Ninna Nanna, Memories, Utopia, Someone to Save You, All Faith Is Lost

The Prumano bug bit my hand and chewed through my entire week(end). D: I want to work on thiiiiis but I haven't. Still sitting on chapter 5...

But I like this chapter. I wasn't expecting the dialogue to go the way it did.

The Gay Brother

Cigarettes and Apple Cider

Lovino was standing there with a packet of cigarettes when Feliciano climbed off the train from Berlin. He had the same beaten up travelling trunk he'd dragged up the stairs of Ludwig's house with him, and Feliciano was carrying the dufflebag that had been holding his running gear just eight, maybe nine hours earlier.

Because they were brothers, the two of them looked a lot alike, and growing up everyone had always said that Feliciano was Lovino except in a lighter pallet. They could have been twins if Feliciano had grown a finger-span taller and darkened his skin by two shades of gold. All three brothers had traded features evenly between their parents: Feliciano and Carlino had their mother's copper-red hair, Lovino and Carlino again had taken her sage-green eyes, and the two older brothers had her smile.

They didn't talk about the other parent.

"I'm sorry," were the first words Lovino squeezed out of him when the two met in a fierce, breathless hug in the middle of the platform. "I'm sorry, Lovino. I'm so, so sorry-" With his brother's arms hooked around him Feliciano could admit it easily now: he was scared. He was going out of his mind from fear, he didn't know what he was doing and it was going to get him hurt or worse and-

"And you should be," his brother scolded, but he didn't let go of him, in fact he squeezed him a little tighter. "Where the hell's my little brother? My Feliciano doesn't take shit from stupid potato-eaters." He had one hand behind Feliciano's head and the other hugging him tight under one arm, the younger man pressing his face against the older one's shoulder. Lovino was still wearing the same grey jacket from yesterday, and he'd probably slept in it waiting for the trains to start running again. There were dark circles under his brother's eyes that said he hadn't found a hotel to take him at almost eleven last night…

"Please forgive me," Feliciano whispered again, feeling worse the longer he wallowed in what had happened.

"Fine, you're forgiven. Now come on." Lovino stepped back slowly, and Feliciano wondered how terrible he must have looked in contrast if his brother was willing to be so nice. Lovino didn't grin openly very often, sometimes sure, like when everything had been going just great for a few days at a time, but now wasn't like that. His brother was wearing a crooked grin over his white teeth, a smile Feliciano hadn't seen in a very, very long time, but he knew it was the one Lovino wore when he was trying very, very hard to be nice.

"Where are we going?" His brother started walking them away from the trains and through the loud, busy station. Munich was a transportation hub, terminals and trains funnelling in and out of the city, out of the country, across the continent. It was three in the afternoon and the entire place was absolutely brimming with people and noise. After several years in Berlin Feliciano was used to big crowds, but how was Lovino handling it so well?

"I bought us two tickets on the night train to Rome, it's the only one running." That sounded terrible, spending the night on a train, but if Feliciano remembered his last trip home then it was also accurate. There were so many trains riding the rails that only a few could make the longer trips a day, and Munich to Rome was certainly one of the longest. "But that doesn't leave for a few hours; bastards won't even let us check our bags yet." Meaning they'd have to lug them around wherever they went. And where was that exactly?

"Lovino?"

"It's still your birthday, isn't it?"

"I guess."

They blitzed through the crowds thanks to the fast pace Lovino set, the March sunlight hitting Feliciano's face as they left the train station in Munich and wound up on a busy metropolitan road. His brother kept marching him until they passed a red no-smoking sign, and it wasn't until they reached the street that Lovino stopped and turned on him, that forced smile gone and a familiar scowl settling over his dark features.

"Well?" Well what? "Use that German-speak of yours to find us a decent place to eat."

"O-Oh, that's what we're doing?" Feliciano felt like he was running a few steps behind still, neither of them had slept last night and the noise of the traffic was rattling him to his core.

"If you think I'm eating any more train food then you're fucking wrong." After all of that cooking they hadn't had any dinner last night. Feliciano had eaten a muffin with some coffee on the train this morning, and then a pre-packaged lunch of something salty… Food. Yes, food would be a really good idea, but they were still in Germany-

"I'm not giving you a cigarette until you find us something, Feliciano!" Again, his brother was not yelling, he was just speaking loudly.

"I'm not a dog!" And Feliciano could deal it back as good as he got; he wasn't a dog that needed a stash of bacon bits to keep going! Quickly finding a standing map and hurrying over to it, Feliciano felt more motivated more by hunger than nicotine.

"Speak, boy! Speak!" And Lovino followed him, dragging his suitcase behind. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth and Feliciano tapped the restaurant district on the map, his brother dangling a second white paper roll tauntingly.

"You really are a dick!" He wanted that cigarette!

"Well I'm hungry!" And laughing.

They were both hungry, but they were laughing.

By four in the afternoon Feliciano still wasn't home and Gilbert wandered off to take a nap. Ludwig was just finishing cleaning up the kitchen when he picked up the phone again, and instead of dialling Feliciano's cell he found the number for the Museum instead. It was worth a shot…

He followed the Museum's automatic directory until it prompted him for an extension number, and Ludwig was finally patched through to the department where his partner worked. He'd only visited the subterranean workspace a few times, but Ludwig knew that wherever the phone was in the studio, it blinked rather than rung in order to get attention. It was a strange, abstract world down there, full of carefully focused lights, rubber gloves, and several artists who were probably much better off restoring someone else's work than creating any of their own.

"OhmygodToris!" A breathless, panting voice answered the phone and Ludwig tried conjuring up the faces of Feliciano's co-workers. He'd seen them all at the last exhibition, so- "I know! I know already! If you're calling to tell me to be careful with the Monet again then I swear I-"

"Is this Feliks..?" Feliks something, Polish, he couldn't remember his surname and-

"What? Oh, you're not Toris- what do you want?" Yes, this was Feliks.

"I'm calling for Feliciano Vargas, is he in?"

"It's his birthday?" The Pole sounded confused, so maybe Feli hadn't told his co-workers anything. That was good, right? "Wait, is this Beilschmidt?"

"Yes?" Or maybe he'd gone and had left a message?

"Then fuck you."

The call ended with a huff and a click and a very worried German.

"This is a Turkish restaurant."

"You don't want German food."

"But it's Turkish-"

"Lovino, I am not taking you to a German restaurant; you hate potatoes, and I hate schnitzel, and I haven't seen anything except those two things on any menu we've passed." Actually that was a lie, but they'd burned through the first of their three precious hours before the train was due to leave, and in the Restaurant District Feliciano did not want to meticulously scan every menu until he found a place that served good German food.

"There was an Italian place right back-"

"Brother…" No, he could use that voice. Lovino didn't like it but even with three years between them, Feliciano was allowed to use that voice. "I'd rather take you someplace German than anywhere pretending to be Italian." They quickly entered the restaurant and were seated without having to wait, the rich interior muffling the sounds of patrons' voices. Dark walls, art in studded frames, thick carpets and velvet seating, it was comforting and quiet.

"How have you survived seven years in this country if you hate the food?" Feliciano sensed approval in his brother's voice as Lovino flipped the menu back and forth quickly, finding the English side and struggling through that instead of the German.

"I cook a lot," Feliciano answered, "and when we eat out it's usually something ethnic like this." The younger brother was comfortable with the second language, and with a quick check on their time he smoothly ordered for both of them once Lovino voiced his preference. Instead of wine they were served a kind of apple cider neither one had tasted before, Feliciano testing his curiously before deciding he liked the sweet taste.

"Happy twenty-fifth birthday, little brother." When Lovino made the small toast Feliciano felt his drink suddenly get very heavy in his hand, but they tapped glasses and drank a second time. The sweet was gone and he was left with only the tartness of the apples on his tongue. "Alright, now for business."

"Business?" Feliciano repeated, feeling like parts of him had been replaced with wooden blocks. He was twenty-five and look what two days had done to him.

"You said you want to go home, so did you mean it or am I trading your ticket in for one back to Berlin?" Lovino was blunt and to the point about everything, weaving his fingers together in front of him while the low orange light made him look even darker than normal, the gold band around his left ring finger shimmering in the glow. "Tell me what's going on."

"I don't know."

"Bullshit." He flinched softly at the accusation, worrying the corner of his napkin between his fingertips. "You're impulsive, Feliciano, and you always have been, but not even you will pick up and run across the continent on a whim. What did he do to you?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me. Did he hit you?"

"No."

"Did he threaten you?"

"No."

"Did he disrespect you?"

"All the time." Feliciano stopped with a breath, staring down at the cloth he was twisting and twisting in his lap. Bringing one hand up he rubbed his top lip nervously where the stress was making it itch. He could feel the words all bubbling up in his gut and just wanted their food to arrive so he could force the feelings back down with big bites of lamb and rice. Lovino was watching him without saying anything, but that just meant he could see how much was wrong with this picture.

"Talk to me." No. Well… God he was trying, but Feliciano didn't know the words to not make it sound so terrible. "Feliciano you could have taken a plane and landed in Rome by now, you took the trains and chased after me for a reason."

"He took my keys." He was staring at the edge of his glass when he choked out the words, the server arriving at just that moment and placing their food on the table with a smile and some courtesy Feliciano couldn't translate right now. Lovino took over smiling and used broken English to assure the girl that they were fine and would flag her if they needed anything. They fell back into heavy, muffled silence and Feliciano didn't know whether to eat, speak, or cry.

Lovino broke the silence, he talked about the keys.

"I know you gave yours to him after I-" It freed Feliciano's tongue.

"And I know you called me an idiot, and you were right, and I-"

"Calm down." Feliciano placed his elbows on the table and rubbed his face with both hands, struggling with his composure. He was thinking far more than he was speaking, and he wanted both to stop. "I saw you lend him the car keys when I was there. What else?" Car key, house key, work key, gym key, shed key, back-door key…

"He takes them whenever he thinks I can't drive, or shouldn't leave the house." Lovino had started eating and Feliciano picked up his fork to start attacking his food, but then he saw his brother stop chewing. He was staring but Feliciano didn't clarify what he meant. "I asked for them twice last night, before we got in the car and then when we got back to the house, and both times he ignored me."

"What do you mean, 'shouldn't leave the house'?"

"This morning I was going to ask for them, but he kept speaking to me like such a child I just- I forgot, and he took them again. He took my car again." Lovino wasn't blinking and Feliciano was too upset now to eat. His car, which meant Ludwig also had his god-damned- "My favourite shirt."

"What shirt?"

"The one I wear to Church, it's still in the trunk of my car." He didn't know what that meant until he actually said it, Feliciano had been doing it for two years and he only understood it when the words hit the air. "He… he doesn't like it when I go to Mass on Sundays, so I wear casual clothes out of the house and then change before I get there." He kept a pair of polished shoes, a nice jacket, his green tie, and his favourite white shirt all sealed and neat in the trunk of his car. Feliciano hid clothing in the back of the vehicle, and he laundered them by paying with cash so Ludwig wouldn't question him about it.

The fork was suddenly clumsy and awkward in his hand.

'Oh my God…'

"He stops you from going to Church." Lovino's voice was quiet, and it was not a question.

"He ridicules me; it's never worth it to argue…"

"Our uncle is a priest."

"He ridicules that too…" Sometimes it was gentle and ribbing, other times it was blunt and dismissive. It didn't matter how Ludwig approached the issue, it was always with judgement.

"Eat something and tell me about your money." Ah- money! Yes, this one, this was one Feliciano could answer, because his relationship with Ludwig was not like this, it wasn't all of these horrible, terrible sounding things.

"We have separate accounts, everything is different. He's never touched my cards or put a stop on anything, we pay for the household fifty-fifty." Feliciano finally tasted the lamb on his plate-

"What about his brother in the basement?" -but he almost choked on it when Lovino hit him with another question. "Does he pay anything?" Gilbert? Well, he… "And that bastard never touches your bank statements either, right? He's never gone through your mail?"

Feliciano stopped choking, and he just sat there with a half-chewed lump of seasoned meat in his mouth. He couldn't swallow it, he couldn't think past all the times he'd found statements and bills and envelopes with his name on them open and resting on his pillow. He'd never scolded Ludwig for it, he'd never seen the problem, but now he was hearing it all in his brother's voice.

"Drink." Lovino nudged his cider closer and Feliciano dutifully swallowed half of it. Silence returned to the table after that, and the way his brother kept sawing at his food with the knife told Feliciano how upset he was.

Upset with him, no doubt. How could he have been this stupid?

"I'm sorry…" He had no excuse, he knew better…

"For what?"

For being like her… not that he could say it, he couldn't bring her down to his level. At least she'd done her duty and followed the proper path. Feliciano found his eyes watering and just stared at his untouched plate, shame prickling his skin, burning him in places he hadn't known existed. Seven years from home and he'd forgotten everything that was important…

"You take the train tonight," Feliciano whispered, too brow-beaten and ashamed to lift his voice. "I… I'll get a hotel room or something and find a way back to Berlin tomorrow." Of all the dirty titles Feliciano had let himself pick up since he'd left Italy, he'd never thought 'victim' would be one of them. In a controlling relationship he wasn't even man enough to be the abuser…

"Do you want my advice?" He was amazed Lovino wasn't shouting at him. He was horrified that Lovino wasn't shouting at him. Was it not even worth getting mad about? "Stop crying you idiot, and answer me: do you want your older brother's advice or not?"

"I do."

"Then you fucking come home." Feliciano's gut reaction was to scream, because it was the same thing he'd been hearing for three years, except- "You come home and you fucking see Carlino and uncle Mario, and maybe I get you to see Grandpa, or maybe I don't, but fuck it. You come home and you stay in my house, and you work in the restaurant again."

"I have to be back at work by-"

"Then you go back to your painting thing after you spend a week at the restaurant. You think too much, or not enough, stupid. You need to work, and you need to eat again because you're too fucking skinny." He was not skinny. "Whatever! Don't take a vacation, no wandering around the countryside painting rocks and shit; work, sleep, eat, see the family and fucking get your head on straight again."

"Straight." Hah. Very funny, except Lovino didn't think so and the look he shot at him over his half-eaten plate was deadly.

"Or you go back looking like her." The look was deadly, and the words were poison… "It's your choice, Feliciano, but make it fast because our train leaves in ninety minutes." Feliciano checked his watch.

Ninety minutes exactly…

I know it said seven years and three years at different places, but I couldn't work in the paragraph to explain why. I think I'll get it hashed out either in the next chapter or a couple after, but it's not a typo.

Also, again, this is the BREAK-UP FIC.