Severus and Lily, Fatal Fury, Lost in Paradise, Not Enough.

I haven't worked on anything for this story, which is why I didn't update when I said I would.

Think of this maybe as more of a world-building exercise? It's not as polished as I'd otherwise like.

Enjoy~

The Gay Brother

Cell Phones and Big Brothers

To be completely honest,

And a little bit unfair.

The reason he left,

Was Gilbert.

There had been a possibility, however small, that he could have caught Lovino at the train station that morning, but his brother had probably taken one of the first trains out of the city. Feliciano bought one of the last four tickets on the very last southbound train to Munich for that morning, and by quarter to nine he watched Berlin fall away behind him.

It was ten-thirty by the time Ludwig made it back home. He normally never left work early, nevermind before lunch, but this was an emergency and his boss had been too stunned by his request to leave to bother asking why. For all Ivan knew Ludwig's house had caught on fire and was about to explode, and right now he couldn't think far enough ahead to work out how he would explain this.

"He hit you?" Ludwig found his brother sitting on their couch with a bag of frozen peas held to his swollen jaw. When he grinned, which Ludwig found highly inappropriate, there was blood in Gilbert's mouth and the younger brother felt a horrible sinking feeling pool in his gut. "You're bleeding!"

"Not a lot." Gilbert was far more awake now than he'd been when Ludwig had left, and the dining room was just as messy as when he'd turned around and gone to work. His brother pulled the frozen pack away from his jaw and Ludwig shook his head in disbelief: the entire bottom of Gilbert's left cheek was going purple. "He's pretty strong when he's mad."

"Strong? He assaulted you!"

"Yeah, kinda."

"Kinda?"

"Hey, bro, I didn't call you 'cause I can't ice a tooth." Gilbert edged back a little on the wide blue couch, sticking one bare foot up on the coffee table before reclining back and dabbing his chin with the cold again. "Go check what he took with him, he was somethin' mad when he left."

"Took with him?" To Ludwig, that was a nonsense statement. He'd already seen all three of their dogs, so Feliciano wasn't out walking them. He always did that when he was upset: he'd walk the animals until their paws wore out if he was mad enough, and then he'd maybe go for a run or attack the modeling clay they kept in the garage.

Ludwig stared at his brother, and in his wife-beater and shorts Gilbert just shrugged and nodded back up the stairs.

Feeling cold, Ludwig took the stairs two at a time to reach the second floor. He didn't know why he checked their home office first, but he did, and Feliciano's laptop was missing.

No.

The closet in their bedroom was open. Most of Feliciano's clothes were still there, but several jackets were gone. The gear from Feliciano's gym bag had been dumped on the bed- his running shoes, a bottle of cheap shampoo, a half-used bar of soap, spare shirt and shorts, and some extra socks all abandoned on his side of the bed cold.

No.

In the bathroom his razor and toothbrush were gone, no aftershave or cologne sitting on the ledge in front of the mirror. Back in the bedroom Ludwig ignored the folded jeans and shirts as he tore through his boyfriend's drawers. He was looking for the little cherry-wood box where Feliciano kept what little gold and the few keepsakes he owned. There was an old photo of Feliciano, his brothers and his mother inside of it, plus a pair of gold cufflinks from his grandfather, a silver cross from his first communion, a class ring from Ludwig's Alma-Mater, and a few other nick-nacks and baubles that he never pulled out and had never explained to Ludwig.

But the box was gone.

"No… no, you didn't…"

He'd left shirts and shoes and jackets and hats and scarves behind, all in their neat little places.

"No, please no…"

But he'd taken the box.

"Feliciano…"

He'd taken cufflinks and the cross and the photographs.

"You-"

And he'd left Ludwig's class ring on the floor.

"SON OF A BITCH!"

Feliciano was not ignorant of Gilbert's situation, or of the strong bond between the brothers. He also had nothing against the army, not even the peace-keeping mission in Afghanistan from which Gilbert had returned with an honourable discharge.

Gilbert did not hate gays, and Feliciano did not resent the fact that Ludwig and Gilbert had always lived together. He didn't find it strange that two brothers who had grown up more or less alone were determined to help and stay close to one another through thick and thin. He did, however, find it hard to accept everything about Ludwig's brother, and his patience had effectively run out.

It was one thing for Gilbert not to work; he'd been honourably discharged for acts of bravery, but he'd still been discharged because the army couldn't use him anymore. Feliciano had only met him once before it had happened, briefly, when Ludwig's brother had been on leave before he shipped back out to Afghanistan. Feliciano knew just from that one hazy holiday night that the young officer he'd seen at the Christmas Party was a completely different person from the hollow, gritty veteran who slept in their basement-

Ah, no. Not their basement: Ludwig's basement. They'd bought the house together but that was going to get complicated soon, so it was Ludwig's basement now. Feliciano wanted nothing to do with Gilbert's cave.

Reaching up, he popped open the hatch over the row of train seats and slung his bag up into the provided space, happy to do the same for the short German girl whose seat was next to his. He didn't mind giving up the window-seat for her; he was going home, she was going someplace new.

But in the beginning he'd been fine with Gilbert not working. Even if he hadn't completely understood it, even if he still really didn't, Feliciano couldn't resent Gilbert for being a bit skittish, or a bit distracted, or a bit blunt and gruff and just plain off after what had happened to him. An IED ambush had killed several members of his platoon, and the rest of them had been taken out by gunmen hiding in the barren landscape. Gilbert had watched his second family die right in front of and around him.

Feliciano couldn't resent that.

But after three years, he was entitled to know when Gilbert would start paying for gas when he used the cars. Or what he was always borrowing money from Ludwig for. And if he couldn't hold down a job then fine, when was he going to start cooking dinner? Or doing the laundry? Or taking care of the yard? Or walking the dogs?

And if Gilbert wasn't going to do any of the housework, then what in God's name made him think it was okay to pull Ludwig away from the chores too? Feliciano worked too, not just Ludwig. And no he didn't spend his days on construction sites in the sun and the rain, pouring over blue-prints and ordering men around half-built structures. But Feliciano worked too. He brought home a pay-cheque too. He was a skilled, specialized artist who worked to restore old, priceless pieces of national art. He spent forty hours a week hunched over lit magnifying glasses with tiny brushes and pots of pain-stakingly matched tones and hues and oils and acrylics and anything else the artist in front of him had chosen to work with.

He deserved to come home to a hot meal too sometimes, not his boyfriend and Gilbert drinking beer and watching the game and asking him when their dinner would be ready. Gilbert had no right to expect Feliciano to strip his bed and wash his sheets for him every week, or to make it for him in the morning. He was not the Beilschmidt maid.

And by God, Feliciano had a name, not that Gilbert ever bothered to use it. Feli was tolerable, not his favourite name, but he could stand it and if it was someone he liked then okay, sure, he was fine with it.

'Ludwig's wife' was not okay.

'The girl' was not okay.

'Sister' was definitely not okay.

'Felicia' had never and would never be okay.

The train's seats were small and uncomfortable, but he couldn't imagine spending the extra money on an upgrade to business class. He'd need to spend wisely for the next little while, and the stiff cushions were tolerable for a train ride he hadn't known he'd be taking until a few hours ago...

Believe it or not, Feliciano actually knew a thing or two about Italian names. He knew that his name was unorthodox, and so had all the children he'd grown up with. His brother Lovino's name had been just as strange and a bother to pronounce too since no one was ever willing to just slow down and say it right. But between the three of them Carlino had recieved the shortest stick when it came to bad names. He looked nothing like a pug, and why his parents would give him a name that meant "Pug" in their language was just... why? School-yards were dangerous places, and if both your older brothers already had silly names then it was guaranteed that a dog's name would get you treated worse than the actual animal.

Thankfully, you did not grow up in a small rural town with one older brother, and one younger brother, and no father, and a grandfather who saw bruises as badges of honour, and not learn how to prove that a silly name was not an excuse to pick on you. Feliciano had probably lost the better half of all the school-yard scraps he'd been in as a child, but his odds had always increased dramatically if his bigger, stronger older brother was around, or if someone made the very, very big mistake of letting Feliciano catch whoever it was laying a hand on his smaller, weaker little brother.

So, back to his original point: Feliciano understood why he would never be able to ask Ludwig to choose between him and Gilbert. He wouldn't be able to love him the same way if he could throw family out like that, it wasn't possible, it was unacceptable.

But so was hypocrisy.

Ludwig did not get to assume the high ground about respect and tolerance in front of Feliciano. He did not get to call Feliciano's brother a vagrant and a nuisance or condemn him for having an opinion. He did not get to scoff at Feliciano's God and dismiss the very tense misgivings from the Vargas family because he didn't agree with them. Ludwig could not behave as one who was blameless and innocent while ignoring just how much bias he carried; Feliciano wouldn't let him.

Not with that lazy, broken slob living in their basement.

Not with that money-sponging waste sleeping on their couch.

Not with that arrogant prick ordering him around with a girl's name, no matter how many times Feliciano had told him to stop it or to wash his own sheets.

Not with Gilbert-Damned-Beilschmidt strutting around that house, bitching about why Feliciano always cooked Italian food, or why he was always drinking Italian wine, or why when he was angry he would start speaking the Italian language. Ex-Corporal Gilbert Beilschmidt did not get an opinion on what kind of man Lovino Vargas was, least of all when the only one there to hear him croon was Feliciano Vargas, armed with a copper skillet in his hands and three years of resentment burning in his gut.

So Feliciano Vargas was on the first leg of a six hour train ride to Munich, at which point he would be free to purchase a ticket down to Rome. He had a week's worth of clothes in that duffle bag stuffed in the compartment over his head, a train ticket in his jacket pocket and no keys to worry between his fingers or jangle to relieve his stress.

He had the cell phone he'd already used once to call his co-workers at the museum and kindly request at least another week's vacation on top of the three days he'd already taken. Mr Edelstein was not pleased with him, but Feliciano had insisted, and there was nothing actually wrong with his request except of course for his timing. Roderich wasn't usually the most forgiving person but, well, Feliciano had insisted. He was on his way home again for the first time in three years, and to be completely honest if he had to then he would (somehow) just find another job.

He carefully flexed his fingers around the electronic and saw a familiar and infuriating dear name flash over the phone's screen. He saw it and he ignored it, and he silently hoped that Gilbert's jaw hurt half as much as his own badly bruised hand.

Ludwig called him.

And then he called him again.

And then he called him again.

He kept calling Feliciano until he was too frustrated to think straight, too furious to speak, and too shocked to keep standing. He dropped onto the couch next to Gilbert and flung one arm over his eyes, horrified and miserable.

"He won't pick up…"

"Runs like a girl when he's mad, right?" Ludwig didn't look up at the comment, but he did feel Gilbert clap him roughly on the shoulder. "Relax, he'll come back."

"He took everything."

"In that one little bag?" He'd taken all the important things. "Dude, buck up." Buck up? Buck up?

"My husband just left me over nothing!" Ludwig shouted, because it was better than having his voice break in front of his brother. He sat forward and tossed his phone down on the coffee table, his hands free to just grasp at the air like he could reach out for the person he'd just lost. Whether he'd hug Feliciano in that moment or strangle him was a question Ludwig couldn't answer. He was insulted when Gilbert just snickered at him.

"Dude, his diploma's still on the wall."

"What?" He looked at his brother, who had changed position while Ludwig yelled. He was laying on his back now with a hand behind his head, the frozen peas slowly thawing in a puddle of water on the wood floor. Gilbert gestured with one bent thumb over to the television and the two framed documents hanging above the sound system. One was Ludwig's, the other had his partner's name inked on the front.

"And his work kit's still under the stairs." Feliciano's paints; the meticulously mixed and matched pallets and chemicals he used at the museum. He kept the pots and brushes and assorted tools in a sturdy black work box about the size of Ludwig's leg and hauled it back and forth with him across the city. Some of it was the museum's property, the rest belonged to Feliciano himself.

"He'll come back for those." And then he'd leave again, Ludwig was sure.

"He didn't mention them when he left."

"Well what did he mention?"

"Eh, this-and-that…" This and that…? "Look," Gilbert sat up slowly and Ludwig dropped his head into his hands, trying to hold onto that burning sensation in his throat and gut, hoping the shaking he could feel in his arms was from something other than what had just happened to him.

"Dude, it's nauseating how much you two love each other." And yet they'd been tense and awkward around one another all week- no, ever since Ludwig had found out that Feliciano'd convinced his brother to come up and visit them. It was agonizing to watch his lover pine for the love he'd never get from his family again, but Feliciano wouldn't give up, and Ludwig couldn't stand it. "Betcha anything he'll be back by tonight. Once he calms down he'll run right back home and everything'll go back to how it's supposed to be."

"Do you really think that?" Ludwig asked. He then realized his palms and cheeks were wet, hot water seeping out of his eyes while Gilbert returned that warm hand to his shoulder and kept it there.

"Five Euros says he's riding around the block on the same bus that picked him up." Because Ludwig had Feliciano's car, so he would have had to take transit to get anywhere… "Ten says he's back here in an hour." He met his brother's eye and saw Gilbert trying his best to smile, and despite himself Ludwig felt better.

"Do you really believe that?"

"Dude, how can I not?"

If he was sure then… okay…

Four hours later, Feliciano was still on the train. The calls from Berlin had stopped a while ago, leaving the Italian ex-patriot fumbling with his phone and struggling to make contact with Lovino. He couldn't bring himself to believe that he was getting himself into this much trouble with his partner without the slightest chance of patching things up with his brother.

And he was definitely in trouble with Ludwig. He was in so, so much trouble with him, but at the same time there had been something rewarding in watching the name flash on his screen only to be repeatedly silenced by his thumb hitting the "ignore" button. He was almost positive that Lovino was using karma to torment him the same way now, but that hadn't stopped Feliciano from relishing in the power of telling his lover to go to hell.

He didn't want to talk to Ludwig right now, not yet, because if Feliciano stopped for a minute and recognized where he was and what the hell he was doing, then he'd realize that he was terrified. He was angry, and anger was giving him courage, but he had so much more to be frightened of. There were lots of good reasons for why he hadn't been home in years, and more than one of them involved the threat of bodily harm should he show his face in town again. If he stopped trying to call Lovino then he'd realize that his hands were shaking. If he stopped sneering down at the phone then he'd probably burst into tears from the horror of what he was about to do.

What if Ludwig over-reacted the way Feliciano knew he himself was over-reacting? What if he claimed abandonment? For God's sake he was only going to be gone for a week, right? He wasn't defaulting on their mortgage and he wasn't leaving his job and career behind. He just wasn't going to be Gilbert's maid or Ludwig's chef for a week. That wasn't the same as filing for divorce, was it? No, of course not, they weren't even married! Two men couldn't get married, and Ludwig wasn't there to scowl at him for thinking like that either.

In fact, Ludwig wasn't there at all, so instead of letting that thought put him into a fit of panic, Feliciano made another instinctive, rash decision:

The first thing he would do when he reached Rome was buy cigarettes. It was going to be the very, very first thing he did, and the second would be to smoke one. The habit was gross and it was filthy and it was going to kill him and blah blah blah, but he'd quit because of Ludwig, and Ludwig wasn't here, so that was going to be his welcome back to Italy.

Feliciano had his seat tilted back and his eyes closed when his phone buzzed yet again in his lap. He was trying to think of more things he would do without Ludwig and he almost hit the ignore button on the device without checking it this time, but habitual courtesy demanded he open one eye and-

Oh!

"Fratello?" He almost cried out the word with the phone to his ear, but on a crowded train he couldn't go making a terrible scene. But still, in that moment he lurched so far forward in his seat that his head was almost down between his knees, which was appropriate, because if there'd been enough room between the rows then he probably would have crumbled just to show his deep and utter thanks.

He heard only silence and his heart began to hurt, a physical pressure building in his chest and making it hard to breathe. Please say something, please just-

He heard a long, hissing breath, then;

"What the fuck do you want?" Thank God it was him, it was actually Lovino on the other end of the line. "Well? You have some fucking balls calling me, Feliciano, so you'd better fucking-"

"Are you home yet?" Feliciano blurted, realizing with horror that his tongue was confused between German and Italian and formed none of the words correctly in either language. Lovino's suddenly silence made sense: what the heck had he just said?

"I mean-" Italian- Italian! He found the little switch at the base of his tongue and slipped properly into the language he'd been raised in, fumbling at the same time for the mental screens and slides that separated fluent German thoughts from natural Italian structures. "Are you still in Rome, or have you reached home yet? Where are you?"

"As if that's any of your fucking business!" Oh, fratello, please don't be like this- "You let Kraut-Breath run you around like his little fucking wife and then you -" Fine, fine, be this way, two could play this game:

"Lovino!" Feliciano was not yelling, he was speaking loudly. "I'm on the train now where are you?"

"I'M IN FUCKING MUNICH." Lovino was the same, just louder. "YOUR SHIT-HEAD BOYFRIEND DUMPED ME AT THE FUCKING TRAINS NOT THE FUCKING AIRPORT, SO I-"

"Then just stay there!"

"WHY?"

"Because I'm coming!"

"Coming? What do you mean coming? Where are you coming?"

"I'm coming home!"

"Oh..." The line went quiet. Feliciano didn't expect it and wound up with a lung full of air and nothing to say back into the phone. In the background he thought he heard a car horn, but it was far away, down a busy street maybe. "Wait, no- wait! How the fuck are you on your way home if I was on the first-?"

"You took the first train and I'm on the last one!" Feliciano pushed up his sleeve and quickly checked the time, frantically trying to keep his weak composure. "I'm only an hour behind you, just stay there."

"Okay. Okay fine. Unless that bas-"

"It's just me," he interrupted, feeling his heart start to pound in his ears with the abrupt drop in volume. Very, very few things could shock Lovino into silence. "I mean it's- I only have a week off, I have a job, bills, those things and-"

"And you're coming home?"

"Yes."

"And you're sure about that?"

"No." From a beating heart to flushed cheeks, it was suddenly very hot on the train. People were still looking at him after his outburst too… "But I want to try."

"…" Oh, God. Don't be quiet like that, say something… "Do you want me to call ahead? Should I tell anybody?"

"I don't know…" Pounding heart, flushed cheeks, sweaty palms. There were many, many reasons why he hadn't done this before, and as much as Feliciano wanted to reach out now for the person next to him, that person wasn't his person: he'd left him back in Berlin. "I- I'm not sure what I'm doing, I just-"

"Well, I haven't bought my ticket yet so just get here, and we'll work all that out after." Yes, after, and-

"Cigarettes."

"What?"

Feliciano tried to lean back into his seat again, struggling to calm down as he closed his eyes and let the back of his head rest on the stiff foam cushion behind him. With one hand he rubbed his forehead and cheek, wiping away the clammy feel of half-dried sweat and panicked nerves.

"The first thing I want when we get there: wherever we go, I want cigarettes..."

His brother gave a sharp laugh, and it sounded like home.

I'll update sometime soon~ I do have up to chapter 5 done, I'm just stuck on a particular scene so, bleh.

Comments? Feedback? Thoughts? Review!