Warnings: mentioning of guns, death, and other things that some readers may find personal.


Ludwig waited patiently, like a good little student, as his red-faced and spluttering teacher tried in vain to calm down and contain his wild classmates. The news of a classroom visitor had excited them, even more so when it was revealed that this man was a member of the mafia—leader, actually.

He wondered why the man was here, and if it was actually safe for a mafia leader to visit a high school.

There was a quiet rap at the door and silence fell in the room instantly. Mr. Kirkland gave all of his students a wary look, as if they might somehow spontaneously combust during the short time it would take him to turn his back and walk over to the door(it had happened before, Ludwig had witnessed it firsthand), but eventually gave a mere sigh and turned to open the door anyway.

To Ludwig's surprise, his classmates—usually rowdy and uncontainable thanks to his loudmouth older brother, Gilbert—remained quiet and calm as Mr. Kirkland led the visitor into the room, save for a few snickers at the front of the room.

At first, Ludwig had no idea why they were laughing. And then he saw the small stuffed cat in the man's back pocket. The man was dressed in a leather jacket, he was wearing ripped jeans and scruffy clothing, but he still emanated the aura of power and cunning intelligence. If not for the cat, Ludwig would have him to be very intimidating. The man slid off his pair of glinting black sunglasses and fixed the snickering students with a cruel and icy glare. The room seemed to drop several degrees; Ludwig hoped that his classmates would think his shiver was one out of the chill, not out of fear.

"My name is Lovino Vargas," he finally said. He tore his cold eyes off of the pale-faced students and fastened them onto Mr. Kirkland. "Where would you like me to stand?"

Mr. Kirkland let out a nervous swallow that sounded choked. "There is fine," he mumbled. "The students can see and hear you best in the center of the room."

Lovino swiveled his head back to face the high-schoolers. His eyes, Ludwig noticed, were slightly glassy, if he looked close enough. He wondered why.

"My name is Lovino Vargas," he repeated, "but back in Italy, they called me Demone, because to them I was the devil. I was wicked, evil, dangerous, and I was everywhere at once. Nobody could hide anything from me, nobody could steal anything from me, nobody could even touch me. I was invincible."

Lovino was quiet for a minute, and then he pulled out the stuffed cat from his pocket. The cat was a tiny thing, really, scruffy and white-washed. It may have been black before, but now was a very pale gray, with just the slightest tinge of something darker. Something sinister.

"I had a little brother," Lovino said at last. He looked up at the students in front of him; Ludwig noticed that the glossiness from before was replaced with a dull blankness. "He wasn't supposed to be living with me, but our parents are dead, have been for ten years. He'd been living with our grandfather since then, but then the bastard—who was in the mafia too, that asshole should have been watching over him—went and got himself killed because he was too stupid to recognize a spy if it were right under his nose."

A quiet murmur of anticipation fell over the classroom. Lovino gave the pale cat a squeeze. "Feliciano—my brother—came to me four months ago, because he was only fifteen and couldn't live on his own, in case the hit men decided to go after him as well. I was doing a good job protecting him, nobody could hurt him, nobody would hurt him… he was safe…" Lovino cleared his throat and gave the cat a particularly violent squeeze. "He should have been safe. But then he found my guns."

But then he found my guns

Found my guns

Then he

But then

My guns

He found

The words echoed around the room as the students realized what was coming. Ludwig froze.

"I found his body in my room," Lovino said flatly. "The little idiot didn't realize he was staring into the barrel of a gun until it went off. He was still holding it when I got there, he was still holding it when I tried to take his hands, he was still holding it when he died." Lovino held up the stuffed cat for the class to see. "This was what he had been looking for when he grabbed my gun, his little Pookie. Said it helped him with nightmares, whenever he was afraid that I was going to get hurt, or whenever somebody would threaten us. He… he cherished the damn thing." Pookie was being choked right now. Lovino cleared his throat roughly and pressed the cat to his chest. "Feliciano died because of this cat. That's what most people think, when I tell them about what happened. But that's not true. Feli died because of me. He died because I wasn't protecting him, because I wasn't thinking about hiding the guns or anything, because I thought he knew." The speaker gave a shaky intake of breath. "I thought he knew how dangerous they were. Because I thought that, he's gone."

A pause.

"Feliciano isn't the only kid who gets into these situations. He isn't the only the kid who dies because of them. And he's certainly not going to be the last. What happened to him was my fault, so I'm going to make sure all of you know not to make the same mistake. If—when—you get guns, or other weapons, make sure they are secure. Keep them away from children. Keep them away from everybody. Keep them under lock and key or else there will be consequences. If you listen to me, hopefully they won't be as bad." Lovino gave Pookie a final squeeze, before giving it to Mr. Kirkland, who stared at it with wide green eyes.

"Thank you for your presentation, Mr. Vargas," the teacher said quietly. "You have left your impression on my students. I know they will be extra careful in the future."

The students nodded wordlessly.

"I hope, for everybody's sake, that they are," Lovino replied.

While the students started offering their apologies and promises to the visitor, Lovino took a small photo out of his jacket pocket and passed it around. "This picture of Feli is going to stay in this classroom to remind you all of what has been lost, and what may be lost if you are not safe with your weapons."

He took Pookie back from Mr. Kirkland with a quiet thank you and moved back to the door to leave. When he paused in the doorway, everyone looked back at him. Several students had tears in their eyes, some were already crying, some were not.

"In Italy, they called me Demone. My little brother called me Lovi. That's what I want to be called now."

And then he was gone.

XxX

Ludwig is there to sort of help put the reader into the fic. Originally, he was supposed to recognize/be recognized by Lovino for knowing Feliciano, but that was deleted. If you happen to find any mentions of them knowing each other, let me know so I may fix it.

Demone, according to Google translate, is Italian for Devil.

Please, please, please, if you or somebody you know owns guns, keep them safe and secured, and away from children or anybody else who may find them. This prompt was inspired by a personal event, and I'm hoping that it raises some awareness towards gun safety, however little.

Thank you for reading, and once again, be safe.