Ok, well…I first saw this a few days ago. It's been in my head, bouncing around. I sobbed, literally outloud, for the entire credits. Seriously, the entire credits, the DVD went back to the beginning. That never happens. I cry at movies, but never like this. Part of it could be that swing music does have a special meaning for me…part of it was just that it was..wow. Anyway, I wasn't planning on writing anything about this, but there was something screaming at me to write it. I couldn't help it, I had to. I had to address why Thomas is a bastard, psychologically, his own reasons…etc. I hope this..sort of does that. I'm not entirely satisfied, but on the same note, I didn't want this to become a huge ongoing project because I have enough of those already. So it might be a little rushed. Also, the language is not late 30s/early 40s accurate, I know that, it doesn't feel on the level to me, but…for my purposes here…that's ok. Hope you like it regardless.

Rebel

He closed the book on his desk with a thick thud. Thomas Berger felt that at any moment his brain would explode from all of the information he had tried to cram in it tonight. There was so much more to learn, but Thomas couldn't bare anymore. It wasn't even that he was learning, just memorizing words to recite them on a test.

Absently, Thomas traced the letters on the cover of the hard-bound text book. His best friend Peter was, like Thomas, studying to be an engineer. Germany needed good engineers, especially now. But he wasn't the scholar – Peter was. No matter how hard Thomas tried, it was never enough.

He couldn't learn this, he wasn't smart enough. All of his friends had high enough intelligence levels that had gotten them to where they were, but for Thomas it was only that his family had money. And his father's wishes.

Pushing the book away, he stood up and brushed back his long hair with one hand, grabbing his coat with the other. By now Peter, Arvid and Otto were probably on their way to the Bismark, already finished their work…gone happily to dance and have fun without incident. Peter's mother wasn't concerned with his love of swing, Arvid lived by himself, and the same with Otto…

The four of them started like this, with swing. It was new, it was different, and that in itself was thrilling. But when it became illegal, the thrill was at its peak for Thomas. He loved that feeling, of doing something he wasn't supposed to and not caring about it. Screw authority. He grinned slightly as he headed downstairs, but the grin faded and he paused.

His father's muffled voice stopped from the next room and the man stormed into the hall. Slowly Thomas walked down the stairs, watching him warily. Dr. Berger looked up from his angry pacing at his son, and glared, "Where are you going?"

"Out, Papa…" Thomas sighed.

"To that swing club?"

The boy nodded slightly.

The doctor pointed a finger at him in emphasis, "You waste your time with these pointless…dances, when you could be doing more important things! That is what is wrong with society. What's wrong with you!"

Thomas clenched his fists at his sides, "I'm not..wasting my time…"

"No?" Berger questioned incredulously, "Not wasting your time? That is exactly what you are doing, boy! I saw your marks from school, you shame my family! I will not have my son taking part in these..swing clubs anymore, they will rot your brain and make you even more of a disappointment than you already are!"

Despite all that he thought instead, and the hatred he held for his father, the words still stung Thomas. He lowered his eyes slightly for a moment, then looked up at the man before he turned for the door.

"Don't walk away from me!" Berger bellowed angrily, and grabbed Thomas' shoulder, spinning him back around. "I told you no more swing!"

The boy swallowed hard, seething. He glared up at his father, "If I'm such a disappointment, then why does it matter? I'll go anyway, you can't stop me, no matter how hard you try!"

Narrowing his eyes, Berger raised his hand, and hit Thomas once, then stared at him again in disgust and hit him again. "You will always be a misfit."

He kept his head down as he brought up a hand to wipe the small drop of blood from the corner of his mouth. Slowly, Thomas glanced up again. In the doorway to the other room, his mother stood, watching helplessly. He looked up at his father again defiantly, then turned again and walked towards the door.

"I shouldn't let you in this house anymore, someday I won't, Thomas! Then where will you go, not with one of your poor friends! They would never take you in!" Berger shouted after him.

Thomas slammed the door. On the porch, he sighed heavily and looked up at the dark sky. Almost every time he left, there was some sort of confrontation. It was a normal thing. Thomas thought that at some point he would be used to it. But he wasn't. He had the strongest urge to hit something…

As he walked, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at his feet, he suddenly collided with another boy who was also not paying attention coming around a corner. Thomas dusted himself off, and smoothed out his suit as he stood up, glaring at the other boy, "Why don't you watch where you're going, are you blind or something?"

"I was watching!" the other boy protested as he stood up too, "You ran into me!"

Thomas shoved him hard, "You want to make something over it?"

Now more provoked, the other boy narrowed his eyes and shoved back. "Bastard," he spat at him.

There was no pause between the second shove – no need to think. Thomas swung his fist, punching the boy square in the jaw. The other boy quickly retaliated, but Thomas gained the upper hand, shoving the boy against the wall again. About to hit him again, he stopped and backed down a little. "Get out of here.." he said, panting a little.

The boy stared at him for a moment before running off. Thomas sighed, brushing his hair back with one hand. He didn't feel wrong in punching the boy at all, he was in no mood to take anything from anybody, and people knew that about him.

To some people, Thomas Berger was intimidating, but to others like his friends, he still held his own power. Because that's what it really was all about…power. He wouldn't tolerate a challenge. And that power – it felt good. It felt right.

He continued down the streets until he came to the familiar bridge by the docks. Peter, Arvid and Otto were already waiting. Thomas grinned at them as he approached, "Hey, are we going to stand around by the docks all night or are we going to go dancing, huh?"

"Dancing.." Peter answered and looked at his friend with concern, "What happened to your face?"

Shrugging, Thomas looked between all of them, "Got into a fight..nothing important."

"Yeah…good…you better stop fighting before you get picked up by the pounders for it…" Arvid sighed, picking up his guitar case, "Or at least don't let them come after the rest of us."

"I'd fight them too!" Thomas replied with another grin, balling his fists and pretending to box at Peter, who only shook his head and threw a few fake punches. He laughed and rustled Peter's hair, getting swatted at in the process, as they started walking across the bridge. It was all a front really, Thomas thought…but they'd never know what was behind his mischievous grin and frequent fights. That was power.