Date: September 30th, 2013
Location: Prima Elementare, Sicily

All dialogue in Italian, English translation in Revelio

Scuffing his slightly worn in and scratched up shoes on the tile floor as he walked the way towards the exit of the school, a little russet-haired boy with a freshly two to three day old haircut kept his deep blue eyes fixed firmly on the ground as abstract thoughts ran through his head despite the chaos of what must have been tens of children whooping and hollering on all sides as they swarmed the narrow corridors. Colors and basic words that had been demonstrated to him and a collection of other five-year-old children danced around in his mind in strange letters that were being torn apart and put back together as the tip of his right index finger wrote by his side as if on a piece of paper. They had even gotten to do some basic arithmetic; 1 + 1 = 2; 2 + 2 = 4, and 5 + 5 = 10, the same number of fingers you had on your two hands and the number of toes on your two feet. Though they hadn't gone much farther, the child was musing to himself; if 5 + 5 = 10, then surely 10 + 10 was twice 5 + 5... and if there were two fives in one ten... then there were four fives in whatever 10 + 10 was...

A particularly heavy thump in the back caused the tiny boy to gasp aloud for a second as he stumbled forward for a few steps before catching himself quickly and standing still for a moment to ensure he had his footing before readjusting his sturdy red backpack on both shoulders and taking a few shaky steps forward again. He would have no way of knowing until that night that during that slight bump from behind a child had taken the opportunity to snatch out of the external pocket of the bag one of the crafts that the boy's class had made that day; a lovingly drawn red apple with a scribbled green stem-- all within the lines with particular care not to cross the guiding black borders. On the white back of the piece of paper was a name in largish, blocky letters: ROMEO BIANCHI.

But Romeo didn't seem to notice the theft of his little piece of art, ensorcelled in questions over math in particular while tugging on the sleeve of his red sweater-shirt, and that strange idea that maybe there was a way of adding 5 and 5 and 5 and 5 quicker than counting... and was it possible to do the same with other numbers like 1 and 2? Two and two is four... you add two fingers to four and have six... And this was besides the forming of the complicated tangles of letters that formed words; the more that Romeo thought about numbers, the more that he spelled the numbers out themselves, and the more that he found himself intrigued by how language and math seemed to spin themselves together into a coherent dichotomy that was far too complex for a five year old mind to understand. All that he could do for now was marvel and wonder at what it all meant and how everything fit together like a grand game of puzzle.

Like always, Romeo guessed that his twin was ahead of him by some ways; likely trying to fool around on the playground equipment or engaging in lively conversation with their brand new classmates of almost one month now. Only recently had the Bianchi family set up residence in Sicily and had gotten to settle in just in time for the fall season of school to start. This had been after that strange time that Romeo had somehow managed to tear off a stove from its former pipelines in the wall and hurled it at his sibling in pure anger, two years after his twin had also most mysteriously been strangely 'hopping' from place to place in a hair of a second in an excitement fueled by laughter (and had continued to somehow do this even as recently as a week ago), and after their first house had burned down due to Romeo's twin unknowingly setting a spark to the gasline that Romeo had unwittingly exposed to open air. This was after Romeo had unknowingly put his hand on a hot burner while watching Elenore cook a day or two ago but had suffered no pain, and when Romeo had fallen out of a tree and simply stood up and walked away without so much as a scratch. These were things that Romeo thought peculiar; things that he had never seen other children do without some sort of bump or bruise as recompense for their follies.

It was strange; almost surreal, and perhaps not entirely normal.

Blue eyes flicked upwards as Romeo realized that he was coming upon a large blob of students packing the corridor near a collection of half-lockers that were supposed to be reserved for the older students (as they were a good deal taller than some of the tykes that were around Romeo's age). Romeo's attention piqued as there was a chant in the air; "Com-bat-ti! Com-bat-ti! Com-bat-ti! Com-bat-ti! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Another fight in the public school, but what else was really new at this point? In the past fortnight alone there had been three. Stuck on the sidelines, the only thing that the tiny 3'5" boy was capable of doing was trying to get onto his tiptoes in an attempt to peer over the multitudes of heads between him and the main attraction or to try and force his way by either on the outskirts or into the thick of it. It was unlikely that he would be able to force his way into the fray short of knocking people over, so the small boy began the difficult process of making his way on the far circumference of the quickly evolving ring and trying not to get into anyone's way as he avoided toes and backpacks with his own. Romeo didn't want to be caught in the mess... that wasn't something that he wanted to try and engage himself in at this moment of time. All he wanted was to go home, ask his parents some questions about how math worked, and maybe have a story read to him; preferably something like the Geronimo Stilton series or the like. Both he and his twin liked the pictures, after all.

The sound of lockers rattling as a body collided with them caused Romeo to flinch and clench the straps of his backpack tighter as his brows knit with repulsion at the sound. The jeering got louder as scrabbling footsteps seemed to scamper desperately in a bid to likely to either attack again or to escape. "Qualcuno lo fermi! Gli daremo una lezione! E ' come un piccolo scoiattolo! Someone hold him down! We'll teach him a lesson! He's like a little squirrel!" Came a voice in the mess as another *THUD* echoed in the vicinity along with the "Ohhhhhhhh"s of awe from the onlookers observing the onslaught.

"Qualcuno lo prenda! Someone grab him!"

"E ' troppo scivoloso! He's too slippery!"

"Prendigli le gambe! Grab his legs!"

"Qui, 'volo, 'volo, 'volo~ Here, devil, devil, devil~"

Romeo's head snapped towards the fray again, feeling his hand shiver ever so slightly on his backpack strap as his blue eyes went wide with fear of the voices and of the things that were being said; of the sound of skin on skin as the fisticuffs continued to rain just out of his sight, too small to bear witness-- too little to observe with the rest of the masses.

Like a croon, a whisper of a light and wavering contratenor willed itself over the rest of the madness; or maybe it was that Romeo's ears had become keen to pick out the voice that he knew all too well, a voice he knew better than his mother's heartbeat. A shivering voice, an intonation so much a whimper for help that it chilled the russet-haired boy to his bones with the horrible realization of what was happening in that inner circle of the fighting ring.

"Non sono un diavolo! Lasciami andare! Lasciami andare-he-he-he! I'm not a devil! Let me go! Let me go-ho-ho-ho!" Came the sobbing, high-pitched cries of a similarly young child. "Mi dispiace! Mi dispiace! Lasciami andare! Lasciami andareeeeee! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Let me go! Let me gooooo!"

And just like that: blue eyes hardened into ice, blazing with cold fire as the world turned red.

It had been like any other day for the green-eyed boy with a penchant for causing harmless mischief. A new school, new teachers, some new friends, lots of things to learn... or maybe he had simply been too distracted to learn and had instead stared off out the window and watched some birds flutter around in the branches and sway themselves forwards and backwards in order to prevent themselves from rocking themselves off their perches. He didn't even care to count them, he just wanted to watch the white, brown, and yellowish birds flitter and call to one another. Humming to himself, he had hardly heard a word from their teacher about numbers and words; he knew how to talk well enough to communicate his thoughts... he didn't have to know specific ones, right?

He just really wanted to go outside and play in the lovely weather. It seemed like such a waste of sunlight and excitement to just sit inside and do nothing. So what if they had already had a few times to go outside and play for a while; the green-eyed child was still extremely filled with pent-up energy that would take more than a pair of thirty minute playtimes to unpack and burn off in its entirety.

Finally though, the teacher had let them go home. The kid was ready to play all evening and then crash for the night. Around both shoulders was an olive green backpack, the same style as his brother's as it was built for the worst that a highly active and destructive kid could wreak upon it. Unlike his brother's though, the green-eyed boy kept on the outside many different baubles and trinkets that he found amusing and interesting, as well as patches and stickers. His favorite one was a simple patch right in the center of a zipper pouch: a white circle with a green 'L' right in its center. Luigi, just like the middle name he had given himself. Piérre Luigi Bianchi. That one patch wasn't the only one that praised the video game character, but there were so many other things that jingled on his bag and Piérre moved along so quickly that it was sometimes hard to tell what was causing which sound or sight before the willowy boy zoomed along and out of sight. Though he was a younger year, he stood quite a bit above a few of his fellow students at the merry height of 3'8" or so and enjoyed the delights of his elevation by leaping up as high as he could to smack the top of the doorframe with just the tips of his fingers with every pass.

Talking with a bunch of new people was a little difficult, Piérre couldn't lie, but it had also been highly rewarding when he had finally gained the trust and interest of a small group of kids that were around his age. They seemed nice enough and, eager to please, Piérre had given them a few tokens of his goodwill; primarily a little of his lunch (a humble peanut butter and jelly sandwich), a heaping helping of jokes and company, and a promise to play with them on the playground (which he had). In exchange, they had promised to be his friends and that he could hang out with them if he wanted to. Enthusiastically, Piérre had shared this news with Romeo, who had only quietly nodded along but had made no exact remark on how he felt on the situation, something that didn't really resonate with Piérre as he was simply too enthused by the excitement of already making new friends outside of Florence after all the funny things that had happened there already.

Of course he had told his new friends all about it; how he had been able to 'jump' around so quickly that he felt like he was faster than a rabbit and how one time his brother had been so angry that he had thrown an oven at him. There had been laughter and lots of smiles, and Piérre laughed longer and harder than anyone else. It was indeed a funny story, at least to Piérre himself. Besides, it was letting him and his brother get to go on a nice, long road trip with his family! They were on an island! Sicily! It was gorgeous too!

So, here the boy was, swaying a bit as he hummed aloud in the milling of children and mischief. As he was bumped to one side, the boy giggled and accidentally bumped into the arm of another kid who was taking things out of the locker. Piérre had gone ahead of his brother; Romeo always had a tendency to somewhat lag behind. He was mostly a sort of person who liked to walk slow and hardly ever have fun. Sometimes Piérre didn't have enough words to keep himself company when his brother was not really in a verbose mood, so naturally he had to entertain himself by finding other people that he could talk the ears off of; preferably someone who liked having their ears talked off.

"Mi dispiace! Sorry about that!" Piérre chirped gaily, already apologizing politely as he tried to make his way by with the strains of the crowd. "Di sicuro è pieno! It sure is full!"

The kid turned on him suddenly and Piérre huffed a bit as the area ahead of him closed up just enough that even with his thin frame he couldn't quite slip through. Piérre smiled brightly at the dark mocha eyes that glared at him evenly, eyes that sparkled with intent that the green-eyed boy didn't quite like the look of. Those eyes flicked between Piérre and the crowd once before a snaky smile split his features. "Pfft. Pensavo che tu fossi un Luigi. Non dovresti essere bravo a scivolare attraverso i tubi? I thought by the look of you you were a Luigi. Aren't you supposed to be good at slipping through pipes?"

Despite himself, Piérre smiled a little wider despite the insult. "Io sono Luigi! Piérre Luigi Bianchi! Sono nuovo qui, chi sei? I am a Luigi! Piérre Luigi Bianchi! I'm new here, who are you?" He responded cheerfully, offering a hand to be shaken by this potentially new friend. Perhaps they had simply gotten off on the wrong foot and Piérre would be able to bring out a better version of this individual if he just humored and tried to be nice. Kill them with kindness, right? Maybe he was having a bad day and needed a nice case of cheering up; lucky for him, Piérre was just the person for that task and he was more than up for it.

The kid glared at Piérre's extended hand for a beat or two before smacking Piérre's hand aside and scoffing. "Non voglio stringerti la mano. Novellini. I don't want to shake your hand. Weirdo." Even after so much as touching Piérre's hand, the kid wiped his palm on his sports shirt and stuck his tongue out at him.

Smile never wavering, Piérre only shrugged and turned away. "Ok! Piacere di conoscerti, comunque! Okay! Nice to meet you, anyways!" Unconsciously, the boy brushed a bit of hair behind his ear, revealing the pointed tips to anyone in the immediate vicinity. Piérre didn't have time to really fret about what others thought about him right at the moment. If they wanted to be his friends, then they could be his friends; if they didn't, that was okay too; the boy had plenty of other people he could talk to if he wanted. Their happiness was not contingent with his own, even if he wanted to give them more than they had had previously.

The kid's lip curled as his eyes locked on Piérre's ear. "Ugh… what's up with your ear Che ti succede all'orecchio??" He sneered, taking Piérre by the wrist to prevent him from walking away; an action that caused Piérre to stumble backwards thanks to the sudden shift in his momentum. Green eyes flicked to the other boy's as he continued to lift his lip in disgust. "Sembri uno strambo. Ehi Donnie! Prendi un carico di questo ragazzo! You look like a weirdo. Hey Donnie! Get a load of this guy!" The boy shouted to another approaching boy, this one contesting Piérre's willowyness and height but sporting caramel hair and lighter amber eyes.

Perking almost immediately, the caramel-haired boy Donnie approached as well. Glancing between Piérre and his retainer, Donnie fixed the other boy with a look. "Si'? E lui? Yeah? What about him?"

"Guarda le sue orecchie! Non sembra un diavolo bambino? Un Laùro? Look at his ears! Doesn't he look like a child devil? A Laùro?" The boy said with almost excitement to his tone. "Mia nonna dice che vanno ancora in giro, soprattutto guardando come bambini in modo che possano strapparli e portarli a Strega Nona. My grandma says that they still go around, especially looking like kids so that they can snatch them up and take them to Strega Nona." He spouted off, forcing Piérre's head to the side so that his pointed outer ear was more easily seen by Donnie. In his grip, Piérre tried to worm away, discomforted by being manipulated in this way.

The young kid brought his hands up to cover his ears and the hands of his restrainer. "Ehi, smettila! Smettila! Non sono un diavolo, lasciami andare! Hey stop it! Stop it! I'm not a devil, let me go!" He complained, thrashing a bit more in a feeble attempt to rid the grip on him so that he could escape back into the veiling crowd. A few people were stopping and staring, some leaving soonafter but others seemingly curious as to where this encounter would lead. Piérre continued to struggle, at the amusement of his captor.

"Haha! Guardalo! Lui sa che noi sappiamo! Haha! Look at him! He knows that we know!" Came the giddy call of the boy, despite being hit by the loose baubles on Piérre's backpack as the kid twisted and thrashed. "Lui sa che noi sappiamo quello che è! He knows that we know what he is!" Came the catcall, a declaration that rose above the other disordered conversations in the background of the hallway. The kid continued to grin, yanking Piérre's dark hair away from his ears so all could see. "E ' un Laùro! Guardate! Guardate! He's a Laùro! Look! Look!"

"LASCIAMI ANDARE! LET ME GO!" Shouted the panicked boy as he suddenly jerked backwards, ramming his entire body weight backwards and into the kid. Together they crashed into the locker, which jostled the grip on Piérre and enabled him to take to his heels and attempt a mad scramble into the crowd and into safety in numbers. Just as he breached the external layer of people, another kid shoved him back and knocked him to the ground. With a huff, Piérre slipped his arms out of the backpack just as it was kicked away by the first boy. He was recovering from the tumble with a few stagger-steps, approaching Piérre with a leap as he threw himself onto the prone boy.

And now the circle was formed as jeering and chanting began in full force. As Piérre rolled back and forth with this kid practically crushing him, he kept trying to scratch and kick at anything he could reach; almost feral in panic and desperate in focus. He wasn't going to take this lying down…. But there was so little that he could do against a stronger, older kid that pinned him down into an almost totally submissive stance. Teeth bared and fear heightening, Piérre did the only thing he could think of doing in that moment: with a twist and a sudden jerk forward, the boy bit down as hard as he could on his assailant's forearm.

There came a screech from his attacker and the arm was ripped away from Piérre's mouth–an act that loosened a few of his baby teeth that would likely eventually fall out in a few months or so–and recoiled to assess the brand new crescent markings that were quickly blotching and pinpricking red with broken skin. Piérre took the opportunity to squirm out of the pin and attempt to flee once more, only to be blocked off by Donnie and the other boy that had shoved him back. Clenching his arm, the dark-eyed boy shouted to the others. "Non lasciarlo scappare! Mi ha morso! Che diamine, mi ha morso! Don't let him escape! He bit me! What the heck, he bit me!"

Scampering and spinning on a dime to evade the lunges for him, Piérre scurried against the lockers just in time to get crushed against them as the crowd pushed him back into the fray. What happened next quickly devolved into a series of flurries of movements and scrambling without rational thought as the boy tried to stay out of the grasps of the hands and bodies that were throwing themselves at him. Tauntings were all around as the boy slipped this way and that, trying to get his hands on his backpack. Maybe he could swing it around or use it like a shield?

Too slow, and arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him to the ground again, causing the child to let out a terrified shriek; "Non sono un diavolo! Lasciami andare! Lasciami andare-he-he-he! I'm not a devil! Let me go! Let me go-ho-ho-ho!" He tried to push them off again, trying to drag himself away from the dogpile. "Mi dispiace! Mi dispiace! Lasciami andare! Lasciami andareeeeee! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Let me go! Let me gooooo!" Breathing faster and faster, Piérre felt a bubble of something tingling at the tips of his fingers; familiar yet elusive… he knew it only briefly, strangely, and it refused to let itself be controlled whenever he wanted it to be. Another scream of fear.

The crowd suddenly exploded into the ring as a small boy with russer hair and glaring blue eyes rumbled into the fray. Without a moment's hesitation, the child leapt on top of the other tough-looking kid and the sickening sound of flesh on flesh cracked through the air.

"TOGLITI DI DOSSO O TI PICCHIO! GET OFF OF HIM OR I'LL HIT YOU!" Came the shivering, high-pitched cry from the newest combatant to the fray. "TI FARÒ DEL MALE SE TU GLI FARAI DEL MALE! I'LL HURT YOU IF YOU HURT HIM!"

Piérre knew that voice, knew that boy. He would know it anywhere, would know it even if he had neither vision nor hearing. Romeo had arrived.

There was another crack as a blow struck true on the helpless kid that had been blindsided by the sudden and vicious assault. Romeo had one fistful of sandy brown hair in one hand and a curled fist with knuckles exposed was the current state of the other. "LASCIALO STARE! LASCIALO ANDARE O TI TOLGO I CAPELLI! GET OFF OF HIM! LET HIM GO OR I'LL PULL YOUR HAIR OUT!" The small boy yelled until his face blushed bright red with fury. As if to make good on his promise, he yanked the handful of hair as hard as he could until he elicited a pained screech. Still straddling his assault target, Romeo threw himself down on the kid again, ruthlessly beating him back and forth with hard fists and war cries of fury. "NON TOCCARE MIO FRATELLO! TI AMMAZZO! TI AMMAZZO! DON'T TOUCH MY BROTHER! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU!" He oathed, swearing a promise that could be verbalized only in this way; in the only way that he–a young child fresh and insolent to the world–knew how.

Romeo felt a jerk from behind; someone had grabbed his backpack and started to drag him off of the boy that he was mercilessly exacting vengeance from. Enraged by being forced away from this bully that had dared to harm his brother, Romeo scrabbled for the arms or legs of the person dragging him away, kicking out and trying to dig his heels into the slick floor. Someone was trying to manipulate him into a similar position of submission; that tall and willowy one was trying to grab his wrists and force his hands to his shoulders so that Romeo would be forced to the ground. If pinned, there would be precious little that the boy would be able to do to defend himself, let alone protect his brother; he couldn't let himself end up on his back like a flipped-over turtle.

"LEVATIDI DOSSO! GEDDOFFA ME!" He screamed, his fingers curling about the person’s forearms and his core tightening as if making to pull this assailant over his head. Knees bending so as to allow his heels to dig into the ground, the boy grit his teeth and jerked his head to the side so that he could catch a glimpse of his dear Piérre; he had to make sure that his twin was alright. He had to make sure that his twin was in a safe enough place for him to brawl properly.

Forced to the ground, Romeo felt the breath being crushed out of him as the heavier, older boy essentially straddled him and crushed his chest down into the hard floor. While Romeo did have a grip on his opponent's forearms, it wasn’t doing him much good and he was realizing that he would not even be able to hold this grip much longer if he didn’t renegotiate his position and soon. Less than a meter away was Piérre’s terrified scramble of energy and mess; small verbal vocalizations accompanying feeble struggles and frightened emerald eyes as one boy held him by the wrists and the other was negotiating his kicking feet. They were strong enough and Piérre light enough that they were easily managing to pick him up off the ground and were starting to negotiate the area enough so that they could maneuver towards the locker. No doubt that they wanted to open one of those lockers and force the smaller of the Bianchi twins into it before closing and locking it entirely.

Trying to arch his back to lift his chest and destabilize the straddling boy, Romeo grit his teeth as he felt his face flushing red with the effort and the strain that he was putting on his small body and trembling arms. Still, the boy manipulating him had the stronger pin and quite easily was able to tamp down any and all attempts that the titian-haired child attempted to raise against him. "Ehi, che succede? Non riesci ad alzarti? Hey, what's the matter? Can't get up?" Came the mocking from the sturdily built lad. "Ti infileremo in un armadietto. Aspetta il tuo turno! We'll shove you in a locker too. Wait your turn!"

"ROMEO! AIUTO! HELP!" Came the cries of his twin as the two continued to rattle against the wall of lockers, the struggles of the much more willowy boy only slowing them down ever so slightly as they made to dispatch the work quickly.

Romeo's eyes flicked from his distressed twin to the eyes of the bully overhead, gritting his teeth as he attempted to muster all remaining strength to him in a wild gambit to buck the child off. The boy only laughed as he kept holding Romeo's wrists to the ground, teasing him as he did so. "Cosa, il tuo gemello? Armadietti adiacenti allora! What, your twin? Adjacent lockers then!"

With a twist, the small boy tucked his knees in as close to his chest as he could manage and then thrust his feet into the stomach of the other boy as hard as he could. The grip ripping away from his wrists, the child seemed to almost fly backwards with the force of the rage that resonated in the strike, ramming into the lockers himself and hitting his head on them before crumpling down in a stunned position. Before he had even hit the ground, Romeo was on top of him now; his hard fists came raining down on the child without reprieve. Bludgering his head, cuffing his ears, going for the mouth and the jaw without care in the world, the boy's knuckles were bruising purple within moments of the first blow. And still the visions of red mist swirling about him, the fury that boiled in the heart of the child continued to reign supreme like Bacchus drunk upon the fruits of his labor. This maddened Bacchanalia, this Dionysian Mystery rang true in the pure nothingness that the boy felt in the rest of his body other than the humming of pulse in ears and the sound if his fists on the skin of the one who had the gall to harm his beloved Piérre.

When the boy moved no longer and was attempting to flee from the situation, Romeo staggered to his feet like a drunk and then pitched towards the other two with a similar gusto; ripping off the taller of the two boys and throwing him to the ground like a bull flinging a toreador that had bitten off far more than he could chew. Breathing heavily, Romeo watched the child cowering before him, scrabbling away as he got full view of what the redhead had done to his friend and then offering hasty apologies for his actions. "Ehi, ehi, ehi! Oh, oh, oh! Mi dispiace! Ti prego, non farmi del male, mi dispiace! Vado, vado! Ti prego, non farmi del male! Hey, hey, hey! Woah, woah! I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me, I'm sorry! I'll go, I'll go! Just please don't hurt me!" Romeo, silent as he watched this display, never felt the rage abate; he never felt anything extinguishing simply because of the kind words and the empty promises. Words meant nothing; actions were everything.

"TOGLITI DI MEZZO! GET OUT OF MY WAY!" Roared the child, stomping a single step forward with curled fists rising with the hackles that bristled on the hunched over Romeo. Eyes sharp as flint and teeth set into a bared appearance, Romeo shivered with rage as he turned away from the pathetic mess and focused on the other child who was now struggling in a 1 v 1 with Piérre himself. The other boy, whose stance was atrocious, was still winning against Piérre in the weaker stance and of the weaker athleticism.

Hands opening and grasping for a hold, Romeo snatched the final boy off of his brother and forced his fingers one by one to uncurl from where they were restraining Piérre. Bearhugging him from behind, Romeo twisted away from his twin, letting Piérre have a clean getaway as he focused on this threat alone.

This one, unlike the others, was not a pushover. He twisted out of Romeo's hold and attempted to grab him back. In a shared stance, pushing and tugging at one another, this boy and Romeo were deadlocked; one trying to force Romeo into the locker, and the other trying to force the boy to the ground so that they could play the game on his terms. "Il Laùro ha un gemello! Guarda il gemello di Laùro! The Laùro has a twin! Look at the Laùro's twin!" Came the bright catcall as the dark-eyed boy grinned from ear to ear at Romeo's expense.

Romeo was aware of the flicker of green in his periphery; Piérre watching as his brother once again swooped in to preserve his well-being. The smaller twin could only grumble as his feet slipped once, his heels catching against the back of the locker. A good push to the shoulders would cause him to lose his balance and fall in; and then he would be done for. If he fell in, if he lost his grip, then Piérre would follow after; would be hurt, would be tortured for the amusement of everyone else that had gathered into this crude fighting ring.

So what if he aimed lower?

Yanking away, Romeo bent over and lunged for the kid's midriff, aiming for the hips as his arms wrapped securely around the legs and his shoulder found the nook perfect for throwing the child over his shoulder if need be. Using his back heel against the locker as a secure pushing point, he forced as much muscle as he could into trying to either knock the kid down or else cause him to be relocated into a freefall behind Romeo. With a huff, the dark-eyed boy dug fingers into Romeo's uniform, tearing at the delicate seams and then trying to claw into the back of the child's neck. Perhaps he succeeded, perhaps he didn't. Romeo didn't know, Romeo didn't care. All he knew was that he was suddenly throwing himself and this bully into the crowd as people gasped and rippled away from them. Romeo lost his balance, upsetting the two of them together and crashing to the ground in a mess of limbs and scuffling bodies.

From that moment for an interminable amount of time, it simply wasn't pretty. All the titian-haired Romeo knew was that there was pain around him and from him and to him. His hair being pulled yet he also pulling and gouging back; hands that gripped tightly enough that there would be bruises left behind, but he had also managed to score a punch on the boy's eye socket. Like animals the two of them traded blows as they rolled around on the ground; sometimes others would join in, only to be thrown out out of fear that they would be too injured from the engagement. The antagonistic boy's lips seemed to keep moving but Romeo could understand no words though the screaming in his own mind; how strange everything looked when the world was tinted red with the fury of anger. Eventually the crowd collapsed in around them, and multiple hands were pulling now, dragging, tugging, willing the two children apart. All of them were resisted, all of them no more powerful than a fly as a hand whisked it away with a vengeful breeze. Romeo's rage was absolute; this was the one that would not get away, this one was the one that would pay for what he had done to his brother, and this one would remember not to ever attempt something like that ever again if he could help it.

This was a lesson.

This was a promise.

"TOCCA DI NUOVO MIO FRATELLO E TI AMMAZZO! TOUCH MY BROTHER AGAIN AND I'LL KILL YOU!" The scream ripped out of Romeo's throat as both fists were clasped together over his head as if to make a makeshift club. Crunching his core, Romeo plunged both fists downwards, ready to smash the boy's head between hard fist and solid ground...

Only to feel powerful hands beneath his arms as he was forcefully lifted away and his wrists were taken by much older, much stronger arms. Restrained and forced to the ground again, Romeo became aware of the fact that adults had finally come to intervene before he could make good on his promise towards the child that was also being picked up and led out of the crowd. Breathing heavily, Romeo didn't move but only watched as the child was immediately tended to by the school nurse. He was aware of the fact that something warm and hot was dripping down his nose, was under his cheek. His lip felt swollen and hard, and the world seemed to spin around him the longer the mists began to fade from his sight. Someone was speaking to him overhead, either on a phone or to him the boy couldn't quite make out. The noises, the buzzing in both his ears was simply too loud, too powerful for him to tell for sure.

But... even as he was picked up by one arm and instructed to go to the Principal's office, Romeo knew. He knew as he passed by Piérre--who was clutching both of their bags close to his chest with a look of terror, admiration, and thankfulness in his eyes--that this would be the last day in this school for them...

Just like the times before... Romeo's fighting, specifically just how violent his fighting was... would get them expelled from this preparatory school. The administration could not oblige vigilantism, even if it had been for the sake of a victim of bullying. Romeo's actions and the damages that he had inflicted upon the children had been far worse than the bullies themselves would have done to either Romeo or Piérre. There would be fines.

Blue eyes looked ashamedly upon the ground. Every time, this was his fault. He did this to himself, to Piérre, to his parents... But there was no other way that he could see, no other way to force them to stop. Words were useless in a situation like this; they would never listen to words, never listen to reason...

Unless... he was simply using the wrong words.

If that was true... perhaps... perhaps he would have to start learning the right ones. Maybe the right ones would make them stop once and for all.

Maybe.

Maybe was weak... but it was at least somewhere to start...

Piérre clung to his silent brother all the way back to their new home, but Romeo was still not making any attempts to return the hug. Green eyes looked up to him in curiosity, in worry. Romeo had saved him again, as he always did. Brave, fearless Romeo...

"Grazie, Romeo. Thank you, Romeo." Was all he whispered to his stronger, smaller brother.

He knew that Romeo didn't really have a way of keeping up a conversation for very long... and Piérre of course knew that every time they came out of fights like this his brother always clammed up and retreated into himself. Why that latter trait was Piérre couldn't really guess. He was safe now, after all; with his brother and able to take care of what little injuries he had sustained like a few bruises here and there. It was Romeo himself that Piérre was more worried for; his twin looked the complete opposite of how he usually did whenever he was bright and of a cheerful disposition. Romeo's collar was out of the sweater, rumpled and spotted from the blood that had come from his split lip and broken nose (which was still oozing somewhat but had been stuffed with a tissue by now), and had a great purple eye on the left of his face that was swelling one of his brilliant blue eyes shut. This was besides the fact that the uniform itself was rumpled and the sweater was torn in a few places, and that Romeo's hands--clenched tightly together in a clasp upon his lap--were shaking and twitching seemingly of their own accord. His misty blue eyes seemed to stare off into nowhere at all, as if searching or plumbing the depths of the void itself for some ongoing conversation that he was missing.

Piérre only glued himself tighter to his brother's arm, feeling the twitches of Romeo as he sidled closer. Kissing his brother on the cheek, Piérre also tried to look into the void and search for the same thing that he was looking for on the car floor. The longer he stared, the more those green eyes of his unfocused and became cloudy. In the patterns of the carpet and the rubber mat were patterns that kept leaping out at him; little worlds that liked to spin and play tricks on the eyes whenever they felt like it. It was these that Piérre figured that Romeo was looking at, and so he started pointing out some funny things that he saw in the hopes that his twin would also speak to him in return. Thing after thing he murmured into his brother's ear; willing him to notice or to speak up when he also noticed it in his own time. Nonsensical thoughts, strange notations... anything at all.

Romeo remained quiet and solemn, the only movement from him being a small nodding in acknowledgement of Piérre's words but nothing more.

Finally running dry for things to say, Piérre quieted himself and instead entertained himself by picking at a loose thread in Romeo's red sweater. This one was a loose thread that had formed naturally; it had been there before this fight and it seemed to have been relatively left alone now that the boy was looking at it after the fact. Thin fingers obsessed over it, flicking it back and forth but never pulling on it lest he unravel the entire sleeve by accident.

After what felt a tense eternity, Romeo finally spoke up. "Non voglio più combattere. I don't want to fight anymore." He murmured just loud enough for Piérre alone to hear. His unswollen eye flicked to Piérre's green ones. Piérre beheld an expression of deep sadness... or was it determination?

Sometimes it was so very hard to tell with Romeo...

Piérre tipped his head. "Non stavi litigando. Mi stavi proteggendo. You weren't fighting. You were protecting me."

Romeo shook his head which caused him to wince and squeeze his eyes shut tightly. After a moment, he replied softly. "Ti ho protetto ferendo fisicamente tutti gli altri. E ' combattere. I protected you by physically hurting everyone else. That's fighting." His eyes remained closed but he lowered his head to his breast as if it hurt to keep it lifted any longer. "Li ho battuti a sangue. I beat them bloody."

The taller of the two of them looked away, green eyes creasing as he considered the words. While Romeo had indeed caused his assailants to back off by using his own fists... had they not been the first ones to attempt a blow against both of them? Romeo had only been doing what he could to prevent the situation from getting worse; from allowing them to force him and Romeo himself into the lockers. That would have been infinitely worse... right? "Forse se lo meritavano. Maybe they deserved it." He tried to reason for both himself and his brother. "Avrebbero fatto peggio se avessero potuto, se non li avessi fermati quando l'hai fatto. They would have done worse if they could have, if you hadn't stopped them when you did."

"Nessuno merita quello che ho fatto. Nobody deserves what I did." Romeo said sharply, his hands now crossing over his chest and gripping both biceps nervously. "Sono solo un cattivo ragazzo. Quello che ho fatto e ' stato brutto. I'm just a bad kid. What I did was bad." His face started to turn red; Piérre recognized the telltale signs that Romeo was going to start to cry. If Romeo started to cry in a condition like this he would get a headache; if Romeo got a headache he would be miserable.

"Non sei un bambino cattivo. Non penso che tu sia cattivo. Ti amo! You aren't a bad kid. I don't think you're bad. I love you!" Piérre chirped joyfully, throwing his arms around his twin and squeezing again lightly. "Sei il miglior fratello del mondo e sono così felice che anche tu mi ami! You're the best brother in the world and I'm so glad that you love me too!" He affirmed. "Sei stato fantastico! Vorrei poter combattere e muovermi come te! You were so awesome! I wish I could fight and move like you!"

It must have worked at least a little, for Romeo let a small, shattered chuckle leave him as he wiped his eyes. There was only a small nod as he opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again and instead looked out the window.

Continuing to grin, Piérre waited for the words of his brother to come; the silly reprimand or the counterargument to his words... but they never came. The grin faded, but the smile didn't. Piérre gently slipped his arms away from Romeo and turned out his own window. Romeo was so brave, so strong... he wished that he could be like his brother. He wished that Romeo would be by his side all the time; that way nobody would dare hurt either of them. Romeo would beat off anyone who dared to hurt Piérre and Piérre would make sure that nobody ever tried to hurt Romeo. He wasn't the strongest, but he was clever.

Maybe his cleverness would lead to their mutual happiness yet...

The buildings and the trees outside the window continued to go by as the twins looked out their windows, going to their home... or perhaps a new home once again.

Always moving, always together.

Just as brothers should be.

Fin