This is a crossover with the "Silver Linings Playbook" movie.

Well, it's an AU of the movie.

There should be like, four chapters.

Ten.

Antonio put his left hand behind his back.

One.

Two.

"Holy fuck!"

Antonio looked up. Gilbert crossed his arms and grinned.

"You're fucking jacked. Is this place like prison for crazy people?"

Antonio hopped up and pulled Gilbert into a hug. "Gilbert! What are you doing here? You look so tired, was the drive bad?" He gave Gilbert another hug. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm fucking breaking you out of this place, that's what."

…

"Antonio is doing well," Dr. Bondevik said, flicking through paperwork slowly. "Give him another eight months, and he might actually be adjusted."

Gilbert had his hands on his hips, and his chest was puffed forward. "Yeah, well, he can do equally as fine with me."

"The court—"

"I'm his lawyer, aren't I? He's served his eight months, he's fine, isn't he? He'll take his meds, he'll go to therapy, he'll do crazy, one-armed pushups. He's coming home."

Dr. Bondevik was still looking through paperwork. "Fine."

…

Francis was reading, television on. The football game was on, Germany against Ireland, but Francis didn't look up, even when Germany scored.

"I kept it on, but Ireland is still up by one, Gilbert."

Gilbert threw Antonio's bag down and vaulted over the back of the couch. "That's because I wasn't watching it, Francis. I figured you might help, but what—oh, come on!"

Francis glanced up, met Antonio's eyes. His face twisted strange; first he frowned, then he smiled. "Antonio, what are you doing here?"

Gilbert waved a lazy hand. "He's here now."

Antonio smiled. "Gilbert said I only had to stay in the hospital for eight months. He said I could live with you, because it's too cramped with him and Feliciano and Ludwig."

Gilbert bit his nail, eyes glued to the television screen. "As long as you take your meds and go to therapy."

Francis shut his book. "And respect the restraining order."

Antonio shrugged. "I'm working on the restraining."

Francis shook his head. "No, Antonio, you can't go near him."

"Yet." Antonio held up the books he was holding. "These are all of Arthur's favorite books. We just need to talk about things. Books can help us—we can talk about the restraining order after I read these and he sees—"

Francis frowned. "Antonio, you—"

Gilbert clapped his hands together, and the game faded to a commercial. "Toño, you know who's dying to see you? Feliciano."

Antonio perked. "He's not afraid of me anymore?"

Gilbert blew air through his lips. "He was never afraid of you, Toño. I told him I was going to get you, and he wants to have some stupid dinner party or some shit. To celebrate you being back."

Francis was still frowning.

"Do he and Arthur still work together at the high school?"

Gilbert shrugged, jumped up. "We're not talking about Arthur, we're talking about dinner Friday! Come on, he's honestly not afraid of you, he missed you!"

Antonio grinned. "Sure!"

…

"Francis. Francis, friend, wake up."

Francis rolled over and said something in French.

Antonio held up Lord of the Flies. "Have you ever even read this shit?"

Francis squinted in the dark. "What time is it?" He sat up. "Antonio, it's too early for this."

"This is why Arthur and I have problems. He reads this—this negative things, and they mess with his head, Francis! Arthur always says his books he likes have the point, but it just seems depressing for no reason! What the fuck, Francis? Piggy did not need to die!"

"Antonio, calm—"

"And shit, Francis, the pages and pages of words! No one Arthur was always so tired for sex!"

"English, Antonio."

"It's awful, Francis! Shit! A lot of shit!"

"Antonio, it's four in the morning!"

"I'm going to burn this book. And I am going to tell Arthur it's shit."

Francis grabbed the book from Antonio's hands. "Go to bed, Antonio."

"Give me the—"

"No."

Antonio held up his hands, palms out. "All I'm saying is that no question Arthur was so—"

"Stop thinking about Arthur."

…

The smoke detector went off.

Shit.

Antonio grabbed one of the chairs from the dining room, and one of Francis' magazines. He could get the smoke away from the detectors, and then it would be fine and he could keep—

"Antonio!"

"Ah, hello, Francis! The smoke alarm went off, but I didn't know that putting water on fire could cause the smoke. I am fixing it, hold on."

"Are you burning the book, Antonio?!"

Antonio fanned harder. "Ah, yes. It was depressing, and they caused Arthur to… Ah, I think the fire department is here."

…

Last time Antonio thought about it, flowers were a thing you were supposed to bring to fancy events.

He rang the doorbell, and Gilbert practically threw it open. "Oh, you wore it!"

Antonio looked at the jersey. "Well, Francis picked up a nice dress shirt, but you said it was good luck, no?"

"I got big money on Spain." Gilbert crossed his fingers. "You're Spanish, wearing a fucking David Villa shirt—I'm hoping for at least a tie."

"Oh, Francis said you were betting on the games."

Gilbert nodded eagerly. "Yeah, well, with the baby and all, and Feliciano wanting to fucking decorate, and he's barely getting paid from the high school, it's…" Gilbert shrugged. "There's a lot of money on this game."

"What about the firm?"

Gilbert laughed, a little too loud. "It's not easy being an ambulance-chaser, Toño. But, fuck, come on in. Here, give me the fucking flowers, you didn't need to get those. Feliciano will love them. Feliciano, baby, Antonio's here!"

"Ah, Antonio, it's…" Feliciano froze when he saw Antonio. "Oh, you wore a jersey. Gilbert, did you tell him it's fancy?"

"I told you, the Villa jersey is good luck. Besides, he just got out of the hospital, he can wear a jersey if he wants to, baby."

"Even to a fancy dinner party, I guess," Feliciano said brightly. "Antonio, I don't know if you ever met him, but this is my older brother, Lovino."

Lovino was wearing a suit. A full suit, with a tie, shiny shoes. He was chewing on a cigarette, leaning against the couch, looking impossibly smooth and lean and lithe.

Antonio swallowed. "Hi, I'm Antonio."

Lovino nodded. "Yeah, I've heard about you. How's the restraining order?"

Feliciano laughed. "Lovino, I invited you because I thought we could all have a good time together. Please don't be annoying."

Lovino gritted his teeth. "Maybe it was a genuine question, brother."

Antonio nodded. "We're going to talk about the restraining order."

Lovino switched his attention back to Antonio. "Did you really beat that asshole Kirkland's ass?"

"Lovino!" Feliciano said, pitch high.

Antonio chuckled. "No, Feliciano, it's okay! It's a common mistake friends make. We both fought each other. I'm stronger than Arthur, but he… had help. From the man who broke up our marriage." Antonio perked. "But no divorce. We're working on things."

Lovino nodded. "My husband's dead."

Feliciano pursed his lips.

Antonio's breath caught in his throat. "Oh."

Lovino shrugged. "And I just got fired from my job, but fuck, at least you can beat your husband and still work on things. Can you tell me, who punched who first?"

"I tried to kill the math teacher. I mean, the math teacher was giving Arthur a blowjob, so I tried to kill him. And then Arthur punched me, and we started to fight."

Gilbert threw an arm around Antonio's shoulders. "But we aren't talking about Arthur! We're going to have a fancy dinner and talk about good things!"

Feliciano nodded. "Everyone take a seat, and I'll grab the salad."

…

Antonio liked salad.

Lovino didn't seem to like salad, and he picked at it. Antonio couldn't stop looking at him, so he looked at his wedding ring instead.

Gilbert coughed. "Lovino speaks Spanish, Antonio."

Antonio was forced to look at Lovino again. "Oh, really? I was a substitute teacher for the high school, that's how I met Arthur, and I would help in the Spanish classes. I grew up in Spain, so I know Spanish."

Lovino raised an eyebrow. "Wow, a Spaniard who knows Spanish."

Feliciano's smile was tight. "Lovino grew up in south Italy, way down, he traveled all around."

"Wow, Feliciano, I couldn't have told him that, myself."

Feliciano stabbed a piece of lettuce.

Lovino took a log drink of wine. "What meds are you on?"

Antonio blinked. "Me?"

"Yes, fucker, you."

Antonio laughed. "Ah, well, I'm trying to go without the meds."

"That's dumb. I tried to do that, and I ended up sleeping with everyone in my office. Meds are good because they stop you from spiraling into episodes."

"Lovino," Feliciano said softly, "can we not talk about what happened at the office? Why don't we talk about your cooking? Antonio, did you know that Lovino cooks?"

"Oh—"

"Again, something I couldn't have told him, myself." Lovino drank the rest of his wine. "I'm going home. Antonio, walk me home."

"What?" Antonio looked between Gilbert and Lovino. "But we didn't even eat the—"

"Lovino, please, I made your favorite dish, don't leave!" Feliciano said, but his voice wasn't all in it. He sounded tired.

"No, because you're just going to avoid the issues. I'm really not into that right now, so you can just eat whatever you made me to make up for saying I'm ruining my life, and I'm going to go home."

"I didn't—"

"Antonio, are we leaving?"

Antonio stood. "See you later, Gilbert."

…

"This is me."

It was a house, but there was what looked like a barn behind it.

"I live in the addition out back. Are we going to fuck?"

Antonio blinked. "Hm?"

Lovino laughed. "Are you and me going to fuck?"

Antonio backed away and held up his hands. "I'm married."

"You punched your husband in the face. You tried to kill the math teacher."

"We're working on it. I'm married."

Lovino gritted his teeth. "Yeah, so the fuck am I."

"No, you can't work things out with him, he's dead."

Lovino's face crumpled, and he hid his expression in his hands.

"I…" Antonio didn't know what to say.

"Fuck you," Lovino snarled, whipping his hands away from his face. "Seriously, fuck off."

And then he walked away.

Antonio was confused and aroused.