Chapter 3

Passenger Seat

He woke up when he felt a pair of arms lifting him to a sitting position. Roderich was leaning outside the car, helping him up while the pain flooded back to his skin.

"What's happening?" he weakly mumbled.

"We're getting you help," his boss replied.

Bright lights and sirens invaded his senses next. "Hospital?"

"Yes."

"I can't afford…"

"We'll take care of it."

"My parents…"

Roderich pulled Feliciano out of the car and his wife came around to help support the teen. "Don't worry about them, Feliciano."

The next couple of hours were a blur. He was carted off with some nurses and away from the comfort of his bosses. He faintly remembered being looked over, questioned about his pain, taken to get his head scanned, and finally getting stiches in his scalp and having his toes set.

Roderich and Elizaveta hurried to his side once they were allowed to see him again in the curtained-off room of temporary patients. It was heartbreaking to see him lying on a gurney with bandages wrapped around his head. Feliciano was tired and, now, painless. When did they give him medicine? Next thing he knew he was being helped into a wheelchair by someone much stronger than him and rolled away. He couldn't say he fell asleep again, but he wasn't fully awake either. The apparent pain medicine in his system made him feel heavy and light at the same time. It was like floating through a fog and it was a strange but welcome feeling.

The cold air meant he was outside again and the arms around his waist meant he was being helped back into the car. It was the most soothing thing he'd ever experienced—painless, tired, and in a humming car.

He was surprised to open his eyes and be met with an ache in his head, no longer painless, and a warmth all around his body. Further inspection told him he was in a bed. It was weird to be in a car then a moment later in a house. The entire drive was lost to his memory.

Feliciano sat up, cringing only slightly. This wasn't his room, or his house. It was light outside.

"Oh shit."

It was Friday and he wasn't in school. He was so screwed.

Soft footsteps echoed in the room until the door opened with Elizaveta carrying a small tray of food in. "You're awake," she smiled. Feliciano looked on in confusion. "We called the school, Roderich drove up there himself to give the principal the note from the hospital. You're excused today."

"B-but, my parents…"

"They must be worried sick… We have a phone you can use."

"We don't have a phone," he lied in a mumbled. "Can I go home?"

Feliciano sat in silence while his caretaker considered the options. He was hurt and needed help, but it would be wrong to keep him there while his parents were most likely worrying their heads off at their house since their child never came home last night. Said child was looking very anxious in his bed, and Elizaveta was getting the haunting feeling that it wasn't because he couldn't call his mom and dad.

"We need to have a talk first," she said softly, sitting on the bed next to the boy. He cringed lightly at the movement as the motion reminded him of his bruises.

"About what?" his voice cracked.

"You never said how you got hurt." There was a silence, neither of the two wanting to break it but knowing the young man would have to. The way his eyes looked anywhere but at her own told her something was wrong, like he wanted to keep this a secret. It was like he was embarrassed to be there and to be damaged at all, like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

"I, uh…" his voice was a pitch higher, giving away his nervousness. "I was walking home after school, and…"

"Yes, Feli? Then…?"

"And… I guess I took a wrong turn, and before I knew it some guy was beating on me…"

The information made Elizaveta gasp. "Oh my, how did you get away?"

"They got tired and left," he said truthfully. "They left me there… So I got up and left, too…"

The Hungarian woman frowned and gently held Feliciano's hand for a moment, taking in everything. How could someone hurt him, this sweet young man? He was the happiest, kindest teenager she had ever met. Poor Feliciano must be an easy target, being so passive.

"I'll take you home once Roderich comes back," she said softly. "He has the car."

"Where did he go?"

"The pharmacy," she smiled. "To get you something for the pain. Thank heavens the doctor said you didn't have any damage to your head, other than what needed a few stiches."

Being here in this bed was making Feliciano feel strange. Was this jealously? Was he actually getting envious of this home, this warm bed, these nice adults who treat him so kindly rather than his own family who abandons him and beats him?

Then he felt selfish. He felt like he was being ungrateful—he at least had a home with some food and an actual, biological family. He shouldn't be so mad they put him in his place every once in a while. Maybe he deserved this. If he wasn't late to school so much this wouldn't be a problem.

But he was late because they hurt him and he overslept!

No. He was late because he wasn't responsible enough to get up on time. He was just like his brother: lazy. That's what his parents and teachers always said, and he had little reason to refute it. There was no evidence against it, but rather for it.

Elizaveta noticed the young man's change in demeanor, how his eyes dropped a touch and how he was being so uncharacteristically quiet, even for an assault victim.

"Are you feeling okay, Feli?"

His eyes met hers, and he mumbled, "Just tired…"

She frowned again. He was surprised when she moved to sit beside him, getting comfortable in the bed and over the blankets. She pulled the young Italian to her chest, making his head rest against her shoulder. She traced her fingers through his hair, careful of the bandage and the stitched area, soothingly raking her trimmed nails against his scalp.

She hummed as she played with his hair, acting as the ultimate mother figure in his life. Feliciano figured she felt bad for what happened to him, bless her big heart, so he let it happen. He was doing this for her, not for him. He was letting her feel important and motherly. He totally didn't like this or need this, no. He had his own mom.

She smacked him around and yelled at him, but still. He had a mom.

This was the comfiest he had ever felt touching another person. He couldn't remember the last time his mom ever did this for him. Back when he and Lovino were little, things were different; their parents actually loved them. Things changed when his dad lost his job and when his mom started drinking. Things fell apart so fast it was as if World War Three had played out in their house, but there were no allies to help and no axis to fight. It was a warzone and there was no aide coming to help.

And soon he was asleep again, caught up in his thoughts and the warm embrace of the mother he wished he had.

Roderich came home to a silent house, carrying a paper bag with medicine for his young worker. Upon entering the guest room he found the sweetest sight before him: his young wife cradling a sleeping Feliciano, looking at him like he was her own child.

Elizaveta glanced up, whispering, "He woke up earlier."

"How is it?" he asked, sitting down in a chair and setting the bag down on the foot of the bed.

"He wants to go home," she frowned.

"Certainly not! He's not leaving this bed until I say he can move."

His wife bit her lip and looked down at the boy. "Help me lay him down. I don't want to wake him." Roderich reached around the other side of the bed, slipping the small teen back onto the overstuffed pillow, readjusting the blankets as well. They were relieved he was still out, though he likely still had the hospital medicine in his system.

"I worry about that kid," he mumbled.

"I do, too, Roddy. He seemed so sad when he woke up, so afraid. What if he's not telling us something? What if he's being bullied at school?"

With a sad sigh, Roderich sat back down, saying, "It's none of our business, sadly. We're not his parents."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "This coming from the man who just said he wouldn't allow Feli to leave until he said so? We can't keep him here… he wants to go home."

"We can call his home."

"He said they don't have a phone."

He sighed. "Fine. We'll feed him, give him some medicine, and take him back if he's feeling well enough."

Neither of them were happy with the solution or the situation, and they'd keep the young man with them forever if they could. But this wasn't a movie and there was no fairytale ending waiting to be fallen into. This was a questionable teenager who wants nothing more than to go home when he can't even stand on his own.

A few hours later he was awake again, sleepy but coherent and understanding of his surroundings. He happily ate what Elizaveta fed him—this would be the best he'd eat until a friend would take pity and invite him over for dinner or give him candy in class. That is, until Ludwig invited him over or gave him candy like he was prone to. Feliciano tried to fight Roderich on the pain medicine, saying he felt fine and could walk home when they offered him a ride.

"Your toes are broken and your head has stitches," Roderich stated, tutting. "That alone calls for a few of these," he jiggled the generic orange bottle in his hand. "And with those toes I won't allow you to walk anywhere for a while."

"Then how am I supposed to get places?"

"You have friends with cars."

"How do I get to school?"

"The bus."

"But how—"

Roderich popped the lid off the bottle and shook a few capsules onto his palm. "Enough! When you get home you can ask your parents what to do. While you're with me, I'll make the decisions. No walking, and no enduring pain when it's unnecessary. Take these."

But it was necessary. It was so very, very necessary in his life. There wasn't a single day that passed without something hurting. When his parents weren't there, it was his mind. The doubts and questions and demands for why him and the guilt for being so ungrateful.

He took the pills, drinking them down and finishing his food from his comfy, temporary bed.

"Good," Roderich smiled. "If you're feeling well in an hour we'll drive you home."

Feliciano laid back in his bed, relaxing as much as he could before he had to go home (before he got to go home), when…

"Pop quiz!"

He groaned and nuzzled into his pillow. Even when he was laid up in bed he couldn't escape this!

The three experienced mixed feelings as they hobbled to the parked car, adults both trying to help Feliciano (who they made wear a black, covered-in-Velcro boot from when Elizaveta had broken an ankle the Christmas before). They got to the car, Elizaveta stopping to help Feliciano with his seatbelts despite him having no damage to his hands. She made Roderich feel warm sometimes with the motherly things she did.

Feliciano gave them instructions as they drove, trying his best to remember the nicest route to his trashy home. He knew the surrounding area, no matter what, would be ugly and gross but he could at least try to make it seem less so.

Roderich furrowed his eyebrows when he pulled into the driveway, littered with cigarette butts and random broken glass. The door was uneven in the hinges and the front windows were broken, held together by duct tape or covered with cardboard. The lawn was overgrown and there were dented trashcans on their sides with raccoons and cats riffling through.

Feliciano tried not to panic when he noticed his parents' car was still gone, as if they never came home. Or maybe they came home and saw he was gone and left again? They'd be so pissed he ran off, oh God, and when they find out he had been to the hospital with some other couple paying for it? He was so screwed. This was so bad and it was getting harder to breathe and—

"Feliciano?" Elizaveta placed a hand awkwardly on his shoulder from the passenger seat. "Are you okay? Breathe, Feli, it's okay."

Oh no, now he was having a panic attack. They're going to know something is wrong and they're going to find out his parents hit him and it was them who broke him so bad. They're going to know and they'll have the hospital records and they'll be taken away from him and Lovino will hate him even more and—

Elizaveta was now in the backseat with him, rubbing his back and talking to him lowly but he couldn't hear it. Roderich was now at his other side, at the open car door, holding his hand. When did they get there?

"Feli, calm down," the woman cooed. "Calm down and tell us what's wrong so we can fix it."

Fix it? More like ruin everything he'd been working toward.

After a few minutes he was able to focus on her voice and take deep breaths. The hyperventilating was making him dizzy and he used his free hand to hold his head.

"Mi… mi dispiace," he choked out, finally catching his breath. Quickly coming up with an excuse, he muttered, "My parents aren't home. I just… worry."

The couple exchanged skeptical looks but helped Feliciano up anyway, almost carrying him to the door, which was unlocked but still difficult to open. They were shocked to see the state of his home, destroyed further inside than outside.

Elizaveta tugged Roderich's sleeve behind Feliciano's back and pointed to the kitchen wall, and he felt sick seeing the smeared blood on the tile that slipped down to the floor… about where someone sitting would rest against.

Things began to make sense.

Feliciano turned around and smiled, "Grazie for bringing me home." He was happy, but still tired.

"Let us stay," Elizaveta asked. "To make sure you're alright. We can make you dinner if your parents aren't back by then."

Feliciano's smile faded. "That's okay, they're usually out late and they wouldn't like it if I was mooching from my bosses."

Roderich stepped forward, helping Feliciano (somewhat against his will) to sit on the shabby, patchy couch. More dust filtered from the stained cushions and he could swear he saw a small beetle scurrying out from one of the holes exposing browning, yellow cushion foam.

"Feliciano," he said quietly, opting to sit across from him on the coffee table rather than risk the couch. "Why wouldn't your parents want us here?"

The young man stopped, trying to think of something reasonable to say. Elizaveta stood there, glancing around the torn home. She saw the busted doorknobs and the assorted alcohol bottles on the floor, some partially hidden by discarded laundry. She could see into Feliciano's own room, filled with shabby excuses for furniture and discarded bandage boxes on the floor.

She remembered when they took him to the hospital.

"What's happening?" he weakly mumbled.

"We're getting you help," his boss replied.

"Hospital?"

"Yes."

"I can't afford…"

"We'll take care of it."

"My parents…"

His parents. Why didn't he want them to know he was beat up? Why didn't he want them to know he was at the hospital? Why would he hide that he was hurt from them?

And Elizaveta considered, maybe he wasn't hiding it from his parents. Maybe he was hiding his parents from them.

Roderich tsked, stating, "This is no place for you to be right now. You could easily step on something and hurt your toes worse. Does this house even have running water? I can't risk my best employee getting an infection on top of his broken bones."

"But my parents—"

"Aren't here."

Feliciano stopped and stared at his boss, wide-eyed. "They'll be back soon, I know they will be."

"And we can help explain to them what happened."

Suddenly Feliciano felt himself panicking again, hurriedly crying out, "No!"

Roderich and Elizaveta stared at him, stunned. "Feli, Roddy's right. You're better off at our home, where we can make sure you're healing right."

"No, I'm better off here. I can heal by myself, I'm fine alone, so just go already!"

This young man seemed full of surprises today. They had never seen him act so frantically before and it was unsettling, especially since he was choosing this kind of damaged environment to stay in.

There was a knocking on the door behind them, causing Feliciano to jump a bit before biting out, "See? They're back and you can go away now."

Those words hurt Elizaveta to hear, but she knew he didn't mean what he said. He was such a sweet boy, yet he was acting so… wrong. She turned around, opening the door and letting the boys stay seated. She felt her heart drop when she was faced with two police officers instead of whoever Feliciano's parents were.

"Is this the Vargas residence?" asked a tall man with a stoic voice and glasses.

Elizaveta turned to see Feliciano, who looked surprised and like he was ready to panic again.

"Yes, it is," she whispered, feeling her stomach drop.

"May we come in?" asked a shorter cop, wearing a cross-shaped clip in his hair.

She glanced back at the boys before nodding. They entered the run-down home, keeping their professional straight faces from showing their disgust at the wreck.

"I am Officer Oxenstierna. This is my partner, Officer Bondevik. We're here on unfortunate terms…"

Officer Bondevik cleared his throat and stepped forward. "We're sorry to say that Mr. and Mrs. Vargas died late last night."

The room began spinning as Feliciano processed what he heard. "M… momma and papa… are dead?" His eyes quickly welled up and he was crying before the officers could confirm it. He sat there, sobbing on the couch while the officers spoke with his caregivers. Time passed so slowly in this moment while he took it all in.

It was his fault. Whatever it was, it was his fault.

Elizaveta took a card from the taller man and he left. They heard the sound of the car engine fading out as they drove away. She turned back to the teenager, who was trying his best to stop his tears. Roderich was at his side again, rubbing his back while he sobbed uncontrollably. Elizaveta walked to his bedroom, picking up his school bag and trying her best to find his books and some clothes. Anything he'd want for the time being. She saw a small framed picture, the glass shattered, laying on his dresser. It was him as a baby, with a very similar-looking boy, both sitting on an older man's lap. The frame had Grandpa written on it in faded marker. She gently placed it in the bag between a couple shirts after shaking the loose glass from it.

She came back out to the living room, where Feliciano's cries had died down enough for him to breathe a little easier. She had never seen someone look so miserable before.

Roderich caught her eye and he gently stood the teenager up, walking him to the door. Feliciano didn't fight it in the slightest bit. He just stumbled through the door and back to the car, laying down in the back, suddenly exhausted. Elizaveta placed the bag near her feet as they got in the car and began to drive back away.

A/N: Yes, children of abuse can still love their parents, for the curious. Feliciano still loves his parents. Some of us hate ours, but he's too sweet to hate anyone. I've known abuse victims who would give anything for that person to come back. I hate the hold that family can have on people. I want nothing more than for everyone to just be happy and not trapped like that.

"Passenger Seat" by Death Cab For Cutie

I roll the window down

And then begin to breathe in

The darkest country road

And the strong scent of evergreen

From the passenger seat as you are driving me home

Then looking upwards

I strain my eyes and try

To tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites