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Lovino looked around the small room. It wasn't as terrible as he thought it could have been. He wasn't exactly sure where he was. He had been immediately thrown into some sort of carriage and was taken to somewhere about thirty minutes away from his home.

He eyed the room again. There was a bucket in the corner. A dumpy little bed which he sat on. And finally a little desk sort of thing with a chair beside it. There was paper on the desk, just three sheets or so, but nothing really to write with. There were two candles in the room which were placed in little brass holders on the walls. There was a large, oak door to his left. The only way out. There were no windows in the room. He couldn't tell when it was day or night. He guessed it was early morning at the moment.

Lovino had been sitting in the room for hours. Nobody had spoken to him. He had no idea where Grandpa Roma and Feliciano were, but he hoped they were somewhere near. Hopefully in the same building.

He leaned his head against the wall. He wanted to feel more concerned about the fact that he could die in this place and about his family. But his family was strong. Hell, even Feli. He just never showed it.

And maybe it would be for the best, anyway, if he died in this room.

Lovino almost wanted to die. He was exhausted. He felt like he had just finished running for an hour straight without water. He wanted to shut his eyes and sleep. But not for a few hours. Not for an entire night. That wouldn't be enough. He wanted to shut his eyes and sleep forever. He wanted to be able to stay in his dreams when he drifted off. He wanted to live where Antonio was and where Antonio's actions were chosen by himself and the Spaniard would never betray him. Yes, he couldn't betray him in his dreams.

A dark smirk spread across his face at the thought. Dreaming forever.

How stupid was he? He buried his face in his palms and let out a dry sob. Dammit. He should have known. This was partly his own fault. The evidence was so clear. And he chose to ignore it. From the first time he saw the man he should have known. The sword. His formality. The way his eyes lit up when he saw Grandpa Roma. And the way he stared at everything and everyone like they were just cattle ready to be slaughtered.

The smell of the coat. He let out a disgusted, muffled cry at the scent he now recognized. It had smelled like the Auto. Like burning flesh. Lovino's stomach churned at the memory and he ran over to the bucket in the corner, emptying the contents of his stomach into it.

God. Why was this happening? Lovino wiped off his lips, wishing desperately for something to drink. Water. Milk. Wine. Anything to get the bitter taste of vomit out of his mouth and the burning in his throat, which was swollen and raw from screaming at Antonio. He sat down next to the bucket and held his face again.

He had screamed at Antonio. Awful things.

Antonio was a bastard. Truly. But Lovino didn't hope he died. Did he?

No. He hoped he lived to be an old man. And every day he had to face his own guilt and feel it eating him up from the inside out. Lovino trembled at the thought. It was only a comfort to himself. Antonio didn't feel bad for what he did. He didn't feel bad for making Lovino feel this way. He didn't feel bad for breaking the heart of a Jew. That was all he was, anyway. He should have known that someone like Antonio could never fall for someone like himself. But he didn't.

He had truly believed that the Spaniard cared for him. Jew or not. And he had trusted Antonio. He slammed the bottom of his fist into the cool, stone floor. That sonofabitch. That lying sonofabitch. He curled up and rested his forehead on his forearms. Fuck him. Just stop thinking about that bastard.

He heard a knock on the door. It was loud and demanding. He didn't respond to it, and he really didn't need to, because the door opened regardless. A guard stepped in and motioned him forward.

He started to get up, but stopped. He didn't have to go along with this shit. And he didn't want to. But with one angry look from the guard, he stood. The guard grabbed both of the Italians arms and held them with one hand while re-shutting the door.

He was led up a flight of stairs and out a small wooden door. He looked around. They were in some small room filled with candles and brass crosses and things of that sort. Church decorations, it looked like. But this wasn't where they were stopping, apparently, because the man shoved Lovino roughly towards another door. He expected the man to push him out, but instead, the man opened the door for Lovino and gracefully motioned him in. He squinted at the man and walked through the door.

It wasn't as if he really had anywhere else to go.

A church. They were in a church. He looked down at the seats, then up to where a priest was sitting. It was the same priest from the Auto, and Lovino couldn't help but to tremble at the sight before him.

"Have a seat, please. In the box." It sounded like he had a choice, but he was led to the box by the guard. He sat down hesitantly. He looked out at the few people in the church pews. They all looked somewhat wealthy, and a few dressed a bit like Antonio did. There was one man that looked incredibly different. He had blond hair and blue eyes. It was rare to see a blond in Barcelona. He glared. Something about the man rubbed him the wrong way.

"Lovino Vargas? That is you, correct?"

Lovino looked up at the old man. He simply nodded.

"Alright, Lovino. I am Augustine. Do you know why you're here?" Lovino nearly scoffed. Of course he knew why he was here. But he feigned innocence and said, "No, sir." He guessed that was the right thing to say, because Augustine smiled. "Lovino, my child, you are here so that we may save you from hells eternal fire. All you need to do is confess to me. Have you accepted Him into your heart?"

He had if this man wanted him to. He could be whatever this man wanted. He heard whispering amongst the people sitting in the church pews. One word rang out like a bell, loud and clear, though it was a mere whisper. Converso. His eyes widened at the word and a dreamlike memory stirred.

He was sitting in the bakery. He hadn't seen Grandpa Roma in a while. He was staying with one of their close friends. Grandpa Roma had apparently gone to a special market for a few weeks because he really needed a "certain flour". And he had been stupid enough to believe it. And finally, Grandpa Roma was back. After nearly a month. And something was wrong. Something was clearly wrong. Feliciano had been too young to notice, but he himself had noticed. And when they were told to go to bed, he stayed downstairs to listen to Grandpa Roma talk to a few friends who had come over as soon as they found out about Grandpa Roma being back in. He listened to them speak from the staircase.

They had said things about Grandpa Roma being a converso, since he had supposedly converted to Christianity from Judaism. But he said multiple times that it wasn't true, that he had to go along with it for his life. And one more time, one more time and he . . .

Lovino came back to his senses. His eyes widened as he stared at the stained glass window to his left. One more time and he would be killed. They would burn him. And if Lovino was Jewish, so was Grandpa Roma by association. This would be his second offense. And suddenly, Lovino realized why there were people who burned by choice.

Because there were worse things than his own death. Things like the death of the ones he loved.

"Lovino? Have you anything to say?" The old, creeping voice sent chills through his body. He was going to speak. If he didn't, they'd take it as a "yes, I am a Jew". So he parted his lips, not hesitantly at all, and said, "We have nothing to hide. We're Christians."

There were loud whispers from the pews again, and a glint of red in Augustines eyes. "Are you sure, Lovino?" God, this man was frightening.

"Yes, I-" Lovino gasped. "We are! L-Look!" Lovino's fingers slipped down the front of his shirt and searched for the cool metal emblem that had been pressed to his skin for the past week. His heart skipped when he couldn't feel it. Both hands went up and curled around the base of his neck in search for the thin chain. The crucifix was gone. Antonio's crucifix. "My crucifix! B-But I had-"

Augustine smiled. "I'd like Lovino Vargas to be taken back to his room. I will come to speak with him soon."

"But-"

"Dismissed for today." People slowly started filing out of the pews, odd smirks on some of their faces. Lovino scowled at them. They were all bastards.

.

He was back in the room again. The sun was surely up by now, but again, he couldn't tell. He was tired, but wouldn't allow himself to sleep. Not when he knew that old bastard was coming to talk to him. He braced himself, put up a tough front. What else could he do?

He heard the door opening and he sat up on the bed. Augustine shuffled in, his face seemingly neutral. A guard tried to come in behind Augustine, but the old man wouldn't have it. He shut the door before any of the guards could try to squeeze in again. He examined the room with that same dull look, eyes finally resting on the bed where Lovino sat. He smiled very, very faintly.

"Lovino Vargas, how are you?"

Lovino stared up at the man with fire in his eyes. What the fuck? How was he? He was in some fucking dungeon in some fucking church. He had thrown up three times since he had arrived. How did this idiota think he was doing? He didn't even respond to such a stupid question. He moved his eyes to a spot on the wall and stared, lips pressed into a thin line. The man waited for a response for much longer than he should have waited, but eventually, he said,

"You are Roma's grandson. Roma is a converso, yes? You know this?" Again, Lovino didn't respond. What could he say this time? No? He could try to say no, but that was too big of a lie it seemed. And it would lead to more questions like "how couldn't you know this?" and others like that. And it wouldn't help Grandpa Roma in any way. Or himself, really.

Augustine moved a step closer to Lovino, who stayed at the edge of the bed, as much as he wanted to scoot back against the wall and get away from the wrinkled man jeering at him. The man was no longer smiling. "You know what I think? I think you were trying to defend your grandfather. And it isn't as though I blame you. He is your family. I would have done the same thing. But, Lovino, I am worried for you."

Lovino looked up at this point. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it immediately when the man continued on with his speech.

"Because if I find out that you're lying to me about your grandfather, I'll have no choice but to have you punished for your crime against God. And the punishment will be death. I am sorry, but that is what the bull states." His voice sounded apologetic, but his eyes were bright, almost sparkling even. Lovino stared at them, not registering at first what the man said. "W-What?" He was whispering to himself, but Augustine had heard him.

"The punishment for lying about your grandfather will be death. More specifically, the stake. But," the man paused and reached a hand out towards Lovino. It rested on the young man's head, but didn't move once it landed. "-you're not a liar, are you? No, I can see that you're an honest boy. But sadly, not everyone in the room agreed with me. And they even suggested that we use any means necessary to extract the information from you."

Dull shivers ran from his neck down to his knees. He rested his hands on the top of his thighs, trying to control the shaking in every part of his body. "I don't want to have to do that to you." His hand was finally drawn back. "And I won't have to if you can speak to me. Let us talk plainly. Tell me about your grandfathers religious practices. Is he Jewish? Perhaps if you tell me, I'll forget what happened in that room. And so will the rest of the people who were watching. They'll forget that you lied once before telling me the truth. And you'll be able to go back to that bakery of yours. Of course, you may have to pay a small penance to the church. But you'll be free. How does that sound?"

Bitter tears filled Lovino's eyes, but he wouldn't let a single one spill. Not in front of this man. He thought about the bakery. The smell of bread and cinnamon. His own bed with the blanket that his mother had made for him years ago. The bowl of tomatoes they kept on the kitchen table. The warmth of the fireplace. Feliciano's singing. Grandpa Roma's hugs. Dinner every night with those idiotas. Those wonderful, warm idiotas. The ones who loved him even when he did act like an ass and swear profusely. Without them, what would the bakery be? What would home be? It would be nothing.

So he kept his mouth shut, trying not to think about the consequences, though he knew there would be many.

Augustine waited. And waited. And waited. Five minutes must have passed. But Lovino said nothing. Finally, the old man stood and began to shuffle to the door. He gave three knocks and the door was swung open. And he was gone. But not before whispering a few words to the two guards waiting outside.

.

After what felt like hours, the door was opened again. Lovino looked up to see two guards approaching him. He looked around, instinctively wanting to run, but where could he run to? Fighting, though. He could fight? No. No, he couldn't fight these men. They were full grown men. He still looked like he was twelve.

His eyes widened as the side of his head met with the steel handle of one of the guards swords. Everything spun. He thought he was going to vomit again, but it stayed down. It was getting darker. And darker. And somehow he was relaxing.

And finally, after a few seconds, there was mind-numbing darkness.

To Be Continued . . .