Prologue:

Running. He could hear it close behind him now; the wet slaps of several chasing him in the rain. To them, he was fleeing of fear, but in actuality, he was winning. He knew what he was going to do to them should be far from ear shot and innocent eyes. Being a beast didn't mean he couldn't have a heart, right?

He turned a corner and slammed his back into the wall, watching them run by and back up when they realized what he had done. They ran towards him until he could back up no father into the alley, now was their time to escape.

"Leave now and you won't get hurt," his voice was stern and solid, there were six of them. He couldn't kill six men at once and ignore it. If they didn't turn back this would haunt him, give him more of those awful dreams that had him trembling like leaf late at night.

One sneered, baring his teeth and speaking in his thick French accent, "Oh, you want us to just leave? Non." The others laughed and one larger man came up to him, swinging some sort of metal bar, the dim street lights glinting off of it. The glint was almost a knowing glance, winking its affirmation of what the cornered man was going to have to do. The swing passed his eyes in slow motion, and he felt the last bit of his sanity leave as the beast took over.

He was a good man, calm and collected, only getting upset when orders weren't followed through. He kept quiet and to himself, that was how he liked it. But he could never manage to reel in one part of him, a part left from ages ago. Years of his life he couldn't remember.

Somewhere deep inside him, there was a monster. A monster that hated and spat venom, rearing its head when it was cornered. There was no controlling this thing, try as he might. Somehow he was lucky enough that it only showed itself when he could get away with it, as he could now, in self-defense.

The metal swung down.

He is coming.

Eyes began to glaze over.

He's so close.

The metal hit its target.

He's here.

His eyes were filled to the brim with bloodlust, almost dripping with it. The metal bar groaned under his grip, bending at the hilt. The burly man dropped it in shock, his fear causing him to stand perfectly still, like prey.

The large hand reached out so quickly, like a snake's strike, to latch on to a thick neck. A vice grip unlike no other. The cold air was the only sensation on his body, what better to warm it with than blood. Suddenly, that was all he could see. Blood, it dripped down the walls of the alley, the ground, his very own mind. A racking cackle left his throat at the sound of screams, but he couldn't stop them. Even when the man was dead, drowning in a small sea of his own blood, they continued. Louder and louder until-

He woke up, sweating so badly the sheets beneath him were soaked. He sat up shakily, unable to do anything but just attempt to calm his breathing.

"Someday, he thought, fighting bitter tears, "someday ill forget."

Ch.1 A Fresh Start

With a large sigh and a long stretch, Ludwig Beilschmidt stood from his café table, which lay in the back of a shabby French restaurant, far from prying eyes. That was how he liked it, it could be lightly put that Ludwig wasn't a social person, and was glad his looks and demeanor supported that. He did not enjoy confrontations and dealing with others stupidity. Though, here in France, he received none too nice hospitality. Ludwig was, after all, German.

Even though ten years had passed since the liberation of the French from the German army, he still received nervous and even hateful glances from the locals here in Auvergne, France. It wasn't so bad at the border, where the French enjoyed German tourism and even local Germans, but here, in the center of the country, the people still bore scars and grudges. Though he had known it wouldn't be warm and fuzzy, he couldn't help but feel as if they saw him as one of those Gestapo leaders; highly unlikely, as he was only 25, far too young to have been in the war at all.

With another sigh, Ludwig walked up to the counter to pay for his coffee and meal. As he handed the money over, including a generous tip, he didn't miss the mumbling of 'damn Germans' under the stout old man's breath. Apparently he didn't expect him to know much French, but Ludwig chose to ignore it. He was far too tired to deal with the situations, as he had been on the road for many hours before third pit stop, and knew nothing good would come from it.

If he hadn't worn the iron cross over his chest, Ludwig was still certain German was written over his forehead. He was tall with blond, slicked back hair, a muscular build, bright blue eyes, and an angular sculpted face that remained stoic the majority of the time. Perhaps a neon sign would be more accurate.

Ludwig was glad to step out of the diner at last. The food had been alright, but the atmosphere was dank and dull, though that could be attributed to his presence. The walls were covered with peeling gray wallpaper with some sort of ugly and tacky floral design. The smell reminded him of mildew and rotting wood. Outside though, he took in a large breath of crisp cool air. It was mid-January, meaning the snows were just getting their thickest before melting in a couple of months. The trees surrounding the establishment and road were tall and hung thick with snow, clumps of it blanketing the ground.

Rounding a corner of the diner, Ludwig came to his motorcycle; a 1948 Model 125. He smirked slightly, allowing some emotion on his face as he gazed at the dull grey bike. This, as well as a small bag of clothes and money, was the only thing he took from his home to come here. He still wasn't entirely sure why he needed to leave Germany. It had been one of those split decisions, which one didn't think about before making it. It was not something he did often, preferring to plan things out. Though he loved his homeland with its pleasantly cold winters and ale halls, the German had no family to keep him company.

Ludwig hadn't known his parents, from what he had heard, they were killed in Italy by the 'resistenza'. His father was an aspiring general and had brought his mother to the base so they could live together with an unborn Ludwig. It was a few weeks after his birth that they left him with a caretaker in France to vacation in Italy's bright and cool fields. Apparently, it was a normal occurrence to leave Gilbert, Ludwig's older brother, alone with sitters as well. He had gone missing awhile back, saying something about starting a motorcycle gang. His parents weren't parents for the fun of it.

However, on their plane to Italy, they had been mistaken for a rouge bomber, many of which still roamed. The Italian military acted quickly and brought the plane down, killing everyone, including Ludwig's parents, inside. A larger diplomatic argument was immediately formed, only to be put down by the German government. Tensions were just loosening between the two countries and many didn't want to see a battle with one of Germany's longest lasting allies. The largest problem was what to do with the two children.

Ludwig was watched and raised by the nanny, Mrs. Peat, always smelling like overly strong lavender, until he was eight, when he was sent to the same military academy as his brother. The academy was notorious for turning out ruthless soldiers, lieutenants, and generals and was the same as Ludwig's father had attended. This proved a problem for him when he first started, as he wasn't overly confrontational and preferred to stay quiet. It had been his fifth year putting up with taunts from the other cadets. They made jokes about his parents and his brother was often too busy doing much else than getting into trouble to help him.

Finally, he snapped. It had been one of those frequent cold nights and Ludwig was on his patrol duty, as usual, not uttering a word. He stood dutifully outside the dank quarters in his gray cadet suit, perfectly ironed with his soldiers straight and eyes forward. He always performed such duties as if he was being inspected, that had at least put him in favor with the commanders. As he walked down a dark alley between two cabins, he heard a rustling. As was his duty, he crept through the sharp and jagged dried limbs to investigate.

Lumbering through the brambles, he neared the small clearing towards the back of the far right cabin. It was used for personal combat training and practice. Suddenly, he had been grabbed from behind and dragged out into the clearing, where many other boys had gathered. With horror he noticed they all carried some sort of stick or blunt object. Struggling, they all laughed and yelled jeers at him. He heard none as he tried frantically to get away from two taller buys holding him. When the blows hit him, he remembered nothing but the feeling of being trapped, like a wild caged animal, he had sprung into action.

Ludwig didn't remember much of that night, or much of anything before it, but he did remember the way the commanding officer had patted him on his back. He did remember the looks of fear he got from new comers, and he did remember the way not one of those boys came near him again. Yet, for his ruthless reputation, he wasn't near ruthless at all. He could be easy to anger and stressed perfect conduct, but not overly violent.

In fact, the one reason he left the military at 22 was because of the corrupt and violent happenings that seemed to be ignored. Even when he had confronted his superiors, nothing had been done. They sent him away laughingly, and if there was one thing Ludwig wasn't, it was a bad man. He would never willingly let someone innocent get hurt. So he left, and now he was here. Here in this lonely, cold country.

Shaking his head out of its reminiscing, he mounted his bike and took off, preferring not to think on his past much. He decided to ride for a while before stopping to look from some place to stay. Ludwig kept sight of the setting sun as he rode for a few hours, enjoying the scenery and the road flying by him. One of the few times he felt elated and carefree was when he was on this bike, going fast and feeling the wind whip around his body. Everything blurred around him and he could relax as if only he existed. So distracted was he that he didn't even notice the clouds, dark and ominous, moving in towards him. When he finally did notice, it was when a loud crack of thunder shook the ground and his body. Jumping slightly, he began to slow and looked at the forming storm. It was large and covered most of the sun's light.

Grimacing, the German looked as far as he could see down both sides of the road. Even with the flat terrain, nothing was in sight. He tried to think of where he might shelter, the trees wouldn't do him much good, and the lack of a convenient cave in the mountain side was disappointing, no matter how improbable. Ludwig was just thinking of pulling over and sitting through it when he spotted a dark outline in the distance. Squinting, he sped up slightly, careful not to go too fast considering the rain that had just started to drizzle and made the rode slippery.

As he neared the outline, he could see it was an old barn. It was tall with small doors leading in, outlined by chipping paint and rotting wood. The tall grey structure stood alone a short distance from the road and appeared to be abandoned. 'Perfect', Ludwig thought, pulling over to the side of the road and running up his bike up the beaten path to the entrance. After little difficulty, he opened the door, pushed his bike inside before him, and re-shut it. After leaning his bike against the doors, he panted slightly, removed his jacket and shook out his hair before smoothing it back. The persistent droplets dripped down his neck and back, causing him to shiver slightly.

Looking around, he found the barn to be quite orderly and neat on the inside. It seemed as if someone had cleared out everything before leaving it. Empty pegs and stalls lined the walls and hay still covered the floor. A few bags of grain stood against a far wall. Inhaling, Ludwig caught a whiff of a soothing scent over the must of the rotting straw and wood. Finding it out of place, he slowly began to follow the scent until he came to a staircase, hidden just out of view from the front door by a wide roof support. The old stairs lead up to the loft, completely out of his view despite his height. Quietly, he began to descend up the stairs. They creaked slightly but were otherwise secure and held his weight.

Ludwig looked up at the rafters curiously, there didn't seem to be any webs or birds living here. It was almost like this place was completely untouched by anything or someone took great care in keeping it clean. Like something kept it quiet and peaceful…

Furrowing his brows, Ludwig stopped short and snorted a little at himself. What was he thinking about some old barn? Shaking his head he continued up until he reached the top. He was surprised to find that it was relatively clean and had a homey feel as if someone lived there. In the far corner lay a cot, well worn, and a small shelf of trinkets and books. A small stove set on the opposite side of the loft and what looked to be men's clothes hung from a horizontal support beam. The rest was barren all for a large crate that read something in a language he didn't know and looked sort of like a produce box.

His curiosity peaked, Ludwig walked softly to the shelf to take a closer look at the objects that lie on the low hanging shelf. Bending slightly, he saw a number of different colored flowers, rocks, sprigs of plant and odd shaped twigs. His eye was drawn to a smooth rock with a worn dip in its middle. It just barely fit in the palm of his hand and the dim light showed off its dull reddish hue. He lightly ran his thumb over the smooth stone and looked over the book titles. He didn't recognize any of them but one. It was a small book of poetry that he had read himself not long ago. It was in English and called "In a Field Far Away". Cocking his head, he thought, 'what kind of person lives in a place like this?'

Just as he was straightening up, the blond heard a quick rustling sound behind him. Whirling around quickly, he scanned the area. Seeing nothing on the loft or below and being sure he wasn't hearing things, Ludwig furrowed his brows and called out evenly, "Hello?"

"What? No! No one is here! No one at all!" a shrill voice suddenly broke the silence and startled the German. Widening his eyes and jumping a bit, Ludwig looked in the direction he had heard the sound. There stood the crate with its unreadable writing. Walking towards the crate with caution, the man made his way to the medium sized box.

"H-hello?" he questioned, softly knocking. There was a quick shuffle as the person inside seemed to jump from surprise or fear.

"Please! You don't want to hurt a box of produce! Don't come any closer!" this time when the voice called out, Ludwig could make out the sound of fear as well as a hint of an accent, something quick sounding.

And was the voice trying to talk as if it were the box?

Face set with determination, the tall man grasped the top edges of the crate with his large hands and swiftly tugged off the lid. Inside, curled up and slightly trembling, was a small man with chestnut hair and a slim build. Slowly, breathing hard, Ludwig set the top of the crate down and worked to remove the dumbfounded expression from his face.

"U-um, excuse m-", He began, stuttering slightly and trying to calm himself down, but was interrupted by the red-heads shrill shrieks.

"H-hello, Mr. Stranger! My name is Feliciano Vargas and I'm just a poor boy without money and you can see there is nothing here so you can take what want just don't hurt me~!" the man, now clearly Italian, if his clear accent and speedy talk said anything, was huffing for breath and teary eyed. The wild red hair ruffled with one particular curl sticking out father than the rest. Ludwig found that he had taken a few steps back from the force of the outburst and hastily straightened himself and cleared his throat.

"I-I'm sorry for intruding, but it was raining outside and I didn't think anyone lived here. I just wanted to get out of the rain, excuse me," Ludwig hid his face, trying to hide his usual stern expression from the scared male. He sighed as he turned to leave, feeling more disheartened than usual when he scared someone off.

"W-wait!" Ludwig turned to see the crazy Italian, now calmer, attempt to exit the box by standing with all his weight on the box. "Eh?" Feliciano widened his eyes as he began to fall, just before snapping them closed to brace for impact. In an instant, Ludwig moved to catch him, letting out a relieved breath as he straightened up.

"Pay attention! You could hav-," Ludwig began to reprimand the clumsy red-head, but was interrupted by the other's large brown eyes. They're eyes locked and Ludwig's breath caught. The hazel pools reminded him of thick woods on the seldom warm nights in his home. Feliciano's face was almost serene, with just a slight thankful simile, hair slightly tasseled. Ludwig could feel his heart have a strange reaction. Suddenly it felt heavy in his chest, but not in a depressed way. He found the weight in his arms almost enjoyable, not altogether minding the position. "What…is this?" Ludwig thought, releasing a shuddering breath. The scent from before, which he now recognized as sweet bark and the cool breeze, was strongly emanating from the Italian. This made Ludwig's muddled thoughts even worse.

"Mr. German?" Feliciano asked, putting his face too close to Ludwig's face. So close he could have…

"Y-yes?"

"You can put me down now!" he laughed and smiled brilliantly up at said German.

"Oh, yes. Excuse me." Distance. That was what Ludwig needed. As long as he could get way from this man, put some space between them, he would fee, more like himself. It wasn't like him to get so flustered, but he also wasn't used to such close proximities with others either.

"So why are you here?" Feliciano asked, rummaging around in the crate he had not long ago fallen out of.

"Ah, well I was travelling through and didn't have a place to stay, I hope you're not upset about me barging in without permission…I'm Ludwig by the way," the German murmured, he really wasn't himself today. Perhaps he had a cold? It was likely as he had been out in the rain and his wet clothes still clung to his body.

As if on cue, Feliciano moved to stand in front of him, his height only bring him to just under the taller's chin. With nimble fingers he began to undo the buttons of Ludwig's shirt. Ludwig was so taken aback that the only reaction he could muster was a small grunt in the back of his throat.

"Haha, you look funny Luddy, are you cold?" concern come across his face before Ludwig moved away, Feliciano only two buttons away from removing his shirt. Clearing his throat, Ludwig managed to shake his head and finished removing his shirt. Feliciano looked on confused for a moment before smiling blissfully.

"Oh! I got you a towel Luddy, and some trousers. They might be a little small but they should fit. You're so much bigger than me!" Feliciano exclaimed, handing a silent Ludwig the pants and towel; he took both articles graciously.

"That's how I knew you were a German. That and because your blond and you have blue eyes, really blue ones. I thought you were scary but then you helped me so you must be goo-" Ludwig turned and looked at Feliciano suddenly, cutting him off.

"How can you be so sure of something like that? I'm a stranger to you, you don't know anything about me and you just trust me?" With Ludwig's experience, he had never been able to trust people, no matter how long he knew them. Yet, here was this perfect stranger who treated him so kindly and talked to him as a friend, when he had broken into his home. Why was he living in a dangerous place like this anyway? Someone who lived out here in the open with no houses in sight should be more cautious, not reckless like this noisy Italian.

"Oh…well you didn't let me fall and apologized a lot. Plus your eyes are so clear, like honesty, so I feel like I can trust you." Feliciano looked hard at Ludwig, taking on a serious tone for the first time. "What happened that made him so uneasy?" he thought, walking up to Ludwig, never letting his eyes move from his. This feeling, how was it that it moved him? True, he really should be more careful with strangers, but Feliciano had a simple heart, one that allowed him to easily judge character. That and he couldn't shake the odd feeling that he knew him already.

"How can you be so sure…?" The blondes faced showed pain, and Ludwig felt as if all of the sudden, the gravity of his situation was coming down on him. The fights, his bad decisions, and now his leaving Germany. He was usually so good at keeping these things in. Seldom did he have a breakdown, but when he did they were short and far from other's eyes.

Feliciano walked forward and place his hand on the side of Ludwig's face, causing the two to make eye contact. For a long moment, he just looked into large clear pools of blue, deep in concentration. The warmth from the younger's hand slowly sank into his skin, his heart racing once more.

"Luddy?" he asked, face set with determination.

"Yes?" the look confused Ludwig and his brow furrowed.

"From today on out, you're going to be my best friend and I'm going to learn all about you." Ludwig's heart stopped a moment and his stomach felt heavy with disbelief. He stared back blankly at the Italian, who was all smiles and carefree joy again. "Mein gott, what have I gotten myself into?"

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

The setting for this is ten years after WWII. I know it says it, but just wanted it to be a reminder. I'm not positive that the French were all that hostile after so long, but I'm using it to fit my story. This story was inspired by Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart, an amazing story during the war. GO READ THAT AND TELL WHO SENT YOU. Anyways~, i love reviews, please give me your opinions and lengthy fan spouts! I actually Google mapped the city Ludwig is in and followed along one of the rods he is riding his HOT cycle on. No, there isn't a barn, at least not one that i saw. Thank you for reading, you beautiful thing you~!