Chapter 6

It's Not the Fall That Hurts

The first day back at school was one of the hardest things Feliciano had to do after his parents passed. His limp was getting better—that is to say, he was better at hiding it. He convinced Elizaveta, after hours of worrying about how he'd be treated at school, to let him go without the ugly boot they were so adamant about him wearing. The one other occasion for not wearing it was the funeral.

Feliciano got to his first class, sitting in his usual seat. His classmates glanced at him with a newfound sadness in their eyes rather than the usual blank looks or cold stares when he'd get yelled at for being late or had forgotten his homework (when his parents tore it up in a drunken rage, that is).

No. No crying, not in first period, Feliciano! You have all day to go and it's a bad start to break down in the first class!

Their teacher walked into the room, carrying a stack of papers along with his morning coffee. Feliciano followed him to his desk, ready to be yelled at for his long absence. He no doubt missed some important work, given they had just started reading Shakespeare and had been warned of an essay to be due once it was finished.

"Um, s-sir?" he stuttered, knowing full-well that this teacher hated him and losing school time over a hospitalization and becoming an orphan wouldn't sway the man from his hatred. "I missed school since Friday before last and I was, uh, wondering what work I had to make up…"

The man glanced from his papers, looking Feliciano over before looking back down. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Was there no homework assigned all week?" he questioned.

"No, there was quite a bit of reading from Hamlet and study packets. But you have nothing. Go sit back down."

The Italian stared at him, worry growing. Was this some trick to fail him for missing so much? "I don't understand…"

The teacher paused, looking back to Feli. "You get a pass." Lowly, as not to be heard by the other students, he added, "I lost my mother when I was your age. I couldn't focus on anything for weeks. You don't worry about the homework, Feliciano."

He was stunned. He becomes an orphan and suddenly his lit teacher, who hated him, was understanding?

He blinked away his surprise and found his seat again. The class was spent deep in thought about the life he would have now that his parents weren't there. It was like a game of how upset he could get without crying in class. A sick game, but he couldn't help that it was all he could think about.

Art class followed quickly and he was greeted by a few classmates he usually never talked to. People were being so nice to him and that was how he knew word got around. The easels were still out and he sat at his usual one. The blonde twins soon joined him, sitting on either side of him while they explained they had only been painting still-life's in class with the occasional homework assignment in their sketchbooks.

The elderly teacher came up to him, quietly telling him he could work on his last painting instead of catching up on the ones everyone else had been doing. This was an issue, since he had no reference, so he opted instead to paint over his last piece and catch up. Their new still-life had no fruit, consisting of glass bottles and candlesticks. He worked around his previously painted oranges and apples and fit the new items in around them.

Art was his one release. It was shocking when the bell rang and he realized he had been so hyper-focused on his painting of the empty wine bottles in the middle of the room that he didn't see everyone else pack up and put their canvases on the drying racks. He got up to put his own supplies away when his teacher stopped him.

"Why don't you stay and work on your painting?"

"But I have math to get to—"

"I'll call your teacher. I have a planning period and I could use the company."

Was the world spiraling into the sun? Is it normal for people to be so outrageously nice to mourning teenagers? First his literature teacher and now the art teacher? Feliciano wasn't used to such random kindness, kindness that felt alien to him all at once, but he stayed. Painting was the first thing he's done that actually made him feel better. When he was in the act he was relaxed and focused on being productive, and even when he came back to the real world he felt a strange calmness.

The painting was done by fourth period and it was the best piece he had done all year.

His toes were growing sore, the painkillers from the morning finally worn off. The walking through the halls and around the stairs didn't help it either. He warded his limp off by walking on his heel, though the stiffness in his foot caused further pain. Ludwig looked up, smiling lightly when Feli entered the room and sat next to him.

"Hey, Luddy," he chirped.

"Hello, Feliciano. How is your first day back?"

Feliciano paused, furrowing his eyebrows. "It's weird. All my teachers are being so nice to me. I got a pass to not read Hamlet and I got to skip math to paint. It's unreal."

Ludwig nodded, not surprised at all. The school was abuzz with the information once it got out. The death of the Vargas parents had been mentioned on a local news site and it grew rampant when the youngest Vargas didn't come to school. Of course, most people were polite enough not to make a big deal of it. The teachers, though, felt the need to be incredibly understanding since his parents had been at the school the day of their death. It was surreal for everyone, involved or not. Sweet Feliciano was an orphan.

Class ended and Feliciano went to his locker, trying to find something worth taking home to do. An old sketchbook sat beneath some heavy textbooks and he tugged it out and placed it gingerly into his backpack.

"Feli!"

He turned, surprised to see Sadik and Heracules walking toward him. Sadik was waving at him, which was weird since he never acknowledged anyone below Senior status before.

"We heard about your parents. Sorry, man."

Something stabbed at Feliciano's stomach.

The gentle voice of the Greek boy overpowered the Turkish idiot. "Our condolences." The two glared at one another and Feliciano weakly smiled at them before turning away to make his escape.

He bumped past random people who turned to glare but softened as soon as they saw it was him, poor little orphan Feli. Some people tried to stop him to pass on their sorrow or to try to act like they understand what he's going through, as if they weren't making fun of him and laughing at him just weeks before. He rushed past them, losing patience at the stops, breaking free of the school and out the front doors. Roderich said he would pick him up, so he waited outside on a bench by the carpool lane.

He was flooded with relief when he saw Roderich's car pull up, which he gladly hopped in. He was asked about his day and classes but Feliciano just said, "It was fine."

They got back home and Lovino stood with Nonno in the kitchen, making Italian food together while Elizaveta sat in the living room mending assorted torn clothing.

"Don't eat until dinner, bastard," Lovino called over his shoulder. "We're making pasta."

Feliciano perked up like a puppy and went happily to his room, unloading his light backpack on the small desk. Today was Nonno's last day before he had to catch a flight back to Rome, and Lovino would no doubt have to go back to his own home. Antonio insisted he could go back alone and give Lovino more time with his brother, but Lovino for some reason wouldn't let Antonio leave his side.

Feliciano figured he was cheap and wanted to get rid of the damn rental car and share a ride with the Spaniard back rather than hunting down train tickets in addition to his transportation problems.

Dinner came around and the six of them crowded around the table and ate the first real dinner they had had since before the funeral. It had been take-out and microwaveable food before now. As dinner came to a close, Antonio nudged Lovino, who begrudgingly called everyone to attention.

"I've, uh…" he nervously started. "…I've got some news."

Antonio took this as his cue. "I asked Lovi to marry me and he said yes!"

Elizaveta clapped and cheerfully congratulated them, telling them how cute they were together. Nonno was teasing Lovino, saying he knew there was a good reason why Lovino never had any girlfriends growing up. On the other end of the table Roderich stared at them blankly, muttering that he didn't even know Lovino was seeing someone, let alone engaged, and let alone to a guy.

The joy of the moment was overwhelming and Feliciano joined in on the celebrations. Once they left the table, Antonio boldly holding Lovino's hand, Feliciano retreated back to his room. His room was dark and almost cold. The happiness faded quickly and he sat on the edge of the bed, happy for his brother, yet sad that Lovino had felt the need to hide it.

It was assumed Lovino was closeted because of how harsh their parents were.

And now Feliciano was thinking of his dead parents and he was sad once more. Today had been a hard day at school, being treated so differently only made him think about his parents more. Yet he knew if he was treated the same he wouldn't be able to work, too caught up in the mourning process. There was no middle-ground for him to rest and he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

The soft pillow met his cheek as he laid down to try to sleep off the foreboding feelings swelling inside his chest. Time passed and he was, once again, unable to sleep. Instead he got up, wandering over to the dresser to take some pain medicine for his aching foot. This night the medicine did nothing to help him sleep, instead taking away one of the few distractions he had from his mourning.

He limped out of his room, hoping to find some distraction from everything. The door to the second guest room was ajar, light spilling out of the slender crack. It drew him in and he entered the room to find his grandfather finishing up a prayer, kneeling by the bed with clasped hands and closed eyes. He finished up and smiled when he opened his eyes to see his young grandson.

"Feliciano," he murmured. "Come here." He reached out to the young man, gently petting his head as he sat down with him on the bed. "Feli, I know you're having a tough time right now… but I want you to know me and your brother are here for you. We always have been and we always will be. I know it's not easy to lose your parents at such a young age, but it'll get better. And try not to look back on your parents like they were monsters. I know they were… strongly disciplining you boys… but they—"

"You knew?"

His grandfather faltered.

"You knew they were… they did this?"

"Si, I did. I didn't know how bad it was until your brother started yelling about it the other day after the funeral. I knew they believed in such practices as spanking, but I had no idea they… they would go farther than that. If I had known your bruises weren't because you were just clumsy I would have come sooner and done something. Believe me, Feli. I would have tried."

"You would have stopped them? But… why?"

The elder's face fell and he stared at Feliciano with the greatest sadness in his eyes. He tried his best to make his grandson understand, seeming to find no words to fit. "Because you didn't deserve any of it, and neither did your brother. I admit, you got it worse… But you didn't deserve it. You beat bad children as punishment, to teach them. Your parents, rest them, took it too far."

He felt numb but it wasn't from his slight abuse of the painkillers. Maybe it was because he was so tired or because he was so worn from the past week, but Feliciano found himself unable to understand why his nonno was being so apologetic. Bad kids were beaten, that's how it was. Feliciano was bad, so his parents did what they had to. Or was he good and punished? It hurt too much to think about the past, so he didn't. He just sat there and accepted his parents weren't beating him—it was discipline, as Nonno said.

That was it. Bad kids are disciplined. So, Feliciano was bad. And that means he had to be punished… right?

"Grandpa…" Feliciano whispered, having trouble finding his voice. "I… I don't understand… You said what they did was wrong, and it felt wrong… So why do I miss them? Lovi… Lovi used to scream he hated them but he cried over them, too… Why do I miss it when they hit me?" He hiccupped and wiped away the stray tears that slid down his cheek.

Nonno sniffled and hugged Feliciano tightly and muttered into his hair, "Because they were your parents."

They sat embraced for a while until Feliciano fell asleep. Nonno tucked him in and brushed his hair out of his face lightly before tip-toeing out to the living room, watching his other grandson with a small smile. Lovino was curled on the couch with Antonio, as expected. He was really going to miss his grandchildren.

The next day Feliciano woke with a start, instantly knowing he was in trouble. He never naturally woke up on a school day, it always required some kind of alarm or broken bottle being thrown. He rushed up, stumbling over his feet until he was out of the guest room and in the living room. His grandfather greeted him with a small smile from the couch, where he had been conversing with Lovino.

"G-grandpa!" he stuttered.

"Italy!" Nonno cheerfully replied.

"I… what?"

Elizaveta lightly bopped him on the head as she skirted out of the kitchen with a world history book in her hands. "I told your grandfather about our studying. We should start again, with you missing so much school and all. You should have Germany come over and study as well!"

"Ger—Ludwig?"

"I get to be Spain!" Antonio piped up. "I like this game, it's fun! Isn't that right, my little South Italy?"

Lovino growled at him, "Shut it, jerk bastard."

Today was off to a very confusing start. "Elizaveta," Feliciano asked, "Why didn't anyone wake me for school? It's Tuesday. I have work to—"

"Your grandfather leaves today, I think that constitutes a day at home to say goodbye."

He smiled faintly, glad to be able to see his family off. "What about studying? Why is Lovi Italy?"

Elizaveta sat down with Feliciano and opened the textbook. "He's South Italy. You're North Italy. Your class syllabus said you would be going over the World Wars and that includes the involvement of Italy, though there's differences. We'll also briefly go over Grandpa Rome's involvement in modern Italy."

Nonno chuckled at his new nickname. He was content with it all, especially seeing Lovino and Feliciano so distracted right now. It was good to see them not focusing on the deaths. He loved seeing his grandsons seemingly okay in this moment. Feliciano was so cute with his head in that history book, and admittedly, Lovino was adorable when he was trying to act like he didn't like it when Antonio held his hand, though his blush gave him away.

Around four o'clock Roderich arrived home early from work. The group all jammed into his car, crushed against each other with Lovino flustered to have to sit in Antonio's lap due to the lacking seats. Feliciano's head and toes and shoulder and—god—everything hurt, but he endured it. He didn't want to be a burden on everyone else. They were all crammed in there, it wouldn't help to whine.

When you cry, you're given something to cry about.

They reached the airport and they helped Nonno with his bags and said their teary-but-composed goodbyes. The car ride back to the Edelstein home was somber and slow. Feliciano headed straight to bed, back to his painkillers, despite the time being barely six. He laid in bed silently for a while, feigning sleep when someone opened the door and undoubtedly checked him out. The person left again and he strained his ears to listen when he heard quiet talking outside the door.

The words were too soft, yet they beckoned him to listen. Feliciano fell asleep numb, only partially from the medicine, with a background wall of anxiety waiting for the numbness to pass.

"It's Not the Fall That Hurts" by The Caesars

Stumblin' with every step I take

And it seems I can't get a grip

I'm soon gonna slip

And then I look down

I see that the ground

Is closening fast again

And then boom