The Words I Haven't Said... [West and Gil]

[Gilbert Beilschmidt]

It was only when Ludwig called his name that Gilbert realized he’d almost forgotten what the boy’s voice sounded like. When was the last time he’d been at home with the family? Between school and activities and parties and dates, it was a rare day that found Gilbert Beilschmidt home before 10 pm. He figured it was in the best interests of everyone involved. That way his parents and his little brother could pretend they had the perfect normal family that they clearly wanted and he could spend time with people who actually wanted him around. And for a time Gilbert even convinced himself that this situation was what he’d wanted all along. He’d gotten his freedom, and with the way his grades where finally starting to head, he had a good chance to blow out of Berlin the first chance he got. But all it took was one voice, saying his name just once, and all of Gilbert’s grand and callous pronouncements flew out the window. He didn’t want freedom… not as much as he wanted his little brother.

He turned back, letting his book bag hit the floor with a harsh thud as his sharp garnet colored eyes swept over the younger boy. Even at eleven, Ludwig was already close to his older brother’s height and if those hands and feet were any indication, Ludwig was nowhere near finished. But his eyes were still so painfully blue, so heart-rendingly blue as they were when he was a baby. If Gil had those eyes…what a weapon they make when it came to girls... Of course, Gilbert reminded himself wryly, if he’d had those eyes, his whole family wouldn’t be trying to push him away. He shook his head, and frowned at his little brother, resisting the insane urge to ruffle that fine mop of blonde hair. Even after nearly a year of silence, some habits were harder to break than others.

Especially when the last thing he’d wanted was to lose Ludwig. How often had his little brother been the only light in his otherwise isolated life? How often did they spend every free hour together, exploring the woods behind their house, riding bikes down to the store for an ice cream, and fishing in the pond on weekends? How many nighttime stories did Gilbert read aloud, long after Ludwig mastered reading, just because his little brother liked the way he read? How often did he promise to shelter his little brother from the hate and suspicion that was all too common in the world. How many fights had he gotten into to keep smartasses from tormenting his bookish little Ludwig? He had no way of knowing that Ludwig would become part of the hate and suspicion in the world. Had no way of knowing that one day, for no given reason at all, Ludwig would just pull away completely.

Gilbert hadn’t taken it seriously at first, figured it was just a moody ten-year-old phase, but with every push, every attempt of showing brotherly affection, Ludwig just grew more and more distant. He no longer came along for fishing trips, and when Gil appeared with a new book to read for the night, all he ever found was a locked door. Even when he finally cornered the boy, all he got was a fearful look and a mutter that sounded like “not safe.” Did he really think Gilbert was a mutant? That he was dangerous—deficient in some way? It would make sense; he’d known his parents certainly had thought so. From day one, they would prefer it if he was just out of the picture. Like a black cat, all Gilbert seemed to invite on to his family was bad luck and his mother never failed to remind him of the fact whenever she could. But somehow, he never thought… or perhaps had just hoped that Ludwig wouldn’t fall into the same way of thinking. And yet, here was he was, staring down the brother who had cast him aside just as dispassionately as his parents had.


“What do you want, Ludwig? I’m not staying,” He finally asked with a glower. “I only forgot my cleats.” He gestured upstairs with a humorless smirk. “Don’t worry, I won’t show my abnormal face to dinner, I would hate to ruin dessert.” And with that he turned to leave, certain that his brother would come to his senses, remember that Gilbert didn’t belong in the family and go back ignoring him once more. And though Gilbert had told himself that he didn’t care anymore, deep down he knew he just couldn’t stand the sight of his little brother pushing him away once more. It was easier to run away.

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

and the coal hits the fire and the wheels start to spin

For days, Ludwig had been trying to catch his older brother, but Gilbert had become a ghost in the house. The boy would catch a glimpse of a familiar coat flicking around a corner but by the time he reached it, Gilbert would be gone; he would wake late at night as his brother’s footsteps set the old stairs creaking, but by the time he reached his door and unlocked it, Gilbert had passed by and barricaded himself in his own room. So when he’d heard the door slam today — and nobody slammed the door but Gilbert — Ludwig had thrown down his homework and bolted out of his room, hurrying down the stairs to intercept his older brother before he rushed out of the house again. ”Gilbert,” he called out, and then his courage faltered. The scowl on his brother’s face looked so utterly foreign — it didn’t match Gilbert’s personality, not like the smile that he’d worn so often, the smile that Ludwig had gotten used to and always liked to see — and now he found the words he’d so carefully rehearsed sticking in his throat. He had to tell someone. He’d decided that months ago, when the house of cards that his life had become had started to wobble dangerously. When he’d first discovered the… thing with the fire, it had been easy to just ignore it (barring that one time he’d nearly burned the house down). But as time wore on, Ludwig realized that the more he tried to avoid setting things on fire, the easier his concentration seemed to slip. He’d started locking his door to prevent anyone from seeing the scorch marks he’d left over his room; his mother had praised him as responsible when he proclaimed that he’d be cleaning his room alone from that point on. Ludwig hadn’t wanted the additional chore, but his mother also read the cheap gossip papers, papers full of stories about upright families ‘deceived’ by their mutant wives or husbands (or children) and how much better their lives had become when the mutant had been taken away. Fear ate at him constantly. He was going to slip up, his parents’ anger and disgust would come crashing down onto him, he’d be taken away to who even knew where mutants went — and he’d never see his brother again. But it had been the fear that he’d hurt Gilbert that led to Ludwig’s self-imposed isolation. He’d looked up burns in the medical books at the library, he knew what heat could do to human skin. Otherwise, Ludwig would have fled to Gilbert in an instant. Maybe he should have, even. But then Gilbert had started to pull away, and Ludwig’s fear had doubled: if Gilbert knew what he was, what he could do, would he turn Ludwig in as well? But the deception, the control, the stress of it all had started to overwhelm him. He couldn’t be a perfect student if he kept taking long walks in the woods to boil puddles of rainwater and crack rotting logs with steam. And he had to be a perfect student, because if he weren’t his parents would stop trusting him, and they’d look more closely at him and notice all the spots where he’d patched his clothes and the black marks on his desk where he’d set his math book on fire that one time. And he couldn’t lie about chemistry experiments or even sneaking cigarettes because Ludwig had never been a good liar; he’d never needed to be a good liar until now. His brother, though… Gilbert could have lied his way out of anything (and had before). Gilbert told the best jokes and read the best stories, always had made time to play outside, stole Ludwig cookies when their mother’s back was turned, and never refused him a hug. Gilbert had become Ludwig’s last hope. And even though Gilbert wore a look that clearly said ‘I didn’t expect to be interrupted by you, so leave me alone’, Ludwig managed to find his voice when Gilbert made to leave. ”I, I don’t think your face is abnormal,” the boy stammered anxiously, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Just tell him and get it over with, he tried to urge himself. ”Are you going to play football?” he went on, biding time and struggling to find a way to work a confession into the conversation. ”You think, maybe, um, I can come watch sometime?” Word Count: 808 Tags: Gilbert Beilschmidt Notes: --

by worldie for lena

[Gilbert Beilschmidt]

Wait… what?

Gilbert was halfway out, his hand resting on the doorknob, when he heard Ludwig speak up. He paused and looked back to his brother, his red eyes sparkling with confusion, disbelief and—dare he say it—hope. Those words didn’t sound like a brother who hated him, who thought he was a shame to be around. They sounded like the homesick pleas of a lost child.

“You… want to watch me play?” He asked, looking a bit dumbfounded. “When did you decide this?” Mentally, he kicked himself for challenging the boy, worried perhaps that little moment would pass like a fleeting daydream, and his little brother would disappear once more. He shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts and tried to assume a more neutral expression as he considered his little brother. He wanted more than anything to pull his brother into a crushing bear hug, to convince him that he wasn’t dangerous, that he was still the same big brother that walked him to and from school, that taught him to love thunderstorms, that stayed up all night with him when the boy had been shaken awake by nightmares. But still, after nearly a year of silence, Gilbert couldn’t help but be suspicious.

He sighed and slowly let the door close, the click of it magnified in the silence between them. His brother looked like prey, caught in the hungry gaze of a mountain lion, his blue eyes never quite met Gilbert’s and it seemed as though he was wrestling with himself over something. Gilbert felt his face heat up at the sight. Despite what his relationship was with his brother, he couldn’t deny that his brother was still almost unbearably adorable. No wonder his parents idolized his little brother, how could anyone prefer Gilbert to the blonde hair, blue eyed, perfect son standing before him. He cleared his throat, looking away before his voice gave out on him all together.

“West…” The old nickname came out so naturally, as though he’d never stopped using it. What did the boy want after all of this time? Gilbert bit back a sigh and managed a brief polite smile. No matter what was going on in his enigmatic brother’s head, he had made an effort to extend an olive branch, and Gilbert owed it to him to at least give him the benefit of the doubt. His grin widened and the silver haired teen extended a hand out to the boy. “If you wanna watch me play so badly, why don’t you just come along today? It’s just a pick up game.” His eyes swept over his brother, looking thoughtful--it was clear the boy wanted to say something but didn't feel like he could. “Come on, West, we can catch up on the way, all right? You’ve got those worry lines on your forehead again, didn't I tell you you're too young to have lines--“ he poked the boy’s forehead playfully, but frowned as his fingers contacted Ludwig’s brow. He seemed warm… almost hot to the touch. He leaned closer, worry crinkling his own brow as he peered closer into his brother’s eyes. “West, are you feeling okay?” He asked, concern obvious in his voice.

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

and the coal hits the fire and the wheels start to spin

Gilbert set a hand on the doorknob and Ludwig shut his eyes. His attempt hadn’t worked because Gilbert hadn’t wanted to deal with him: his brother would leave to play with his friends and Ludwig would be left alone in the empty house with only the knowledge of his failure to keep him company. But when he didn’t hear the door slam, he decided to risk one more glance. His older brother had turned away from the door and was looking at him with a confused expression. But he hadn’t left: Ludwig had stalled him. And Ludwig seized on that chance. ”I do, I bet you’re good,” he hurried out for a reply, before adding, ”and I thought it… it, it’s just something I want to do.” He’d made up his mind about it a long time ago, of course, but explaining that to Gilbert might have been difficult; he’d have to start by explaining why he’d stopped allowing the other to spend time with him first. Although his spirits lifted as his brother abandoned his position by the door to have a proper chat, Ludwig still hadn’t determined whether or not it would be okay — or safe — to let Gilbert know the truth. The use of his old nickname caught his attention; his brother hadn’t called him that in a while but the word fit as comfortably as an old jacket. Gilbert hadn't forgotten that weird nickname, and that gave Ludwig real hope. His parents might hate mutants, but for all he isolated himself in his room, his brother wasn't lost to him. He heard the invitation and considered it; maybe on the walk to the football field, he could raise the issue of mutants and see what Gilbert had to say. Or maybe he could wait until after the match, because if his brother’s side won, he would absolutely be in a good mood and the news that Ludwig could control heat and fire wouldn’t scare or upset him. He had options, and just that understanding helped reassure Ludwig that he was doing the right thing. And Gilbert wanted him to come along, even! Ludwig could learn why his brother had been avoiding the rest of the family and tell him that he’d missed him, and that he really hadn’t wanted to avoid him (or anyone else) but he had good reasons for staying out of the way. He looked up, ready to answer, just in time for Gilbert to press his fingers to his forehead. ”I—I’m fine!” Ludwig blurted out, taking a hasty step back and raising a hand to his forehead. It had taken him a while to learn that this unusual side effect had come with his new and dangerous ability. Frustratingly, the heat he gave off had proven to be the thing he couldn’t seem to control no matter what he did and worse, he forgot about it easily because Ludwig never noticed he himself felt hot. While it seemed to lower if he’d exhausted his supply of fire, the majority of the time he ran a constant and obvious fever, one that did no damage to him but that other people noticed when they got close. It had proven useful in only one specific way: if he ever needed to stay home from school to literally burn off energy, it had become incredibly easy to fake an illness. But the thermometer never lied, which meant Ludwig had narrowly avoided getting taken to the hospital on more than one occasion. It was a small blessing that his mother knew very little about medical science. ”It’s nothing,” Ludwig tried to assure his brother shakily, lowering his hand. He certainly felt a little ill now, but it had nothing to do with his high temperature. ”C-can you wait a moment, I’ll get my shoes and my jacket and we can walk, you don’t want to be late for the match.” He didn’t even need a jacket, but after that close call with his forehead, he had to put on some kind of show of normalcy. And he wasn’t going to lose this chance to talk to his brother, not when Gilbert had finally answered him, not when he’d learned Gilbert maybe didn’t want him to keep hiding away like he had.  Ludwig turned, ready to hurry back up the stairs for his things. Word Count: 744 Tags: Gilbert Beilschmidt Notes: --

by worldie for lena

[Gilbert Beilschmidt]

Was his brother always that… strange? Gilbert watched his little brother dash up the stars, clearly eager for any time with his big brother. He was so stupid, so incredibly stupid to think his brother hated him. The same brother who had been at his side for the better part of his life, who had believed in him, loved him more than anyone else in his life. The idea that West could turn on his brother so suddenly after so many years seemed absolutely absurd now that Gilbert had seen the way the boy had looked when the elder boy turned back to him. There had been a fragile hope in his eyes that confused and worried his big brother. In that moment, Ludwig had looked aged beyond his years, an old soul plagued by a private nightmare that he had carried on his shoulders like a weight. But that didn’t make sense… What did the eleven-year-old have to fear? What secret could he possibly have?

Gilbert leaned back against the door, looking at his hand… at the skin which still tingled from the heat. He wiggled his fingers in confusion as though they were lying to him, as though the sensation didn’t compute. Gilbert didn’t understand, how could his brother have such a high temperature and still seem normal? He should have been borderline delirious and yet… One thing was for sure, he wasn’t taking his little brother out in the cool damp air like this. Whether West wanted to admit it or not, he was sick. Gilbert’s hand clenched as worry gripped him. What if the boy was really really sick… like cancer or something… and he hadn’t wanted to worry his family. Gilbert’s jaw tightened at the thought—it seemed all too like his self-sacrificing brother, to hide his condition to spare his family the pain. What if he die—Gilbert shook his head, stopping the insidious thought before it had time to take root in his mind. It didn’t matter what was wrong with his little brother, Gilbert was going to help him fix it. They were going to meet whatever had affected his brother head on and Gilbert was going to do his best to be the brother he’d failed to be for the past year. But first he had to regain the boy’s trust again. Confident in his plan, Gilbert dropped his soccer gear with a loud thunk and leaned on the bannister.

“HEEEEEYYYYY WEESSSTTT!” He shouted up the stairs. “Change of plans! Go change into your pajamas. I’m cooking you some soup and we’re having a movie night in my room!” He felt almost guilty for feeling so giddy despite his brother’s situation. But West didn’t hate him, West wanted to be a part of his life again. West wanted his big brother. The thought made his chest swell with pride. Who cared what his parents thought, who cared what the assholes who still insisted on reporting him thought, as long as his adorable brother wasn’t scared or disgusted by him. Whatever was plaguing his brother, they were going to put an end to it, no question. And if West wanted to watch his awesome big brother tear up the football field then Gilbert would treat him to the best game of football the boy had ever seen. Perhaps he could even teach West his famous trick shot, with those long legs of his, the boy would be a natural. But first, Gilbert had to get him healthy.

He all but floated to the kitchen already planning out what ingredients he’d need to make the type of soup that would knock his brother’s socks off. He could almost see that beautiful shy smile of thanks now… And so he started the task at hand with a song on his lips.

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

and the coal hits the fire and the wheels start to spin

He really should not have let Gilbert touch him, Ludwig mentally scolded himself as he jogged to his room. He always forgot about the heat and he hadn’t had time lately to burn off any of his powers. And regardless of what he could do, he seemed to heat up regardless when he felt upset about something, and any idiot with two brain cells to rub together could have guessed that cornering a family member and confessing to being a mutant would be stressful. Ludwig hadn’t planned, and that frustrated him, because he knew better than that. But, he resolved, at least Gilbert just seemed to think he was a bit ill. Ludwig grabbed his shoes and an overcoat from his closet and was halfway down the stairs when his brother’s voice echoed up from the kitchen. Gilbert’s football bag lay abandoned beside the front door. ”What?” Ludwig asked, hurrying towards the kitchen and shrugging his coat on. This hadn’t been what was supposed to happen! At least outside, if he revealed his ability to Gilbert and explained what had been going on, he’d have room to run away if something got out of hand — and he didn’t mean that emotionally. Ludwig would have been sleeping outside if he’d had the option to: he still hadn’t gotten a solid grip on his ability, and staying in a house surrounded by his family terrified him. He still half-expected to wake up one of these days to his home burning down. Gilbert stood at the counter and appeared to be messing around with some vegetables; he’d retrieved the big stew pot from the cupboards, the one their mother used for soup. Ludwig crossed his arms over his chest and stood in the doorway. ”Gilbert, I’m fine, really!” he insisted, irritated by how petulant he sounded to his own ears. ”It’ll just be a walk outside and I really want to watch you play football. Your friends are going to be mad if you miss the game, right? We can have soup afterwards.” He stared at the back of Gilbert’s head pleadingly. When his brother put his mind to something, it became difficult to convince him to do anything else. And that Gilbert had thrown away his plans so quickly to cook and spend time with him… that reassured Ludwig that maybe his brother was still on his side. But as nice as the ideas of movies and soup did honestly sound, Ludwig doubted it would be safe. Gilbert would have him cornered and then what was he supposed to do if he accidentally set something on fire? And the whole ‘I’m just running a fever, but really, it’s nothing, I feel fine’ — how long could he make that believably last? Gilbert had already convinced himself that Ludwig was ill. ”If we don’t leave now, we’re going to be late, right?” Ludwig piped up again, knitting his fingers together anxiously. All he needed was a few moments outside with his brother, that was it. Word Count: 513 Tags: Gilbert Beilschmidt Notes: --

by worldie for lena

[Gilbert Beilschmidt]

Gilbert frowned when he turned around to see his little brother still dressed to go out. It was unlike the boy to be so stubborn, especially when the activity was movies and dinner. But as he took in the thick jacket and scarf wrapped stubbornly around West’s neck, it was obvious the boy had dug his heels in… but why?

“Since when do you care so much about football?” He asked, hands planted on his hip. He surveyed the boy, eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he caught the almost desperate gaze, caught the way West kept edging towards the door. It was almost as though he was… afraid to be alone here. Gilbert frowned and tossed the kitchen knife back onto the countertop before taking a step towards his little brother, looking a bit concerned and more than a little perplexed. What reason would West have to fear his own house? Would he be able to get it out of him if they stayed? Gilbert rested his hands on West’s shoulders, meeting his gaze steadily as though, if he stared long enough he might divine the answer in the boy’s wide-eyed stare.

“Look, West…” he sighed as he brushed his hands over the boy’s head, feeling the heat soak into his fingertips. He wanted to argue, to find any reason to keep West here. What happened if he got worse? How could he live with himself? But at the same time… West was finally reaching out to him after nearly a year of silence? What would he do if Gilbert forced the issue? Gilbert didn’t want the silence again, didn’t want to have to duck every member of his family. “West, it’s freezing out there. Honestly, my friends will live if I don’t show up to one game,” he sighed again and brushed the hair from his brother’s pale brow. “But I don’t want you to sit around, freezing your butt off while we chase around after some ball…” Part of him hoped West would interrupt him, would tell him that he was fine with just staying in. But when his words met no opposition, Gilbert released him with a sigh. “If you insist we plod around outside for a bit, we can go for a walk in the neighborhood while the soup is cooking, but then we’re coming right back, got it? I don’t want you coming down with anything serious.” He turned back to the kitchen, turned back to the kitchen knife and the vegetables, before looking back to him with his best big-brother expression he could muster.

“We got a deal, West?” He asked, even as he began dicing the remainder of the vegetables. “Look, when it warms up and you’re feeling better, we can hang around the football field for as long as your little heart desires. But until then, just let big brother take care of you.”

He prayed that was enough of a compromise, people were always telling him he needed to learn how to compromise more. Hopefully that was enough to keep his little brother both healthy and by his side. Maybe he should start looking into this compromise deal more often…

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

and the coal hits the fire and the wheels start to spin

Ludwig did his best not to flinch when Gilbert rounded on him: he didn’t fear his older brother but he was afraid of getting caught in his lie. And while he liked to both watch football matches on TV and play football outside in his free time, he’d had precious little of that lately, and that had made him appear disinterested. But he couldn’t exactly tell Gilbert what he’d been doing instead of playing football — not here, anyways, not now. And that had made his brother suspicious. Ludwig wrung the end of his scarf anxiously in his hands as Gilbert approached him, and nearly stepped back when he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. ”I-I like football…” he protested weakly, but Gilbert would hear none of it. Ludwig’s heart lifted when it became clear that his brother had decided to put his own well-being ahead of any football game, but it was exactly the opposite action that Ludwig needed from him. He wasn’t sick, gottverdammt! Frustrated, the boy hung his head after Gilbert brushed away his hair, feeling his eyes fill with tears. He couldn’t just abandon his plan, not when his brother wanted to spend some time with him, not after Ludwig himself had already come so far and jumped over so many hurdles — getting Gilbert’s attention, somehow convincing him to spend time together… but it was too risky staying indoors like this, and Gilbert had insisted upon it… there had to be some other way… As Gilbert went back to finish chopping the vegetables, Ludwig tilted his face towards the ceiling, thinking and trying to prevent his unshed tears from giving in to gravity. He couldn’t tell Gilbert ‘no’. He refused to even consider that option. But he couldn’t really expend any extra energy with just a quick lap around the neighborhood, and he wouldn’t have time to confess his abilities properly. There had to be a way— It came to Ludwig in a flash and he looked down, hastily wiping his eyes with his jacket sleeve as Gilbert glanced fondly back at him. ”Okay,” he murmured, defeated. ”If you really don’t mind and your friends won’t mind and all that.” Ludwig started to unwind the scarf from around his neck; the cooler air felt nice on his already hot skin, so perhaps his plan would work out in his favor in more than one way. ”I’ll go get changed, but—“ he glanced up to Gilbert, meeting his brother’s gaze, ”can I take a bath first? I think I’ll feel a little better.” That was hardly a request Gilbert could refuse, and Gilbert didn’t have to help him, meaning Ludwig would have a few precious minutes of privacy. Word Count: 470 Tags: Gilbert Beilschmidt Notes: --

by worldie for lena

[Gilbert Beilschmidt]

We'll cast some light...
        And you'll be all right

Gilbert glanced back at his little brother, surprised by his sudden capitulation. A bath certainly seemed like a good, relaxing, idea. He remembered Mutti running a nice hot bath to kill a persistent fever. His eyes softened as he thought about the times he was sick—those were some of the only times that he ever felt like her son. He remembered her cooling fingers brushing over her forehead, the hardy soups and teas that blasted away just about any cold or flu that had settled into his small frame. Unlike his usually hale and healthy brother, Gilbert had spent far too long of his childhood sick and it was a sad fact that the best memories of his mother all involved an aural thermometer. The one benefit of being sick was knowing all the steps involved in making someone feel better. Gil was going to knock this caretaker gig out of the freaking park.

“Sure? Do you want me to heat up the bath? You could go lie down for a bit if you’d like.” He smiled at his little brother in what he hoped was a kind and considerate gesture. He watched his brother fiddle uncertainly with the scarf in his hands, wrapping it around his hands, the fabric intertwining around his lithe fingers. And for the first time in a long time, Gilbert really took note of those hands. Gone were the chubby fingers and smooth skin of a boy, Ludwig’s fingers were long and sinewy, the skin callused and rough on the pads of his palms. Those were the hands of a man the hands of a complete stranger. When had his adorable little brother become such an… adult? And how had he let himself miss it? Gilbert blinked, realizing he’d been staring at his little brother’s hands like a complete space case. He turned red and averted his rubied gaze back to a more normal subject—namely those vegetables. He cleared his throat and tilted the cutting board, allowing the ingredients to tumble into the pot as he reconsidered his previous offer about drawing the bath. West may be his sweet little brother, but he was still a Beilschmidt, which meant Gil not only had to look after his health, he also needed to look after his pride. If he wanted West to be compliant, he had to give him an easy task. West would certainly take exception to Gil doing everything and an argument over who started the water was certainly not worth exhausting his already ill sibling.

Gil turned back to his brother with an almost apologetic look. “Actually, about that bath… If you don’t mind heating it up, I need to get the tea started as well, which means ferreting out where Mutti hid the key to the liquor cabinet again. By the time you’re done with the bath, you’ll have a nice hot bowl of soup and some special tea waiting for you. I guarantee you’ll be feeling better in no time!” He turned back around, searching for some honey and some aspirin. It was the ace, the go to weapon in his mother’s arsenal and though Gil hated the woman, he’d couldn’t argue with her methods. Nothing beat tea, honey, lemon, aspirin and whiskey. Gilbert smiled to himself, certain he’d knock out whatever was ailing his brother. He waved a dismissive hand towards West.

“The sooner you get that bath going, the sooner we can kick back with soup and a movie. Get going, West!” And with that Gil started off towards his mother’s room, determined to hunt down that key. No illness was a match for the all mighty Gilbert Beilschmidt.

word count: 612
tags: Ludwig A. Beilschmidt
notes: Gil's the reason Mutti has to have a Liquor Key...

by worldie for kat

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

and the coal hits the fire and the wheels start to spin

Feeling his brother turn his scrutiny back on him, Ludwig flushed pink, still unconsciously strangling his scarf. Just as he’d never been a good liar, he’d also never been a good actor, and that wasn’t because the only stage experience he had involved being a bird in a play when he was seven. Ludwig had a strong imagination, but the only role he’d ever felt comfortable playing was that of his own honest self. Anything else just seemed unreasonably silly, and even pretending to care so much about a simple bath embarrassed him. Of course, his careful pretending came to naught when Gilbert offered to heat up the bath for him. Ludwig nearly opened his mouth to protest, but the smile on his brother’s face silenced the words before they reached his lips. Even if he kept sabotaging Ludwig’s efforts, that smile made it clear that this was out of concern and care for him, not because he meant to or because he thought Ludwig might be incapable. In a way, Ludwig felt weirdly grateful: just yesterday, he might have easily suspected that his older brother wanted nothing to do with him anymore. If nothing else came from this attempt, at least Ludwig could cling to that knowledge. He was staring at his feet and musing how to reply to this latest challenge when Gilbert abruptly announced that actually, he had to keep working on the soup, as well as on tea… ”Gil, you shouldn’t break into the liquor cabinet, you’ll get in trouble if anyone finds out!” Ludwig scolded, albeit in a gentle tone that belied more worry than indignation. To be fair, their mother’s cure-all tea remedy had worked well before… Gilbert must really be determined. Well, if his brother was going to put in that effort, Ludwig would meet it. His expression steeled in preparation for the next part of his plan. ”Okay,” he announced with a short nod. ”I’ll be back soon!” He turned on his heel and bolted upstairs, stopping in the bathroom to plug the tub and start running the cold water. Leaving his shoes, coat, and scarf in his room, Ludwig retrieved his pajamas and a towel before returning to the bathroom and securely locking the door. After carefully folding his day clothes, he climbed onto the edge of the tub, letting his legs rest in the cool water. The tub was still filling, but Ludwig wasted no time in concentrating all of his energy in turning the water from cold to lukewarm to warm, and by the time he turned off the faucet, the water was comfortable enough for him to sink into all of the way. And then, Ludwig sat still, focusing on the water. He could hear his science teacher talking about specific heat, the amount of energy needed to raise the temperature of something. Maybe one day in the future, he could measure his ability scientifically, with a thermometer and a timer. Regrettably — as always — the only unpredictable variable would be himself. By the time Ludwig stopped thinking about science and thermodynamics and heat, the bathwater had turned steaming hot, and he let out a quiet, relieved sigh. This way, it would be much more difficult for him to slip up on accident and hurt Gilbert. He hoped. With a nervous glance at the door, Ludwig focused on the water again. Better to be safe than sorry, especially when it came to his older brother. One wrong move, Ludwig felt, and Gilbert would be slamming the door again, this time on his way out of the house, away from him. Word Count: 610 Tags: Gilbert Beilschmidt Notes: --

by worldie for lena

[Gilbert Beilschmidt]

    My words are my faith...
        To hell with our good name...

Gil sat back and surveyed his work with a smile. The soup turned out perfect, even better than he’d expected and the tea? It was a work of art. Feeling emboldened, Gilbert snagged a beer from the fridge as a victory prize. After West finished his tea, maybe he’d even let him share some. He could already imagine the look on his face. He carefully balanced the tray on his hand as he made his way up the steps to his room. He couldn’t help but hum cheerfully as he pulled out a few movies for West to pick between when he got out. Satisfied, he made his way to the bathroom, slowing when he saw the steam billowing from under the crack of the door. He paused, frowning slightly as he stared at the door. He didn’t want to be overbearing… but West was sick, right? What if he passed out? Swallowing the rising panic, Gil cleared his throat and knocked on the door.

“Hey, West? Are you okay? The soup’s ready.” He said, trying to infuse a sense of nonchalance into his voice as he spoke. Deep down, he knew he was being stupid for being such a worry wart. People get sick and they get better, right? And Lud was sturdy, far healthier than Gil had been at his age. So why did he feel such a sense of foreboding in his chest? He couldn’t put a finger on it, but there was this growing feeling of dread like a dark cloud hanging over the house. Something bad was on the horizon, and somehow… it concerned his brother. He groaned and leaned his head on the door, irritated by his own weakness. Since when did Gilbert Beilschmidt give in to anxious thoughts and needless worry. How stupid can he be? He’d learned a long time ago that worry did nothing for you. Trouble came regardless. He had come to accept his lot in life, no matter what it brought him. He’d spent so much of his early childhood in fear and he’d made the decision to get never let it get a stranglehold of him again.

And so, it surprised the hell out of him to realize that he was afraid. But not for himself. No, it was never his well being that concerned him. Of course, it was never his life that worried him. Ever since West had been born, it was his life that Gil cared about. It was hard to believe that for nearly a year, he’d managed to bury that driving force. Gil was a big brother, indeed that had been his proudest achievement. He may have been a disappointment as a son, as a student, as a normal human, but he wanted to be a good brother. But now? After nearly a year of silence, Gil had to face the facts. He was terrified for West, terrified that he’d fail his little brother…

…Terrified that maybe he already had….

word count: 497
tags: Ludwig A. Beilschmidt
notes: short but full of big bro feels...

by worldie for kat

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

and the coal hits the fire and the wheels start to spin

Despite the fact that the bathroom had filled with steam so thick he could barely see the opposite wall, Ludwig continued to pour energy into the water until tiny bubbles began to drift up from the bottom of the porcelain tub. Maybe he should have opened a window before, Ludwig realized, but that would have been risky too, if anyone had spotted so much steam rising from a normal bathroom window. He’d just have to trust the fan to do its job, but he couldn’t remember the last time things had been this bad with his abilities. Had using them only given him more energy, somehow? Ludwig really hoped not. He had a hard enough time faking normalcy. The knock on the door and his brother’s words jerked Ludwig out of his trance, and he shook his head to clear it. How long had he been in here? He couldn’t remember — oh no, if Gilbert suspected something— ”Y-yeah, I’m fine!” he called back quickly. ”I’ll be right out, I’m almost done!” Ludwig hastily turned his focus from boiling the water to getting himself clean, scrubbing himself quickly over with soap and an old washcloth before rinsing off. He shouldn’t have gotten so distracted, he should have set a timer or something… but he’d been so concerned about not hurting Gilbert that his attention had slipped away from everything else. Finally pulling the plug and letting the hot water drain away, Ludwig hoisted himself up to the edge of the tub and grabbed a towel, wrapping it tightly around his shoulders as he rose to his feet. The floor abruptly jerked out from under him and he first stumbled sideways into the wall before sinking to the ground. It happened so quickly that he hadn’t even processed where he’d ended up until a second later. Mentally shaking himself, Ludwig got up onto his hands and knees and noticed with a shock that he felt weak: his arms were shaking with the mere effort of holding himself up and when he made to get to his feet a second time, the room gave another violent spin. Sitting against the wall to keep himself steady and shutting his eyes to ward off the dizziness, Ludwig took a shaky breath. The heat and bath hadn’t made him dizzy; this he felt sure of. He’d done this kind of thing before and he’d never felt so awful. So… what had happened? Ludwig wasn’t honestly sure, and that made him frightened. But Gilbert was waiting for him, and he’d delayed long enough. Any more waiting and his older brother might end up trying to break down the door. So, with some difficulty, he dried himself off while sitting on the ground before pulling on his pajamas; oddly enough, they felt comfortably warm despite the still lingering steam in the bathroom. Slowly, Ludwig worked his way to his feet, bracing himself against the wall; he cleaned up the place as best he could before letting himself out, keeping one hand against the wall for support. ”S-sorry, I lost track of time,” he apologized to Gilbert guiltily. ”I think we can watch movies now…” Word Count: 534 Tags: Gilbert Beilschmidt Notes: Bro ;A;

by worldie for lena

[Gilbert Beilschmidt]

We'll cast some light...
And you'll be all right

Gilbert bit back a wince as West finally emerged from the bathroom. He looked… worse than he had when he’d entered, pale and trembling, his hand braced against the wall. Gilbert felt his breath catch, his worry only deepening as he looked at his brother.

“Oh, West…” He stopped, shaking his head slightly. No, anxiety is not going to help his brother. He had to stay positive, had be a good big brother for a change. So he smiled and stepped forward, wrapping his arm around the younger boy’s torso to help support him. “C’mon kiddo, lets get you back to my room. I have soup and tea waiting. We’ll get you feeling better in no time!” He smiled and kissed his forehead, surprised to feel the relative coolness of the boy’s forehead. Strange… perhaps his fever broke? But he felt far more… fragile now, shaking just from the effort to keep upright. Gil moved slowly, making sure to shoulder most of his brother’s weight. Gil was surprised by how solid West felt as he leaned against his older brother, despite his current weakness. But his body was sturdy, muscles obvious beneath his pajama shirt. He was far stronger than Gil had been at his age. Gil’s brow furrowed, trying to understand the conflicting information. It didn’t really tally up, West didn’t seem like a victim of a wasting illness, but there was clearly something wrong.

“Okay, we’re almost there,” he said, determined keep his voice cheerful as he nudged his bedroom door open with his foot before carefully depositing his little brother into the bed. He carefully situated the pillows so that West would be comfortable before handing him the soup. “Eat it slowly,” he cautioned, settling in beside him. “I don’t want to overwhelm your stomach or anything.” He smiled and ran his fingers comfortingly through West’s blonde hair. “I pulled out some of your old favorites. Go head and pick what you’d like to watch—“ Too late, he realized that West’s likes had probably changed in the past year and he had no inkling of what his little brother was interested in now. He had to come to terms with the fact that his brother might not be the same boy that populated his memory. Gil felt a strange tightness in his chest at the thought, trying his best not to let his emotions show. Once West was better, he had all the time in the world to get to know the boy his brother had become.

Slightly cheered by the thought, Gil let his hand move to his brother’s shoulder. “Or, if you want to watch something else, just let me know. It doesn’t matter to me.” He grinned widely at the boy. Despite the current situation the two found themselves in, Gil was proud that his brother had chosen to come for him to help, despite the past year. He was going to prove to West that he was better than their parents believed.

From here on out, he was going to be the best big brother, West could ask for.

word count: 517
tags: Ludwig A. Beilschmidt
notes: ... sorry it's not great

by worldie for kat

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

and the coal hits the fire and the wheels start to spin

Ludwig managed to protest quietly as Gilbert stepped forward to lend a hand, but in reality he felt grateful for the added support: his legs and feet still felt unsteady, almost like they didn’t belong to him. But the promise of soup and tea and movies was a good one, and although he blushed and muttered a quiet ”hey!” when his brother pressed a kiss to his forehead, he didn’t pull back, nor did he attempt to make the walk down the hallway on his own strength alone. That he didn’t know quite how he’d gotten into this state still frightened Ludwig, but realist that he was, he had more pressing problems. Getting better, namely, but also… he still had to let Gilbert know about his abilities, even if the thought of using them right now just made his head spin. Once in the bed, Ludwig did his best to help Gilbert move pillows around and he managed to tug the thick comfortable blankets up to his chest before his brother returned with a hot bowl of soup. Warming his hands on the bowl, he waited for Gilbert to settle beside him before helping himself carefully to a spoonful. The effect was immediate. ”It’s really good!” he spoke, and had to force himself to slow down so that he wouldn’t burn his mouth. And while he still felt dizzy and ill, Ludwig had to admit that the food did make him feel a bit better. Gilbert may have not gotten the accolades from their parents that he deserved, but Ludwig had always known he had many talents — including cooking, and the familiar taste of the soup settled him just as comfortably as the pile of pillows and the warm blanket. And when Gilbert presented him with the movie selection, he reluctantly sat the bowl aside. ”Um…” Ludwig hadn’t seen any of the movies Gilbert had picked in years; truthfully, he hardly had time to watch anything lately. But they were all familiar: fairy tales and adventure stories Ludwig had always loved watching when he’d been much younger. It took him only a few seconds to make his decision, and he passed the copy of Die Braut des Prinzen over. ”Let’s watch this one. I haven’t seen it in a long time. You like it too, right? I mean… I think I remember you liked it.” Over the years, Ludwig had done his best to keep an eye on Gilbert — to learn what new things his brother had been doing, any special achievements or accolades he’d won. But as Gilbert had grown distant, that had been harder and harder to do. Ludwig sincerely hoped his memory wasn’t failing him, despite the foggy state of his mind. If Gilbert agreed to watch this movie, at least, there would be a lot of places where Ludwig might be able to break the news about the whole mutant thing. The story had a fair share of unusual individuals with special abilities (although at least one of them was evil, Ludwig remembered, uncomfortably). He’d just have to wait for the right moment and hope that he recognized it when it arrived. Word Count: 531 Tags: Gilbert Beilschmidt Notes: Ludwig wants to watch "The Princess Bride"

by worldie for lena

[Gilbert Beilschmidt]

We'll cast some light...
        And you'll be all right

The Princess Bride. Perfect. Gilbert couldn’t help but smile as he the DVD in the slot. He couldn’t help but remember late nights of long ago, the two of them buried under a comfortable pile of blankets and pillows and comforters, fighting sleep in order watch just 15 more minutes, giggling and whispering together as only brothers could. West was so little back then, a cherub-faced youth who still curled his fingers around Gil’s shirt as he slept. Who would climb into Gil’s bed when the thunder got too bad, trembling and trying not to let Gil see him cry. It was how their movie nights first started.

So much had changed. Gil settled back beside his not-so-little brother, holding him a mug of hot tea once West looked like he was about done with the soup for the time being. “Be careful with that. I managed to figure out the combination to Vater’s liquor cabinet ages ago, so the tea has a bit of a kick to it.” He smiled and held up a beer for himself and took a nice long drink. He smiled as he felt the alcohol warm his chest and rooted around for the remote to press play. The tea was a warm, healing, concoction of chamomile, honey, lemon, and whiskey. Gil had drank it plenty of times in the past, back when it was his body that was failing him and he had no doubt that it help his ailing brother.

He shifted gently, covering a blanket over them both, wrapping them in a cocoon of warmth. He hoped that between the warmth of the soup and the tea and the shared blanket would help soothe the trembling he could still feel coming from West’s body. He yawned contentedly and took another swig from the beer, feeling both adult and rebellious at the same time. Sure his father was bound to notice the brandy missing, but if it was for the sake of their favorite son, he couldn’t imagine the punishment would be too severe. Even if it was, seeing the tentative smile on his brother’s face was well worth it.

“So, the Princess Bride. Man, I haven’t watched this in ages! Good choice, West.” He rests his arm around West’s broad shoulders. “This was a favorite of yours, right? Back when you were younger. I remember I kept trying to push Westerns on you, but you were always more interested in fantasy stories and fairy tails.” He laughed, his eyes sparkling at the memory of the chubby cheeked boy, pouting as he stubbornly clung to his copy of the Little Mermaid. “Even as a kid, you had a mind of your own. It’s how I knew you were going to be something great. And I wasn’t wrong.” His eyes land on West, serious for once. “I know I haven’t shown it lately, but I’m really proud of you, West. Seriously.” West was going to be amazing; even when Gil felt the most distant from his brother he never doubted that fact. Gil may never be anything, but he was certain that his brother would.

word count: 522
tags: Ludwig A. Beilschmidt
notes: Gil's the reason Mutti has to have a Liquor Key...

by worldie for kat