Hello readers!

Wow… err… I guess you're gonna stab me if I try to apologize for how long I've made you wait...? I know. I'm so sorry! I've been writing a book for school and it has taken up sooo much of my friggin time! And right now I'm so sick of writing in general… Anyway, I had written this chapter a long time ago, but never managed to finish it the way I wanted. So I'm uploading it "unfinished". I couldn't bear making you wait any longer! I want to thank so much everybody who has reviewed, faved and subscribed so far. Thank you so much! And thanks to everybody who is still reading this - after all the time I've made you wait. It means very much to me.

There's something I need to say about the last chapter. I noticed some of you were confused about what happened to Feliciano. Feliciano wasn't raped as in intercourse. But you'll see more about that in this chapter.

Have a nice lecture!

"How did he react?" Lovino asked, shifting closer to Feliciano, and wiped the tears off his heart-breaking sad face. The smaller Italian leaned in to the caring touches and sniffled quietly. He kept his gaze lowered on Lovino's chest and unconsciously rubbed his own. It hurt. It hurt to touch it. He could feel that the cuts were swollen even through the red-white striped shirt, but he didn't dare asking the barrack supervisor if he could be escorted to the infirmary. He would ask Francis tomorrow. Francis… Francis was a good man. Francis would be there for him tomorrow... even if he was a little afraid of actually facing him.

"Badly…" he replied, his voice nothing but a croaky whisper. Lovino waited a few seconds, obviously thinking that Feliciano would add an explication to his statement. But that explication didn't come. Not even after a whole minute had passed. Feliciano wanted to talk… to tell him everything. But his throat felt constricted. He could barely breathe as he tried to suppress his wish for crying. And every time he swallowed, the moisture would struggle down his insides and leave them burning even worse than before.

"Feli, goddammit, what happened?" Lovino insisted, gently grabbing the northern Italian's chin and tilting his head back. They lay in silence for a while, just looking into each other's eyes. Lovino's were worried, scared – but also a little angry as he wondered what the hell that stupid German had done to his friend, to make him return to the barrack crying hysterically with half of his clothing still undone, his marred chest and face exposed and vulnerable for all the damned gawkers in their dormitory. Of course, they gaped in shock… sympathy. But Feliciano didn't deserve to be gaped at like some kind of freak, after everything that had happened to him.

"He…" the auburn-brunette finally started. "He was really taken aback, at first."

"And then?"

"N-nothing. H-he just stood there, staring down at me. It made me feel so… s-so strange. I was really ashamed…"

"Why the hell would you feel ashamed!"

"I-I don't know!" Feliciano sobbed. He stopped rubbing his injured chest and frantically wrapped his arms around Lovino's neck instead. The other prisoner just enclosed his own arms around the northern Italian's trembling frame and held him close. He caressed his back soothingly and craned his neck to look at his face, but Feliciano was keeping it strictly hidden in the fabric of his red-white striped shirt.

"I feel so… so ugly! It's like I c-can never show myself again! I'm marked, I'm scarred for the rest of my life! … Do you really think Ludwig would wanna fuck somebody with a FAG on his chest?"

Lovino winced at the vulgarism. He was the first to curse and express himself rather vulgarly all the time… but hearing something like that come out of Feliciano's mouth was just… wrong. And it emphasized the severity of the situation. He stayed quiet for a long time, just nervously nibbling on his under lip, and then answered:

"Calm down… That German idiot loves you like a maniac, didn't you see the way he glared at me this noon when he saw us together? He won't stop loving you just because of… that." he made a little pause there, waiting for a reaction which didn't come, and then added "What happened afterwards?"

"He… h-he went crazy! He yelled at me that I should have told him… and th-then he just picked up his things a-and wanted t-to leave… I tried to stop him, of course, and he shoved me off." The auburn-brunette started crying even harder, pushing his face into Lovino's chest to muffle the hysteric sobs. "C-can you i-imagine, Lovi? H-he j-just shoved me off!"

What a fucking bastard! "He was worried out of his mind, what did you expect? Did you expect him to throw flowers at you and compliment you for your new accessory? Of course he was angry! I was angry, too, when I heard what those sons of bitches have done to you!"

"H-he said he was going to kill them all… I was so scared… I still am! L-Lovi, what if he d-does something s-stupid? He would get himself into serious tr-trouble! I'm so scared!"

"… What happened after he shoved you off?" Lovino changed topic, unsure of what to answer since he didn't know how to estimate the crazy German. Even if he didn't doubt that he would kill for Feliciano…

"… He was sorry… he calmed down and apologized. But he didn't e-even dare touching me… he hugged me only after having wrapped my shirt around me… and demanded to know what they had done to my face. A-and when I didn't tell him he just peeled the gauze off himself and then looked about to g-go crazy again. I asked him not to be angry… to stay with me because I needed him… but when I tried to kiss him he pulled away…" the auburn-brunette's hands clenched around the collar of the other Italian's shirt. "I-I don't understand… is h-he angry at me? … D-disgusted with m-me?"

Lovino hated to back up the German, but he was doing this only – and only for Feliciano's sake. He drew back from the embrace, raised his hand to the other prisoner's face and gently grazed the stitches sewn into his eyebrow and temple to keep a small but slightly gaping wound closed. He let them carefully run over the red-purple bruise which had crawled downwards to adorn the underside of his eye and cheekbone.

"Would you be able to kiss somebody, who looks like he's gonna collapse, if the wind blows a little bit stronger? Feliciano, I don't know if you're aware of it, but it hurts to see people you love suffer. It hurts so much that you don't wanna make it worse, and sometimes, trying to protect people, you do stupid things. And I believe that German idiot is the perfect example for what I just said."

Feliciano continued to cry, but eventually, his sobs became quieter and less frequent, until he was only sniffling and trying to rub his face dry without causing too much pain in the tender area around his left temple.

"M-maybe you're right…"

"Of course I'm right! Now, sleep. Tomorrow we'll tell him why they attacked you." The southern Italian let go of the smaller one and grabbed his sheet, pulling it over him. He then did the same to himself and adjusted for the night.

"W-we can't possibly tell him! He would feel like this is his entire fault!" Feliciano argued horrified.

"That's the general idea. If he feels guilty about it, he won't do something stupid because he'll be afraid it might lead to the same outcome."

"I-I guess…"

It was silent for a long while. Feliciano assumed that Lovino had fallen asleep. He was glad the other Italian was there for him because with Ludwig out of his mind, he didn't know to whom to go. He really hoped the German had calmed down by tomorrow. He needed Ludwig's love much more than any kind of foolish and pointless protection...

He had tried so hard to keep the other prisoner from finding out. It had been a mistake to ask him if they could make love – he should have expected the blonde to find out that the injuries hadn't been caused by an accident. But after everything that had happened, he had just wanted to feel loved and wanted for the way he was... for the faggot he was. He had needed to have all the horrible traces off himself… the horrible, horrible traces which would never fade away, for the rest of his life. He had been a fool, a desperate, delusional fool to believe he could erase what had happened. He was marked, scarred forever. But not only on his chest. In his whole existence.

"Feli…?" a whisper interrupted his dark thoughts. A warm hand enclosed around his own sweaty and cold one. "Feli, I'm sorry about what happened."

"Will you suck me off now?"

"Yes – yes! I will do i-it for you a-all! Please don't hurt m-me anymore – PLEASE!"

A low, amused chuckle. Rough fingers running through his hair, nails scraping his sensitive scalp. A tug, forcing him to tilt his head back. Feliciano could hear his own raspy pants as he struggled to keep breathing. He could feel his tears, tickling down his temples, his jaw, even his neck. He hadn't known his body had so much water to shed. And so much blood… blood was flowing down his chest, he could feel it get absorbed by the elastic waistband of his pants. His chest was throbbing. The carvings throbbed as his heart continued to beat inside his ribcage, reminding him of how easy it would be to die. If the blade wouldn't have been dragged across his skin… and would have instead been shoved deep into his flesh. Vulnerable. Human beings are so vulnerable, so breakable. Their life… so easy to destroy. To take away.

"We got him begging to go down on us. I call this achievement. I bet you wish your girlfriend back home would do so, Jim."

"He has gone."

"What?"

"He is not here anymore."

"What a wimp."

He didn't raise his eyes. He kept looking straightforward. He kept staring at that metallic belt buckle which was loosely hanging down. He had obviously known he wouldn't have to go without a quick blowjob that night. Well, Feliciano preferred giving a blowjob against his will to being slaughtered like a pig. He was going to give him that and so much more if it was going to keep him from hurting him more.

A clinking noise as he undid his belt completely. Feliciano spaced out. He didn't feel the warm tears and the warm blood on his skin anymore. He didn't feel his hurting joints anymore, neither did he feel the pain in his head and in his chest. Because he was numb. His body was only a shell which gave him the possibility to exist. The truth is; his body had no meaning at all... He wanted it to have no meaning at all…

"Yes… good boy."

Feliciano wasn't going to allow himself to feel those hands running through his hair, holding his head in place as his throat began to burn. He reflexively gagged. His arms hung limply at his sides while he let himself be used like a doll.

"More. Suck more."

No… he didn't want this. He didn't want any of this…. No! … No! No! No! No!

Waking up from a nightmare is always a big release. Except for when the nightmare isn't just a nightmare. Feliciano awoke with a start, pulse racing, breathing faltering. He clasped the sheet like a madman and reminded himself that everything was alright, that what had happened belonged to the past and wouldn't happen again. He tried to convince himself that he was a very lucky person. He was still alive after all. He was alive and relatively fine. How many people were dying in this war? How many? He was still alive. He was a lucky person.

He didn't complain when the barrack supervisor yelled at them to get their lazy asses out of bed. Actually, he had never been that quick to comply.

Nothing had changed. The morning proceeded as usual. He washed himself. He tried to have breakfast. He cleansed his bunk and washed his belongings. He went outside for the morning roll call. Everything had remained the same. Only the burning in his chest and the throbbing in his head were slightly out of the norm, but they would go away in a few days.

He worked. It wasn't a particularly beautiful day; the sky was covered by clouds, making it difficult for the sun rays to reach earth. But at least it wasn't cold. He collected the herbs he didn't even know the name of, even though he had been planting and cultivating them for months… and months. Now that he thought about it, he didn't even know for how long he had been staying there anymore. Maybe… maybe a year. Maybe a little less. Maybe a little more. He had seen the snow fall, had suffered as the sharp coldness had nagged at his bones while he had continued to work outside. He had seen the flowers and trees bloom, he had heard the birds chirp in happiness, almost ironically as he compared it to everything which had been surrounding him. He had watched the hard work they all put so much of their strength into burn under the sun. And now, now the colorful leaves were starting to fall and cover the ground, as the trees prepared for a long season of sleep…

Yes, it had been almost a year. A year wasn't much compared to the amount of time some of the prisoners had spent in that concentration camp. But it wasn't little either. It was silly how much he had gotten used to living as a slave of war. He couldn't almost remember what it felt like to be free. Well, of course. Ludwig was a source of freedom. When he was together with Ludwig, he felt free. Carefree. And when he was with Ludwig, he felt like he could bear with this whole thing for a while longer.

That's why he needed Ludwig to be there for him. The way they could be carefree for some more time, until they were denied even that kind of freedom.

Life isn't easy. You live to struggle through the days, to struggle through the weeks, the months, the years. Your whole existence is a struggle. But struggling side by side with somebody you love makes life so much more worth living. And Feliciano wanted to keep this in mind, before he lost the last bit of will to survive life.

"Ehi…" a soft, gentle voice brought him back to reality. Feelings of safeness and shame washed over him, making it difficult for Feliciano to decide if he was happy about the visit or not. He kept his gaze lowered, fixing it on his dirt-covered hands and the herbs between his fingers. And then he replied:

"Hey."

Silence. Francis probably felt uneasy himself. He stood there for a long time, doing nothing at all. The brunette glanced up at him and noticed that he was not even looking at him. He was looking at his feet.

"How are you?" he asked. And even though this question is one of the most abused in the whole world, Feliciano knew he meant it.

"I'm okay."

Another while of silence. The Italian weakly pushed himself off the ground and came into a standing position. He wiped away the dirt from his prisoner uniform and then enclosed his small, roughened up hands around the hem of his shirt. It was strange to stand in front of someone, who knew everything. It was upsetting and reassuring at the same time. Ludwig and Lovino knew about the carvings in his chest, as well, even if the latter a little more than the former. But Francis knew everything.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could have been there to stop them. I wish Jim would have called for help sooner."

"I'm okay." Feliciano repeated, attempting at a little smile.

"But -"

"The pain fades away. So do the scars." there he faked a giggle. "Well, at least a little."

Francis looked about to say something else, but he clenched his jaw, nodding lightly. He didn't return the smile. The brunette gazed at this man – a man wearing one infamous uniform, speaking one infamous language which evoked nothing but fear and hate among his peers. He could see so much sadness in his eyes, so much regret and sympathy.

"I-it would be very nice i-if I could go to the doctor though. W-will you accompany me to the doctor, Francis?"

"Gladly, mon petit."

Maybe someday they would all be able to live together, without being forced to fear and hate each other. Without being forced to hurt… and kill each other. Because in the end, what was the difference between the two of them? The colors they wore? The colors of their flag? Or was it truly the language, perhaps the way they pronounced the "r"?

This war was silly. This war needed to end... But Feliciano knew, his own personal war wasn't going to end even after everything was over.

Anger. It had started with his breathing becoming heavier and slightly raspy, then, a wave of heat, washing over him. He had been able to feel his heartbeat in his throat as he had tried to keep his feelings inside. Because he had known – it was the kind of anger you can't stop once you let it take over your body.

Devastation. He didn't doubt he could have killed somebody in that moment. His arms had been twitching, yearning to make use of those muscles. He wouldn't have hesitated to tear the bastard, who had done this to his little one, in pieces, just like an animal. Because he was an animal. He had yearned for blood. He had yearned for screams of pain. He had yearned for a self-proclaimed justice, for revenge, for death. He had wanted to fix something broken, by destroying something else. It made no sense at all, and yet, how many people in this world reasoned that way?

And in the end he had ended up hurting the person he had wanted to protect all along himself. Because he could tell by the look in Feliciano's eyes that the way he had behaved towards him had hurt him more than the carvings on his chest. Those damned three letters… as red as blood. Hadn't it hurt while they had made love? Hadn't he been in pain all the time? His beautiful creamy skin… marred, forever. His heart-warming smiles… marred, forever. He smiled like a little porcelain doll; his smiles were forced, expressionless, cold. His eyes while he smiled had been empty, dark. Where had that playful glimmer gone? Where?

Why had Ludwig not been able to understand sooner. Why had he not been able to be there for him the moment Feliciano needed him the most. What was the point to keep loving him if he could not even protect him? Feliciano deserved somebody, who could protect him. If not from the war, if not from the guards… then at least from sorrow… from pain. He should have thought about this before setting his mind on trivial matters. The guards… they were going to pay. But he had enough time to make them pay. Wasn't it much more important to stay by Feliciano's side until he was stable enough to be left on his own? Wasn't it?

He had done everything wrong.

Ludwig gasped softly as sharp pain shot through his hand. He let the knife and the small block of wood he had been holding fall and grasped his wrist instead. He had been careless while carving a small horse and had cut himself. The cut extended over the soft bulge of his thumb on his palm and the left inside of his pale wrist. It was deep… the blood was running down his underarm and had already started dripping onto the floor. The German stared at the scarlet liquid and felt like laughing. He did so. He laughed – a laugh as bitter as only a laugh caused by blank despair could be. Carving. Wasn't it ironic? Wasn't it ironic that he was carving after what he had seen yesterday? Was this a coincidence? Was this mockery, a punition?

After some minutes, he could feel his pulse in his hand. He couldn't see the humor in this anymore, so he stopped laughing. The blood had painted his usually white skin red. His red-white striped pants were not striped anymore – they were spotted. Even the dirt-covered floor was starting to be red. He realized that maybe, only maybe, he had damaged his arteries. And he also realized… that he actually didn't give a fuck.

Numb, he bent down and picked up the unfinished small figure off the puddle of blood. Yes. Yes, this is how it was supposed to look like. This little horse needed to be covered in blood. The children, who were going to play with this, needed to know how those were fabricated. The parents, who bought this, needed to know what they were buying for their children.

They all needed to know that those little wooden toys were fabricated with the blood of concentration camp prisoners.

TBC…

Yeah, I know… stupid ending. But as I already said; this chapter was rotting in a corner of my laptop for so long that I decided to upload it "unfinished" rather than to upload nothing at all. I sincerely don't know when I'll continue writing. Sorry guys!

Let me know what you think about how things turned out!