Chapter Text
In 1943, after the surrender of Italy to the Allies, the Nazis had advanced their attacks. During this time Italy was swelled with artillery who refused to give up their fighting ground. Underneath it all was the Italian Resistance. They would destroy lines, spread rumors, and overall make it harder and harder for the Germans to keep track of what was going on. The Resistance (as the name implies) fought for a free Italy away from the grasp of the Nazis.
In a small village in Italy was a boy named Feliciano who sold vegetables from his Grandfather. He was well known because of his well liked Grandpa and his loud strict brother. Feliciano was talkative as well and always open to lend a hand which in turn made him popular with elders and ladies. The village he lived in was peaceful and quiet. Everyone knew everyone. It was the ideal place to live if you wanted nice farmland and a good community.
That was until the Germans came.
Everyone was already aware of the harsh ways of life as a German. They knew about the death camps, the torture, the pain. The village just wanted to stay away from it. But then the Germans came and spread their violence everywhere.
Feliciano remembered watching them demand from the shop keepers. He’d watch them hit women, scream at men. Day by day another villager would flee. Or at least they would try. If one of them stepped out of line too much they were taken away by officers. Nobody talked about what this meant, but they all knew. Feliciano knew. If they were lucky it was death, and if not…
The world was different now and Feliciano was getting used to the constant German presence. He didn’t cause issues so he didn’t have much to fear. All he had to do was not talk about the resistance. Even though Feliciano loved talking, he had taught himself to shut up.
“If you even mutter a word about it outside of the meeting place,” His Grandpa Roma would scrunch his nose as if he was pissed. He’d put a finger up against Feliciano's forehead as if it were a bullet, “the whole world as you know it would end.”
Feliciano shuttered, memorizing the sentence like if he didn’t he’d die. Which, to be fair, he would. Lovino never got those talks. He understood why but he still felt a bit betrayed to be treated like a child. He walked through the small village and looked around, taking in the view.
Today everything looked peaceful. The Germans were unusually quiet and the villagers were unusually content. He walked up to the same stall he usually did, put some coins on the table, and grabbed a few tomatoes.
“Little Feliciano!” The man behind the stall chirped happily. “How’s Roma?” The man asked. He smiled politely, his skin was darker and his hair was curly. It reminded Feliciano of Lovino who, between the two brothers, had the darker complexion.
“He’s doing good.” Feliciano smiled. “He seems pretty excited about something actually, I think his birthday is coming up.” He shuffled more tomatoes into his basket.
“Yea? Well I’ll have to come visit.” The man looked behind Feliciano and then back to the boy. He sighed. “You be quick to go home, ok? I know it looks polite today but last I heard the battle last night went straight to hell. Germans are pissed as the fuhrer himself.” He waved his hands to tell his story. “Don’t need Roma's prized grandson turned into meat.” Feliciano lightly laughed at the small joke but immediately turned serious when the man gave him a stern look.
“I’ll go straight home after this. All we needed were tomatoes anyways.” He searched through his pockets and handed the man a letter. “It’s for tonight.” He whispered, lowering his head and remembering the sentence his grandpa often repeated.
“Thank you Feli, now go home.”
Feliciano turned around and started to head out of the village. Whatever battle happened, he didn’t wanna get punished for it. Feliciano heard stories of the camps. He hated the Germans more than anything. He thought about his hatred so much that he forgot he was even walking. That was until he slammed right into a tall man in a dark uniform. He looked up in horror.
“Spinnst du!?” The man yelled angrily, looking down at the cowering Feliciano. The man kept screaming words that he didn’t understand. The only words Feliciano knew were ‘Danke’ and ‘Heil Hitler’. He didn’t know what the hell danke meant, and by god he would prefer to die over saying ‘Heil Hitler’. Seeing only one way out of this situation, he screamed and cried.
“Danke! Danke! Heil,” He stomached a cough, “Hitler!” He waved his hands frantically trying to show surrender. When he looked up the German looked down. His look wasn’t kind or one that said ‘Yes Feliciano, I’ll let you go! Ja Ja Ja!’. Instead it was a raised hand aimed at his face and a look of offense. Feliciano fell back onto his legs and braced for impact.
“Was machst du?!” Feliciano turned to the new guy. A tall, pale German stood in between them. He grabbed the other officer's wrist and yelled at him. The other officer went from looking scary to pathetic, almost as if he was now some sort of pet. The new German threw the officers hand down and pointed away. The man ran into the village like he was ordered. The new German looked down to Feliciano.
“Danke! Danke! Danke! Danke!” Feliciano cried in surrender again.
“Bitte.” He replied, calming his nerves. The German looked intrigued. He seemed pleasantly surprised. “Sprechen sie Deutsch?" He asked. Feliciano looked at him confused and begged again. “Nein,” he answered his own question with a sigh, “I don’t suppose you speak English then?” He asked with a glint of hope in his eyes.
Feliciano's head perked up. “Yes! Yes I do! Thank you! Thank you sir! I was so sure I was dead meat there!” He cried. “I didn’t know what he was saying. He was gonna hit me! My grandpa would be so mad if I died! He’d be so pissed! He’d kill me! Or… well-“
“Don’t worry about it.” The German cut him off. “He was just mad you ran into him. He was also,” he thought for a second, scrunching his brows together, “he was a bit offended by your impression of us. Though, upon further inspection, I’m assuming you were trying to surrender and not offend him.”
“Yes! I don’t even know what that word means. Oh- oh my god! I probably just called him a pig.” Feliciano cried. “I didn’t mean it I swear!” The German loudly laughed at Feliciano's pathetic nature and waved his hands. He stuck one out to help Feliciano up.
Feliciano starred up. The man was tall and threatening. He had bright pale skin and intensely blue eyes. He wore a grey uniform with all kinds of symbols and medals on it. It didn’t have an armband like the one Feliciano was used to, but there was a swastika on the man’s chest. He couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than German.
“No, no. ‘Danke’ means ‘thank you’. ‘Pig’ is ‘Schwein’. Though, if you’re not aware of what something means, it’s probably not the best idea to scream it at an armed soldier.” Feliciano took his hand and stood up. He collected his tomatoes. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Feliciano Vargas. What is yours, soldier?” Feliciano seemed shaken up. He didn’t know what was more shocking, the fact he's alive, the fact a German just saved him, the fact that his English lessons are actually coming
in handy, or the fact the German was attractive.
“Ludwig Beilschmidt.” He replied. He patted the dirt off of Feliciano's chest. “If someone (specifically German) seems to be threatening you, just say ‘Komrad’. It’ll get the picture across a lot better than…” he looked disappointed as he thought back to a few minutes ago, “…whatever the hell you just did.”
“Yes! I will do that.” Feliciano's nerves seemed to calm down. It was clear the German didn’t exactly have intent to harm him. It was refreshing in a way, having a conversation with a non-violent German. One who he could stare at forever. One who he wouldn’t mind spending his life with. He shook his head to forget the thoughts of Ludwig. What the hell. He thought to himself. He’s a German. Stop thinking like that! He sighed.
“Do you need an escort home?” Ludwig asked, closing his eyes politely. “I wouldn’t want you running head first into someone you shouldn’t. You’ll have all of Germany on your ass!” He laughed loudly like it was some kind of joke, pinching the bridge of nose and waving his hand. “Then your grandpa will kill you!” Feliciano could tell it was supposed to be a joke but the thought was scary. He didn’t laugh, instead he looked afraid knowing it could be a very real possibility. Ludwig opened his eyes and frowned. “I am joking. I highly doubt you’d get a bounty on you for bumping into someone. I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok.” He smiled and nodded in a reassuring manner. “I don’t need an escort home, but I appreciate the offer. It is a dangerous world out there.” Ludwig nodded in agreement. Feliciano turned around to head home, he waved to Ludwig. “Ciao, Ludwig!”
“Auf Wiedersehen, Feliciano!” Ludwig watched as Feliciano walked into the countryside, his shadow slowly disappearing.
Later that night, Feliciano returned to the village. This time he headed inside of a tavern which was usually filled with Germans and depressed, drunk Italians. On the outside it was every other tavern, but on the inside…
Feliciano waved to the people in there as he headed to the back room. As usual, everyone ignored him. He didn’t mind it though. He walked to the back cellar, opened the door, and headed down the stairs.
In the basement was where the magic happened. The resistance was drinking, singing, partying. Something good must’ve happened. Feliciano thought to himself. He liked good things. He liked parties. He liked coming to a meeting and hearing everyone chant “Bella Ciao!” He walked to his grandpa and smiled, pushing out the tomatoes towards him.
“Little Feliz!” His grandpa cheered. He smiled brightly, his teeth slightly yellow. “You came! We were hoping you would. I told you I was going to be happy this time.” His hair was dark brown, his skin a bit darker than Felicianos but slightly lighter than Lovinos. His hair was wavy and he was muscular. He looked nothing like a man his age. “Come! Drink!” Feliciano was used to the meetings being dark and serious. Even though he was filled with questions, they could wait. Instead he was going to sing along and drink. It was rare that he could have fun. He hadn’t seen a group of people so excited in years, and so grabbed a bottle of wine, walked into the crowd, and cheered the familiar words.
“O partigiano, portami via
Bella ciao, Bella ciao, Bella ciao ciao ciao!
O partigiano, portami via
Ché mi sento di morír-“
He kept singing, drinking, and laughing. He smiled brightly. When he saw Lovino, he swore he saw him smile too. Seeing Lovino smile was like seeing gold fall from the sky. It was impossible. But if Lovino was smiling, that’s how you knew it was a good time. Feliciano got so drunk that he didn’t even realize when he was at home in his bed snoring like a pig.