, back and armrests. Even the large desk, the one that had stacks of neatly organized documents, was well taken care of. The mahogany wood was polished to a sheen, simply glowing.

And there, behind the desk, sat the policeman himself.

Officer Adrian Meyers was a rather stern looking young man. In his late thirties, he had been a policeman for a good portion of his life. Once working for Interpol, he was reassigned or, rather, hired up by MannCo in order to be an on-base police officer. His job wasn’t to arrest the mercenaries for anything they did wrong, but to, rather, make sure peace stayed between the company and the villagers from the nearby towns. He had to make sure MannCo property was not destroyed by outside hands, and that anything legal had to go through him first in order to be checked out for credibility.

Alexei awkwardly stood before the desk, unsure of whether he should speak up. The policeman’s focus was set upon a few pieces of paper before him. He was writing down information, his speed quick yet his accuracy precise.

"…Officer Meyers? Am… needing help. Vood like to file report." The next two words were incredibly hard to spit out. "…of missing person."

Officer Meyers had been filing paperwork, as per usual. He was incredibly serious when it came to his job. He never took a sick day (save for the time he fell almost deathly ill from the incident with the blizzard), and he never skimped on his duties. It was hard to get him to focus on anything but his job, but from the moment Alexei first spoke he seemed to instantly switch his attention from his paperwork to his visitor.

His attention having been gently pried from his work, he glanced up at the person who had entered his office. Adjusting his glasses, he sat up a little straighter upon seeing just exactly who it was. Ah, yes. Alexei Rosencoff. Heavy specialist, RED team, an avid gardener who possessed an incredible knack for growing plants in inhospitable environments. He was a kind and gentle soul, perhaps too kind to be in this business.

Humbly nodding his head towards Alexei, he gestured to a chair before him, directly placed in front of his desk.

Alexei does take up the offer, though the chair almost doesn’t fit him, what with his height and physique. He looks a little tense sitting in there, his hands fidgeting in his lap. His eyes are circled darkly, an all too familiar sign of a man who hasn’t slept all that well. Breathing in slowly, and exhaling slowly; he was doing everything in his power to remain calm.

Officer Meyers had to hand it to him. Alexei was doing a pretty good job.

“Is about Aldous,” Alexei said, his voice subtly shaking. He doubted he needed to explain who the man was- after all, it was because of Aldous that Adrian was here in the first place. “Is… is missing. Have not seen him in three days. Not like him, to go avay dis long without telling me. Knows I worry.” He breathes in, out. In, out. His metal fingers clicked softly against each other. “I know is not dat long in big scheme of tings. But… know him, and know own feelings. Heart is sick, Officer. Have feeling someting very bad has happened.”

Adrian looked at him with an air of understanding. He knew Alexei was incredibly close to this man, and he knew Aldous was as well. Despite the Medic being naturally hardhearted to most, he found that the man was becoming warmer over the passage of time thanks to this single gardener. Alexei meant the world to Aldous, and vice verse. It was plain to see. Every single day he witnessed it at some point while patrolling the base. Because of this, he knew Aldous would not leave for a long period of time without letting his partner on the battlefield, and best friend, know.

Alexei was right. Something probably happened to him.

"Aldous Haswell."

“Da…”

Adrian rose from his chair and moved towards a set of filing cabinets. With the continued air of professionalism, he went to work opening up a few drawers. Flitting through the manilla folders, he searched through files upon files before finally pulling one out. It was rather thick. Clearly it was stuffed with vital information. Information on his past, health, and anything else that MannCo had to know in order to keep tabs on the man.

“Is dat—”

“Yes,” Adrian said, returning to his seat. He opened it up, making sure that Alexei could look at it if he wanted to. “Aldous Haswell’s file. The base has quite an extensive history on him, and I admit that I filled in many of the blanks considering his past excursions.”

Alexei warily looked at him, but Adrian raised a hand, in a gesture of peace.

“Merely some blank spots in his past history that were omitted due to inaccuracies. I filled most of it in, some with the truth.”

Peering over the rim of his glasses, he gave Alexei a look that said it all. In response of this, Alexei sighed in relief. It was apparent that Officer Meyers filled in the blanks, but kept the man safe by placing in some acceptable, believable red herrings. He was protecting him, still, to this day.

"I have not been here too long,” Adrian Meyers continued, “but even I feel that three days for this particular man to be missing does point to something possibly happening to him. Given the situation and where we are located, one cannot risk just leaving this lie." Shuffling through the file, he read a few lines in Aldous’s update health section before adding on, "Mr. Rosencoff, did he mention going anywhere at all? Taking a walk around the base, through the woods? Going off grounds for anything at all?"

"…nyet… oh! Vait, da! Remember now… leetle Abel!”

“Abelärd Haswell?”

“Da!”

Adrian nodded, once, tapping the end of his pen against the RED Medic’s file, just for emphasis. “Yes. I am aware he is the twin brother of Aldous. So, a trip was made into town?”

“Asked him to go to town. Blizzard season comes soon, can be hard to get tings. Good to get now, in case do not have chance later. Anyvay. Said vood because had tings to pick up anyvay, but vanted to go self. Doktor can be… independent.” He tapped his chin, ideas coming to mind. “Town is not so far dat vood take dis long to come back, with weather clear…”

Closing the file, Adrian rose to his feet once more. He strode over to the coat hanger, the one bolted to the wall that he used particularly for his uniform and other articles of clothing. Taking his cap and belt off of it, he went about the process of gearing up and checking his holstered gun.

Alexei could feel his hope beginning to rise.

"He is very independent, isn’t he?” Adrian turned to look at Alexei as he put his belt on. His cap was still tucked securely under his arm. “It is good if I check town now, instead of waiting until tomorrow. If I do this, I can gather any bit of information before the evidence gets any colder, or I lose it completely. Mr. Rosencoff, would you like to come along, or would you like to stay here?”

Rising to his feet as well, Alexei gave a nod of his head. “Best I come. If someting bad has happened, he vill need me. Vill be worse if is frightened badly- can hurt self, people does not mean to. You are knowing dis.”

“That I do.”

“He vill listen to me, dough.”

“He always has, Mr. Rosencoff. The bond you two share is incredibly strong.”

“Da…” He smiled. Aldous always did listen, eventually, something for which Alexei was grateful. He hadn’t failed to talk his partner down yet, and if need be, he was strong enough- and able to take enough punishment- to hold Aldous until he calmed down.

Yes, it would be better if he went just in case.

"I will need you, this is true." The police officer nodded towards Alexei. He knew first hand that Aldous Haswell was a force to reckon with. He was very dangerous at times. He remembered the strength of the man back during his first encounter with the Medic, when he had to knock him out in order to get him to settle down. It had been a harrowing situation all in all, and he hadn’t expected to restrain a man who was so misleading with their power. Aldous looked so sickly, and to see him showcase that much strength had shocked him.

Alexei was one of the only reasons Aldous could calm down these days. Medication alone only did so much. The police officer knew how important he was to the Medic.

"If you wish to come along, then you might want to get a coat."

“Am used to cold.”

“I would rather not see you get sick, Mr. Rosencoff. My mission is to make sure the mercenaries of this base remain safe, incarceration free, and healthy. And you’re no exception, Sir.”

Alexei shrugged as he watched Adrian reach into his pocket. He was Russian. He grew up around the cold and the snow, and the environment of Coldfront really didn’t bother him too much. It wasn’t that cold, not yet. It was nippy to him, bitter perhaps, but it could always be worse.

Taking a whistle from his pocket, Adrian handed it over. “Here. If you see anything, and I am not right beside you, I want you to blow on this.”

"Da." Dropping the cord around his neck, and smiled a little. "Dank you for helping, leetle Officer. Are very clever- vill be easier to search vith you helping."

"It is my job," he said, donning his hat. He straightened it for a second before continuing on. "I am a police officer, now employed by this company to make sure the mercenaries are not bothered by the townspeople, the townspeople are not bothered by out actions, and that nothing damages company property. Mercenaries are, in fact, company property, as much as they are human beings. It is my duty to make sure everything is kept in order, and that people are protected and kept safe."

Officer Adrian Meyers looked at Alexei and attempted to offer him a sympathetic smile. It was a little watery at best, but he tried. He really, honestly tried.

"We will find him,” he assured Alexei. “I promise you.”

——————-

It was hard to tell how long it had been since he had been locked up in that godforsaken alcove. He was sure it had been longer than a day. The extreme hunger pains were a good indication. There still wasn’t a source of light to be had. Alone by himself, the only noises Aldous heard were any that he made. He had to admit it. Rand was pretty good at his art. He knew exactly what this was, what his tormentor was doing to him. He was whittling him down with this sensory deprivation.

After the long period of darkness and silence, the footsteps and the creak of the door seemed unbearably loud. The beam of light from the flashlight was too bright, nearly searing. It caused Aldous to flinch and recoil, ducking his head all the while shutting his eyes tight. A low hiss escaped his lips.

There was Rand, standing there as proper and straight as any well trained Nazi could be. He was as immaculate as ever, his uniform freshly cleaned and ironed.

He looked in at his locked up prey, and he couldn’t help but frown at what he saw. Aldous looked like a mess. A downright horrible mess. He had made himself comfortable, sure, slumped down against the wall. He had almost crumpled in on himself. His complexion was pale, his expression gaunt. His eyes were ringed with dark lines, clear signs that he didn’t sleep the entire time. A arm had been wiggled free from the confines of the straightjacket, and he had attempted to free himself completely from it. He had exhausted himself, he never finished what he started. His hand rested at his side uselessly. And his hair, mussed up and messy! He had even lost his glasses. They lay by the door.

Looks like Aldous had a panic attack in that place, and had lost control of his temperament. No… possibly not a panic attack. He had experienced something worse. Judging by the haunted look in the man’s eyes, Aldous had experienced a relapse, an attack of his mental illness. He had most likely witnessed hallucinations and disphoria.

"You look like you halfway slipped your coat.”

Aldous didn’t respond. He just gave Rand a dead, hallow stare. His mouth fell into a neutral grimace, lifeless and static.

“Tch.” Rand gave a dramatic, mocking sigh. “Well, that just means I’ll just have to be more thorough next time. Hold still.”

The Nazi retrieved the fallen glasses. Shoving them back onto the man’s face, he yanked Aldous to his feet. The bound man wobbled for a second, but he allowed the bastard to touch him. The straitjacket was worked the rest of the way off and tossed to the side, abandoned. The cruel jailer gripped his captive by the wrist and viciously drug him back up to his previous cell.

Aldous allowed himself to be pulled along. He didn’t have any snarky comments or poisoned-laced words for this man. He was disheveled and broken at the moment, far too rattled from his time spent in absolute darkness. Being bound in that straitjacket had further ruined him.

He was also dealing with something else. Being stuck in that room really did disturb him, but what really exhausted him was the fact that he did, indeed, suffer from his illness. He heard the voices whispering vile, evil lies into his mind. He witnessed an hallucination that had really taxed his psyche. All he wanted to do was to throw in the white towel, at least for a while.

It didn’t take them long to enter the original cellar. Aldous couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. It was good to be back in this room. As much as he didn’t like being in captivity, he at least had room to move in this room. He wasn’t in a small, enclosed space. And at least he could see in this room! Sunlight spilled in through the tiny, grimy window. Compared to the other room, this light seemed to be dazzlingly luminous. Perspective. It was all about perspective!

The room wasn’t quite the same as it had been before. It still reeked of mildew. The emptied casks were still there. There were, indeed, plenty of new things here.

In the middle of the room rested a large metal tub of warm water. A thick cake of scentless soap lay on the floor beside it, atop a frayed towel. Away from the tub, but not too far away, lay a bowl of oatmeal with a drizzle of honey. On a chipped plate beside it rested a plum, perfectly sliced. A cup of milk and, beside it, a pair of familiar looking pills added the finishing touches to all the changes.

Instantly Aldous’s attention wandered over to the new things. He saw the tub, and saw the water. How nice. He was allowed to clean up a bit? How unlike Rand. He knew the generous gift came with a price, but he’d take it while he could. He was dirtied with blood, and as much as he loved shedding it on the battlefield, he really didn’t want it on him in this place.

Priorities took over, though. He smelled the food, and he knew he needed that more than he needed to wash up. He didn’t care what it was, if it was another bowl of that disgustingly weak and watery porridge again. He was just hungry and exhausted… and he needed the food in his stomach to properly digest those pills!

"There is your medicine,” Rand said, watching Aldous gravitate towards the food and the pills. He watched the man get down on his knees, taking up the pill bottle. “Take it. Eat it all. Clean yourself up. I brought you a change of clothes as well, yours are filthy. I will be back in an hour to speak with you."

"Thank you," Aldous said, too shaken to eat properly at first. He had just taken his pills, gulping down some milk in the process, but now he had to eat. As he held up the plum, his favorite fruit, he found that he didn’t have much of an appetite. He longed to eat it, but he was too nervous to do so.

Upon hearing the words of gratitude, Rand smiled. He gave a slight nod of his head. “You’re very welcome. Your gratitude is most appreciated. Enjoy your food, and your bath. I will be back, as I said, in an hour.”

As Rand turned on his heel and exited the room, Aldous found himself testing everything out. Dipping his hand in the tub of water, he found that it was not as hot as it could be, but it wasn’t freezing cold either. It was merely an acceptable temperature to bathe in. Deciding it was best to try and eat something first, he tested the food. It was warm, the fruit was surprisingly fresh.

Sighing, Aldous began to eat slowly, using the slices of plum as a way to scoop up some of the oatmeal. He had to eat. He had to survive another day. Another day, another chance to find a way to escape.

~~~~~~

Rand returned in the stated hour, precisely on time. He was pleased to see that the food had been eaten, just as he had instructed. Aldous looked a little better. He had cleaned himself up a little. He hadn’t bathed, only washed himself off quickly. He chose that method instead of taking a bath. He mainly did this in order to clean out his wounds and tend to them. His hair was still damp, and he shivered a bit from the cold, but at least he looked a bit more presentable to the Nazi.

Indeed, Aldous had eaten. It was nice to have food in him once more. He was feeling a little better, a bit more energized. Food was the only thing that fueled him at this point. Seeing that his morale was steadily dipping, he had to run on anything he could. Food was the only thing at this point that he could rely on. He didn’t have much hope, anyway. At this point he was accepting the fact, already, that if he was found, the people coming across him would only find a dead body.

Feeling confident that his demands were being carried through, Rand felt it was appropriate to go through with what he had originally planned. He nodded his head towards the man in greeting, that same, familiar smile plastered on his face. In his arms he carried something. It was a box, a simple unassuming gift tied off with a red bow.

"Perhaps I have been going about this wrong,” he began, his tone patient but still cold. “I seek… understanding from you. You see me and my family as monsters, worthy of death. Perhaps I’ve done nothing to prove you wrong. So, I brought something for you. A gift!”

"A present," Aldous said, his voice drifting as he looked at the package. A foreboding sense of dread loomed over him. No. It wouldn’t be a nice present. This was a Nazi. He curled his lip, sneering at the single idea that Rand could be giving him a gift free of any strings or ‘conditions’. Red flags were going off in the back of Aldous’s mind. He knew something was wrong for sure. Everything about this tipped him off that this was, indeed, a trap.

He quickly wiped that grimace off of his face, though. Best not provoke the ire of this man.

“I wanted it to be special, Aldous. So I thought, what is it that you like? What do you like most? And I think I brought that for you.”

He eyed him, warily. As Rand spoke, Aldous couldn’t help but liken him to a child. He wanted attention. He wanted to be noticed, even by his captured foe. He wanted to be acknowledged.

“Go on, open it.”

Rand said it was something Aldous liked. He tried to wrack his brain. What did he like? What did he care about most in this world?

What did he like? Well, he enjoyed collecting human skulls. He found them to be quite complex, even marvelous! He loved ravens. His own unkindness came to mind. He wondered how his previous ravens were doing. He liked cigarettes, and he loved to read. He enjoyed lots of things, to be honest. The heads of Nazis on burning pikes. You know… that sort of thing.

But what could Rand get him?

He tensed up as he was handed the present. He didn’t want to open it. Something told him that if he did, he’d regret it. For the rest of his possibly short life, he would regret it every single waking moment.

"Don’t be nervous. Go on." Rand nudged the box in Aldous’s hand. The present was strangely cheerful in this dim, dank dungeon. The red bow glossy and candy-like, inviting and warm. "You’ve been doing so well. You thanked me when I did nice things for you. But accepting niceties is gratitude as well. It would be terribly rude of you to spit on my generosity, yes? Especially since I put such thought into it. I brought you one of your favorite things, as I said. You’ll like it- of this I am certain.” He let out a soft, lighthearted chuckle before adding, in a dark and tense tone, “now open it.”

Aldous worriedly gulped. He didn’t want to be whipped. He didn’t want to be beaten. As such, he had to open this package. Where was the stalwart raven? Where was the man who laughed in the face of death? There he was, currently being broken in, like a horse, by this cruel man. A man with a crop in his hand and a gleam in his eye. A man with a twisted heart embedded with poison coated thorns.

Giving in, Aldous decided to open it. Did he have any other option? No, not truly. With mounting dread he went to work finding out what his gift was. His fingers fumbled with the bow, and felt as if he was going to vomit. He did nearly dry heave, but he realized it was from anxiety. Anxiety! He had high anxiety. How ironic.

Shooting Rand a dead sort of glare, Aldous slowly, delicately, began taking off the bow. He opened the box, peeking under the lifted lid in order to see what was inside.

What he saw almost made him pass out instantly.

The first thing he saw when he took off the lid was red cloth. It was bright, barely worn out, with a subtle pattern of white shapes. He recognized it anywhere. It was a bandanna. He couldn’t quite tell, but he swore it was tied around something. He had a feeling he knew what it was.

The expression was frightening. It was the sickening slack that one took one when their head’s been severed suddenly. The neck was still wet, glistening with darkening blood. The eyes were rolled back slightly, but the irises were lake blue.

It’s was bit hard to tell in the dark, but the head seemed for all the world to belong to someone Aldous knew quite well. Someone he worked alongside day-to-day. Someone he cared about deeply. No, this wasn’t just someone he knew as an acquaintance. He knew this person extremely well.

This person meant a lot to him.

As the young Nazi had said… his gift was one of the Medic’s favorite things.

His hands shook violently, the box rustling as it was jostled in the process. Bile rose up his throat, threatening to make him to vomit. He felt dizzy. He felt sick. He saw red, red, red! The smell of blood, the glaze of the dead one’s eyes…

“N…No…”

Rand stood there, taking in Aldous’s reaction. His hands clasped behind his back, he occasionally rocked back on his heels. He surveyed the results of his fine little experiment. He was quite pleased, so far, with how it was proceeding.

“No… no! NO!”

The world spun around him. Aldous’s knees grew weak. They soon buckled and his legs gave out from under him. Finding himself on his knees, he stared down at the severed head in horror. Tears began to well in his eyes, misting over his vision.

“I told you it’d be something you enjoyed,” Rand said, his voice quite haughty, drenched with pride. He was winning, for he had the upper hand. “Do you like it?”

A scream escaped Aldous’s lips as the world flooded into motion.

Rand waited. He did not laugh, though he did smirk a bit. He was a professional. He would wait until his sniveling little prisoner stopped the majority of his wailing and howling. He would wait for the screaming to stop. He wouldn’t let on outwardly how delicious he found this, but, oh! How he enjoyed it! How he enjoyed watching this traitor suffer so! And that sound… it was one that couldn’t be made save by those who truly suffered.

After a few minutes of listening to the screams and shrieks of grief and panic, Rand circled his grievously struck prisoner. “I did it, didn’t I? I brought you your most precious thing. You have it with you now, to keep! I wouldn’t dream of taking it from you. And now he can comfort you, all day and night. Aren’t you glad?”

That rat bastard! Rand knew how close this Heavy and this Medic were. He’d been truly observant. He knew that there were few Aldous held as closely to his heart as he did Alexei Rosencoff.

"ALEXEI," Aldous hysterically shrieked, the tears trickling down his face. His voice was hoarse and ragged. He shrieked and screamed, his vision threatened to black out due to the stress. "ALEXEI! ALEXEI!”

The world swirled around him. The walls wibbled and wobbled, like the surface of a lake disturbed by a pebble. The world was strange and scary, and he was without his friend now. He was without one of the only people in this life that made him feel happy with himself, like he wasn’t a lost case.

He took the head out and cradled it, holding it close to his chest. He cried out in agony, in gut wrenching pain. Alexei Rosencoff, the gardener of Coldfront, was no more.

"Why," Aldous snarled, rounding on Rand with a renewed sense of fury. His eyes were red from the crying, tears still trickled down his cheeks. "Why? Why did you do this!?”

"Why? To make a very important point."

He strode closer. Those godawful jackboots clicked against the stone flooring. He held himself so high, so proud. He was standing tall before the weeping wreck of a man, one who was cradling a severed head as if it were a newborn babe.

"What I have done, I can do again. I can do other things too. Draw it out. Make it painful. Maddeningly painful. I can gouge out eyes, remove tongues. Cut off hands, feet. extract teeth and fingernails. I have, as I once told you, been observing you. I know those you hold dear. And from now on, if you displease me, it won’t just be you suffering. They will as well. Look at that head in your arms and know I mean what I say.” His voice was stern and clear. It was not a threat, but a promise. “Do you understand?”

This vile man! This bastard! Aldous looked up at him. He was weeping piteously. He didn’t care to upkeep his image anymore. What did that matter? His best friend’s head was currently being cradled to his chest.

Alexei Rosencoff… Alexei Rosencoff… Alexei…

NO!

Aldous surged to his feet and in the blink of he was right in Rand’s face. Snot running, tears streaming— he wanted to kill him. He had slipped down to the lowest level of hatred. He despised this man. He felt the fires burn within him. Teeth bared, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring… he envisioned himself gutting this leech, mutilating him, burning his body upon a copy of Mein Kampf. He’s sure the bastard had one.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Rand wagged a finger in Aldous’s face. He didn’t bat an eye when the man got right in his face. He stayed right where he was, perfectly calm. Not a single nerve was out of place. “As I said, I can do it again… to anyone you hold dear.”

Dammit. He had a point, and Aldous knew this. As much as he was loathe to admit to it, he couldn’t risk it. He did care about quite a few people, and he knew Rand would go through with his threats. He knew his loved ones would suffer. This alone caused his anger to waver. He stood there, sure, face to face with his tormentor, but he couldn’t do a thing. Faces flashed in his head: Karl, Abelärd, Jane, both Hannas, Penelope, Fritz, Jez—no, too many to name. Far too many, and they could all suffer.

His anger died away, and Aldous couldn’t help but give in. He muttered that he understood.

"You’re so angry. You want me dead, I can tell. You would kill me if you could. But you know you can’t." He chuckled lightly, then trailed off into a hum, as if in thought. "…tell me, Aldous. Answer honest. Would you like to go back? Shall I let you go?"

He was angry. He did want him dead. This wasn’t a lie. He wanted to disembowel him then and there…but he was also right, and he hated Rand for it. He couldn’t do a thing. He was too sick, too exhausted. His hands were figuratively tied.

He chose not to answer. He wanted to be free, but he knew Rand by now. All he could do was hold the head closer to him, protecting it. His friend, the Sonnenblume… oh, how he wished he were alive. He wished he could hear his voice again.

“I asked you a question,” Rand snapped. “It’s impolite not to respond. Now, speak.”

"You wouldn’t let me free,” Aldous croaked out. “Not entirely. You’d…follow me. Stalk me. There is some condition, there always is."

"Not you, no. But see… when I was out doing your little errand and picking up your gift, I happened to peer into a certain window. I saw a man inside asleep, in the arms of some American brute. He looked so much like you. Healthier, but… yes, you can certainly tell you two are twins. And it made me think." He smiled. It was that same smile, as disturbing and cold as ever. "I could’ve woken him. Told him who I was. Where you were and why you were there. And then asked if he would take your place if I would release you. Would he, do you think? Should I go back and ask him? Depending on how loyal a brother you have, this could be your last night in this place."

Abelärd!

Yes… Abelärd would. He knew his brother would get on his knees, beg to be taken instead. It was a curious thing. They may be two twins at odds with each other, living totally different lives, and they may have fought a lot, having different opinions… but they were brothers. Aldous was known to not like his brother. He didn’t consider himself close to him, despite his twin loving him unconditionally. Such an odd brotherly set they made.

They would truly give up their lives to save the other. Yes, even Aldous. He wouldn’t hesitate to offer himself as a sacrifice if it were Abelärd in this position. He wouldn’t admit to it, but he cared rather deeply for his brother.

Yet… what this man was insinuating, it disturbed Aldous. It chilled him down to his very core. It made him sick, so incredibly ill! He preyed upon his brother, watching him as he slept peacefully in his own bed, with his own lover! He intruded upon the sanctity of his room, barged into his life too.

"You," Aldous snarled wrathfully, fear mounting with each second "You… you looked in on my brother!”

“He slept fitfully, you know. He whimpered in his sleep, as if experiencing a nightmare.”

“You fucking bastard,” Aldous spat out, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He couldn’t control his rage any longer, his entire body trembling and quaking. “You have no right to look upon my brother! Arschloch! Don’t you DARE go near him, ever again!”

"You watch your mouth!"

“EVER AGAIN!”

Rand’s open, gloved hand cracked across Aldous’s cheek. The force was considerable, and it caused him to stumble back, but not in pain. The pain of the slap was hardly felt. The sting was there, it was palpable, but his mind didn’t focus on it. For once he was beyond earthly pain. The pain that he felt inside overrode all else. His heart was dying, and he could feel it shriveling up and withering away.

"This is the last I’ll warn you,” Rand snapped testily. “Speak to me like that again and I’ll cut out not only your tongue, but I’ll bring you one that used to belong to someone you care about."

The Nazi paused to clear his throat. He had lost his temper. One had to keep one’s temperament and demeanor if they wished to rise above the petty, common rabble.

"So,” Rand continued on, his voice calm once more. “You’re remaining here, then. Noble. At least I can appreciate your dedication to family. Not completely dishonored for a traitorous, murdering dog. But you appreciate your situation now, yes? It isn’t just you at stake anymore. … I’ll leave you with your friend to think it over.”

The slamming of the door foretold Rand’s departure. The room was cold, colder than usual. Aldous felt alone, like always, but this time it was different. He was alone without hope. He was alone without the single flame in the back of his mind telling him that he could make it out of there if he only held on a little longer and did what Rand said.

Nothing mattered at this point. Rand had won. Now all the man needed to do was to land the finishing blows.

Aldous crumpled where he was. Defeated. He failed. The bitter taste of loss was a cruel sort of sensation. He had lost his freedom and, soon, his life. All he could do was lay there, hugging the head to his chest, weeping bitterly. He didn’t care if Rand watched him. He didn’t care if he was made fun of. He didn’t care what happened next. All he wanted could never come to pass.

Not now…

"Kill me," he whispered, pleading to no one in particular. "Bitte."

—————

He was screaming.

It startled Jane awake, jolting him into immediate alertness. His eyes darted to and fro before looking down, his brow furrowing. What he saw concerned him.

Abelärd Haswell was tossing in bed next to him. He was screaming, crying out, in near hysterics over a night terror he was experiencing.

For three days now Abelärd had had bad dreams. Real bad dreams. Normally the Medic slept soundly, with nary a bad thought flitting through his head late at night. But those last three days, and evenings, had been hell for the both of them, especially Abelärd. This particular was the worst Jane had seen. Whatever was going on inside his beloved’s dream… it must have been horrifying.

Jane decided to nudge Abelärd as gently as he could. He had to try something. “Babe,” he whispered. “Shhh… hey… wake up. It’s okay, you’re okay. I’m right here. C’mon, wake up…”

“Bitte,” the Medic gasped in his sleep, his words slurring from beyond his nightmares. “Bitte… nein. Nein!”

Jane knew that what he was hearing was bad. Abelärd wasn’t known to speak in his sleep, but these nightmares revealed a new and possibly jarring situation for Jane. The poor Soldier had to hear his lover cry out in his native tongue, his words hysterical with fear. Night after night, it sounded as if he was being murdered. Each time he managed to wake him up, Abelärd came to shaken and reserved. He was silent, though, He wouldn’t talk about what he was dreaming about.

No. Not this time. This time had to be different. Jane had to know what was going on.

After all, this night’s night terror was worse than the other nights combined. Abelärd was openly weeping now, thrashing and writhing, his body contorted in what looked like a mimicry of pain. When he wasn’t screaming he was whimpering. Whimpering and whining, his voice breathless as he babbled on and begged, pleading not to be struck anymore.

Jane nudged again. At first it barely did anything. Another nudge, and he effectively jostled the Medic. It took time, but he sighed in relief as his lover steadily roused from the throes of his nightmare.

“Babe… are you alright?”

Abelärd’s eyelids fluttered open and he gasped out, panting as if he had been robbed of all oxygen. He blindly grabbed at the covers, his vision slowly coming into focus. For a moment he didn’t have a single clue as to where he was. The sound of Jane’s voice lulled him back to reality. He was in his room, safe and sound.

"It’s okay, babe…" Jane leaned forward, his forehead resting against Abelärd’s. "I’ve got you. I am right here. I’m not going anywhere.” He touched his face, his fingers resting lightly on the sides of his neck, thumbs stroking his cheeks. A gentle touch often did wonders to calm the Medic’s nerves. The same was true for the Soldier. Still, the sight of his lover reduced to such an emotional state caused him to panic. His heart began to beat rapidly, clutched in his grasping fear. He couldn’t help it! As much as he tried to hide it, Jane was a bit scared. He didn’t know what had happened. He very, very rarely had seen his husband this afraid, awake or asleep.

“Jane…”

"You okay?"

“No,” he replied, the words come out in a shaky rush. “I’m not. I’m not alright. I don’t think I will be for a long time.”

“Babe?”

Abelärd couldn’t help but cry as he felt Jane’s loving touch. He shut his eyes tight. He couldn’t look at the world around him. Everything was too chaotic, too disjointed. He was still trapped in the imagery of his nightmare. The spilled blood, the pain that seared his flesh. Torn clothes, a padded cell, a box with a bow on it…

What did it all mean? What was it all trying to tell him?

Then again, he remembered seeing Aldous, briefly, in his nightmares. Or, rather, signs that his brother had been in them. It was a particular feeling he couldn’t quite escape. He always had it, ever since he was a child. It was a nagging pull, a force that tugged at him whenever Aldous was in trouble.

“I’m not alright,” Abelärd repeated. “But…he’s not alright, either.” He began to tremble anew. Desperately he reached out and grabbed onto Jane, pulling him into a tight embrace. “He’s not alright, Jane. Something happened. Something bad…”

"Aldo? Something’s happened to Aldo?"

Jane wasn’t questioning it. There was something bigger than him at work here- twin magic, if you wanted to call it that. The damn near psychic connection between the two brothers. Jane had seen hints of it here and there, enough to believe that if Abelärd just knew something was wrong concerning Aldous, he was probably right.

“Yes,” the Medic replied, burying his face against the Soldier’s arm. “I think so.”

"…is it bad?" Jane knew it must be, if whatever it was prompted all that screaming, that unbridled terror that had taken hold of Abelärd, just a few moments ago.

"I don’t know." Abelärd shook his head, finally risking a glance at Jane. He opened his eyes, still afraid to see the world, afraid to see the darkness of that foreboding room, the one residing within the confines of his nightmares. But Jane… he was there, as always. Such a loyal man he was, a loyal soldier… a loving husband. He only wished he was allowed to marry him.

The scared Medic rubbed his face, heaving a sigh. “I thought my brother returned from zhe trip to town but… I haven’t heard from him for a few days. I simply chalked it up to him having another fit again, him deciding it’s best not to talk to me for a bit. Only that.” Tears began to well up again. “Liebe, something is wrong.”

It took him a moment or two to brace himself, but Abelärd began to describe his nightmares. The dark room, the dripping of one’s blood. There had been a bitter cold he swore he could feel upon his skin, even then. His hands had been bound at one point in his dreams, and he could hear the lashing crack of a whip, or a crop. Whipping! No… flogging! Someone had been flogged. And that someone, he surmised, was his twin brother.

As soon as he finished speaking, though, doubt began to cloud Abelärd’s mind. He began to second guess himself. He wasn’t one to be sure of things. He tried to be optimistic, but Aldous was right. He was often quite pessimistic, thinking of the bad things that could happened that usually never did.

"I’m just… imagining things, I’m sure."

"No… no, if you say something is not right, I believe you."

Jane trusted Abelärd’s judgement, his intuition. Hell, he trusted him, period. If he said the sky was green and the grass was blue, Jane would probably believe it. He had no reason to mistrust his words. The Medic had shown him loyalty since the beginning of their friendship. When he hid something from him, it was usually for his own good. There was always a reason for what Abelärd did, and Jane respected that.

The Soldier sighed, frowning in thought. He kept his one hand going, rubbing his beloved’s back. He tried to comfort him as he said, “…what do you want to do? Do you want to look for him?”

Yes, Jane had to admit that he was worried now, too. It wasn’t unusual for Aldous to come and go from the public eye for periods of time- sometimes he needed his space, and Jane of all people understood that. They suffered from the same mental illness. He knew Aldous pretty damn well. Frighteningly enough, the Aldous knew him pretty well, too. But if something was wrong—really wrong— well, it could be worse than it would be for most people. After all, an unstable person under immense strain could snap like a twig. Aldous could have an attack. Jane, of all people, knew what that was like.

It took several moments for the Medic to calm down. He inhaled slowly, and exhaled evenly. He tried to remain as steady as he could be. He worked on calming his heart, relaxing every part of his body. He tried to do some of his meditation techniques, but they only helped so far. He was still a little too shaken up to properly relax.

"I don’t know," Abelärd said, finally, after an obvious lull in the conversation. He swallowed thickly, trying to assure himself that it was just a nightmare. "But I feel this horrible feeling in my chest, some pulling sensation in zhe back of my head. It’s…tingling, barely there." He reached behind his head and touched his hair, frowning. "I don’t know what I’m feeling. I feel scared. I feel hunted… but, clearly, there is no one here. Except…"

“Except…?”

Abelärd wasn’t sure how Jane would take this next bit of news. The Medic knew that his brother had a mental illness and, perhaps, what he had experienced was something akin to that. A hallucination, perhaps. Maybe schizophrenia ran in the family.

He looked at Jane, and his pallor began to pale considerably. “Earlier tonight, liebe, I swore someone was in our room. I woke up in a panic, I didn’t disturb you that time. But I looked around, and I swore… in zhe darkest corner of our room someone had been standing there, moments before.” He shook his head, reaching over to his bedside table for his glasses. After a second he gave up on that. Best to deal with the blurry vision for now. “I dismissed it as just zhe aftereffects of a nightmare. A sort of paranoia that stems from it…”

Aldous. What was going on? Abelärd wrung his hands nervously. He knew his brother was like a taunt wire sometimes. He gave Jane a look, one that asked him, silently, what he should do.

A low snarl rumbled from Jane’s throat, and he held Abelärd a little tighter. Someone was there. In THEIR room, watching them. Watching his Abelärd. He wanted to keep him close, protect him, just in case that person came back. He knew Abelärd wouldn’t lie about something like that. He wouldn’t make such things up. He would speak what was on his mind, what was the honest truth. And if he thought someone was in their room, then someone was.

But that person! What if whoever it was was responsible for whatever had happened to Aldous?

Whoever it was, whatever had happened, nothing was going to be answered straightaway. There were so many questions, far too many uncertain things and events. However, not for one second did Jane believe it was nothing. No. He could feel it now, a prickling at his skin. The feeling that someone had intruded, come into their room as they slept peacefully.

Jane growled again, a dog on alert, a Soldier at the ready. “I do not know,” he confessed, answering the question that was silently asked. “I wish I did. I want to… But I…” He huffed, trying to finish a sentence. He doesn’t want to let Abelärd put himself in danger. He wanted to save his brother-in-law, but he didn’t want his lover put at risk in the process. He was a bit sick at how selfish that sounded, even in his own head.

Abelärd let out a soft sigh at being held close. He leaned into that man, that klutzy American, that stout and sturdy soldier of his. He heard the snarl, and he knew what that meant: he felt it too. It was the feeling of their illusion of safety being shattered. They were no longer at ease and comfortable.

He knew Jane was already on the defensive. He was alert, incredibly so. Sure, some people probably mocked the Solider behind his back, making fun of his habits and his ideals. They didn’t take him seriously, most considered him just another patriotic clown. Abelärd knew differently. He knew how loyal the man was, protective and kind… just how astute and intelligent he was.

Jane could also take things to the extreme. The American was passionate at everything he did, whether it was fighting or whatever the Medic asked of him to do. Jane did his task, his job, with a one-hundred and fifty percent output. Because of this, Abelärd really didn’t want him to jump to conclusions, especially at a time like this. They didn’t know anything. His nightmares probably weren’t visions, and if the Soldier did anything based on them, they might end up in trouble.

"Liebe," he whispered, attempting to wiggle a bit in the American’s grasp in order to wrap his arms around him. Boy, was he solid. He knew, though, that physical contact helped calm him down. "It was probably nothing! Absolutely nothing. Maybe I was experiencing… I don’t know. Maybe I was still asleep, and dreaming. Yes… of course, I was still dreaming. Sleepwalking, perhaps."

Sleepwalking? What kind of an excuse was that? Abelärd knew it that wasn’t it at all, but he couldn’t let himself continue to think that someone had been standing there, staring at them, breathing in their own safe haven— their room. He wouldn’t be able to sleep if he considered that as an actuality and not just a figment of his imagination.

Comforted by the American’s embrace, he doesn’t want to leave Jane’s side. If he did something, he’d normally take Jane alone. Yet he doesn’t want to bring him along if he did attempt to search for his brother . This was an odd thing with the Medic, a sort of contradiction. He accepted Jane’s protection on the battlefield, but he wouldn’t during situations like this, where something could happen to them permanently without respawn’s saving grace. They may have had the protection, sometimes, the guarantee that they could come back to life if the weather hadn’t frozen over the machine. That wouldn’t always be there, especially if the search for Aldous took him off base.

"I suppose in zhe morning I will talk to our policeman,” Abelärd said, deciding on his course of action. “And if Officer Meyers isn’t in, I’ll… figure out something else.”

"…okay,” Jane mumbled, trying to calm down. He could tell Abelärd wanted him to. The Medic wouldn’t lie to him… unless he thought it was for Jane’s own good, or if he was lying to himself in the process. It did sting a little, but the Soldier wouldn’t say a word. Not to him.

No matter what his lover said, though, Jane knew that the man had been there. This mystery man, this person who probably had something to do with Aldous’s disappearance. What if he was after Abelärd next? What if this person’s goal was to take both of the twins? Now that he was aware of the intrusion, he couldn’t stop thinking of it. Jane didn’t know how he didn’t notice earlier. It was far too obvious that someone had been here. The air felt too charged.

"…kid’s got a good head on his shoulders,” the Soldier said, referencing Officer Adrian Meyers. Sure, the young man was constantly focused on his job, and he was a bit too stern and businesslike, but he was a great guy. “Sharp as a damn tack. Anybody can help track Aldo down, he can."

Abelärd couldn’t say a thing on the matter. He couldn’t come up with anything, not with his brain clouded over by his worries and fears. He numbly nodded to Jane, agreeing with his viewpoint of the officer. Sure, Officer Meyers was involved in some hostilities in the past involving the twins, but he was just doing his job. He had been sent to the base in order to investigate several violent and brutal murders. He wasn’t evil at all, he didn’t go to harm anyone on purpose. He restrained his brother, making sure he couldn’t hurt anyone, because of that investigation. It wasn’t his fault that Aldous attempted to throttle him. He had to protect himself as much as he had to keep the frazzled Haswell from further injuring himself.

How could Abelärd hate him?

"I don’t think I can fall back to sleep," he whispered, looking quite drained and scared at the same time. Reaching out, he tugged Jane closer to him. "I don’t want zhe nightmares again. Zhe last one I had… I saw something most disturbing.”

“What was it, babe?”

The color drained from Abelärd’s face as he replied, “bloodstained sunflowers.”

��————

An entire forty-eight hours passed before Rand returned. Forty-eight hours without any new food, fresh water, or anyone or anything to talk to. The only thing Aldous had was his bedding, his clothes… and the severed head of his dearest friend.

Life had been hell for Aldous. He had remained quiet, almost obedient, as each hour passed by him. He didn’t have anything to do, nor anything to say. His grief had only doubled by the time the door slowly creaked open. He was filled with utter remorse and survivor’s guilt. Alexei Rosencoff had been young, far too young, to deserve any pain or sadness in his bright life. He didn’t deserve such a tasteless fate as of this. He didn’t deserve to be used as a torture device for his comrade, his battle partner.

The familiar clicking of those jackboots announced Rand’s return. His uniform had been touched it. It was even more grand and immaculate than usual. The young man was perfectly groomed, and he wore an air of superiority like a cloak. He stood haloed in the ray of sunlight, looking down at his captive.

He should be about ready now, Rand surmised. Aldous had plenty of time spent in the dark to get properly broken in, once and for all.

For a brief moment Rand wondered if his captive had perished. He cleared his throat, a noise to command one’s attention to be fixed on him. Aldous didn’t seem to acknowledge him as he lay there on a blanket. It was as if he didn’t even hear him, as if he had lost his hearing entirely. He didn’t stir when Rand nudged his leg with the toe of his boot. He noted that the head was lying beside him, but it was no longer cradled in his arms. Perhaps the stench of rotting flesh had begun to get to the man.

He glanced about, taking further note of the state of the room. He had left Aldous to his devices, and the results were quite interesting.

It appeared that Aldous had had a hell of a time coping. Some hay had been thrown about as if he had gone through a rather violent temper tantrum. Parts of Aldous’s clothing seemed dirtier and ripped, as if he had relapsed despite the medication in his system and clawed himself. Now that he had gone another forty-eight hours without it, his body was reeling. Medication one day, medication free for a few days after.

Yes, Rand knew that his body would react violently to the on-and-off schedule of his medicating, but he did that for a reason.

“It is time to wake up, Aldous.” Rand nudged him once more, rougher than before. “I don’t like to be kept waiting. I’m sure you know this by now.”

That seemed to do the trick. Aldous stirred a little, rousing himself from his uneasy easy. Opening his good eye, he blearily looked at Rand. Oh, it was him. He had returned at last.

“Ah, there you are. Did you sleep well?”

Aldous ignored Rand’s words, but he did croak out something that surprised even the Nazi. It was a greeting of salutation. Though his words were lifeless and dead in tone, he was obviously being well mannered. He was being polite to his tormentor, and it seemed genuine for once.

"Hello to you too,” Rand replied, smiling. This was a good sign, very good. "I wanted to re-iterate some things with you. Things have been… fair between us, I think. Alright. Not excellent. You’ve been harsher with me than I would have liked, which has lead me to be harsher with you. As I said at the beginning- a lesson is to be learned here. So I am willing to be start over."

Starting over? Normally Aldous would have responded with a snark, a witty sort of quip that would have been used as a back-lashing blow against this vile man. Now, though, he didn’t have much to say. He focused his attention on Rand’s face, and he was receptive to his words. He was silent.

Taking the silence that hung in the air as a sign that Aldous was going to behave, Rand began to pace a bit. His jackboots clicked against the flooring as per usual, but now they didn’t seem to make the captive beast inwardly cringe.

"You will treat me with utmost respect. My word is law- when I say something, I expect attention, and when I ask something, I expect it carried out. Speak when you are spoken to, but do not talk back. Never forget I am above you. Mind these things, and you will be treated decently. Be defiant or disobedient, and you will suffer, and your loved ones will suffer worse." He stopped so he could take a moment and look down at the poor wretch. "Tell me you understand. Oh- and address me properly. You know how.”

Sitting up somewhat properly, Aldous fixed Rand with a steady stare. His face was an expressionless mask. He looked like a poor, beaten and downtrodden man. He once was confident, this was true, and the lingering flames of his fighting spirit could be seen still in his eyes. But this spirit, that fire, was barely a pile of glowing embers. They were growing dimmer with each passing hour.

He had clearly given up, and this is exactly what Rand wanted to see.

“I am waiting, Aldous.”

Aldous looked up at his tormentor. He was silent for a moment, intent on just watching him. “Jawhol, Herr,” he finally said. “I… understand.”

"Mmmm, close, but not quite! I’ll give you one more chance, though." His smile was just as sick as the whole rest of the situation put together. He was obviously getting some sort of pleasure from all this- the degradation and domination of what he perceived to be a lesser creature. "When I speak to you, a response of ‘Yes, master’ or ‘No, master’ will do quite nicely in response. Now, let’s try again. Do you understand your situation?”

There wasn’t much he could do at this point. Aldous was dying, literally and figuratively at this point. His fate was sealed as he grumbled out the words Rand wanted. “Yes… my master. I understand.”

"Good. Very, very good." Rand seemed very pleased with the results of his hard work. He gave his subject a little nod., and gives a little nod. "Come with me, then."

Rand didn’t threaten Aldous. He didn’t need to, not anymore. The once-great murderer of Reich members would come quietly, without restraints or bonds. He was a perfect well behaved servant.

Yes, Aldous does follow obediently. He’s a broken man, lead as if he were walking to the gallows, ready for his hanging. He held, no…cradled his beloved friend’s head in his arms. Cradled it like a precious artifact, or a newborn babe. Lovingly, tenderly he kept it close.

He lead Aldous not downstairs, but up, instead. Up into the daylight for the first time in days. In the light Rand saw how quickly the man had wasted away. Over the span of those days spent in the cellar and sub-cellar, he had deteriorated. He was more sickly than he was on the day of his capture, much paler and more gaunt. It’s clear that he was unhealthy at this point, and he seemed fatigued. His tiredness wasn’t just from depression. He was tired from the malnutrition and the strain to his body. The blood loss didn’t help, either.

This excursion was the first time his captive subject could get a good look of the place. The house wasn’t really a house, but a manor. Though falling apart, it had an eerie fairytale quality, half the rooms overgrown from the forest outside. There were even birds nesting in the exposed eaves, nests made here and there, wherever they could get a perch. There were still places in the house protected from the elements, still furnished richly, if not a bit tarnished and nibbled at by moths and mice. It was lovely, but decaying— like this man before him. This man who could have been a good German, who decided to go down a tarnishing path.

There were still places in the house protected from the elements, still furnished richly, if not a bit tarnished and nibbled at by moths and mice. Aldous was led to one such room, one surprisingly free of all outside damage. The room was furnished with food and a real bed. He even had his medicine waiting for him beside a fresh glass of water.

"Your door will not be locked as long as you behave,” Rand intoned. “Be prepared to come when I call. And I will, should I want you."

Aldous stood in the doorway of his new room. He didn’t budge for a good minute. He had a bed. A bed would do wonders helping his back. He was so sore, his bones ached now from sleeping on the floor, or that pile of hay, for so long. He also had food. Food, and medication. Yes… clearly this offering was just another phase of Rand’s mind game. These were rewards for his submissive behavior. He was being given a taste of life before he was to be killed.

"…thank you, master." He refused to look at Rand. He’s looked downwards, eyes cast away shamefully. He felt a hot wave of discontent at being this broken. But he had no choice. He knew this. He had been dealt a bad hand, and it was most likely his last hand at this game of life. He didn’t have anymore bluffs to pull. The only thing he could do was fold.

He moved over to the food. He lingered, looking at the hunk of bread and the cheese, before turning his attention towards his medication. He reaches out to the pills, but he doesn’t take them. He was too tired to care anymore. The voices, the whispers, the hisses and screams were more comforting than Rand’s cruel voice. He’d rather deal with his illness than deal with than to deal with this hell without some sort of escape.

"Go on, now. Eat up, take your medicine. I’m sure you don’t want to wind up in the sub-basement again. You’ll need to get some of your strength up, anyway- I would rather not have my servant pass out in the middle of what I may have him doing for me."

He looked so smug. He had the face of a man who was certain he won. He was prepared to carry out making the man who had murdered so many of his father’s fellows pay. Aldous would pay for his sins through suffering and fear and humiliation.

Aldous sat down on the bed, he noticed that it barely creaked under him. His weight was dreadfully low. He truly was sickly at this point. Brow furrowed in concern, he looked towards Rand. He expected to see the man smiling away, but he didn’t see Rand at all. He experienced another hallucination, this one featuring himself in full Nazi regalia.

“…Why?”

“Excuse me? Why, what?”

“Why? Why! WHY!”

Aldous stared at Rand, absolutely fearful. Why was he seeing himself standing where his tormentor should have been? Why was he seeing himself wearing the clothes of a Nazi soldier? This was wrong, all wrong! His mind was clearly playing tricks on him, but his defenses were down. He couldn’t build himself up, mentally, to see past these attacks.

Do you see? Do you see, now, what you’re really like inside?

Rand shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He watched as Aldous mumbled something languidly under his breath. It looked as if he were talking to himself, holding an entire conversation with no one.

You’re just the same as Rand. You’re just like him. You kill and murder people in what you think is justified.

No, Aldous thought. I’m not the same. I’m not some damn Nazi. I killed Nazis! I made sure they suffered for what they did, making the innocent pay!

But wasn’t that what Rand was doing? In his eyes, he was in Aldous’s situation. He saw the murders committed by him, and he deemed that his victims were innocent enough to warrant and act of revenge against him. It was the same damn principal, just from another point of view. It sickened Aldous down to the core.

He began to mess with his hair. It was a nervous habit, but he always seemed to muss it up whenever he was having a relapse. His illness was attacking him relentlessly now, and couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t calm himself down enough to rationalize and reason with his brain that what he was seeing and hearing was false. It was nothing. Nothing!

Rand gave a small chuckle. Seeing Aldous fidget and mumble to himself was amusing to a certain degree. He enjoyed watching this man suffer, and this… well, this was a nice little treat to behold. “You truly aren’t all there, are you?”

It was as if those words snapped him back to reality. Aldous looked up at Rand, seeing him there instead of his hallucinated form. His mouth went cotton dry. For a moment he tried to scour his brain for what Rand had said before. He didn’t want to seem like he wasn’t listening. He didn’t want to be whipped again.

“I understand.”

“You understand what, Aldous?”

“I understand, master, what you said.” He let out a hallow sigh. He rested a hand on the head as it lay beside him on the bed. “I will eat my dinner, and take my medication. And I will come when you call.”

"Good,” Rand said, giving him a critical look. The reaction of fear…no, Rand didn’t quite get what happened. He thinks, probably understandably so, that Aldous feared him. Sure, he had an hallucination, but Rand was convinced he had one about him. Good. Fear made for a good grip.

“Get to it, then,” he continued, planning on leaving Aldous alone for an hour or two. He paused, though, his gaze drifting towards that filthy, decaying severed head. An idea came to him. “You know, if you give me that head, I’ll skin it for you. You prefer skulls, don’t you?”

The look Aldous gave him was surprised one. No, not just surprised. He was absolutely disgusted! He idea was revolting to him! For the first time ever he shirks back and away at something like that. Normally he would collect the skull of someone deceased. It was something he’d typically do in his spare time. Many times did he collect the heads of his enemies on the base. The people respawned, sure, but sometimes he managed to keep a limb, or a head, remaining of the corpse. It didn’t disappear always. That’s what was messed up about Coldfront’s faulty system. He even came across his own bullet-ridden body once. He had fun cutting his corpse open.

Fascinating, really. But not today.

"No, sir. I mean…master.” Aldous felt his stomach flop as he looked down at the head laying beside him. “I …yes, I prefer skulls. I don’t want his skull, though. Please." He gulped, shakily taking the glass next to his plate of food. He cupped it in his hands for a moment before he took a big gulping drag. He had to wash down the taste of vomit that lingered in the back of his mouth.

“No skull? How unlike you.”

Aldous said nothing in response. He took that moment to pick at his food. He didn’t seem hungry, but Rand could clearly see that he was, indeed, obeying his orders. He nibbled and poked at his cold sliver of ham before he slowly looked up at him.

"Suit yourself.” Rand smiled. Always that same damn smile!

"What…are my jobs for today, master?"

"Your jobs will be what I say they are. When I call for you you will come, when I ask something of you you will do it. If there is a mess of some sort, I want you to clean it. If you can cook, I would like you to cook for me- the sort of meals someone of my stature deserves. … Think ‘Cinderella’. Only I highly doubt any fairy godmother is coming to rescue you.”

He inwardly groaned at this bit of news. He knew he wasn’t as grand a cook as his brother was. Aldous could feel himself panic inside, but the panic died away quickly. He just didn’t have the energy to care anymore, it seems. If he got flogged for producing a meal that was slightly burnt, so be it.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, master.”

Rand frowned. He noticed the small dish he used for Aldous’s medication. There were the pills, those tablets. His subject hadn’t touched them at all. He hadn’t taken them, and had thus disobeyed his one order. After all he had gone through to get him his pills! But that was ungrateful swine or you.

Raising his hand, he pointed towards the pills. He saw Aldous look over and stare at the medication, his body far too relaxed and his shoulders slumped. “Why didn’t you take those? I went all the way back to your base to retrieve them. I didn’t even kill any of your precious ravens as they tried making a fuss, alerting my presence to your teammates. I brought you your medication, and you haven’t touched it at all.”

“Kill me.”

Rand tilted his head to the side. Such an odd request coming from Aldous. Utterly random at this point of time. “What did you tell me to do?”

“Kill me,” Aldous whispered, repeating his words with a sense of hopelessness. He stared at Rand with the gaze of a haunted man. “Please. Just kill me.”

Rand moved fast, his movements were fluid. The gun was pulled from his holster. He held it to Aldous’s forehead.

He pulled the trigger…

Aldous didn’t close his eyes when the muzzle of the gun was put against his forehead. He didn’t flinch, he and he didn’t move an inch. He just sat there, staring at him, looking right into the Nazi’s eyes. If he had to die like this, at the hands of a man like this, he would be proud. He would had died refusing to submit and close his eyes, giving in and cowering by closing off his visual contact with this bastard.

He thought of sunflowers and the sun. He thought of the dancing performed by an old friend. He thought of piano music, his fingers dancing over the black and white keys as he preformed his favorite pieces. He thought of mourning doves, of battered and used books containing the keys to a literary world.

…Click!

There was a few seconds of silence before a cruel laugh rose towards the decaying rafters of that mansion. Rand cackled with mirth, his laughter growing in volume by the second. He laughed as if he’d just been told a hilarious joke.

Aldous finally blinked, a look of confusion passing over his facial features. He looked at the gun, then back at Rand. Why? Why hadn’t the gun gone off? Why hadn’t a bullet been lodged right between his eyes, embedding itself deep within his brain? He let his breath escape him in a rattling wheeze. He had been holding it, too afraid to breathe. He could feel a cold washing wave of dread plunge down his spine, and he shivered out of reflexive fear. He realized what Rand had done. Mind games. It was all about the mind games.

Opening the revolver, the handsome, blond devil showed his captured prey that the gun was very much empty. Not a single bullet rested in its chamber. He had merely played with his mind, preying on his hopelessness and his emotional turmoil.

The laughter continued, and Aldous slumped back down into an exhausted slouch. He should have known Rand would pull something like that.

“Oh, too bad. I told you before, though, that I am not going to grant you death. Not until I feel good and ready to, until I tire of you. Now, I want you to finish eating, rest some. In half an hour, I want you to come down the hall. The third door down will lead to the library- there is a book on the stand. Bring it to the room at the very end of the hall. I would like you to read to me tonight.”

The door closed. Rand left him once more.

Aldous chose not to eat. He ignored his medication, as well. The only thing he did was sit there. He allowed his body to relax somewhat as he mentally prepared himself for what trial lay ahead of him. He had a sick feeling welling up in the pit of his stomach.

He had an idea that he knew what this book of Rand’s was.

~~~~~~~~~~

The droning chime of a grandfather clock balefully told the time. It was four-thirty. Thirty minutes had passed, and it was time for Aldous to make his appearance. He had to answer the summons, lest he pay the dire consequences.

He traversed the halls in such an agonizingly slow pace. Each step he took was filled with dread. This place was disquieting. The hallways themselves were chilly, each winding passageway carrying with them the moan of the wind. Clearly the rotting sections of the house had become drafty, allowing the wind and the weather from outside to sneak inside. The wind whistled and groaned, and their echoed gusts sounded more like the cries of someone in mourning.

Doktor….

Aldous swore he heard a familiar voice drifting on the wind. He paused for a moment in the hallway, and his gaze drifted, its focus hazy and no longer sharp. His eyes became clouded with a distant memory. A smiling face, warm eyes and a gentle touch. He could still feel the man’s hand on his shoulder, patting his back….

Could it be? Was he still alive, nearby even? No. No, he couldn’t be. Of course not! That poor man was dead, yes? He who had treated the Medic from the moment they met with nothing but affection and tenderness, reduced to a corpse’s head, eyes flat and glazed. No, it was only the wind, it must be. Alexei was dead. He’d never rise again to greet a new day.

He had to focus on what he was doing. He had to focus on his task at hand. By focusing on what he had to do soon, he could at least keep himself together long enough to make it to the end of the night. Then he could fall apart in his room, when Rand wasn’t watching.

Knowing him, though, the Nazi probably set up spying devices in his room.

He came upon the room soon enough. How could he miss it? It was the grandest room in the entirety of that mansion. It was a sitting room, a place where an entire family, or perhaps a party, could lounge around and talk all night. The space it covered was considerable. It was once opulent, polished to a sheen and immaculate with furnishings. Over time it had fallen into disarray, but it still retained a ghostly hint of its former glory.

"I’m waiting!"

The voice comes from the other end of the room. Smug, demanding, it was so unlike that voice on the wind in every way.

Rand sat in a horsehair chair, drumming his fingers on a weathered cherry wood table. His back was to a side door, but his attention was set upon his servant. He nodded towards a moth-nibbled upholstered stool close across from him, indicating that Aldous was to sit upon that while he read from the book.

Yes, the book. Aldous saw it.

The book was waiting on a stand. It was new in comparison to the books on the shelves, musty tomes by the hundreds that Aldous would probably, in a better situation, have loved to nose through. The text of this clean, well taken care of novel was in German. Aldous didn’t have to read its cover to know what it was. He didn’t have to spare a few glances at the pages, scanning over the countless paragraphs that lay within. He could tell what book it was just be glancing at the cover.

This book was a testament of the very man who had poisoned his country.

He headed towards the stool rather hesitantly. He couldn’t deny that he felt the hard lump of dread rising from the pit of his stomach once more.

“Sit. Begin at the beginning. I’ll stop you when I’ve heard enough for tonight. And I’ll thank you to give the Führer’s words respect. I had better not catch a snide or disrespectful tone in your words.”

Unceremoniously grabbing the book from the stand, he sat down on the stool. It was so threadbare and uncomfortable, far too hard for long term sitting. He clutched the novel tightly in his hands. He began to shake out of rage, the pure and unadulterated hatred for the book and everything it stood for. This book was hideous in his eyes, a corrupted sort of bible that the Nazis used as their excuse for their genocidal actions.

The grandfather clock ticked away. The noise was loud in the silence that hung heavy in the air, like a funeral pall. Rand watched his subject, that disgusting traitor, stare down at the book in his hands. He could see him trembling. Fantastic. He was uncomfortable in the presence of their late Führer, just as he should be!

“Read.”

Aldous sharply raised his head. He fixed Rand with a withering glare. “No.”

“…repeat that?”

“I won’t read this.”

"I didn’t hear you say that." Rand’s eyes narrowed. He got to his feet, whip in hand, jaw clenched. "I made myself quite clear. What would happen if you defied me. Do you want to rethink what you just said?"

The silence was roaring. The creaking of the old, decaying mansion gave the illusion of footsteps closing in. Madness, perhaps. Madness, or the ghosts of this old place.

Aldous didn’t reply, and it enraged his tormentor. Rand snarled, raising his up, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. “If you don’t read our Führer’s words,” he threatened in a deadly, cold tone, “then I will whip you within an inch of your life.”

Aldous surged to his feet. He raised the book high above his head. His knuckles went white with how hard he was gripping that damn, filthy manual for that torturous movement. “I will NOT read this disgusting filth,” he shrieked.

“You will read it!”

“No!”

With all of his strength, Aldous took the book and chucked it as hard as he could across the room. It smashed into an antique, priceless vase, landing on the ground with a jarring thud among the shattered ceramic.

Aldous shook. His rage was at its boiling point. He turned on Rand, snarling, the fire roaring up one last time. One last time, one last ditch attempt to regain his pride. Advancing on Rand, he hissed out, “Mein Kampf belongs in zhe manure pile. It’s nothing but shit and LIES.”

"You little worthless SHIT! You FILTH!"

The whip came down upon Aldous again, and again and again. Rand hit the man incredibly hard. So hard, in fact, that the crop threatened to snap in two, the loop snapping hard enough to cause welts and a considerable amount of bleeding.

Aldous tried to withstand the assault. Twice he even attempted to grab Rand’s wrist, so he could grab the crop mid strike, but he crumbled under the weight of the blows. His body was too sick, too malnourished and stressed. He was too fatigued, and before he knew it he found himself laying on the ground. His vision began to fade out.

Rand screamed as he beat his captive. He was so enraged that his tongue lapsed into German. He threatened and swore, and so loud was he being that he didn’t notice what was happening behind him. He didn’t notice the door slamming open, nor did he witness the shadow in the door frame.

But the one thing Rand certainly didn’t notice were the huge hands that were coming up from behind him. He didn’t notice, at least, until they closed tight around his throat, jerking him into the air by his neck.

Rand flailed. His face began to turn blue. He could not breathe. His wild eyes bulging, he couldn’t help but stare into the lake blue eyes before him. He had followed Aldous, studying him long enough, to know that those eyes should have been full of such peace and tender love. Not now. They yielded nothing but cold loathing.

"…nyet. Only filth I am seeing here is you."

Alexei heard a shout. He couldn’t make it out, not quite. He wasn’t that well versed in German. He heard the Medics on his team speak it often, and he had learned maybe a few words, but nothing as fluent as what he heard. It wasn’t directed at him, though. It didn’t come from Aldous, and it wasn’t in Rand’s voice.

That shout came from a police officer, a certain Adrian Meyers. The Officer came into the room, pistol aimed right at Rand’s head. His finger may have hovered over the trigger, but he refused to apply pressure to it. He didn’t dare wish to risk Alexei’s life in the process.

The policeman had raised his voice, but it wasn’t out of spite or rage. He was trying to call out to Aldous, to see if he was okay, let alone still with them. After he didn’t get a response, he deemed that to be a sign that the man wouldn’t be a part of this confrontation, and that he’d need medical attention shortly afterwords.

Switching his attention from Aldous to the situation before him, Adrian looked towards Alexei. “Relax, deep breaths,” he said calmly, trying to keep a flat and even tone. He didn’t want to sound as if he were angry at the man. The last thing he wanted to do was spook him. “Put him down slowly. Alexei, listen to my voice.”

He watched, curiously, as Alexei proceeded to choke this despicable man. They had barged into the room and witnessed the severe beating. To see the kindhearted man choke someone to death, though… it stopped Adrian right in his tracks. He was wordless. The Russian wasn’t the violent type. He was the most peaceful person Adrian had ever met, aside from his beloved Aya. No. This wasn’t a typical situation. It was the room, the beatings and the man in a Nazi uniform himself that drove Alexei to the point of murder.

Most of all, though, it was Aldous.

Alexei was undoubtedly loyal to the man. There was a time when he had to prosecute Aldous on charges over murder overseas. The entire affair had been a tricky one. Alexei had been there, and the man had caused quite a bit of trouble for the policeman. But Adrian never blamed him, even to this day. He could see how much he cared for the man.

No… that wasn’t just a case of merely caring about someone a lot. As he watched Alexei squeeze the life out of the man, he realized that it was love. Love fueled his actions.

“Alexei…”

It had been a very long time since Alexei had been this angry. The last time he was this angry he beat a man half to death. But that… that was not this. He was even angrier now, more than he’d ever been.

Alexei felt the young man’s life slip out of his body. This vile man looked scared in his last moments. Terrified, even.

With a rumbling growl, the heavy weapons specialist squeezes harder. He could feel the bones of Rand’s neck snap. He opened his hands, the corpse crumpled to the ground in a heap. Dead. The young man was dead. Alexei had killed him.

Adrian watched Alexei release the man. Shit! Alexei just killed a man. He murdered this person, someone who was clearly not a part of the base and therefore not a part of the respawn system. The biggest thing that shocked him was that he had allowed it. Adrian Meyers didn’t know why, but he allowed this to happen. He didn’t stop Alexei. He didn’t try and keep the man alive long enough to ask any questions. He had even found that he had naturally lowered his gun, pointing it off to the side for safety. He allowed Alexei to slaughter this Nazi supporter, this man who was obviously needed for interrogation and for a showing in court. This man should have been trialed for his crimes, not executed via strangling.

He refused to even attempt to stop Alexei. Why?

Alexei knelt beside Aldous’s crumpled form. Very, very gently, he brought the man close to him. He did not handle him but very lightly. He knew he must have been in a great amount of pain. He could feel the blood soak into his own clothing. How thin Aldous was! He was just the mere whisper of a human being.

"Oh, Aldous… my Aldous…” Alexei cooed these words as he gently brushed the man’s hair from out of his face. It looked like his glasses broke in that onslaught. “Vill be alright now. Is alright. Is over now. Found you. Found you…"

Adrian gave Alexei a sympathetic look. He knew he had to check on those two, but he also knew he had to make sure the man was dead. If he was alive, he’d try to resuscitate him. If not, well, there wasn’t much he could do with a corpse, now, could he?

Holstering his gun, he slowly moved towards Rand. Kneeling down beside him, he took his wrist and felt for a pulse on his neck. No. There was nothing. He was absolutely dead. It made sense, though. He knew Alexei had more or less snapped his neck. He knew because he heard it.

A groan caused the two of them to look at Aldous. The bloodied man felt himself get picked up. He knew he was being held close to someone due to the warmth of another’s body. There was something else he noticed. He could feel a familiar, gentle touch.

“Is he coming to, Alexei?”

“Da.” Alexei looked over at Adrian, watching the policeman approach them. “Is good?”

“Very good,” he replied. “Promising. It means he might be alright after all. He will need medical attention, though. It looks as if he’s been through quite a bit, and judging by how pale he is I’d say he lost quite a bit of blood. He might even need a blood transfusion.”

“Looks dat vay…”

Adrian crouched beside Alexei, watching as Aldous slowly came to. “Keep a good hold of him, and keep talking to him. Try to get him to respond to you.”

Alexei nodded. He could do this, easily, despite the fact his heart was breaking. Seeing his friend in this condition shattered his world.

Aldous groaned once more as he opened his eyes. He had a hard time keeping awake, but he managed to look at the two. He couldn’t quite make out their faces. His vision was nearly gone. He was still blacking out due to the stress, the pain, the days spent dealing with blow after blow, and bouts of being starved and locked up on his own. The hallucinations, his sickness: all of it was getting to him.

Alexei softly gasped, though. He saw Aldous look directly at him, and despite his clearly unfocused eyes he was recognized! Yes, he must have recognized him. Why else would his friend give him such a warm smile? “Doktor? Doktor, am here. Is Alexei.”

Adrian sighed in relief. Everything seemed to be okay. This was all very sweet, too. He had to admit that he was rather touched by the whole seen. That was the case, though, until he heard what Aldous said next. Those words chilled him to his very core.

"Oh, good,” he said, his voice barely there. “I can die peacefully now.”

“What?” Adrian furrowed his brow. He looked towards Alexei. The Russian was beginning to go pale, and his eyes were widening in fear.

“You two have come to lead me, haven’t you? Well, what are you waiting for?”

“He thinks he’s dead,” Adrian murmured. “He’s confused, and he thinks we’re ghosts or some sort of hallucination coming to take him to the other side.” He hurriedly tried to check his pockets for anything that he could use as a binding for Aldous’s wounds. Did he anything on hand that could temporarily aid him? Maybe stem the flow of blood?

"Oh, please… please do not talk dis vay. Please, you must live.” The Heavy’s eyes flood with tears. They trickled down in steady streams. It broke his heart so badly seeing him this way. What hell he must have endured, he hadn’t a single clue. “Vill taking you back, get you healed. Vill not leave you until are better. Am sorry. Am so sorry vas taking dis time to find you. But… please, my leetle red rose, please do not leave me. Please…”

"No, no…” Aldous looked dreadfully confused. He wasn’t all there. He stared at Alexei, eyes widening as if he were seeing him for the first time. “Of course you’ve come to take me. You’re…dead!”

“Dead?” Adrian sharply looked at Alexei, seeing the man shrug in response. “He is most certainly alive, Aldous.”

“No… no, no, no! He’s dead!” Aldous looked so confused and, for a moment, scared. He babbled on, clearly perturbed. “Dead… dead, dead! Dead!” He shook his head, unable to make sense of what was going on. Why was Alexei here? His head was resting back at his room. He had died! He was a ghost now, and he didn’t realize he was dead!

“No, he’s—”

"You’re talking as if you’re alive and I will be fine," he croaked. Aldous’s eyelids fluttered, and his eyes began to roll back before they close completely. "You’re dead. You… lost your… your head…and I’ve had… had it…"

“Doktor?!” Alexei gently jostled his friend.

“Shit.” Adrian reached over and rested his two fingers against Aldous’s neck. He felt for a pulse. It was an erratic one, but it was healthy enough to indicate that he had just passed out for the moment. “He’s alive. He’s fine, he’s just passed out for the moment.”

“Is fine…” He wasn’t fine, though. He knew this. Slowly, Alexei looked up to Adrian. He knew what he’d done, that he must be punished for taking the life of another. But he couldn’t leave yet, not while Aldous needed him so. “Please, let me stay vith him till better. Please…”

The policeman scowled at Alexei. This man murdered someone who should have been brought in for questioning. This man could never face justice for his crimes, now. Yet, this man was evil. It was clear now that this person was capable of such heinous acts. Who knows how many people he tortured until death.

He couldn’t blame Alexei at all.

A sigh escaped Adrian’s lips. He looked at Rand’s body and stared at it for the longest time. His frown became colder, as did the look in his eyes. When he glanced back at Alexei, he addressed him calmly. “Mr. Rosencoff, please escort Mr. Haswell out to the police car. I will be out there shortly. I must attend to the scene of the crime and properly analyze it.”

"Da."

Alexei wasn’t sure what was going to happen, or what exactly had happened. Everything seems to have transpired in such a chaotic blur. What he did know was that his friend was alive. Aldous would be fine. There were those back at the base who would see to his medical attention. His poor brother must have been worried sick.

Gently the Heavy carried Aldous out of the half-ruined mansion. He wasn’t certain what Adrian was up to. He couldn’t make it out. Truth be told, in the end he just wanted it all to be over with.

As Alexei left the room, Officer Meyers watched him. The scowl never left his face. His expression was disturbingly cold, more-so than ever. Normally the man wore a mask, one that hid his emotions when he was on duty. This time was different. Adrian had changed into a totally different man.

Once Alexei was gone, Adrian let his calculating gaze rest on the dead man. He stared at his bluish face, his frozen expression contorted in fear.

Hands balling into tightly clenched fists, he steeled his nerves. He knew exactly what he had to do.

May the justice system have mercy on his soul.

—————-

Getting situated in the car was a rather difficult task. Originally, driving out to the place, Alexei had sat up in the passenger’s seat. Now he sat in the back, hunched over with his friend cradled in his lap. It wasn’t the best way to go about doing things, but it was the best he could do. Being as tall as he was never was a good thing when it came to most cars.

Alexei simply watched out the car window, biting at his lip slightly. He wondered what Officer Meyers was up to, and why he was taking so long. At one point the policeman had come back to retrieve a few articles from the trunk of his car, but he soon disappeared back into the derelict mansion. He wasn’t sure what he took, and why he needed it, but he assumed that he’d find out soon enough. It probably had something to do with taking pictures of the scene of the crime, or perhaps collecting evidence.

Minutes became an hour. Time lapsed slowly. The Heavy didn’t notice it, but light began to flicker behind the windows of that mansion. It wasn’t a typical light from a lamp, per say. No, this was different. Dancing, shifting…

He tried to keep Aldous comfortable, but his kind gestures elicited little from the man. Once or twice Aldous winced, or rather flinched. All of it seemed to be just small things that confirmed that he was alive, indeed, and would be fine later on in the near future. Aldous seemed to linger in between being unconscious and being alert. The moments when he was aware of his surroundings were few and far between. He was still out of it for the most part.

For him Alexei would swallow back anything and do anything. Aldous had Alexei’s utmost loyalty, given freely and with love. No whip or threat or horror coerced him- everything Alexei did for Aldous he did with affection.

However, as the time spent in that car ticked on past an hour, Alexei felt something. He looked down, only to find that Aldous had reached out and gently clutched onto his shirt. The grip itself was weak, barely noticeable, but it had enough feeling behind it that it said one thing: don’t leave me.

Smiling, he hummed softly, stroking the unconscious man’s temples with his thumbs.

All of a sudden, Aldous made a sign that he was somewhat aware of his surroundings. He moved his head, making himself lean away from Alexei. Breathing a little heavily, as if he were experiencing fear, he mumbled something that sounded like ‘master’ under his breath.

“…dat man vill never hurt you again.” The words were muttered, accompanied by a light kiss to the temple. Alexei’s gaze returned to the mansion. He had to watch it, making sure nothing was going wrong. What was Adrian up to, why was he gone so—

A window on the utmost top floor of the mansion blew completely out. Alexei jumped, pressing Aldous closer to him. Fearfully he peered out the window of the car, wondering what exactly had happened.

“…no…”

Flames licked at the corners of that blown out windowpane. They were high now, crawling up the walls of the room, devouring all the furniture within.

What had he done? What was he doing? Alexei muttered the word ‘no’ under his breath, several times. The whole place was burning, every stick that remained of that once-grand house was going up in flames. But why?

He was about to leave the car, to find Adrian, when the policeman himself emerged from the mansion. As the door was opened, Alexei could see that a fire was beginning to form on the base floor. It became far too obvious what was happening now, and what Officer Meyers had done.

He was burning up the evidence.

Alexei was oddly quiet as Officer Meyers slid into the driver’s seat. He didn’t ask the questions aloud, the ones swirling around in his head. He didn’t have to voice them. When Adrian looked into the rear view mirror, to check on the Heavy, Alexei let his eyes do all the talking.

Before Adrian could speak up, there had been a scared sounding gasp, coming from Aldous. The two of them looked at the battered Medic. Aldous was panicking once more. Eyes shut tight, he fearfully asked his ‘master’ what had happened. The loud explosions were clearly waking him up.

Alexei felt a little sick at Aldous’s words, and more than a little alarmed. What had been done to him? It wasn’t like his brash red rose to call anyone his master, not like him at all. He holds him a little closer, whispers to him no, please, don’t call me that, you don’t have to. It’s alright, it’ll be alright.

The fire roared to life as two more windows blew out from the flames and the heat. This mansion was going to be a pile of cooling ash before anyone decided to check on that secluded place. There would be nothing left of the evidence. Nothing to trial, nothing to put to justice. There would be no balance in this order, and what should have been by the books would be no more.

Adrian was breaking the law.

The policeman didn’t say a word. He promptly started the car and began to back out of that overgrown driveway. He didn’t speak until they began to carefully transverse the wooded, snow-speckled mountain road.

“Not a word to the members of zhe base,” Officer Meyers said, the sudden hiss of his accent a clear indication that he was frazzled to the bone with what he did.

Alexei nodded slightly. No, he would not tell a soul what Adrian had done. If ever asked what became of the mansion, he’d lie- say a candle got knocked over in the library, all the musty old books went up and took the rest of the ruin with them.

Adrian cleared his throat before saying softly, “I am…a police officer from Interpol. I have been trained to act upon the art of preserving justice with the best tactics. I have always followed the rules to the final point.” He gripped the wheel tightly. “I…am… an Interpol policeman, but I am not working within their ranks anymore.”

Alexei said not a word. He continued to gently rub his thumb over Aldous’s temples. He knew that Adrian was dealing with the fact that he had gone against everything natural to him. What he did was a big, huge thing. It had dire consequences.

“I have been hired by your advisor to make sure the people of his base, his mercenaries and workers, stay safe. I am to c—clean up…” He paused at the stutter. “…clean up all loose ends to protect those who I have been ordered to watch over. That is why you will never go to jail for protecting Mr. Haswell.”

He was a good cop. He was studious and obedient. But even good cops could be easily bred for crime. He tampered with the scene of one. He messed with evidence and covered everything up. What he did was against the law. He would pay dearly for what he did, if he were ever to be found out.

Adrian glanced over his shoulder at Alexei. His gaze may have been stern, but he tried to give him a reassuring smile. He stared at him for a few brief seconds before returning his gaze to the road. “Tell me,” he said, his voice regaining some of it’s confidence. It also regained his trademark monotone sound. “Why did you kill that man? What were your reasons?”

When Alexei looked up at Adrian, his eyes were shining, full of tears. “…vas hurting my Doktor. Had hurt him, can tell. Very much. Vood have hurt oders, I tink. Maybe… dat poor Heavy dat vas found, vith head off. Maybe did dat. Am not knowing. Vood explain tings…”

Aldous had said something, didn’t he, about keeping Alexei’s head? It wasn’t hard to imagine that the Medic, in his rattled state, had mistaken it for Alexei’s.

“Yes,” Adrian agreed. “That man most likely killed that Heavy. Thankfully respawn revived him.”

Alexei nodded, slowly, before continuing on. “…but.. know should not have done et. Am sorry I did. Is not place, not vish, to take life. Puts leetle Adrian in very bad position, too. Am deserving punishment, know dis. And vill taking et, vhatever you are feeling is right to give me. Just… need to making sure my Doktor vill be okay first. Is all.”

Adrian nodded at Alexei’s words. He drove on a bit in silence before looking into the rear-view mirror once more, connecting his gaze with the Heavy’s. “Alexei, I’ve been at this job for a long time, but I have learned more dealing with this base and the mercenaries residing in it than I have in my entire time spent with Interpol.”

He turned onto another road, and based on the trees passing by and the scenery he was taking the long road back to base. He was honestly taking this way to give them more time to calm down, and to leave a harder-to-follow trail.

“Alexei, you saved a man’s life and you dealt with a possible homicidal maniac. We know now that he quite possibly killed that other employee, that mercenary. If it hadn’t been during the hours of respawn being turned on, he may have lost his life, permanently. This man, Rand von Schwert—”

“Rand?” Alexei looked confused. “Name vas Rand? How does leetle Adrian know?”

Well, the cat was out of the bag. Adrian mentally slapped himself for saying the name. He really didn’t want to let Alexei know how far he had gone, doing what he did. But there was no way to hide it now.

“I went through the house and removed all of the evidence that we were there. I took note of what I could, writing down as much as possible. I explored the mansion and found the place that Mr. Haswell had been holed up.”

Alexei tensed up. He hugged Aldous closer to him, protectively wrapping him up in his arms. He was glad he never got to see that room. He didn’t think he could handle it. He was afraid of what had happened to his Medic.

“I wiped down the place, and poured gasoline on his body.” Adrian spoke as if he were witnessing the events of the recent past right before him, like a movie reel coming to life. “I took all papers or possessions that could possibly identify him, and I combined that with a few more pieces of evidence. I’ve kept such things with me.” He nodded to the passenger seat. There, resting on the cushioned seat, was a bag filled with evidence.

“So dat how leetle Adrian found name. Clever.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “Now, I will eventually go over the evidence with you and Mr. Haswell, just so you can get a sense of peace and closure, perhaps.”

“Dank you.”

Officer Meyers nodded. “Now, as I was saying, this man… Alexei, he could have hurt others, you are right. All of this comes to one conclusion, though: his fate would have remained the same. Because he hurt the mercenaries of MannCo, living property of the company, he would have been killed anyway. Once found, he would have been killed in a horrible fashion, much more brutal than the way you dispatched him.”

It was true. Alexei knew that MannCo would have prolonged Rand’s death. When it came to dispatching people they didn’t want, the company was downright vicious with it.

“You did what you had to do, Alexei. You did something I couldn’t do, many years ago. You took imitative and saved a life, even if it meant breaking the rules.” He frowned, and briefly touched the scar on his chin. After a moment he put that hand back on the wheel. “You will not be punished. You did nothing wrong. Do you understand me? You are to think back on this memory as you will, but you will not, under any circumstances, mention it to anyone, especially in context that you killed a man. Sometimes the rules must be broken; I have come to learn this, Mr. Rosencoff.” He glanced in the mirror once more, and for once his facial expression was soft, understanding and sympathetic. “You saved a life today. Your quick thinking got us here on time. Seeing how this man reacted to whatever Mr. Haswell didn’t want to do, I doubt he would have held back. He would have murdered Mr. Haswell today.”

Alexei nodded slowly, listening to everything said to him. “…understand. But… is vun person I must tell. Vill not mention vhat you did, but… leetle Abel is needing to know vhat happened. Deserves to know whole story. I am not doktor. Cannot heal my Aldous good as leetle vhite rose can. And cannot heal properly if does not know as much as possible.” He paused. His flesh hand stroked idly, gently, through Aldous’s hair. It was gesture as comforting to him as it is to the Medic. “Is good at keeping secrets. Vill not go beyond him.”

He nodded at this. “I agree. It’s best if you tell him. He is the twin brother of Mr. Haswell, and he is the best candidate for healing him. According to the records I have on hand, he understands and knows Mr. Haswell’s mental sickness and can handle it quite well. I believe he is the one who has created a medication to help him. So, yes, I agree he needs to know the full story, for I am afraid there may be some long-lasting psychological damage.”

Aldous opened up his eyes and looked up at Alexei. His eyes were clear, he seemed focused. “Please tell me he didn’t hurt you at all.”

Alexei was startled, as was Adrian. They hadn’t expected him to come to so soon.

“Doktor?” Alexei gently rubbed his thumb over Aldous’s temple. “Is alright now.”

“No,” Aldous rasped out. “I want to know… did he hurt you at all?”

“Nyet, my leetle red rose. Did not hurting me. Am not hurt. Bad man vill never hurt you again. Vill never hurt anyvun. Saw to dat.” Alexei exhaled in relief. This was a good sign- he seemed more lucid now. Lucidity was always good. “Vill be home soon. Vill get you to leetle Abel, and vill getting you healed up. Is all over. Just bad dream, bad memory.”

The look that passed over Aldous’s face made Alexei swallow over a lump in his throat. Adrian might be right. Whatever had happened in that mansion, Alexei bet it went far deeper than just the physical scars he could see.

“It wasn’t a dream.” Aldous shook his head, panic rising once more. At least he stayed lucid, though the fear threatened to send him over the brink. “It wasn’t. It wasn’t! It was a nightmare, a nightmare!"

The floodgates released. Aldous confessed to them then of what had happened. It came out in a rush. From the moment he was abducted to the moment he was rescued, he told it all. The beatings, the moments of starvation. The near flogging strikes of the whip, the mental games, the straightjacket…. everything. Even his hallucinations.

Officer Meyers didn’t realize but his look darkened and his scowl increased. What he heard sickened him as well. It was good that the man died, very good. After all, hearing what he did to the Haswell, who knows what else he could have done to any of the other members.

He heard about the stalking, what Rand said he did to Abelärd. That made him worried. What if he had hurt the BLU Medic? What if he did mess with him or his lover, the BLU Soldier who went by the nickname J.D? “He watched people sleep? How did he get in?” He was beating himself up for allowing this to happen. He had been on patrol that night, so why hadn’t he seen him?

“You didn’t know Rand. He found ways to say under zhe radar. Sly, cunning…it wasn’t your fault.”

It didn’t comfort Adrian, though. He continued to mentally beat himself up over it.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” Aldous confessed softly to Alexei. It was so small, not really loud at all, but Adrian heard it. He man glanced in the rear-view window at him. “Please. I don’t want… I don’t want to be alone. Not anymore, not after that.”

“Дорогой Бог…” The Heavy muttered that exclamation under his breath, trying to keep himself from crying. He could cry later, and he’s sure he would, but he had to be strong now, strong as he possibly could. Instead, he smiles, softly. Sadly. “Never. Vood never. Vant to be with you alvays. Give vhat are vanting. Be vhat are needing. Vant dis. Vill not letting you be alone. Promise dis.”

Aldous looked at Alexei, and he had such a questioning look. The way he said things, it made the Medic wonder. “Alexei?”

“Hmm…? Oh…” Alexei blushed. Oh, he’d said too much. Or said it wrong. Biting his lip, he did his best to backpedal. “Just meant… vill not leaving you. As long as are needing or vanting me to be at your side, vill do so. Is duty, after all. As Heavy, and… and as friend.”

Just… friend. He swallowed down the sting. It didn’t matter, did it? Aldous was alive, he was safe. He was going to get better, little by little. That’s what mattered, what is important. Anything else was silly and selfish.

“Perhaps… more than that.”

Aldous didn’t add anything else to what he said. He cryptically let it be. He allowed his gaze to drift towards the windows. He watched the scenery pass by them. He let his words hang there, he wanted Alexei to decipher them. All the while he, himself, wanted to figure out what he was implying there.

What had gotten into him?

“…Perhaps.” He didn’t say anything else. The whole way back, Alexei kept silent and steady, a warm rock to lean on. His Medic’s constant gardener.

~~~~~~~~~~

Upon their return to the base, the three were tired of cars and traveling mountain roads. They were appreciative of the clean air, to be out of that car.

Alexei didn’t carry Aldous but he did let the Medic lean on him for support. He wanted to give the man some sense of power and control and letting him walk on his own steam, even with some assistance, seemed a good place to start.

Pausing at the entrance to BLU base, Alexei turned to Adrian. “Tank you. For everyting. Could not have found him without clever leetle cop’s sharp instinct. Owe you very much, leetle Adrian.”

Aldous hadn’t a clue as to the hidden meaning behind the gardener’s actions, but it’s clear he’d fallen back into the fog of trauma. Though he heard all and understood it in the end, he refused to speak and didn’t look at the two. His gaze was far off, his expression blank. He scanned the sky, hoping to see his ravens flying.

Officer Adrian looked up at the towering giant. Doffing his hat, he tucked it neatly under his arm as he stood up straight. He looked like himself, just his regular old self. It was as if nothing had happened, like nothing had rattled anyone’s nerves. No event had transpired. No victim was tortured, no person was strangled to death, no bodies and evidence were burned.

“No thanks are needed,” he said honestly, his alert eyes scanning the Russian’s face for the finest, minute details of stress. “You are the one who alerted to the missing person in question. You are the one who stepped forward, so you are the one to be thanked in this situation.”

“Am tanking you anyvay.” He nodded, giving the smaller man a slight smile. His own expression did indeed have marks of stress, plenty he was holding back. A whole cocktail of things that might make someone else scream. Doubt and fear and worry and self-disgust and horror, all held up, held back, for someone else’s sake. It’s what Alexei did. Denied his own feelings for others’ benefit. “Vill seeing you later, my friend.”

“As will I.” Officer Meyers put his cap back on, then took a moment to look around the area. “Mr. Rosencoff,” he began. “I may have a reputation for being a cold, emotionless, stiff police officer around base, and I may not keep my emotions out on my sleeve, but know you can come to me if you have any issues. I may not be a therapist, but I can listen to a friend.” He gave him a look as if to confirm that, yes, he said that. To the man who once wanted to pound his face in long ago, he considered him as such. “I am worried about you. I want you to come to me if you ever need to. I will be checking up on you, soon.”

Alexei nodded, watching Adrian tip his hat to him, turning on his heel. He wondered how soon he’d see the policeman. He truly did need someone to talk to, but he didn’t know who, or if he could.

Inside he was breaking… and he was about to fall apart, very soon.

________

Alexei kept Aldous close to him. He walked with him into the base. At this time of night most of the mercenaries had retreated to their own personal spaces and rooms. They were busy doing their things, too engrossed in what they were doing to worry about who was walking about. One could hear the proof for themselves: the halls filled with the quiet constant hum of conversation and radios and television and Engineer gadgets and medical equipment, spiked with Soldier yells and Scout catcalls.

As they walked the halls, Aldous glanced about them in silent study. He seemed a little comforted by the familiar sounds and even the smells (the oil being burned in the machines built by the engineers, the sharp scent of gunpowder). It all reminded him of his job, of his regular mercenary life.

He stopped at a certain door of a certain Medbay. He made sure Aldous was okay before he knocked a few times.

“My brother?” Aldous stared at the door, his mouth falling into a deep scowl.

“Da. Is best to see.”

Knowing that he’d soon see his twin brother, Aldous instantly tensed up out of fear and dread. Not of his brother, no, but of what would find. What if Rand truly had hurt him in some way? The mere idea sickened him.

Alexei patiently waited for an answer, murmuring words of encouragement to the man he was protecting. He would continue to protect him as long as he drew breath, as long as it was wanted or needed.

Footsteps were finally heard behind the door. There was the sound of someone undoing a lock. Another few seconds, and then the door began to open up, just a crack. A very stressed and worried looking man peeked out. There was a bit more silver to his salt-and-pepper flecked hair. His eyes widened when he saw who his guests were.

"Leetle Abel?"

Abelärd flung the door open wide. He looked utterly shocked. “Alexei! Aldous? Bruder, oh, you’re alright!”

Alexei couldn’t help but smile a little. It always made him a little happier to see his beloved roses together, the Haswell siblings. Of course, it probably wouldn’t take much more than a moment for Abelärd to gather that there was something very wrong with his twin.

"Am needing your help, leetle vhite rose. Am not good doktor beyond first aid tings, and… da. Are needing you now, I tink." He gently gave Aldous a nudge. What had happened was his ordeal to tell, not Alexei’s, and the Heavy would not be so brash as to speak for him. Despite this, he wouldn’t leave his side. He remembered Aldous’s words in the car, how he didn’t want to be alone. As such, he decided to stay by his side, just as he promised he would.

Alexei was right. It didn’t take Abelärd long to realize something was very, very wrong. His brother’s clothing was ripped. They were bloodstained and filthy. They were akin to rags hanging off of his thin form, the clothes of someone who had been sleeping on the streets for most of his life. He looked ghastly pale and he didn’t seem to be responsive at all. These, of course, were not good signs. Abelärd couldn’t help but notice that his brother’s eyes drifted from time to time, brief seconds where his attention wavered.

"Mein Gott," he gasped. He gently took Alexei by the elbow, choosing to lead him right into the infirmary and not his twin. He knew that the Heavy had that covered."Please, both of you, come in. Alexei, I want you to sit down and be nearby if I need you. And I need zhe both of you to tell me vhat happened."

Alexei nodded and entered, letting himself get lead right over to a gurney. He watched as Abelärd coaxed his battered twin onto it. Glancing around, he saw that a chair was to be found, right beside the gurney. He felt a little spark of gratitude form. It looks like the BLU Medic knew just how much Aldous meant to him, after all. Abelärd chose this gurney because of the chair.

"Is long story,” the Heavy said as he sat down in the chair. “Oh, and… must keep to self. Made promise vould not let et spread around."

“I have time. I need to know everything, Alexei. Please, tell me, and know I won’t tell a soul.”

Closing his eyes briefly, he prepped himself. Slowly, his breath hitching in a few places, he began to tell what Aldous had told him, adding in the parts where the two of them came to the rescue. It didn’t take long to tell, and Abelärd was an attentive listener.

Aldous listened in as well, although he didn’t seem to be focused on much of anything. He did groan outwardly when his brother began to undress him. How degrading, getting undressed during story time here.

How nice, though. Abelärd had kept his pants on for comfort. He knew his twin was probably frazzled, and he knew how nerve wracking it probably was being examined in front of someone else. Then again, he was a Haswell, and an odd duck at that. Maybe he didn’t care. he wasn’t putting up much of a fuss over the fact that he was partially naked before his friend. Did he not care? Or was it something else? Was he too tired to worry? Abelärd hadn’t a clue.

Oh, the wounds on his body! He could see that there were cuts that were attempting to heal on their own, but he also saw those that were obviously fresh. His heart ached for his brother. He had known something was wrong, he remembered that nightmare, but he hadn’t been able to do a thing in time.

"…squeezed dat man,” Alexei said, finishing up his tale. “Squeezed his neck till et snapped. Know I shouldn’t have. Is wrong to kill. Leetle Adrian said I did right ting, but… still don’t know. Maybe should have just knocked out, tied up somevhere. Did someting. But killed him. Vas first ting dat came to mind to do."

The BLU medic paused before he looked at Alexei. He stared at him, stricken with awe. “All of this happened?

“Da…”

Moving over to the Russian, Abelärd took his hand and squeeze it. Well, he had to use both of his hands to hold Alexei’s! “Thank you,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please, I know vhat you’d be thinking by now. I know you, Alexei. You’re focused on that fact you broke the law, and you did wrong.”

Alexei didn’t say a word. He just bowed his head a bit, guilty as charged. It weighed heavy on his mind. Because of what he did, he took a man’s life and caused Adrian to have to burn up the evidence in order to protect him. In his mind he messed up everything.

“Alexei,” Abelärd said, gently moving his hands up to the man’s face, so he could cup it affectionately. “You saved my brother. Without you… he may have died.”

Aldous closed his eyes and tried to roll over on his side. He wanted his back to them. Much to his dismay, he realized he couldn’t move. It wasn’t just because he was languid, but because he dimly realized what his twin was doing to him. He was prepping him for an iv. For blood, he assumed.

“But…” Alexei looked up at his friend, his little white rose, the youngest of the Haswells. “Did bad ting. Killed man. Should not have…”

His heart was hurting for Alexei. Abelärd couldn’t stand to see the man so tormented. The sad truth of the matter was, they were all killers. They were mercenaries by nature. They were murderers paid by a higher force, by the MannCo corporation. Their paychecks came figuratively soaked in the blood of their enemies.

Alexei reached out with his hand and grasped Aldous’s loosely. It was gentle enough that his friend could pull away if he wished. He kept his eyes on Abelärd, though, both in attentiveness and to grant his friend some privacy.

Response wise, Aldous did nothing. He laid there, silent, his hand held by Alexei. It wasn’t until his twin began to speak again did he squeeze back. It was such a small gesture, wouldn’t seem much to anyone else perhaps. But it was obvious what Aldous was conveying in that simple, little gesture back to the man: he was thankful he was here.

“I… would have done the same thing,” Abelärd admitted softly. His words received a visual response from Alexei. The Heavy began to nod. “I would have killed him, no… tortured him for what he did to my brother.” Confessing to this hurt just as bad as seeing Alexei fall apart before him. But he knew he had a temper, one that was worse than his twin’s. In fact, Aldous was known to fear him the most on the battlefield. Aldous’s rage was fueled by many things, mostly his illness or uncontrollable emotions. Abelärd’s loyalty fueled his. That is what made him different, and twice as dangerous. “Alexei, Gott… you didn’t do wrong, not in my eyes. I don’t have much family left. You saved him. And if you hadn’t killed him, he may have gone after others, including you. I’m… in your debt.”

At Abelärd’s words, the Heavy bows his head slightly. He was the second person to tell him that he’d done right. Maybe it was his own self-doubt that was wrong- Abelärd was as pacifistic as him most times, after all. If he said that the man needed to die, Alexei believed him.

"Owe me noting, leetle vhite rose. Are both safe. Is all I could vant." He paused, biting slightly at the inside of his cheek. He looked over at Aldous, letting his gaze linger on his friend for the longest time. He could see that he was hiding what he felt and thought behind an emotionless, blank mask. "Can help him? Can making better? Hurt so much. Terrible man had whip, vas…"

He couldn’t describe it anymore than he already had. He didn’t have the stomach to.

Abelärd heaved a great, heavy sigh. His shoulders slumped as if a huge weighted burden had been lifted. He looked a little better, but still old, and tired and strained. “I do owe you,” he said. “Alexei, if I lost my brother, I don’t know vhat I’d do. As for my brother…”

The BLU medic moved back over to his twin. He stood at his side, gently taking his brother’s wrist in his hand. He felt the pulse, how weak but steady it was. He was somewhat calm at the moment, and at least he was in a safe, protective environment. That alone would put Aldous’s mind to ease.

“I will do my best,” he said, continuing on his train of thought. “It’ll be tricky. I heard your tale, but I don’t know everything that zhe man did to my twin. Not knowing may end up complicating the healing process.”

"Master whipped me quite often.”

Both Alexei and Abelärd looked towards the man on the gurney. It was Aldous who had said those words, and neither of them had expected to hear that.

“Master…?” The BLU medic looked towards Alexei, confused and a bit disturbed. Did he know what he was talking about? “Whipped?”

“Flogged, perhaps, is a better term.”

“Who flogged you, brother?”

“Master did.”

This was getting them nowhere. Abelärd was beyond confused. Now he was just outright alarmed. He stared at his brother, his heart clenched in the cold grip of anxiety. Just what had his brother gone through? He knew his twin couldn’t rationally speak to them, not at this point in time. He was dealing with some emotional and physical trauma, and it played with his mind and senses.

"…Doktor." Alexei released Aldous’s hand. He did this so he could move his hand to his dear friend’s cheek. His touch gentle, his eyes sad. "Do not need to call him dat. Not anymore, not ever again. Is gone. Cannot hurt you any longer. Nyet. Do not needing to call him dat, or anyvun."

Maybe he was being too forward again, letting things show that he ought to conceal. But he couldn’t help it. If by his gesture of affection, his humbleness, his want for nothing but Aldous’s well being, he could undo the damage Rand had done a little, just a little…maybe it’d be worth it.

"He’s right," Abelärd said, still unsure as to what was going on, and what that was all about. "Why would you even call anyone that, brother? No one is your master. No one ever has been.”

He turned to look at his brother, and he stopped talking, completely. He saw how his twin looked at Alexei, silent but comforted by the touch. He could see the tender tug of a smile pulling at his lips. All of a sudden quite a few things made sense.

All this time he had a feeling he was right about something… and he was.

This also meant, though, that things were about to get even trickier. The Heavy would be needed, more than ever before, and that kind of responsibility might end up stressing him out.

"Alexei," Abelärd continued, lowering his voice. “I need to warn you about something.”

“Warn…?” Alexei protectively squeezed Aldous’s hand. He frowned out of concern. “Vhat is wrong?”

He moved over to him, so it was easier for him to hear. “I’m afraid he’ll need quite a bit of therapy. He is going to need you, more than ever. You’re going to be a vital part to his recovery. I am just worried.”

“Make sense. Am vorried too.”

The BLU medic weakly smiled. He nervously pushed his half-moon spectacles up his nose. He honestly needed to get the screws tightened again. “Well, I’m not just worried about him, but I’m worried about vhat you might see.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how long he’ll need for recovery, and I don’t know how extensive his injuries are, physical or otherwise. I just hope he hasn’t been truly brainwashed in believing certain things. I hope he isn’t…”

He didn’t want to say it, but Aldous did it for him.

"Too far gone," the battered medic snapped, a bit of an edge in his voice. "Unable to be saved, unable to be fixed, like always.”

Incredulous that his twin was starting up this argument now, of all things, Abelärd let out an exasperated sigh. “Now, I didn’t say that!”

“You implied it.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth!”

This anger was typical of Aldous. The man was always just a bit grumpy, if not on edge. He usually argued for a reason, though. There was always some reason for him to throw a fit. Now, though, was lashing out in fear and pain. He didn’t mean what he said.

"Stop… stop…" Alexei trembled, muttering something quickly in Russian. He caught himself though, stopping right away. He took a few breaths. No. Keep it together, Alexei. Any crying or freaking out you have to do, do it later. You aren’t the one who’s been through hell. “…is not true. Are not beyond hope. I am not believing dis for second. Aldous… believe in you. So much, I do. Vill get better. Even if is taking time, you vill. Am knowing dis because are strong. Have been long as I have knowing you. So…” He breathed in, exhaling. Strength. He must be strong as well. A Heavy must be strong to protect his Medic. That was a basic necessity. “…tell me vhat to do. Anyting at all. Vhatever you need, vant. I vant you better, and vill do anyting to help.”

Aldous didn’t stir at all. He laid upon that gurney, looking up at the ceiling far above him. With no response from him, one could easily think he wasn’t even paying attention. Oh, but he was. He had been paying attention to every word that came out of that gardener’s mouth.

He was well aware of everything.

Abelärd shook his head. It was useless. Aldous was too traumatized to talk now. He gave the Heavy a sad, sympathetic smile. He was truly sorry that his words probably went unheard. The last thing he wanted him to do was get discouraged.

“Alexei, perhaps I can—”

“Leave, brother.”

Abelärd, startled, looked at his twin. Aldous was sitting up! He was sitting upright, his battered and bruised body trembling from the exhaustion. He could see a few of the newly closed cuts reopen. “Come now, stop this. You’re going to agitate your wounds.” Seeing as how his demand went unnoticed, went to push the poor guy back down on the gurney. His hands were swatted viciously away. “Lay down, you’re not well.”

"And neither is he!" The RED medic gave his brother a haggard stare. He meant business. "Leave us alone for a few minutes.”

“Aldous—”

“Just a few,” he snapped, reiterating the importance of this issue with the severity of his glower. “Then you can work on me all you want. I want a few words with Alexei.”

Abelärd paused. A single glance at Alexei said it all. Yes, his brother needed to speak with the Heavy, this much was to be sure. “You now, before you left for your trip into town, I said something to you. I wonder if you remember it.”

“I have no idea vhat you’re talking about,” Aldous nearly snarled, his accent thicker due to his agitation. “Vhy haven’t you left? Leave us be for a few moments.”

A soft, almost musical laugh escaped the BLU medic. “I’m quite sure you remember.” He smiled at his twin, before winking at Alexei. “As I said to you before,” he continued, his tone rather lighthearted, “and it was very important.”

“Vhat is it!”

“”…I told you I knew you better than anyone else, brother.”

Aldous tensed up. His frustrated expression faltered, and his complexion paled considerably. Dammit. The way his twin had looked at them both… yes, there was no denying it. Abelärd knew! That bastard knew everything! He had figured it out! His brother could be quite smarmy when he figured things out, and he always had a knack for knowing things before others got wind of it. That was the thing that really irked Aldous: his twin was far too intelligent for his own good.

The silence was broken when Abelärd hugged the Heavy. He gave him a reassuring pat on the back, his gesture kind and loving. He adored this young man. This man was such a sweet, innocent soul. The world needed more like him.

Instructing Alexei to let him know once their talk was over, Abelärd left them to their moment of privacy. He’d stay outside the doors of the infirmary, lingering in the hallway. He’d wait as long as he’d need to, and give them as much time and space as they needed.

Alone. Alexei was all alone with Aldous. The Heavy looked at his beloved medic, suddenly all too aware that he was nervous as much as he was worried and distraught. He didn’t know what to say, or what Aldous would talk about. He couldn’t help but push down his emotions once more. No. He wasn’t the one suffering here. He had to be strong for his medic. He couldn’t give in and break, he couldn’t crumble at a time like this.

Slowly Aldous turned to face Alexei, allowing his legs to dangle off the side of the gurney. His expression was calm once more, and his voice was steady as he commanded him to do something: “cry.”

“…Vat?” Alexei blinked in confusion.

"Cry,” Aldous repeated, holding out his hands to him. “Let it all out."

"Vhat? But…" He blinked, the fingers of his metal arm clicking slightly as they fidget. "I’m… I am fine… is noting, Doktor. Really…" He gives a wavering smile. No, he couldn’t, he mustn’t… he wasn’t the victim here. This wasn’t about him. He had no right to cry, none at all.

Letting out a groan, Aldous gave him an unconvinced look. His scowl was stern, much like a parent or a teacher would have when a child wouldn’t come out with the truth. “I am your partner,” he stated, his accent not as heavy anymore. “I don’t fucking care what is going on with me. I don’t care if I have a leg being cut off. You are my HEAVY.” He pounded his fist, once, on his knee. “I want you to tell me when you are breaking inside, and you are! You’re breaking right now. I’m seeing it!”

Alexei stayed silent for a few long, drawn out minutes. He bit his lip still wondering if he should care, let alone speak it. But the crack in the dam had been willed to split, and little by little, it gave way. First a soft sob, than another, and more and more until the Heavy was weeping so hard he couldn’t stand.

Everything he’d held back just poured out at once, rivers of saline flowing from pink-tinged blue eyes. He swore he could see the blood on his hands, blood that cried of a guilty murderer no matter how others may pardon him. He saw the wounded spirit of his most precious person, the one who had suffered so greatly because he had come to late to spare him entirely.

Though he still did not speak of it, he saw the thing buried deep in the most secret places inside of him, the thing that kept seeping out when it really ought to stay hidden. The thing that just made people confused and hurt.

All of this shook his soul like an earthquake, and he buried his face in his hands, shoulders bucking with each painful sob.

"…that is what I thought."

The Heavy gasped softly. He felt arms wrapping around him, or at least attempting to. They pulled him closer. He could feel warmth, a sign that he was being held close to Aldous’s chest. Oh, that heartbeat. How he longed to hear that beautiful sound. Yes, the Medic was keeping him close as he cried, choosing not to say a thing, allowing him to cry everything out. Aldous had slipped down from the gurney in order to comfort him, ignoring the pain that was shooting up the back of his spine.

"Let it all out," the medic said. "Everything. I don’t want you to hold a single tear back." He began to rub Alexei’s temples, just like the Heavy did to him whilst in the car. It was a familiar action that brought peace to him and, perhaps, comfort to the weeping man.

Alexei continued to weep. He felt as if the pressure crushing his heart was lifting, drop by drop, but it wasn’t an easy process. It was painful, and several times he tried to stop himself. No, stop it, what are you crying about? You weren’t tortured for days, you weren’t whipped, you weren’t starved, you weren’t… what do you have to cry for?

Yet he didn’t stop. He couldn’t, now that he’s started in the first place. It was as if all the pain he’d been bottling up for a long time was finally given release. It was quite a painful thing, but it was also necessary.

It seemed like quite some time before his sobbing began to ease, his eyes slipping shut. Gentle touches soothed him, as did the beating of a heart that cared for him.

"There, there. It’s alright. Let it all out, then let yourself breathe." Aldous’s voice was soothing. It had such a loving tone to it. He was speaking in a low volume that his voice held a deep, calming effect. Maybe it was just Alexei’s imagination, though, but he swore he could feel his anxieties beginning to melt away. His medic’s voice sounded better than any soothing lullaby he’d ever heard. "Crying is good. Do not let anyone stop you from crying. Even I cry from time to time, Alexei.” He closed his eyes to keep the room from spinning. “Why do you cry?”

Why? Could Alexei really explain? It was difficult. It all seemed stupid and trivial. It was better to keep his mouth shut and pretend to be alright even when he wasn’t- there were others who needed help more than him.

"…do not know, really. I… is hard to say…"

“Try.”

Aldous gazed upon Alexei with sense of calm understanding. “Alexei, speak your mind. Even if you think I will be revolted, I won’t.” He nodded to him, as if to say, ‘I am on to what you may be thinking’.

From where his head rested on Aldous’s chest, he didn’t see his friend’s facial expression. Perhaps it’s for the best- he might have clammed up if he did, refused to speak further of himself when he was not the one in most need of care. But as it is, he ceased being hesitant and quiet. He did as he was asked.

"…many tings. But mostly, three. Vun. Am so sorry did not find you sooner. Vish I could have. If had just been more clever, faster, could have saved some hurt. Feel badly for dis. Two- vish I had not killed terrible man. Deserved vorst punishment could get, da. But not from me. Know vas pardoned, have been told, ‘is right ting you have done’. Maybe. But vish had been oder vay, had thought of et before strangled fellow man. Killing is different here. Game of tag vith guns. Nobody dies. But for real… is different. Makes heart feel sick."

Alexei stopped to take a breath. He took that pause to study Aldous’s reaction. The medic seemed to be sober and listening, alert and aware to his surroundings, but he wasn’t really responding in any way, shape or form. No words, no expression. Even his eyes were hard to read. Or, well, his good one at least. His blind eye was always a bit hard to read emotional-wise.

Feeling it was safe to continue on, Alexei did so.

"Third ting… is different from oder two. Is ting has been for long time. No help for it. Is vhat is, cannot be. Should let go."

"First of all,” Aldous said, cutting Alexei off from anything else he was about to say. “I want you to stop beating yourself up over not finding me sooner," he said. "No one knew. I go off on my own all zhe time, and I keep to myself. I am not zhe most social butterfly of zhe base." He shrugged idly. It was the truth, he wouldn’t deny it. "Second… he was not innocent. You killed someone who…" He paused and shuddered violently. Everything flooded back to him in a wave. He shook his head, casting it aside. "You don’t know what he did, what he was like. Alexei, you didn’t kill an innocent man. You stopped a murderer… a Nazi."

“Am knowing dis,” the Heavy admitted.

"I wish I could take zhe feeling of guilt away from you. I can only be here to help you. And I will help you.” He shook his head. Aldous knew. “Zhe third thing, don’t let it go. I know…what it is. I think. I’m not quite sure but I think I do know exactly what is troubling you. And I…” he paused, suddenly scared of the results of his words. “…feel zhe same.”

What the Heavy was seeing before him was the medic, his medic, flinching in reflexive fear. Cowering, Aldous had shut his eyes tight, afraid to look at his comrade. Alexei could see the turmoil within him, broiling and frothing like an angry, turbulent sea. He knew that this man was dealing with bad memories and fear… plenty of fear. But he could also see that Aldous was honestly trying his best to remain calm, to fight through this. He was doing this for a reason.

Aldous Haswell just admitted to him that he felt the same way. This meant that he was feeling the same sensation that he was feeling: love.

Alexei almost didn’t believe what he heard. He nearly told him to take it back, wanting to say ‘don’t, please, I can’t take it’. He didn’t want him to say such things just to make him feel better. No, Alexei thought. Don’t say it unless you really mean it. Don’t just say this if you don’t really believe it, please…

But Aldous would not lie to him. Not even to spare his feelings, he knew that. Perhaps he was known for being elusive, fudging the truth now and again if he thought it would benefit him. However, to Alexei he never lied. Just knowing what he knew now eased that weight that had been on his chest for the longest time.

"Is alright. Is very good. But is not ting are needing to deal vith now. Vant… are vanting you to concentrate on getting better first. Vill be time for dis in future. But you getting better is most important ting. Vill not be alone. Vill having help, all you need. Vas… vas meaning vhat I said before, in car. Every vord." He sat up slowly, his smile encouraging with a lot less worry and sadness in it. There was mostly hope now.

Aldous was spurred on by that smile, but he was mostly trying to keep himself from having a meltdown. A lot of conflicting things were running through his head, and a few memories as well. He remembered the triangle, and he suddenly felt sick. He didn’t want to die for this. He didn’t want to be punished.

But that was in the past now. The war was over, and he wasn’t in Germany anymore.

Alexei’s words brought him back to reality. The man was good for that. The gardener always seemed to be able to do the impossible. He could bring Aldous down from the high of an episode. Only one other person could do that, and that was Jane, his brother’s lover. Alexei, though, could do it a a much quicker pace. Almost instantly, actually.

Rooted to the man’s voice, Aldous opened his eyes. He was afraid something was going to happen, but nothing bad happened at all. “I know you meant every word,” he said, rather softly. It were as if he were afraid the walls would hear. “You’ve never lied to me, and I will never lie to you.”

For the first time in a week, he genuinely smiled.

Aldous Haswell was happy.

--------------------

“I take it you figured it out, all on your own.”

Upon hearing that familiar voice speak to him in his native tongue, Aldous looked over the rum of his coffee mug. He was just about to take a sip of the rather robust concoction when his brother spoke to him. Too bad it was low in caffeine. He would have preferred the regular kind, but he knew that he couldn’t risk too much of it, not right now. He was lucky enough his brother caved in and gave him this kind.

He hadn’t a single clue as to why he was doing this. Perhaps it was because he was going to be laid up for a day or two, recovering from the wounds, getting iv dripped medication and blood transfusions. Perhaps it was because he didn’t have anything else to do, and drinking coffee and having something to eat for lunch seemed to be the best thing at that moment. After all, he had to get back on a regular schedule with his meals. He had to start off slow, reintroducing himself to food.

Maybe, though, there was an entirely different reason. Maybe he was actually taking up that offer, the one his brother had given him the day of his trip. He just chose coffee instead of tea. He enjoyed tea as much as the next bloke, but he needed to stay alert, at least for a bit longer.

Alexei wasn’t with them. Abelärd decided enough was enough. The poor Heavy had stayed up nearly three nights in a row, and the medic could see the signs of fatigue weighing heavy on his broad shoulders. With Rosencoff refusing to eat much, nor leave Aldous’s side for those three days of treatment, he was sure to break down sooner or later if he didn’t take care of himself, too. Ergo, Abelärd ordered the man to take a nap and get some food. He was to return by that evening, if he chose to do so. Of course, though, he knew the Heavy would return. He was incredibly worried about his twin brother.

As much as Alexei hesitated, he knew his friend was right. He retreated for a good, hot meal and a long, well deserved nap. Jane was a dear, though. He went with the Heavy, and was making sure that he went through with his promise.

This left the two Haswell siblings alone. They had time to talk, now. All day, in fact, until Alexei returned that evening. They had a chance to try to return to a state of normalcy. Abelärd wanted this because he knew his brother was still suffering from emotional trauma, and he wanted to ease Aldous back into feeling comfortable enough to talk. Something like this would help the healing process, as well. He knew he had a chance to talk to Aldous, what with the medication running through his veins at that moment. They calmed him down, kept his mind sober and on track. It numbed the pain and made life bearable.

Figuring it out all on his own? Aldous huffed and took a long drag from his mug. The coffee tasted good. It was black liquid gold to him, precious and greatly desired. “Figure out what,” he asked, falling into his native tongue as well. He was comfortable speaking that. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m quite sure you do,” Abelärd said, his tone chipper. There was a twinkle in his eye as he sipped from his teacup. “I’m almost positive you know by now. That’s what your long conversation with Alexei was about last night.”

“It wasn’t long.”

“It lasted almost an hour.”

Aldous groaned. It had? He wasn’t aware of that. To him, the entire conversation had lasted only a few minutes. Far too short for his tastes. He remembered talking to Alexei, broadening the subject that had started their revelation. They had discussed the matter, further admitting to what they had each just learned of one another.

“So it did,” Aldous grumpily snapped, shifting his weight in his chair. He was sore, and the iv stuck in his arm really didn’t help his situation. He wondered if he had bled through any of his bandaging. “Is that a crime?”

“No, not at all. On the contrary, it’s an excellent sign.”

Abelärd smiled as he watched his brother nibble at his sandwich. The poor guy was trying. He wasn’t putting up any of his usual struggles. He wasn’t being annoyingly rebellious just for the fun of it. He truly was exhausted from his ordeal, and he was at least trying to go along with what his treatment dictated.

Reaching over, the youngest twin patted his dear brother’s hand. “Listen,” he began, his blue-gray eyes sympathetically warm. “I know it’s scary. We grew up in a place, around a time, where something like that was forbidden. We could be punished for what is only inherently right with us. But these are different times, brother, and this is a different place. Though it’s still thought to be taboo with a lot of people, we can at least feel a bit more free and love who we want to.”

“IT’S WRONG!”

Abelärd jumped slightly in his seat, startled when Aldous slammed his balled up fists upon the table. The mug, the teacup and the two plates rattled, but thankfully nothing spilled. He could see the torment building up within his brother, and he could see that he was still clearly disturbed by what had happened. All this was brand new to him, and it was causing him to suffer on top of the emotional and physical distress he had acquired, thanks to his kidnapping and abuse.

“It’s not wrong,” Abelärd said quietly. He tried to keep his voice as mellow and soothing as ever, hoping to calm his twin’s rattled nerves. He gently patted his hand once more, rubbing it reassuringly. “I promise you, it’s not wrong. Everything we’ve been told and taught as children isn’t the truth. I know you by now, Aldous. I told you, I know you better than you know yourself, and right now you think you’re sick or diseased.”

Lapsing into a sullen sense of silence, Aldous held his tongue. He didn’t want to say anything at this point. He wanted to continue to stare down at the surface of his coffee. He could barely see his own reflection. He enjoyed it black, straight, without any cream or sugar.

“Please, believe in me this: it’s not wrong. You won’t get punished for it.”

“But how can I be…”

Abelärd chuckled. “Gay?”

“Sshh!” Aldous nearly lunged for his brother, but he restrained himself. “Don’t… don’t say it out loud!”

“As if anyone can hear you!” Abelärd gestured towards his wing of the infirmary. No one was there. They had the whole place to themselves. The only witnesses to the little lunch break of theirs came in the form of Abelärd’s beloved birds. Well, bird, at this point. All the other mourning doves had retreated to their cage to sleep. It resided in a emptied supply closet. Warm enough in the wintertime, they were kept out of the elements. Only one mourning dove remained nearby, and it was fluffed up with its head under its wing. “No one is here, Aldous. No one can hear this conversation. Your secret is safe with me and, of course, Alexei.” He paused, considering something else, though. “Actually, if you’re still worried about it, I’d suggest taking it up with Karl as well. He can help you, you know. Explain it from his point of view. He can put your mind at ease, I promise you.”

Aldous sat there, considering that very option. It wouldn’t be bad to visit Karl. He wanted to see how he was doing, after all, and he had pretty good insight on issues such as this.

“I don’t get it though,” he admitted after a moment. The RED medic shrugged.

“Get what?”

Aldous warmed his hands on the coffee mug. The familiar heat was comforting to him. “How… how could I be gay when I’m still attracted to women?”

Abelärd nervously chuckled. Oh, dear. Did Aldous honestly not understand how far this issue went?

“Brother,” Abelärd began, trying to keep his voice as innocent sounding. The last thing he wanted to do was send his twin into a raging fit. He didn’t want to come off as mocking. “There is such a thing as loving both men and women.”

The RED medic’s expression grew more befuddled the more he heard. He listened as his twin explained the situation out thoroughly to him. Yes, Aldous could very well be attracted to men and women. That was very much a real thing. He could even be attracted to people he felt a deep connection to, regardless of their gender.

“You know,” Abelärd said, continuing his explanation, “Jane was attracted to both men and women. Honestly, he still is, but he fell in love with me and we’re committed to each other. As for me, you know that I have had issues with women in the past. I feel no connection, no attraction towards the female form, unlike Jane.”

“You used to go into a panic when a woman flirted with you.” Aldous smirked at himself, despite everything weighing on his mind. He remembered those days, back when they were young and careless. He remembered how nervous his twin got around women who wanted to date him.

“Yes, well, that is in the past.” Abelärd huffed. He didn’t like to be reminded of the olden days when it came to such subjects such as that. “As I was saying, all of this does make sense. It’s not outlandish for you to finally realize this now, at the age you are. It takes time to find yourself, brother. I just knew for the longest time.”

Aldous sputtered, nearly spitting out the bit of coffee he had sipped. He glared at his twin. “Bullshit,” he growled, his tone rather threatening. He was feeling very uncomfortable, and he was experiencing some pain from his injuries. His pain killers were wearing off, it seemed.

“I told you, brother. I know you better than you know yourself.”

This prompted a heavy silence to fall between them. It wasn’t an awkward sort of silence, though. The quiet that filled the room was welcomed, rather comforting in nature. It was just the two of them. They were safe from the world, protected by each others presence. Their strong bond was a shield, and it was erected much akin to a wall. It worked to keep the bad memories at bay.

“I think I need another dose,” Aldous said softly, his voice cracking towards the end. He looked at his brother and nodded. He could feel the pain creeping up on him. His ribs were indeed cracked, and the bandages wrapped around his torso only did so much. He needed medication to help quell the immense pain he was experiencing, from his ribs to everything else.

“I’ll get you that in a moment, after you finish your sandwich.”

Abelärd glanced up as he heard the gentle chimes of a clock. It heralded the new hour. One o’clock. He stared at it for a moment, watching the hands move into place. Life was strange. The two of them had been dealt strange, oftentimes awful hands. No matter what, though, they managed to overcome their problems, whether it due to a togetherness or from individual efforts. Time moved on, but they always seemed to keep up with their mad dash towards life’s finish line.

“Tomorrow is Christmas,” Abelärd murmured softly.

“Yeah? What about it.”

“I know you despise the holiday, but I understand why.” Abelärd stood up, gently pushing his chair back so it didn’t make too much noise. He went to collect their now emptied plates. “It reminds you of days past when we had a family, when everyone was together and when there wasn’t war. You claim you hate this holiday for multiple reasons, but the reason you dislike it is not for the holiday itself, but because we’re fighting a war while it is celebrated.”

Raising an eyebrow, Aldous gave his twin a quizzical look.

“You honestly don’t consider it a holiday at all,” he continued, dumping the plates in a nearby sink. It was usually used to wash medical tools, beakers, containers and the like. For now he’d use it to wash the dishes. The other medics oftentimes did that during their breaks where they had food. “Because to you, Christmas should be celebrated with peace in mind, and you can’t find that here, not while working for the MannCo company.”

“Yes,” he admitted hesitantly. Aldous heaved a great sigh. “To me, there’s no reason to celebrate Christmas when we’re only going to go back to killing the next day. We’ve gone through one war during the holidays. I’m tired of it.”

“Well, this year, I want to truly celebrate it. I have many reasons to do so.” Abelärd moved over to his brother and, after checking his forehead for any signs of a fever, he gently kissed the top of his head. “I got you back. You’ve returned to us all, thanks to Alexei and Officer Meyers.”

“Brother—”

“I thought I was going to lose you. I… I was so scared.”

The RED medic could hear his brother’s voice wavering. He was trying not to cry. Taking his twin’s hand in his own, he gently squeezed it. “We don’t normally see eye-to-eye, and on most days I hate your guts. But you’re right. You told me that I care about you, despite my adamantly voiced claims of not liking you… but I do. I care about you, brother.”

“…Aldous?”

“I love you.”

Those were the words that Abelärd thought he’d never hear coming from his twin. His heart ached, its beat turning into a slow, dull throb. Tears came to his eyes, and he couldn’t help but cry.

Gently pulling Aldous to his feet, he embraced his brother. He brought him into a warm, protective hug. “Thank you,” he whispered. “You don’t know how much I appreciate hearing that at last. I know I haven’t been the best brother to you, and I know you don’t understand my way or life or what I’ve chosen to do… but we’ll always be brothers. We’ll always be family, here for one another. I’m never going to abandon you, even in your darkest night.”

Speechless, he didn’t know what to say. The only thing he could do was listen to his brother’s words. Aldous didn’t know what he could say in response. He wasn’t that eloquent when it came to that sort of subject. His twin had always been better when it came to heartfelt speaking. It’s why the BLU medic was loved and cherished by many.

“I’m your brother,” Abelärd continued. “I’ll always love you unconditionally, no matter what you choose to do in life. I’ll always support you.”

“I know you will.” He continued to embrace his brother, leaning against him for support. He was still rather weak after his entire ordeal. “I want you to know that the same applies to me. As much as we’ll fight and bicker with one another, I’ll be here for you.”

Abelärd wept openly now, smiling as the tears trickled down his face. Oh, how he had longed to hear this words! How he had wished this day would come! The day when he could finally feel that they were once again a family. How far they had come! From the days of old, where Aldous loathed his brother’s entire existence, to today. Yes, how far they had come… a journey that twisted and plunged downhill before steadily climbing back up. Ups and downs, through it all, in the end they had turned out okay.

Giving his brother another kiss, this one on his forehead, Abelärd broke the embrace. He returned him back to his seat before going over to the dirty dishes waiting for him in the sink. As the water ran and filled it up, he attempted to dry his eyes on the sleeve of his sweater.

Alexei saved his twin. If it wasn’t for him, his brother probably wouldn’t be alive. If he hadn’t saved him, on Christmas he’d probably be seeing his brother come to him, wheeled on a gurney covered with a bloodstained sheet… or worse. Perhaps he wouldn’t see his twin at all. He’d grow old and die never knowing what fate had befallen him.

Aldous watched his twin prepare the water, adding just a drop of a cleaning agent to it. “What do you want for Christmas?”

It startled the BLU medic. Hearing Aldous acknowledge Christmas in such a manner, let alone asking what he wanted present wise, was such a huge step for him. He couldn’t help it. He was beginning to tear up again.

“Brother?”

“You and Alexei already gave me my gifts,” he finally replied, his voice cracking due to his emotional state. Turning back to Aldous, he gave him a relieved, gentle smile. “It’s all I ever wanted.”

“And what is that?”

Swallowing a lump of emotions, Abelärd replied, “he brought you back, and you said the words I’ve been waiting to hear since we went our separate ways during the war.”

Chuckling under his breath in disbelief, Aldous sat back in his chair. Perhaps things would be right in this world. Perhaps… everything would be okay.

As his brother went back to cleaning the dishes, he began to mull over in his head what he could do for Christmas. Though he was still recovering, and unstable emotionally, he wanted to actually join in and surround himself with his family, the few he cared about.

Maybe Christmas miracles do exist.

[heyimovedaccounts]

I

uh

I

...

Hi aldous.

[thedovahcat]

Commission for @nichtschaden for our mutual friend @cuddlyplaguedoctor! FEATURING THE LAD HIMSELF.

Aldo looks like he's going to do ... Something. To someone. Woe be unto them.

[nichtschaden]

@zehypocriticaloath

The RED spy must have been new, because it was not the veteran who more or less left the enemy medic alone when he made his way into their base. They had an understanding. The sniper, well. That had been a few headshots before Fritz had been allowed to enter the base unhindered. He wondered if his quarry hadn't threatened that truce into existence.

This spy, he'd never met. It didn't matter, Fritz was a medic -- their favorite prey. The whisper of a dropped cloak and the rustle of expensive fabric lifting to plant a knife in his back was a song he knew well.

Fritz shot to the left and grabbed the Spy's hand, and spun the shorter man into a rough pin against the concrete wall. A French curse escaped him as the revolver was taken and tossed away. Fritz held him fast and leaned close to his ear.

"I'll tell you what I told your elder. I'm a fucking medic, I have no use for your company intelligence. Killing your teammates is no more satisfying in the dead of night than it is on the field. I'm just here to see Dr. Haswell."

"The doctor? He'll gut you worse than I ever could!" the spy's genuine confusion earned a smirk from the medic, who turned and shoved him down the hall toward his weapon.

"I'll take my chances."

Without another word, the medic strode to the Haswell lab, knocked twice, and let himself in. He was welcomed to the sight of ravens preening in the rafters, and he gave them all a grin.

"Aldous? You here, old man? Not impressed with your newest recruit, by the way, he needs some work."

[zecuddlyblumedic]

Soup with soul

Blue-gray eyes scanned the table in front of him. A myriad of objects and things were strewn about its surface, all lined up, all set up nice and proper and in a perfect little line: sacks of flour, a sack of cane sugar, an array of measuring cups and teaspoons, a rolling pin, a bottle or two of pure extracts...

A gentle sigh escaped him as he donned his cooking apron.

Abelärd was a whimsical soul. A real romantic who loved this time of year. It was a time of festivities and gatherings, of people coming together under the unified banner of love and peace. Foolish notions perhaps. But he was happy being a foolish old man with foolish notions.

He loved the joyous change in the air. He loved the cozy corners of rooms where one could retreat to and read a book. He loved the gentle lilting sound of music coming from the radio. He loved the smell of baked goods-- of cookies and challah-- heavy in the air. The sharp, comforting earthy sting to the nostrils of freshly ground cinnamon. A warm mug of tea in his hands, radiating warmth up his numbed fingertips.

He cooked and baked for a variety of reasons. To feed his loved ones, to feed the base. To pass time, of course. To make sure people ate a good, healthy, hearty meal and acquired a much needed boost of vitamins during the cold season. But, mostly, it because he enjoyed it. It made him happy. Not as much as painting a portrait, or sketching one’s likeness in charcoal, but he liked doing it, almost as much. And he enjoyed cooking because he was good at it. He made some of the best, heartiest stews, soups and meals you could ever imagine. His twin brother, Aldous, was always the better one when it came to baking. Aldous was a virtuoso when it came to concocting confectionery wonders.

He cooked kosher foods and non-kosher (seeing as how most at the base did not follow kosher requirements). He cooked with dietary needs in mind (he was a doctor; he had medical files on everyone on his base, including allergies and things they had to stay away from). He made vegetarian dishes. He made dishes for those who loved meat. He made dishes for those who were lactose intolerant, or gluten sensitive. No matter what he made, everything had one common link: it was made with love.

Today he had emerged from his infirmary, leaving his half-finished paperwork behind. He needed a break from his job. What better way to take a break than bake a little goodness? Stir in a little happiness? Give something to someone, feed them, spread a few smiles around. Pass on the love and care that this world so desperately needed.

His cookbook was placed off to the side, numerous multi-colored tabs marking each type of dish, side dish and dessert. Today he settled on a good classic meal: a basic potato soup with homemade bread on the side. The soup would be nice and creamy, heavy enough to stick with someone most of the day. Kosher, but with enough taste to keep one coming back for more. And for dessert, he’d make an apple cake, a closely guarded recipe passed down from none other than his own mother.

His base would be eating good tonight.

He diligently cut the potatoes into cubed chunks, diced onions set aside in a bowl. Music drifted lazily through the air; the radio station was running a series of Christmas-based music all day. A bit too early for the Medic’s tastes, but he wasn’t about to complain. Complaining did nothing. Only made one’s blood pressure rise.

A warbling coo caused him to momentarily pause. As he was reaching for the salt, he glanced over at the sack of flour. Engel, his beloved mourning dove, had taken roost on a canister of pre-ground nuts. The tiny pigeon had fluffed up its feathers, making it look nice and plump. Contentedly it watched the Medic, its beady little eyes blinking, the smear of blue around its eyes looking like a swath of expertly applied mascara.

“Ah, look at you,” he murmured softly in his native language. “Coming to watch your papa make some food for the team?”

“Coo-wooough, ooh, ooh.”

“It’s funny,” he went on, his smile becoming increasingly nostalgic with each passing moment, “cooking makes me remember mother. She used to cook for us all the time. Sang while she stirred the soup. Hummed while she tenderized the meat. She was always having a song in her heart.”

The plump little mourning dove craned his head a bit, looking up at the human who not only was its owner and caretaker, but, in a strange way...

“And,” Abelärd continued, picking up the cutting board before taking it over to a pot, soup base set to a low boil, “she loved making soup.” He slid the cubes of potato in, watching them bob up and down from the heat of the cream. “She said it was her favorite thing to make. That she loved making soup with soul.”

“Coo-wooo...”

“Admittedly, I didn’t understand what she meant. Even after our father died, and she taught us how to cook on our own, for the family... I didn’t understand it.” Picking up the dish of cut onions, he added that. “It wasn’t until I was older did I understand.”

In a calm, gentle voice he told a story to the content little mourning dove, softly cooing in the warmth of the kitchen. He told the bird of a mother’s love. Giselle Johanna Haswell, that was her name. And she made sure no one went without a meal.

Meißen was a nice tightly-knit community when he was a kid. A merger of French influence and German heritage. The streets were calm enough, and there wasn’t much trouble to be had. The Haswells weren’t a rich family, nor were they a poor one. A meager middle-ground. They made do. They had a garden out back where most of their fresh vegetables came from. They pooled together what money they had for the week to get fresh meat at a deal. Whatever they didn’t use right away, they canned or cured for later. It was a nice little existence.

Still, there was sadness on the street they lived on. There were two families who were worse off than they. The epitome of poor at the time. The children of those two families ran around in patched up rags. Dirty faces and scraped knees. They often went without food. The parents worked long, hard hours. Shivering in the cold of a factory building, barely able to make ends meet, blistered feet and worn out shoes with holes.

Abelärd remembered when their father, Friedrich Walfried Haswell, died. He fell ill when they were six, and died shortly after their seventh birthday. For the months following the family mourned. So stricken with grief was Giselle that she didn’t leave her bed for what seemed to be weeks.

One day, on her many trips out to try to get a fresh of breath air in her constant state of mourning, Giselle came across the children of the two families. She saw them stealing from the local marketplace, stuffing fruit into their pockets. They managed the steal the fruit without being caught, and she quietly followed them to see what they’d do.

She witnessed the children pooling together their goods, making sure each kid had an equal amount to take home.

Her heart, as she had told her children, felt as if it were being torn into pieces, and she felt grief anew. Not for her husband, but for the children who, so hungry were they, were stealing food for each other, for their families.

“After that,” Abelärd recounted, stirring in the rest of the ingredients, “she made it her purpose to make the world a better place. She returned to cooking, and she found a renewed sense of passion in it.”

“Cooo...”

“She taught us how to cook, and we often made big batches of food. Meals that we three could not eat by ourselves. I often went over with my brother to deliver the rest of our food, giving our ‘leftovers’ to the two families in need.” His expression softened, becoming sympathetically somber. “And I will never forget,” he murmured softly, “the gratefulness in the way they smiled. The tears in their eyes. The way the children hopped around their parents, excited to get some soup.”

And then it struck him. Abelärd ceased his stirring, and he looked down at the soup he was making. He hadn’t used a small pot, or a medium one. He had used the largest one he found, making the biggest batch he could. Of course he made food for the base and his loved ones-- he always had. But he never realized why he did it, the natural desire to do so. The realization now dawned on him, like the cresting sunrise over snow capped mountains-- sparkling, crystalline, clear.

He was picking up where his mother left off. He was making soup with soul.

“...Cooo...”

“...yes, yes. Of course. I didn’t forget you!”

Turning his attention back to the plump little mourning dove, he moved away from the pot, letting it simmer for a bit. With a merry twinkle in his eye, he picked up a bit of freshly baked bread. He pinched a bit off of it, rewarding his little dove for being oh so patient during that story.

Watching the hungry little bird gobble it up, bobbing its head in delight, the man couldn’t help but chuckle in amusement.

“Such a patient little child. Did you enjoy the story?”

“Coo-woooh... ooo, oo, ooo...”

“Good.”

Wiping his scarred hands off on a dishtowel, he gave the bird a fond little pat before returning to the soup. He was going to make the best soup he could, and he was going to make sure everyone was going to leave that dining hall full and happy.

...Maybe he’d save some of it aside, in a bowl, and take it over to his brother later on. He was sure his brother would enjoy it. After all, with the family recipe, it was sure to be a trip down memory lane.

Abelärd knew how much Aldous still missed their mother.

[zehypocriticaloath]

Rats

He was considering rats. No. Not just the concept of rats, nor their role in carrying the fleas that bestowed the deadly gift of the bubonic plague upon all mankind. He was considering rats. Rats in terms of the animal. Rats in terms of their sociable personalities, their inquisitive nature, their cleanliness above all else. Rats in terms of their striking intelligence. Rats in terms of their bad reputation, the myths that marred their simple existence, their simplicity as a whole.

Rats.

He thought about the rat that Alexei Rosencoff had. Alexei, of course, being his lover, and his partner-in-crime-on-the-battlefield Heavy. With Alexei busy with his own projects, he wasn’t around as much. This meant that the Medic covered some duties of taking care of his greenhouse and his pet rat, Amour. This, of course, was something he readily agreed to. He, in fact, volunteered himself with a fair bit of gusto and verve. He found the growing of plants (and, in retrospect, the creation of life) to be fascinating; a complete opposite to his usual method of doling out death, and working with the deceased (cadavers made such interesting study material!). But taking care of the garden also meant he had to take care of the rat.

Rats.

How simple they were. How content they were in their life. What intelligence was packed in their tiny brains? What world did they see through their beady little eyes?

Rats.

Fascinating creatures, really.

Aldous Haswell mused all of this as he watched Alexei’s pet rat groom himself on his desk. He feared not for his unkindness swooping down from the rafters in order to gobble the rodent up for a treat. He knew his corvids well. And they knew this rat well. They knew who this rat belonged to and never, ever would they eat such a precious member of the family. Even Poe, as rascally as he was, the leader of all rebellious acts, stayed his ground. The grand, elder raven watched the rat with mild aloofness, more curious as to what the rat would do, and if he’d get a snack before any of them did.

Amour was given to Alexei long ago for reasons of importance and self preservation. More like a motion for self defense, really. A strange little thing, that it was. A tiny creature that held fate in its tiny little paws long ago, an inconceivable notion to even its tiny, intelligent brain. That a rat-- once blamed, inaccurately, for the sole role of spreading of the Black Death-- could hold the key to salvation.

Rats.

But his mind rambled on. And he found himself watching the rat with mounting curiosity. So engrossed was he that he failed to realize that he had devolved into that of a school boy, what with his slouch in his chair, his arms crossed on his desk, and his chin resting upon his arms. He looked like an overgrown kid, quiet in his suppressed excitement, looking at a brand new toy, or a newly owned puppy.

Quietly he reached over and grabbed a wrapped up plum. Peeling away the thin paper from the fruit, he marveled at its perfect color, its unassuming shape. He watched as the white rat looked up at him, nose twitching, its beady red eyes rapt with attention. With a small smile he took up the pairing knife and began to cut his favorite fruit up into slices.

Small, dexterous hands reached out to an offered slice. The rodent brought the fruit close and began to daintily nibble on it. With a feeling of connection, of kinship, the medical madman ate his own slice. To this effect they shared the whole plum-- a slice for Amour, a slice for him. They ate in silence, with Aldous chewing his own slice in between the tiny sounds of the rat nibbling its own, and the occasional, small pets to the back of the rodent.

A creature feared by most of mankind. An intelligent little beast that had learned to adapt and thrive. A mammal that had been marred with misconception and misplaced slander.

Tiny pink hands reached for another slice, and Aldous gave him the desired treat. Tiny teeth nibbled at the flesh of the fruit. Tiny eyes focused in on his face, and for a moment Aldous had to wonder if the rat truly knew who he was, and why he cared so much.

The fear. The misconception. The destruction so easily wrought when left to one’s own devices. The cunning intelligence. The stubbornness. The willingness to survive. Adaptability. Skills for survival. Inquisitive, always wanting to explore, antsy when cooped up in a closed up environment for too long. 

Allowing the rat to curl up in his outstretched, open hand, he lovingly pet the tiny creature until, at last, he saw the little beast’s beady eyes begin to close.

He and the rat were one in the same.

[quickscoped]

Day 15: "Order"

Previous entry: [x]

Some of the domination lines used are from here: [x]

"Nein."

"You want me to take it?"

"Did I fucking stutter?"

"You're a goddamn quack. Loike I can even trust you."

Aldous Haswell exhaled through his nostrils, flaring them. He glared over at the Australian idiot, the Sniper who had crammed himself up against the wall in order to avoid the after splash of the Demoman's bombs. Such bad luck to be stuck with this birdbrained buffoon during a skirmish.

The Medic rarely healed anyone, but today he had to get stuck to 'Medigun' duties. He was a preferred 'Battle Medic', for crying out loud! But with a lack of Medics on their team today, he had the issued order from the Advisor that he had to step up to the plate and heal today.

And just his luck to get stuck in a corner with this man.

They couldn't progress. BLU was waiting for them. As much as the Medic enjoyed battle, he didn't mind dying unless it came by fire. And wouldn't you know it but there was a Pyro waiting for them, along with the Demoman. It made the wounded Medic flee, finding himself in company with a man he hated.

"But I'm a Sniper," Dominik said, rolling his eyes. "Medics usually don't 'waste their charges' on us. They claim we're useless."

Aldous snarled at him, his patience wearing thing. "Listen to me, you insufferable pissman. I am not in a happy mood. I don't like fire, and out zhere? Zhere is fire. Now, if you vould be so kind as to TAKE ZE FUCKING ÜBER I AM PROVIDING, zhen we vill be fine, and we vill get out of here vithout Respawn sweeping us up."

Dominik winced at the man's shrill cry. He hoped the BLUs didn't hear it, but it wasn't likely. The Pyro, he could hear it mumbling away while the Demoman laughed and howled in his blitzed, drunken stupor. Both were clearly amused at the rats they cornered, just around the bend. 

Aldous was right, though. They had to get out of this little crammed room they were hiding in if they wanted to try and proceed to the point and win the match. They had been losing lately, and their morale had been low. A win would do them good.

The Sniper watched the Medic. How commanding he was. Standing there, with his plague doctor mask on, thankfully hiding his blind eye. He got the creeps when he stared at the milky veil like color of it. 

The black, wispy fog like smoke that wafted from his tweaked Medigun irked him. Why on earth the Medic modified both healing guns to spew that ominous colored medicated mist was beyond him. Sure, it was intimidating as hell, and made him seem even more menacing, but it also unnerved him, giving him the illusion the damn machine was broken and merely belching out and odorless smoke.

Then again, he looked like some sort of demonic denizen of death and madness stalking the battlefield, swathed in a constant aura of black fog.

They had to get out of there. He had to trust the Medic. What could he risk losing? Both would die if he didn't do this.

"Foine. I'll take the charge."

"Gooooood boy," Aldous sarcastically spat. Turning his attention towards the Sniper, he lifted the Medigun and pointed it at him. "It's about time you gained some brain cells."

"Sod off," he growled in reply, taking up his bow once more and notching an arrow in it. 

"....Arrows. Mein Gott, we're dead."

"Shut up."

"Arrows against fire and bombs. Ja, I truly vanted to waste my charge on you and die once we get out of it." He sighed dramatically, before reaching up and adjusting his mountain cap. "Let's just do zhis, and get it done vith. I vant to get back to slaughtering ze BLU bastards, not spending my precious time bleeding beside an idiotic teammate of mine vhile hiding like a coward."

"Just shut up and HIT THE CHARGE."

Right as Dominik shouted that, he had charged out of their hiding spot, arrow pulled back and string on the bow taunt. Aldous, surging forth after him, flipped the switch of the gun.

That terribly addicting feeling washed over the two of them. Empowering, it was an adrenaline rush. A pure kind of mania, the feeling of being a God, and invincible. A drug. Just like taking a hit from a drug, being drug down into that woozy and surreal feeling, your rage and reflexes taking over.

The black medicated mist from the gun crackled and popped all around them before washing over their forms. A burst of red light emitted, and soon their bodies were shimmering with the crimson hue. Dancing over the red color, though, were small bands of black waves, like tiny bolts of lightening. Thanks to Aldous' experiments on his healing guns, he had modified even the effect of the Übers.

Dominik had momentarily closed his eyes. Once he opened them though, he saw the red aura all around him. The warped room, slightly twisted, and the BLU enemies in front of him, startled.

Grinning wickedly, with his yellow eyes blazing as bright as the gaze of a demon, the Sniper let loose an arrow, piercing the Demoman right through his skull.

The Demoman sank down to his knees before crumpling in a lifeless heap. His sticky bomb launcher clattered across the floor. The Pyro, another Sniper and a Scout nearby. This was the group. They all turned to look at the commotion. What they saw truly terrified them.

There, before them, was the charged form of a Sniper and a Medic. Both had sadistically wicked grins on their faces, almost in a silent mimic of a snarl. Red and black pulses of energy washed over their forms, warping their color, making their flesh an unnatural crimson hue. Their gaze were piercing, the sulfuric yellow that could chill blood.

And the cackle. The demented, shrieking cackle that came from the Medic told them that they hadn't a shred of hope remaining.

Like a beast just unleashed, the Sniper charged towards them. Another arrow was being notched, and before the enemy Sniper could do a thing two arrows pierced his body, mere seconds apart. His crotch, and his throat. A gurgling sputter was heard before he hacked up a wad of blood, his body falling to the ground.

Crying out, the Scout raised up his gun to take aim, but he was far too slow to prevent his fate. An offending arrow lodged itself right in his crotch. The poor bloke instantly dropped his shortstop, letting out a howling cry of pain, finding himself unable to move. He was silenced, though, with an arrow to his jugular.

The Scout's body twitched and shivered as the blood squelched forth. His body crumbled, and the Pyro let out a terrified yell, the sound muffled by the mask.

"Looks loike yeh can't breathe there, buddy," Dominik snarled at the corpse of the Scout, his tone dark and sinister. He let out a crackling sort of cackle, the charge altering his voice slightly. "An arrow to the throat does that." 

"Kyehhhehehhhh... hehhhehh..." 

Dominik heard that familiar laugh, and normally it would have scared him, but for some reason Aldous was on his side today. 

Glancing up at the Pyro, he saw the bloke hesitate for a moment, flamethrower actually trembling in their hands. They were scared! Scared to face this Sniper who had mercilessly downed two of their teammates in a matter of seconds, flat.

"Yeh going to do somethin'?" He took a step towards the Pyro, and the mercenary stepped back, reflexively, in fear. "Or are you gonna just keep gawkin' at my pretty face?"

"Slaughter ze poor excuse for a Pyro," Aldous growled, his voice rising into a hysterical shriek. "Kill, kill, I VANT TO SEE BLOOD SPILLED!"

As if offended by the taunting and mocking, the Pyro mumbled out a string of swear words before flipping on the flamethrower. A plume of flames spouted forth, hissing and snapping upon contact with oxygen.

The Pyro lunged forward, just as the charge began to wear off. Aldous, realizing that they were in trouble, yelped in fear. Actual fear! It surprised the Sniper to hear the demented, usually proud Medic whimper in fear. 

The crackling wave of red and black bled out from their bodies, dissipating into thin air.

Yellow eyes fading, Dominik snarled out, fire singing the fringe on his Sniper vest. Pissed with how brazen the Pyro was now, he decided to notch an arrow and let it loose, hitting them right in the kneecap.

"Quickly," Aldous hissed. "JUST KILL ZE PYRO QUICKLY BEFORE REINFORCEMENTS COME!"

"Stop yellin' at me, you goddamn wanker!"

The Pyro let out a shrill cackle underneath the mask, delighted by the fear coming from the Medic. Their actions were causing both of them to back up now. The fire was like the plume from a dragon, and they were the cowardly knights who were retreating.

And this cockiness pissed Dominik off.

It was hard to see through the constant wall of fire in his face, but the Sniper notched an arrow and let it fly, hitting its arm. 

Crying out in pain, the Pyro faltered, their fingers slipping from the trigger. It was in that moment, that brief second where the fire ceased to exist, that he made his move.

He shot an arrow right into his opponent's hand.

Dropping their flamethrower, the firestarter abandoned that to opt out for their axe. They unhooked it from their belt, and raised it up to embed it in the Sniper's head.

But it was far too late.

"YEH WANT ME TO RIP YOU TO SHREDS? BASH YER BLEEDIN' SKULL IN? I WILL! MAKE YEH A BLOODY SMUDGE ON THE WALL."

The Pyro never had a chance.

Dominik had grabbed the poor mercenary's wrist, bending it back and away at a painful angle. The strength of the Sniper surprised the Pyro, and the axe fell from their hand. Terrified mumbles and grumbles were heard coming from behind the mask. They tried to jerk away, but the Sniper had grabbed their head, fingers digging into the side of the mask.

Without mercy the Pyro was slammed, face first, into the ground. The strength applied to the attack could have come from a Soldier. Over and over again their head was slammed against the ground. They endured the pain without fading out, going unconscious. They managed to reach out and grab onto the man's vest collar, digging their fingers in in a menacing fashion. When they realized Dominik wasn't going to stop, they attempted to knee him in the groin, succeeding.

The Sniper merely paused long enough to slump forward, groaning in pain. But this only angered him, like a wasp, and a huge amount of force went into the single slam to the Pyro's head.

And then it happened. The Sniper unhooked his shiv from his belt and, twirling it once in his hand, he plunged it down into the Pyro's neck. The poor mercenary writhed and struggled as the blood escaped from the wound, squirting out and staining their powder blue uniform.

A minute... and then silence. No more gurgles in the throes of death.

Rising from his kill, Dominik stood there, panting, blood speckling his face, uniform and hands. He looked a bit feral, a strange gleam in his eyes.

"...Ze fuck vas zat?"

Snapping out of his feral mode, the Sniper glanced over at the Medic, confused. Aldous had a strange look on his face. He had even pushed his plague doctor mask up a bit so he could stare at him better.

"You vent crazy on ze Pyro. Nearly bashed zheir skull in."

"...and that's why I didn't want yeh to bloody Über me."

"Z---Zat happens vhen you're---?"

The silence said it all.

"...I vill take note next time."

[nichtschaden]

How did your debts get paid?

@zehypocriticaloath | continued

"It wasn't a competition." Fritz's thoughts gathered in English at last, and he reached under his aviators to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I was scared your chip might be carved out, and I had good reason to be. No one is coming for mine!"

Not that it mattered when Haswell had made up his mind, but his scowl was returned.

"If you get caught just to be even with me, for a race that shouldn't be a race, I really will take the kids and leave." An empty threat, and they both knew it, but the idea still turned his stomach. At the very least, it was going to be a bit before Aldous could break into his own base -- there was still a sick scout to care for. And he was promised morning coffee.

"Oh mein Gott," he muttered at the veteran's threat as he climbed to his feet, "read to your fucking birds, I'll go make myself a bed."

The sharp ache in his bad leg reminded him just how long he'd sat idle, and Fritz held his controlled exhale until he made it to the linen cupboard. He left the empty bed beside the scout vacant and dressed the one beside that as efficiently as Aldous had not so long ago. The medic did pause to check his vitals, and although he didn't love the story they told, Bosco would still live. He needed rest, fluids, calories and time, but he would bounce back.

He didn't care enough to look for something softer to sleep in, he just unbuttoned his shirt. The jacket and tie had already been left on a chair so he could borrow Aldous' to work on the machine. His boots were slipped off, and if the veteran was paying attention, he'd get to see Fritz roll up a pant leg to reveal the metal brace that was fixed over his left calf. It was unstrapped and laid beside his boots and his glasses were left on the nightstand before he tugged the blanket over his shoulder and rolled onto his side, away from the doctor.

Fritz thought he'd lay there awake for another hour or two at least, if his insomnia chose to show mercy, but he was wrong. The toll of the day pulled him down into sleep within half an hour. His dreams were nebulous, and they weren't enough to wake him.