A/N: I would like to take a moment to remind you all that this work is rated M for language, violence, and themes. Suicide is not something to be taking lightly, and in no way shape or form am I attempting to sugar coat suicide with the idea that those who take their own lives are giving the option of becoming an angel. Death is a constantly debated matter, and although I did my best to avoid the more religious aspects of death and the afterlife, I have and will bring some concepts of religion, such as passing on to the "next world." For those who are sensitive to topics such as suicide, loss of family, mourning, and depression, I would suggest not continuing reading. I am making this disclaimer because I feel obliged to warn you all what this work contains, because I, myself, am easily set off by various topics. And now that you all have been informed about what you are getting yourselves into, enjoy~

The Seraph

Chapter 1: Redemption

Death is a strange thing.

Sometimes it's painful. Sometimes it's slow. Death sometimes brings clarity to the most troubled of souls; at other times it brings nothing but sorrow. Some aren't ready for death to steal the color from their skin. Some are more than prepared to face the eternal slumber after what could have been a lifetime of hardships, or even possible successions. Sometimes it all ends in an instant, with a flash of light or a deafening screech. Sometimes it drags on for minutes, hours, days, months, years. There is only one certainty linked with death, and that is that death is truly the end.

Or is it?

Though I am not here to discuss or debate the endless enigma that is the afterlife nor am I here to preach of the good that could come if death were to ever laid its hand upon your shoulder, but rather to tell a story one who has danced with heavens and fallen back to earth.

The story begins with a boy. A boy that is said to have eyes the color of a warm morning sunrise but the glare of a dark winter's night. A boy whose smile is rarer than his laugh. A boy whose temper is shorter than a child's attention span. A boy who is rumored to have a voice of silk when not forcing its rugged tone he is usually found with. A boy whose weak soul was hidden behind his strong bark. A boy whose mind is as creative as an artist's but as tainted and torn as a broken, forgotten toy. A boy who had kindness, generosity, passion, intelligence, a heart locked and buried beneath arrogance, malice, distrust, pain. A boy who wanted the world but received hell.

This poor boy was known by many names: That one kid. It. Child. Bastard. Prick. Freak. Brat. Son. Fratello. Brother. Lovino Vargas.

By age 17, Lovino Vargas, an Italian student who lived with his kind brother and carefree father in a villa miles away from Venice, was already deep in the prison of depression. Years of torment, neglect, mental and physical abuse paired with the hopeless trap of lonesomeness silently stacked themselves upon the Italian's shoulders. Hours morphed into days which morphed into weeks, all passing by in monochrome. They were melancholy, tedious, tiring hours, yet Lovino never attempted to fix these struggles weaving through his mind. You see, the confused boy had the corrupted idea that he deserved such hellish state of thought, and that because he was the cause of his diminishing patience with the world, he was the only one who could fix it. And, with this thought-process that both chained him down and pushed him forward, he had started rebuilding his life very, very subtly by taking an hour every day to visit a sanctuary: the neighboring gardens. In the short hour, he painted or played his guitar or simply watched the clouds pass by. Everything he did there brought peace to his head, but every time he left the pain of the days washed over him like an overbearing wave, crashing against his head for hours until sleep blissfully took them away.

Lovino was well aware that life would get better eventually. No matter how rough his hardships became, no matter how low he tumbled to the ground, no matter how far he fell, there would always be a resolution to look forward to. All Lovino had to do- well, actually, could do- was sit and wait for the day his mind reached tranquility. It was the act of waiting for that day of peace to arrive that slowly rotted Lovino's heart and soul. The Italian was a strong kid with stamina and strength that outdid many, though his heart, the core to his being and what needed to be indestructible, was weak. Fragile. Frail. When his heart took a beating it was practically unbearable for the little Italian, and the strength required to force that dark pain out by any means necessary was severely lacking; to put it simply, he did not have the guts to take his life when if all felt too much to bear.

So why am I telling you about this boy, you may ask? Simple: because this boy's dance with death was uncommon... and impermanent.

Allow me to set the scene: a mid-spring's night in the heart of Venice, lit by candles and fairy lights and filled with hundreds of masked strangers. The streets practically glowed gold, a strong aroma of sweets and spices filling your nose, the waters glistening with lights and decorated with petals, fireworks, music, cheers of people consuming the air, smiles on lips and eyes hidden by classical masks. Carnevale di Venezia.

The same giddy feeling that entrances Lovino in the gardens was flickering dimly in his chest that night. Carnevale was a time of joy and laughter, and it never ceased to bring at least a small grin to Lovino's lips. His younger brother, Feliciano, was accompanying him that night. They were wearing contrasting masks- Lovino's black with gold décor, Feliciano's gold with black outlines of the mask and eyes- and shading their faces from those around them, as all guests of Carnevale did. Feliciano was positively beaming as he drug Lovino around the festival, forcing Lovino to eat sweets and sip high- end wine and dance with him, and although Lovino was quite reluctant to perform any of his brother's demands, he always ended up compiling.

The Italian brothers made their way through the streets, Feliciano dancing and singing and greeting everyone he passed with a friendly and vibrant "Ciao!" while Lovino tried to flirt with the girls and challenge the men. Both were successfully escaping from everyday life. Somehow Lovino got webbed into fist-dueling one of the girls' lovers, resulting in a bruised stomach and a victory kiss. One of the onlookers of the battle between Lovino and a man twice his size rewarded the Italian with a traditional cloak, complete with red velvet, white fur, and gold chains (Carnevale goers often wore costumes and cloaks throughout the festival- it was all for fun and celebration, after all!)

But soon the grand finale of fireworks started booming in the central square, and although he searched for him, Lovino was unsuccessful in finding the lost Feliciano. Bang. The first round began to go off. The golden streets were now dimmed for the show, and the music was overtaken by the crowds acknowledgement and cheers for the works. Lovino had to force his way through the crowds in order to continue his quest to find his brother. Lovino tried to call Feliciano's name, but the words were drowned in sound. Bang. Bang.

He was crossing one of the bridges that connected this city that lived on the water in attempt to relocate his brother. Every bridge was crowded, for the opening of the waterways offered a building-less view of light show. Lovino, being the crafty and small boy he was known to be, began weaving his way through the crowds, desperately searching for his brother. Bang. He wasn't maneuver through the crowds as quickly as he wanted to, so he resorted to climbing on the ledge of the bridge, effortlessly balancing himself and swiftly making his way passed the people that cramped bridge. Bang. An eruption of cheers. The crowd was taken aback by the amount of light. A beautiful finale. Lovino was pushed into the waters. Bang. Bang. Bang.

It's difficult to put in to words how quickly the accident happened. Gravity pulled Lovino into the petal-dusted water of the canals in an instant. The sudden drop was not heard of or cared about by those above because of the explosive display of lights above their heads locking away their attention. Usually the Italian boy would have been fine in getting back up to land, but the sheer panic that overtook him- from being unable to find his brother, from being shoved violently into the waters, from being ignored because of simple lights in the sky, from being wrapped in darkness from what was once so bright, from being engulfed in silence after volumes so loud before- had clenched his sense of awareness and capability to act.

Then... everything just... paused. Silenced. Froze.

Lovino, at first, tried to struggle his way up to at least the surface of the water. He needed air. He couldn't breathe. Oh God, he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe help. Help. What was holding him down? Oh. The cloak. The red velvet that signified his success was now the very thing that coiled his legs and strung his neck, ever so slowly pulling him deeper and deeper into the depths. Lovino's eyes shot open in terror, and he looked about him to see diming gold lights. They looked surprisingly beautiful from down there...

Lovino stopped struggling. He didn't want to fight it. He wanted to look at the lights. The cold water that once chilled him to the bone with fear and darkness now caressed his skin and entranced his body. All the sorrows of these years were being pulled out of him, floating carelessly in the pockets of air that escaped Lovino's lips as he sank deeper. Finally. Finally the pain was leaving, just like he wanted it to, just like he had said it would. The lights above looked like dancing stars over his head, stars that were close enough to touch. Touch the stars? That sounded heavenly.

The Italian could have fought back and made it out of the water without any damage if he truly tried, though the clothes he wore drug him down, his weakened state of mind weakened his entire body, and the blissful silence of the water was the most fantastic thing he had felt in the five years of suffering the hell that was his mind. And even though he could have made it out alive, there was the undeniable fact that he simply didn't want to. He had been so afraid of death, so afraid of his corrupted thoughts, had been hiding it all inside as he prayed for the day of salvation for so long that when death held out its arms in such a welcoming manner, peace capping all logical thoughts... well, let's just say that was Lovino's last breath.

No one knows what to expect after death. Some believe that there is nothing after death. Lovino wasn't sure whether or not the afterlife existed, but I can assure you that where he had ended was not the place he had imagined to arrive.

White. That was all it was- wherever he had ended up. Just... white for miles and miles. Lovino opened his eyes- oh, had he been sleeping? - and blinked excessively, the purity of the place almost blinding to the naked eye. The Italian boy sat up from what looked like a platform, hair dripping wet and body soaked to the bone. The clothes glued to his body by water were like weights upon his shoulders, pulling him to the ground with brutal force, making his legs shake with the struggle of keeping himself standing.

"Good day, Lovino."

One would normally be startled by the voice. The voice seemingly belonged to no one. The voice chilled to the core yet pleasantly rung in your ear. The voice belonged to neither a male nor a female, and the voice was the only thing to kill the silence. Though Lovino did not jump at the voice; instead, he calmly looked up, searching for the source-less sound.

"Where am I?" Was the first question that came to Lovino's mind. What had happened again? He looked down at his hands. They were fading in color. They looked cold.

"You are beyond, Lovino." The voice replied simply. Silence.

"H-How do you know my name?" Lovino then asked, piercing the sudden silence with a sudden fear engulfing his chest. Beyond? Where was that? How did he end up here? Why did he end up here?

"I know all." The voice responded. Lovino raised an eyebrow, confused of what was, and what wasn't. Lovino opened his mouth to voice some kind of question, thirsty for clarification, though the voice did not allow the Italian to speak. "I am aware that you have taken your own life."

The stark words cut off Lovino's functions, both physical and cognitive. He couldn't do or think anything; he was too busy trying to understand what had been said. How exactly did he end up here again? There was the festival... and the lights... the stars... the silence... The realization struck him like a cold arrow through his chest. He actually gasped in horror at the understanding. That... that can't be true. He was still capable of living; he said so himself! He just had to make it passed whatever hell he was suffering from! He only needed to find serenity! Wasn't that right? He… he hadn't found it already, has he? Terror started creeping down his spin, confusion dripping through his blood, cold. Why… why was he so cold…?

"I... have taken my own life?" Lovino repeated. The words sounded forced. Taken life. His own life.

"Yes. You forced your death sooner than originally recorded, and because of the circumstances you were under, suicide is the primary cause of death."

"S-suicide?" His voice sounded broken. He wanted to scream. Pure terror lucidly coursed through his body. He collapsed on his hands knees. Suicide. Taken a life. His own... How? Was his life... really that terrible? Was the hell he had gone through too much for him? Couldn't... couldn't there have been another way? Was this the end?

A shrill cry of agony left his lips. His voice didn't sound human. What was he now? Where was he? What will become of his being? He could only scream. He couldn't feel a heartbeat. The tears mixed with the water of the canal that had been dripping down his cheeks, his trembling hands grabbed his head as he frantically searched for... something in this nothingness. Was... was he nothing? Was... he ever something?

"Quiet yourself, Lovino." The voice continued, reassurance strung between its words. A line of curses fell from his lips. Damn him! Damn all! Oh, God, where was he, what was he. He could only whisper swears now; his voice had been worn by his excessive screaming. He searched once more for the one who spoke to him in such a calm matter, wanting to know exactly what the purpose of all of this was; to no avail, of course.

"Calm yourself. You need not worry; I am not here to punish you. I am only here to grant you your future." The voice started to speak again.

"I-I have a future?" Lovino shakily smiled, eyes still dripping with tears of fear but a dim flicker of hope slowly warming his chest. He almost laughed.

"That is correct." The voice seemed closer now, less booming than before. Lovino could tell a proposition was about to be made. "When one takes his or her own life, three options are given to determine the future of the dead: remain on earth as a spirit, remain in this place of purity until time decides to let you free, or be granted wings of an angel."

The gears in Lovino's mind started turning once again at the sound of the proposal. He had three options to move on. He had options to move on. He could move forward. That was a reward in itself. Two of them involved going back to the place that he wanted to leave- that he did leave... could he handle returning? Though if he chose to stay here, what would become of him? Surely after a few hours the silence and lack of anything would cause insanity and inconceivably horrid thoughts. Like hell Lovino wanted to stay in this death trap labeled as beyond.

So now a question arose: become an angel or a spirit?

"A spirit is doomed to eternal life on land." The voice cut of Lovino's deduction. Lovino had no need to question the voice (it claimed to know everything, after all, so Lovino shouldn't have assumed to find privacy within his thoughts) and allowed it to continue its explanation of what was to become of him. "As a spirit, you will be unable to speak, be seen, or touch another human being for the rest of time, though you will gain the closest thing to immortality, and be able to go places and do things that one couldn't fathom doing."

Lovino tried to imagine himself roaming the streets of his beloved city, unable to be seen by those he cherished, yet being able to pass through walls, fly through the air, scare people who deserved to be scared. It would be fun for a while... but for eternity? How long would it take for the redundancy of everyday passing on without the ability to contact anyone to become so tedious that he'd want to leave the world again? Would he be able to return to this place? Would he eventually end up in Heaven? In Hell?

"The option of wings takes on a different story." The voice explained. "In addition to a pair wings for flight, you will be granted a list consisting of the ones who are to pass in due time. In order to keep your wings and stay on earth as an angel, you must ensure that those passing leave the earth with calmed souls."

'Calmed souls'? The cost of wings was a task: send the souls of the dying off in peace. Lovino would be given the job and in return he would achieve what man had wanted to do for centuries; to fly with wings. It sounded god-like. He had earned the privilege of obtaining wings, though in order to keep those wings, he must fulfill the task of sending people to their graves. "So... if you gave me wings, I would have to bring peace to someone who is dying?" Lovino wanted to clarify. The task seemed a bit rough, having to watch people die over and over and over again... but if Lovino could help the souls of the troubled find tranquility- what he wanted for the five years he had spent living in a depression- sounded like a humble gift that he never imagined possessing.

"Correct. So, which do you choose?"

If I could adequately explain to you the rush of events that happened in the course of the hour, I would do so in a heartbeat. But the reality is that I could spew words to you on Lovino's thoughts and run off the mouth explaining the decisions he has to make, the suffering he has been though, the confusion, the turmoil, the redemption, but no words that leave my tongue could fully capture the essence of such a situation. The boy had experienced what it was like to lose a life. The boy was now being offered the chance to return to earth as an angle- a symbol of hope, of majesty, of something Lovino never was.

"I want wings." Lovino blurted after what seemed to be hours of thought. He had decided. The life of an angel would make his past life seem at least somewhat meaningful. The voice compiled with the decision without question and without warning.

Lovino was asked to remove the cloak that hung on his shoulders and the shirt that was glued to his skin. He did so without a word, stripping himself of the clothes on his upper body. Once he finished, he waited. And waited. And waited... though nothing seemed to be happening. Lovino began to think that this situation was a simple ruse and that this- all this talk of spirits and angels and of death- was nothing but a hoax. He quickly discovered that his suspicions couldn't be more wrong.

Like two claws leisurely taking their time to scratch out their prey, a sharp, burning sensation ignited on Lovino's back, singeing particularly his shoulder blades with what felt to be white-hot daggers. He cried in pain as invisible spears itched their way deeper into his back, curses falling from his lips until it was too much to bear. He collapsed to the ground, unable to take this horrendous pain-oh, this was a mistake. Make it stop! He didn't want this! Lovino shrieked again, begging the voice to stop- it hurts! It hurts...- with a prey that this torture would not get any worse, his voice breaking and echoing in the nothingness, the voice of before remaining silent.

Soon Lovino's breath was captured by an unknown force, forcing his screams to silence even though the pain was still so much alive. A ghost of a cry now escaped his mouth, unable to say a word as the terrible experience only grew in pain. A pair of unseen hands now reached into the fresh wounds and pulled with a mighty force that made the muffled voice Lovino now possessed gasp. The hands pulled and tugged and forced what felt to be jagged swords stuck in Lovino's back out. Make it stop.

And then... all pain ceased. Lovino was panting roughly with a forehead coated in sweat, his voice still absent and unheard. His cheeks were stained with tears, yet... he was no longer in pain. As though nothing had happened. Lovino remained hunched over on the floor, clenching his stomach while he tried to regulate his breathing, a while longer as his senses returned to him. He then stood on shaking legs and felt... surprisingly lighter. He looked behind himself to see if that excruciating pain had drawn blood or marked skin and found, just as the voice had said he would gain, the wings of an angel.

Lovino wasn't sure whether or not his voice had returned to him, and whether it had or hadn't, the Italian wouldn't be able to tell. He was left speechless. The nameless voice could have returned the words to his mouth, but it wouldn't have matter because he was unable to conjure up a single sound. He stared listlessly at the feathered, delicate, pure white wings that now adorned his back- this... was all too much.

There was a laugh. Lovino's laugh. What a gift! What a privileged! Wings! Oh, how do you use these? Any negative thought that had been steaming and stirring in his head had leaked out, instantly replaced by bliss and joy that I, myself, cannot explain. It was like those moments in life were everything is perfect and everything is right, and all you can possibly do with yourself is spin and laugh and attempt to draw everyone who is around you into your happiness. Overcome with joy, Lovino sighed happily and twirled around slowly, not taking his eyes off of the beautiful wings that swayed unconsciously.

And then there was a crack. A crack in sound, a crack in the floor. The Italian flinched at the sudden noise as the negative thoughts started to reemerge and reactive, and he noticed immediately a thin circle around his body etched into the ground below him.

"This is your redemption, Lovino." The voice spoke after what felt like an eternity of silence, utilizing a voice that was intimidatingly loud. Lovino's knees locked and he couldn't muster up any ability to comprehend exactly what was happening.

Chunks of flooring started falling at the edge of the circle now ingrained into the ground. Empty darkness that was so contrasting to the white was revealed, and at a quickening rate the tiles ate what remained of his footing. The floor was literally falling from under his feet- fuck this was a hoax! He had no hope of salvation! Such an ignorant boy!

"You have been blessed with the gift of flight, dear angel, and now you must put them to use." The voice sounded as though it was shaking the Italian's core. Blessed? Gift? Put to use? How!

"Wait!" Lovino screamed in panic. "I'm not ready to go! I don't know what I'm supposed to do! You can't leave!"

"You are the one who is leaving."

With every passing second Lovino

lost hope and lost flooring. A dark nothingness rested below him, the unknown boiled beneath his toes, and the light that had been too much before now seemed precious and- and now it was fading away. Lovino bawled and bellowed and begged for more time, time to learn and experience and test that which he had earned, but the voice drowned his own.

"Do not worry. You will learn in time." Reassurance was forcefully slapped onto that booming voice, though the supposed words of comfort only contributed to Lovino's growing trepidation. "Those wings are strong, dear seraph, and they will guide you through your first tasks.

"Never forget that these wings are a privilege. Do not abuse their power.

"Good luck."

And with that, the voice vanished. The last square of flooring dissolved. Lovino was sent plummeting once again into darkness.

There were no stars above his head.

To be continued...

Carnevale di Venezia- Carnival of Venice, an annual festival celebrated until the Christian celebration of Lent. It is famous for the attendees who wear extravagant masks and costumes throughout the festival.

Fratello- Brother

A/N: I'm notorious for extremely bad grammar and silly mistakes, so if you see anything don't be afraid to tell me~ Next chapter might take a while to come out; school's eating up my time and all ;-;