"Tragedy is a tool for the living to gain wisdom, not a guide by which to live." - Robert Kennedy

"I have to thank you for making the time for this session. I know your schedule must be very busy."

"Not at all. I'm happy to talk with you. It's been too long."

"This….isn't supposed to be a social visit, purely business."

"Oh, I know. That's okay too."

"How about, then, we start at the beginning? When do you think it began?"

"Oh, that's easy."

"Papa!" The seven year old cried, bounding up the spiral stairs and bursting, uninvited, into his father's study. "Papa!" Antonio tilted his head at his father, hunched over at his desk, face hidden in his hands. He tugged on the sleeve of his father's suit, babbling excitedly, oblivious to the nearly palpable pain that thickened the room.

"I met new friends today Papa! One of them is named Francis, and he's French. He looks like a girl but he's really not. He let me borrow his little stuffed turtle, and it's really cute and the other one, Gilbert, he's German, so he has trouble with his 'w's, but that's okay 'cause I can still understand h-"

Tears welled unbidden in his eyes as he held his stinging cheek. He cowered under his father's glare, clutching the stuffed animal tight to his chest.

"Shut up!" His father growled, knocking his chair over as he stood. "Just shut up! Can't you see I am in pain?" Antonio swallowed the lump in his throat, speaking up meekly.

"Why papa?" his father finally looked at him, tears clear in his own eyes. He fell to his knees, grabbed his son in a choking hug, and wept into the small shoulder.

"Your…your mother is gone, mijo."

"Where did she go?" His father sobbed harder.

"That must have been awful."

"Mmm. The next few years were the worst. My father grew even more unstable. He started drinking."

"How did you cope with that?"

"Not well. I'm very lucky I had Francis and Gilbert. They saved me."

"C'mon, Toni. Cheer up!" Gilbert was turned around in his seat, poking his friend's cheek repeatedly. Francis slapped his hand.

"Stop it." He scolded, leaning on Antonio's desk, putting himself between the two.

"But he's always like this!" Gilbert's exclamation silenced the rowdy class of fourteen year olds, and Francis gave him a withering glare. Antonio managed a weak smile.

"It's fine guys, really." Francis and Gilbert gave him skeptical looks. He shifted his eyes to stare at his desk, repeating "Really."

Francis shook his head, already rummaging through his backpack. "How are things at home lately?"

"Fine, I think. I usually zone out for most of it."

Francis pulled out a small, stuffed turtle, old but well taken care of. He set it on Antonio's desk, in the boys line of sight. "Here, mon cher."

Antonio glanced quickly and repeatedly between Francis' soft smile and the plush. Gilbert grinned at him, waggling pale eyebrows. He raised his own, giving the blond beside him one last questioning glance. "Really? But, you just got Monsieur, and then it was Gilbert's turn to take him home after that…"

"Gilbert and I both agreed to this Antonio. You need him more than we do." Francis picked up the stuffed turtle, placing it in the Spaniards palm and curling his long slender fingers around it.

"And frankly, you always liked him more anyway." Gilbert added, as he gathered his things. The two boys still in their seats gave him a questioning glance as he stood up and slung the strap of his bag onto his shoulder. "Don't want to be late picking up Luddy." He playfully ruffled Antonio's hair and had a go at Francis', only to be slapped away. Before anyone could say a word against it, he had vanished out the door.

Francis rolled his eyes, and snorted in amusement. Antonio let a smile creep to his own face, turning to carefully place his stuffed treasure into his bag. Both snickered to themselves quietly when the teacher returned from the hallway, face red in anger.

"Were they always there for you? What happened after Gilbert…. After-"

"They were there for me as often as they could be. After Gilbert was sent away, it was just me and Francis, and that was a little harder on both of us, I guess."

"What made it harder?"

"….Knowing that we could have helped him."

"Gilbert!" Francis' screamed grated on Antonio's frayed nerves, and he pushed against his ears hard to block out the sounds that were too loud. This shouldn't be happening. He peeled open an eye to see a spray of red at his feet, and his stomach lurched like it wanted to jump out of his throat. He turned his back on the blood, to see Gilbert racing up the stairs. Even through his hands he could hear Francis almost yelling at who ever was on the other end of the phone, and the pained gasps that were coming from the kitchen. He sat heavily, drawing his knees to his chest and willing reality to disappear.

He lost himself, curled into a ball on the floor. He didn't notice when Francis rushed to the kitchen and stayed there for a long time, or when the police finally stormed the once pristine house. He didn't notice when Gilbert was dragged past, kicking and screaming right in front of his face, or when little Ludwig was wheeled by on an ambulance stretcher. He didn't register that Francis had pulled him to his feet and was leading him away from the blood stained house and the violent screams of their friend that seemed to follow them all the way back to Francis' house. He didn't know when sleep finally overcame him.

He woke up swaddled in the blankets of Francis' bed, with the blonds head just a short way off, resting in what looked to be a very uncomfortable position. He didn't know why it was light when only seconds ago it was darkness he saw through Gilbert's windows. He couldn't reason as to why his lids were heavy and his eyes stung. He called softly to his sleeping friend, who came awake slowly. He listened to the explanation with slowly growing horror. His sobs built until he couldn't wrangle them any longer and he collapsed into a heap of tears in Francis' arms. He couldn't recall how long he stayed there, or even how he got home. He was too preoccupied with the growing emptiness in his heart.

"How did you and he manage after that? Were you still friends?"

"We were, but it didn't last as long as I wish it would have."

Antonio fingered the delicate petals of the flowers in his hands, ignoring the urge to throw them to the ground and stomp on them until they were nothing but a splash of color smeared across the hallway floor. He reached the room that he hated, and the smile was harder to coax to his face then it had been yesterday. He placed the flowers in the vase on the table and sat in the uncomfortable chair by the too white bed.

"Hey Francis. How are you doing today?" The eighteen year old forced a bright smile for his gaunt friend splayed on the bed. Francis turned his head to better regard him, and whimpered at the pain the action caused. Antonio's smile lost some of it's fake brightness at the sound, but he pressed on. "Anything new?"

Francis whimpered something that sounded like his name. He stood and pressed closer to hear the faint words. He caught the word 'hurts' and some mumbled French. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears. He cried far too easily. "I know Franny, but you'll get better-"

"Don't lie to me!" Francis snapped in a voice barely above a whisper. His eyes were filled with a long gone determination as he stared at his best friend. "I'm dying"

"Don't say that" Antonio begged, his voice shaky and strained. "The chemo could still work. You could still-" Francis turned a pitiful glare on him. He flopped his head back on the pillow, failing to hide the wince, and stared blankly up at the ceiling.

"Antonio, please. I don't want to hurt anymore." Tears streaked the pale, hairless face.

Antonio shook his head, shoulders slumping. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix this." He wiped the tears quickly from his face as Francis spoke again.

"Do you really want to help?"

"Of course!" Antonio nodded vigorously, clutching Francis' hand lightly in his own. Francis smile was tired. His eyes drifted to a small remote on his bed side table.

"Give that to me." Antonio turned to see what he meant, head cocking in confusion.

"Why? What is it?" He picked the small remote up, turning it over in his hands. Francis smiled as Antonio held it out for him. He grit his teeth and strained his arm, but it didn't move. He drew in breath deeply, ignoring the tears slipping down his cheeks. Antonio let his hand fall to his side.

"It is the button for my morphine drip." The Spaniard nodded in understanding, fingering the small button.

"Did you want me to press it for you."

"Yes, please. Press it and don't let go."

"What?"

"Please, Toni. Please."

"Francis, I-"

"I'm going to die, Antonio!" Francis snapped, his voice rising for the first time in a long time; It was hoarse with disuse. "And there is nothing that can be done to change that. Not anymore, but there is something you can do for me."

"…what?"

"Let me die quickly. Painlessly. …please." Antonio eyes brimmed with tears. He looked to the remote in his hands; the decision that lay heavy in his palms. His eyes drifted back to Francis, and finally let himself really look at his friend. The deep circles under tired blue eyes told a story of sickness and pain that had him cringing. The Frenchman's lips were dry and cracked, his skin sickly looking. A few limp patches of blonde hair clung to his otherwise bald head. When Antonio looked at his best friend he was met with only a stranger. He bit his lip to stop it from quivering.

Francis drew his attention back with a call. "Just- just press it and hold it and don't let go, alright. When I- when I'm gone, put it in my hand and go, okay?" The smile was weak but real, and Francis' eyes were shining with the hope of relief. Antonio couldn't bring himself to deny that relief. He squeezed his eyes shut, and pressed.

He held even after Francis' smile wavered and slipped; after his eyes dimmed into still and lifeless blue; after his chest shuddered with final breath. The heart monitor sang a low keening note, crying along with the Spanish boy. Antonio exhaled the breath he had held in his lungs in a shuttering sob. He pressed his forehead gingerly into his friends chest, listening. He heard nothing but the monitor wailing. He curled Francis' quickly cooling hand around the control remote, pressed a kiss to either of the gaunt cheeks, leaving a drip of tears, and left.

"You helped him-"

"What else could I have done? If you'd seen him you would understand. He was in so much pain…"

"How did you manage after… that?"

"It got worse. I guess my father finally tired of my crying. He sent me to a therapist."

"Yes, Dr. Kirkland? What did he say?"

"I believe you have dissociation, Antonio." The man stared at his clipboard, still scribbling notes. Antonio cocked his head.

"Which is what exactly?"

"Well, your case is so far mild, and I believe it is a way for you to cope with a tragic event you've suffered." Antonio raised a brow. Dr. Kirkland smiled at him " You're afraid of responsibility, so when you feel that you are in danger of being held responsible for something more than yourself, you… oh, how did you put it, 'zone out'."

" I think you're making that up."

"I most certainly am not."

"Fine. Suppose you aren't," Antonio rolled his eyes at the indignant huff "How am I supposed to fix that?" Dr. Kirkland smiled, his eyebrows tilting down in a devilish way.

"We give you responsibility!" Antonio gaped at him, and he waved away the disbelieving look. "We train you to accept the responsibility. Start you off with a fish or something, and then work our way up the ladder to a creature that needs more, like a dog. That way you have no choice but to face your fear."

"…You're mad."

"That's a bit peculiar."

"It was a stupid idea."

"But you went along with it anyway?"

"Yes, and I'm glad I did. Because of that stupid idea, I got my boys."

Antonio felt stupid standing in front of the bored looking secretary. The laughter from the children just a room over was loud in the quiet. He wrung his hands over and over, wiping his palms off on his shirt. The secretary stared at him with poorly hidden awe. He wondered again how long it was going to take the orphanage head to get there. The doors finally opened and Antonio covered his relieved sigh with a cough, smiling back at the Orphanage head as she ushered him into the main hall of the building.

"Well Mr. Carreido, I'm pleased to say that your paperwork has all gone through. All that's left is to choose the child you wish to take home." His smile was noticeably brighter this time. He followed the woman through the wide double doors into a room bursting with the sound of children at play. Antonio stopped in the middle of the room, watching. His stomach ached in nervousness and his resolve was crumbling beneath his worry. How was he supposed to know which child was the right one? Who was he to choose? How could he think he was responsible enough to take care of a child when he was barely able to take care of himself?

A shrill scream dragged him from his thoughts; his glazed green eyes snapped to a young brunet who was dragging another child away by the wrist, lecturing him with every step. The boy being dragged just smiled placidly at the upset brunet. Antonio grinned, catching up with the woman who was waiting at the end of the room. He pointed out the raging brunet in the corner, still clinging tightly to his captive.

"I'd like to adopt him." The woman's expression was twisted in shock.

"Lovino?" Her voice squeaked an octave higher, incredulous.

His nod almost shook his head from his shoulders, and he tried the name for himself "Lovino."

"What about Feliciano?"

"Who?"

"His brother," she gestured vaguely to the boy held hostage in the angry Lovino's grasp.

"Oh. Well, I don't think I can really handle two…."

"They're inseparable," Her smile was fond as she observed the brothers, "Lovino has been taking care of Feliciano since they arrived."

"Really? He must really love his brother." She nodded, lost in thought. His next question caught her off guard.

"How soon can I take them home?"

"B-both of them?" A nod "Actually, Mr. Carreido, about Feliciano…"

"Your boys?"

"Yeah, my boys. I didn't think I could do it at first, but I think, for the most part, it went pretty well."

"Hey, Bastard, how many eggs am I supposed to put in this?"

"Lovino, language!" Antonio's voice lacked bite as he reprimanded his son, bopping him lightly on the head with the spoon he'd just pulled from the drawer.

"Bastard" Lovino mumbled as he sat the carton of eggs on the counter. Feliciano had procured the wooden spoon from Antonio and was waving it around in the bowl, giggling madly. Antonio laughed with him.

"Feliciano, silly boy, we have to put the ingredients in the bowl before you can mix it." He took the bowl and set it on the counter, ruffling the younger brother's hair. Feliciano continued to giggle; stirring the air with his spoon. Lovino rolled his eyes, doing his best to ignore the other two as they started a wooden spoon swordfight. He managed to get the dough finished before they finished their game. Antonio snuck up behind him and pinched his sides. Lovino jumped and swore and swatted at the older man. Antonio just laughed again, that full hearty laugh that felt so right on his lips. The kind of laugh he thought he would never have again.

He took advantage of Lovino's distracted state to dip his finger into the bowl and pull out some of the sweet dough. He sucked on his cookie flavored finger as Lovino swatted him away from the bowl again.

"Dammit, look what you're teaching him!" Lovino smacked Feliciano's hand away from the dough as he tried to imitate Antonio. This brought tears to the younger teen's eyes and Lovino found himself caving almost immediately. He offered up the chocolate chip dotted spoon to appease Feliciano, who thanked him with a happy squeal.

"Pasta~" Feliciano hummed as he sucked away at the spoon. Antonio looked bewildered, and corrected him.

"He knows it isn't pasta, bastard, or at least I'm assuming he knows. That's his word for food. He calls anything he eats pasta. Haven't you noticed?"

Antonio shrugged and ducked his head sheepishly. "I just thought that was what he always wanted to eat. I didn't think it was okay to give it to him all the time though."

"Ah, well he did love it. B-before, I mean. He would eat it a lot. It was his favorite." He looked away, trying to hide his sleeve as it brushed across his cheeks. "It was Nonno's favorite too." Antonio reached out to hug the seventeen year old, but Feliciano beat him to it, He held out his spoon to his brother, smiling as big as he could.

"Pasta, fratello" Lovino pushed the saliva covered spoon away from his face with a scoff, but the smile curling at the corner of his mouth was easy to spot.

"No, thank you Feli" He caught sight of Antonio's smile and his face caught fire. He stabbed Antonio with his finger repeatedly, as if it would help to drive the point home. "You need to stop teaching him bad habits bastard. If the two of you don't stop being gluttons we're going to have no dough left for our stupid birthday cookies. Why the hell are we even making cookies? Aren't you supposed to have a cake for your birthday?"

Antonio shrugged again, wearing a smile to match Feliciano's. "It's what my mom used to do for me, and I thought we could do it together, as you know, a family. I mean come on Lovi, it isn't every day you turn eighteen." Lovino said nothing; He filled the already ready cookie sheets with to treat and marched off to the living room, dragging his brother a long behind. He stopped at the door to look back at Antonio.

"Are you coming or not?"

"That's one of the happiest memories I have. It almost hurts to remember it now, considering what happened just a little while later.

His hands were shaking so bad that he almost dropped the phone several times, and everything around him blurred away with the tears that streaked his face. He could hear the choked, pathetic pleas coming from where he had left the boys. He had left. Like a coward. He couldn't even help his sons. He covered his ears, like he had as a child. How could he think he could do this? He wasn't fit to raise a child. He was no more than a child himself. He heard the pounding and shouting from the door, and he stumbled over to wrench it open. The officers stormed past and all he could see was blood splattered walls and a young boy being dragged away, kicking and screaming. He collapsed to the ground in sobs, and willed himself to forget, to ignore the world. Just as he always did.

"I'm so sorry."

"No, don't apologize. It wasn't your fault. There's nothing you could have done. I'm the one who should be sorry." His smile was lopsided and forced. He stood from the chair, arching his back in a stretch. He cut off Ludwig's protests with a wave of his hand. "It was nice talking to you Ludwig, really, but if you'll excuse me, I'd like to see Lovi."

"I'll come with you. I haven't seen Gilbert yet today."

"Alright" They walked down the hall, side-by-side. There was a rush and flurry of activity around them, guards rushing around them and out of sight farther down the hall. "What do think is going on?" Antonio asked, following the men with his eyes. "…They're heading down Lovino's hallway." He picked up his pace, sprinting down the corridor, pushing past the guards. He arrived outside Lovino's cell to a chaotic mess.

Gilbert was handcuffed and held tight by two burly men. His grin was maniac and he was cackling to the ceiling. The door to the cell was flung wide open, and a stretcher was being wheeled away from the scene. A dark body bag lay on the stretcher, zipped up tight. Antonio's stomach hit the floor, and his heart jumped to his throat, He didn't see Lovino anywhere. Ludwig caught up to him panting, and he stared in disbelief at the scene. He turned to his brother, who had quieted on his arrival.

"Gilbert, what did you do?" His face was as pale as Gilbert's, and his eyes darted frantically around the scene.

"He was talking bad about you West, I couldn't let that happen. No one spoils my brother's good name." He cackled louder than before at his own words. He sobered quickly as Antonio stumbled up to him, his cheeks wet. He grinned toothily. "Hey Toni. Fancy meeting you here." The Spaniard launched himself at Gilbert with a vicious snarl, held back only by Ludwig's strong arm around his waist. He screamed obscenities at a confused Gilbert, collapsing to heaving sobs in Ludwig's arms.

"Why?" He sobbed into an unyielding chest, his voice crawling higher in volume with every word "What did I do wrong?" No one had an answer for him. Everything seemed to quiet for a moment as the world quit spinning. The soft, almost hysterical mutterings of a broken man pierced the silence.

"Santa María, Madre de D-dios, ruega por nosotros peca- pecadores, ahora y en la hora de... nuestra muerte. Amén."