A/N: The general trigger warnings apply.

Chapter 19

Do Better

It was probably midnight when Feliciano finally got within the area of his house. He was regretting not wearing shoes, feeling every little pebble or twig in his path. The road leading to his house was older, broken up and without any yellow or white lines to divide it. It had been years since any repairs had been made to it, leaving it cracked and light grey.

Fantasies filled his head of finding a gun in his parents' room and just shooting himself there, as if he was with them again. He was becoming too eager and impatient to travel all the way to the park. What if kids were there? What if he scared a hiker or a bunny? No, he would die at his old home like it was meant to be.

And he walked. Tonight would be a good night.

"Feli! Come to mommy!"

The small baby giggled and placed a chubby hand to his cheek before calling back, "Mommy!" and earning a warm smile from his mother.

His father was on the couch, balancing a small Lovino on his knee, occasionally bouncing it up and down. Lovino laughed and held on, having as much fun as a child could. The Vargas parents had to handle their kids this way, as Lovino would get jealous whenever he saw his baby brother getting attention. He was too young to understand that babies needed attention and that he was just learning basic human functions.

"Feli! Feli!" His mother cooed again, arms stretched out wide. "Come on, Feli! Walk to mommy!"

The baby sucked on his hand instead, eyes wide and bright. His mom smiled and turned to his father, saying, "Maybe he'll walk tomorrow."

His father bounced his knee again. "Hear that, Lovino? You'll have to be our only athlete for now."

Lovino gave a smug, confident smile. "I'm the best, me," he asserted. His parents laughed in response.

Maybe things would be different. If there was a Heaven, like his Catholic beliefs dictated, maybe his parents would be like before. They would be loving and nice just like before the world corrupted them. Feliciano would wake up on a cloud and his parents would welcome him into their arms and they could be a family again.

Or there will be nothing. Anything was better than this and Feliciano would even welcome Hell with open arms if it meant escaping his reality. Nothing could be worse than this. At least, it felt that way.

There was a breeze and Feliciano shivered and crossed his arms in a futile attempt at warmth. He sneezed quickly and paused his walking to attempt warming up just a bit.

Then he heard it. The soft rustle of clothes and an inhale of breath. Footsteps faded into his hearing then stopped. A soft, gentle voice called out, "Feliciano?"

The Italian swallowed and tried to place that voice. He knew it, yes, but where from? It was so calm and welcoming. He turned around, surprised to see a man he hadn't seen in what must have been months. Before him stood a tall man in a long coat and scarf with soft eyes and light hair illuminated by the moon.

"M-Mr. Braginsky," Feliciano finally recalled. He was shocked to see the old customer here, though more shocked that the Russian man remembered his name.

"Da," the man said, an undertone of confusion in his cheery voice. "I haven't seen you at Edelstein's in a while. Did you quit?"

Anxiety tugged at Feliciano and he mumbled, "I'm on leave."

"Oh. I'm very sorry to hear that. I've missed seeing you there. You were always such a young and happy presence. I don't normally see young people. None like you, anyway."

The bigger man blocked the wind from chilling Feliciano, so he stayed to speak, figuring this could be his last conversation and he better make it a good one to remember as he die later. "Why is that, Mr. Braginsky?"

The man laughed. "Please, call me Ivan. And I work at an assisted living home."

"A what?"

He laughed again. "It's a place for the elderly or disabled, people who need help day-to-day. I like to bring in flowers for some of the residents. My sister loves when I bring sunflowers."

Feliciano felt something like guilt pang in his heart. "Your sister? You mean she works there, too?"

"No," Ivan's face fell a fraction and Feliciano felt his heart do the same. "She was in an accident a while ago. Her spine is badly hurt. I got a job there to see her more, she always feels much better when me and my older sister see her. My other sister lives in Russia, so she can't visit as often. Only around holidays."

Feliciano looked away, feeling uncomfortable with the topic. "I'm sorry," was all he could manage.

"It's alright," Ivan said. "But come back to work soon, da? Natalia likes it when I give her beautiful flowers from her secret friend, Feli."

"She does?"

"She does." For a moment Feliciano could swear Ivan's eyes lingered on his crossed arms and the few visible scars, though the man didn't show it. He just smiled again, patted Feliciano's shoulder, and said, "Come back soon, I miss seeing you around."

Then he walked away, just like that. Feliciano could feel the warmth leaving his shoulder and instead move to his heavy eyes. The tears pricked at him and he took a shaky breath before he took to jogging the rest of the way to his house. He didn't plan to cry, he didn't want to! He was going to pass away quietly and now he has to calm down or it'll be just as pathetic as last time!

There was another crash and what sounded like glass shattering. Feliciano sat in his closet, behind the broken doors, with a pillow held tightly to his ears and eyes shut tight.

"How can you fucking fail Spanish?! It's the same as Italian!" His mother's voice screamed. There was another noise the young kid couldn't identify. Following it were whimpers, small sounds he knew were his brother.

Lovino knew better than to talk back. He also knew better than to show pain… which made Feliciano really nervous to hear the small noises through the wall. The sound grew still and more bottles clacking in the kitchen came through. Lovino then limped in through the broken bedroom door, carelessly nudging it closed with his arm.

He hobbled over to the dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out a few bandages in various colors. Feliciano removed his pillow to see his brother sitting down across from him, one eye blackened, and passing the bent box over.

"Can you…?"

"Si," Feliciano whispered. He watched, stomach turning, as Lovino hissed and took his T-shirt off. The teen turned, facing his back to his brother, who eyed a few bleeding spots. "I'm sorry, fratello."

"It's okay," Lovino groaned, voice awkward and still deepening each day. "It's over now."

The front door had been jammed closed but the cardboard covering the front windows were nothing to take down. Feliciano eased his way through the opening, annoyed at the pressure in his soft legs from the windowsill. He was inside finally and taken aback by the smell: a weird mixture of dust, dirt, alcohol, and cigarettes. It was nothing like the earthy flower shop or the clean Edelstein home or even the cold school.

He walked to the couch and took a seat, thinking back to the night his parents died. This was where he had been, sitting and waiting. His blood was still smeared on the wall, though blackened by time. His house had always been dirty but there was a new layer of filth on everything. It was obviously an empty building completely untouched in months. It hurt to feel this validation. He knew his parents were gone but to come back here and see the proof…

Reminiscing wasn't helping his already poor mood so he got up and began his search for a weapon. There were still empty bottles all over the house, some broken, some covered in gnats or filled with various bugs. Feliciano found some old kitchen knives and placed them on the coffee table. Another drawer revealed an extension cord, which he placed with the knives—maybe he could use it to hang himself.

The bathroom had been empty except for toilet paper rolls or assorted cleaning supplies, but he chose not to use those to die. Poisoning himself left too much possibility of still waking up like last time. Sure, drinking some bleach probably wouldn't fail, but he was too afraid of throwing it all back up.

Then he searched his parents' old room, not finding anything. He felt nervous just to be in there, as if he was about to be caught and punished for snooping around. He gave up when he found an old condom wrapper. That was not how he was planning to remember his parents.

In his bedroom he only found his busted furniture and forgotten drawings shoved into corners. Feliciano chose to do it the simple way: slitting his wrists and dying in his bed. This time he had no worries about ruining the carpet or blankets or making the house a haunting reminder.

So he took the knife and retreated to his bitterly cold room. The bed was creaking under his weight and smelled of mothballs. He gave his room a last look before turning his attention back to the knife.

This is it, this is really it!

He slid the knife over his skin, making a few shallow cuts to get used to the feeling again. As much as he liked it, it was still a bitter and sharp sensation of breaking into the skin with purpose. He switched to his other arm, stopping after two cuts when he realized how anxious and shaky his hands were.

The knife rested back over his first arm, hesitation lasting a second before he forced it down harder, gliding it slowly at first before ripping it across the scarred, pale skin. Feliciano gasped at the shooting pain and the pooling warmth. The blood flowed and became a river, no doubt a lethal cut.

Then there was a beep. He hadn't heard that sound in a while, like Ivan's voice. What was it?

"We're not home right now, leave a message!"

The answering machine? It's been months, how could it still be working?

Feliciano grasped his good hand over the cut and inched out to the living room area, ignoring the dizziness building in his head. On the floor, under a pile of clothes and garbage, was a small red light and a wire. He kicked the trash aside and sat before the small, old machine.

The small screen said there were seventeen new messages. No one ever called them so Feliciano assumed these were newer, like banks or official places calling to say they were about to cut off their water or whatever they hadn't paid for.

In his curiosity he clicked around on the buttons trying to find the one that made the messages play. He finally found it and regretted it.

"Figlio? Lovino called me earlier. I know… I know you're gone. It was just comforting to know I could call. I love you."

Lovino's voice filled the air. "You're gone. I can't believe it."

"Hey, mamma, papa. Rest in peace… or whatever."

"You bastards! How could you do this?! How could you fucking do this to us? First you make our lives hell then you go and completely fuck us? I wish you were alive so I can tell you to your faces how fucking horrible you were! Christ, I h-ha—" The call broke off into a series of sobs and a voice, likely Antonio's, saying something indistinguishable.

"Your funeral was nice. You'd have liked it."

"Jesus fucking Christ. First you die and do this to Feli, then you make him so fucking upset that he tries to die, too? Christ, when does it end with you people? Leave my little brother alone! What the hell did he ever do to you?"

"He made it. He's alive and I haven't felt such fucking relief since the funeral. Fuck you if you think you're taking him from me."

The messages continued on like that, with Lovino screaming his rage into the phone or their Nonno speaking in soft Italian or broken English. There was another caller Feliciano didn't recognize who spoke to his mother. He hiccupped and wiped his tears away, a head rush sweeping through his brain. That was when he noticed the red covering his arm and dripping to the floor.

Lovino never intended for him to hear that, he never thought anyone would. Did he mean that? Would dying really hurt him that much?

"I swear to God, if he goes then I'm next…"

Feliciano swallowed hard and wrapped an old shirt around his arm. No, no, no, he can't die like this, this can't be the end! He scooted himself over a few inches and reached for the old phone that didn't work half the time. He prayed it would work, it had to work, he needed it to work!

His shaking hands barely dialed the number and he nearly cried out in joy when he heard ringing.

Ludwig groaned and rolled over in his bed, blindly reaching for his buzzing cell phone. The screen was blurry to his eyes but he felt an urgency when he saw Feliciano's name.

"Hello?" He said groggily. "Feliciano? Is something the matter?"

"I… I need the hospital."

The German sat up and felt his blood run cold. "What? What happened? Where are you? Feliciano?!"

"One-four-seven-six Adams Road. Please, Luddy."

Ludwig felt panic surge into his body as he rushed to his feet and stumbled through his house, desperately searching for car keys. "Stay with me, Feli, what happened? Talk to me!"

"I made a mistake," the quiet reply came.

Ludwig grabbed his brother's spare care keys from the kitchen table and rushed outside, barefoot, to the car. He tried to keep his friend on the phone, to keep talking and stay awake, as he searched for the house in the dark.

He finally found it and bolted from his car to the front door. A stray cat meowed and ran from a fallen trash can as Ludwig pounded into the door. This felt all too familiar.

The door burst open and Ludwig ignored the throbbing in his shoulder. On the floor he found Feliciano, barely awake and holding assorted clothing to his wrist. There was a small pile of stained articles of clothing next to him, soaked through with crimson.

Ludwig rushed to Feliciano, helping him up and out to the car. From then he drove to the hospital, speeding for once. He carried his small friend who was losing blood quickly. The nurses were startled when he burst in those doors in a frenzy.

Feliciano sat on the gurney of his temporary room, guilt swelling in his chest. Ludwig stood beside him and occasionally gave signs of affection like short hugs or pats on the shoulder. Feliciano cringed at the sight of his arms; the left arm wrapped tightly in bandages (covering his stitches), and his other arm with smaller bandages for the cuts.

Ludwig sat beside him and Feliciano laid his head on his friend's massive shoulder. He felt a little better. He felt like maybe he was wrong… maybe people did care. They sure cared tonight.

They stayed until Elizaveta and Roderich showed up and spoke to a doctor. They smothered Feliciano once they got to him, hugging him and kissing his head. Roderich took Ludwig out to get coffee elsewhere in the hospital to leave the mother-and-son pair time to speak.

"I don't know what we'd do without you," Roderich admitted, looking away. "You keep saving Feliciano."

Ludwig blushed and also looked away, forgetting the paper cup in his hand. "He saved himself. He called me for help."

Roderich took that in and sipped his coffee. "You're both lucky to have each other."

Ludwig nodded. "We are."

Back in the temporary room, Elizaveta was petting Feliciano's hair and kissing his forehead over and over. The small teen leaned into the affection and sniffled, unable to contain himself much longer.

"I'm s-sorry," he cried into her shoulder. "I'm sorry!"

Elizaveta shushed him and held him tightly. "It's okay, baby, it's okay. Don't cry." She kissed his hair and waited for the boy to calm down.

A/N: I stayed up til 7AM writing this, woo. A longer chapter and everything!

Lovino probably wouldn't kill himself if Feliciano did, but it's a thought that can go through your head. Feliciano had a moment of clarity this chapter that saved his life.

"Do Better" by Say Anything

Drink alone and watch TV.

You're expecting harmonies

To tap your tune with silver spoons,

The anthem of impending doom.

Guiding Satan's steady hand.

Forcing Beatles to disband.

It's ego freaks and drama queens

The young at heart know what I mean.