A Bad Seed

Chapter 1 – Immigrant

Love has always been a disgusting word to Lovino Vargas. Even when he was very young, the term, or any similar phrase, had been downright unappealing. From what he could tell, as he never felt it himself, it was no more than sappy garbage belonging only in a Hollywood movie. He didn't want to be pulled into such a sham since he could walk, and he refused to now.

His hatred for the word went as far to sprout to those who used it often. His brother and his mother were the worst offenders. It was all a lie. His brother was terrified of the boy, his mother following close behind. 'I don't want that freak living here,' she had said; Lovino only happened upon the conversation between his mother and now-absent father when he wanted a juice-box from the fridge some years ago.

Ever since that fateful day the boy distanced himself from everybody, especially his family.

He never cared about anything, besides basic human needs and entertainment; everything else was pushed off to the side. Including his little brother, Feliciano, the golden child, who meant as little to him as chirping birds. That's all he ever really was, really – a pesky bird. Desperate for attention but flee once it's found, and incredibly noisy. He was especially loud when in tears, which was quite often.

Lovino hated it whenever his brother cried. Now, Feliciano knew better than to cry in front of the boy, but in the past, he was not as perceptive. These times usually resulted in a black eye or even a missing tooth for the younger child.

Lovino could honestly say he cared little to nothing for his little brother. It didn't matter, though; the boy knew the feeling was mutual. It was obvious, small increments of hatred growing beneath Feliciano's kind exterior.

"Lovi, why would you do that?" His mother scolded, holding the injured younger son in her arms protectively. The toddler, whom heavily sobbed, held his aching head that already sported a purpling bruise. "He was only trying to give you a hug."

Lovino, idly playing with the button to his overalls, replied. "So? I don't wanna hug."

"That is no reason to hit him!"

Lovino grit his teeth. "I don't give a shit," he mumbled beneath his breath.

Aghast, Mrs. Vargas retorted. "What did you just say, mister?"

"I said I don't give a shit!"

With that, the boy stamped away from the commotion, forsaking all new wondrous toys and a cake adorned with eight candles – for him – to sulk in his room alone.

Lovino looked back on that memory fondly. That was the only birthday he had, which he coincidently shared with his brother despite their age gap, where he was the center of attention. He deserved it; he was the eldest after all, but his baby brother always outshined him. Always.

Lovino never acted the way a normal sixth grader should. He was lazy, loud, crass, and had a potty mouth that would make a truck driver shudder. Wherever he learned such a colorful vocabulary was a mystery; Mrs. Vargas liked the blame the television. She couldn't blame violent video games, because never let him play anything above an E10+ rating. He always kept to himself. When he was subject to group work, his partner usually ended up with a broken possession, glue in their hair, or feelings so badly hurt to the point of tears.

Their teacher, Mr. Somers, was at his wits end when it came to the case of Lovino Vargas. But, as a firm believer of the 'no child is left behind' policy, he never gave up on the boy. He always tried his hardest to break his shell; unfortunately the end result was fruitless thus far.

Frankly, Lovino only saw his teacher to be the epitome of migraines.

Today was no exception to the boy's routine. Whilst all the other kids gathered into groups chatting before class began, Lovino was in the back of the classroom, using his books as a pillow to nap. Most avoided bothering him, lest they wanted to feel the fiery wrath of the eleven-year-old.

Soon enough, the bell chimed, signaling the start of another school day. The teacher waddled in as he normally would, but there was a level of excitement lining his features. Some students were able to sense this abnormality while others remained oblivious. Hidden behind his pudgy mass was a boy, and a strange one at that – lanky, awkwardly long limbs; deeply tan skin; old, hand-me-down clothing barely conforming to the school's dress code; green, emerald-like eyes.

The class let out a unanimous gasp of confusion at this revelation. Lovino, however, was still asleep.

"Students, I would like to introduce you all to our new student. Let's all give him a warm welcome." The teacher noticed the boy's anxiety as his eyes bounced chaotically from face to face, as if he had to memorize every single one, so he gave him a gentle nudge on the back. "Come on, tell us about yourself."

The boy looked up to the teacher, before jumping his back to the class and swallowing dryly. "…Hola …My name Antonio and my English no good…"

"Teacher!" One child blurted, flinging his arm into the air. "Why does he talk so funny?"

Antonio seemed hurt by this question and shrugged his shoulders in shame.

"Hey, that was rude, Alfred! Antonio here comes from Spain." The class awed at the declaration. "He only recently had to learn English and he isn't very good at it."

"Whoa… Sorry, dude."

"Es Bien." The immigrant replied happily.

"Now, Antonio is going to need a partner to help him with the work. Do we have any takers?" A few hands went up. "That can actually speak Spanish." Hesitantly, all but one hand lowered. Mr. Somers sighed. "Alfred, hola and adios doesn't count."

"Hey! I also know how to ask where the bathroom is too!"

The teacher did not dignify that outburst with a response. Instead, his eyes scanned around the room for a suitable student. Unbelievably, they rested on the only child with his head down; he never once thought, though he would outwardly say otherwise, that this delinquent would be his only hope.

"Mr. Vargas!"

Lovino's head flew up with a yelp, a pencil still stuck to his forehead comically. The class let out a laugh at such a display.

"W-what?"

"I am really sorry for interrupting your afternoon nap," the teacher replied sarcastically, "but you have a new partner. You speak Spanish, correct?"

"I speak Italian, dickhead."

Mr. Somers's brow twitched at the vulgar insult; Lovino took this as a silent victory, letting a snide smirk spread on his face.

"…Close enough."

The smile vanished from the boy's face.

Antonio held out his arm to shake, gulping as he did so. "Hola, my name Antonio …N-nice meet you."

"You sound like a dumbass." Lovino replied bluntly, staring the appendage down until it was awkwardly withdrawn.

"S-sorry, my English no good."

"Yeah, I got that, bastard. Now listen," the Italian started, jotting a few notes into his notebook. "I don't give a flying fuck wherever the hell you come from. You're in America now; you'll speak English."

For the next half of the day, Lovino was forced to explain simple lessons at a painstakingly slow rate. His partner, the more than eager Antonio, would repeat whatever he said in an equally slow, awkwardly clipped, and heavily accented manor. Not only was the boy behind in his own work, being forced to over explain everything to this immigrant, but he was often forced to gesticulate, earning him a few snickers from other students. It was all embarrassing and giving him a bad headache.

He had been chewing on his pencil to avoid exploding on the new student, but it was stripped to the bare wood. He was almost sure he had a splinter stuck in his tongue. It would be a pain to get out later.

He couldn't take it any longer.

"Just speak fucking Spanish! You sound like a damn retard talking all slow like that!"

A bit shocked by the sudden outburst, Antonio stared at his partner wide-eyed for a moment. "¿Habla Español?"

"Si."

It was only partially a lie. While he couldn't speak the language very well, he was able to keep up with it because of his Spanish-speaking relatives.

Antonio's mood brightened instantly. Rapid Spanish spewed from his grinning mouth. He may as well have been speaking gibberish; Lovino could only distinguish about two words out of twenty. And he could tell this boy wasn't about to shut up.

Realizing his mistake, the Italian slammed his head into the desk roughly. He had chosen to greater of two evils.

Godsilla's two cents: Welcome to the first chapter of A Bad Seed. This was somewhat of a prologue, so the other chapters may be a bit longer. Though, remember, bigger isn't always better. I would personally prefer a well-written drabble over a five thousand worded monster of drivel. But that's just me.

Okay, so this may or not seem rather light-hearted now, but this will eventually become very dark. Lovino does have a certain mental illness, but I won't bluntly say what yet. Can anyone figure it out?

Oh, and Antonio's English will certainly improve as this progresses. I would kill myself writing in such bad grammar all the time. But we still have some ways to go before he can speak totally normally.

Updates for this story may be sporadic. I write whenever the mood strikes me.

Thank you to Hero-and-Teacup for looking this over. You're my bro~