Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Detective!” Kairi’s voice surprised him by cracking, turning into a desperate howl that echoed through the room, cutting through the silence of a lull in the battle as the Pordermen scrambled to regroup. The word tore from him again. “Detective!”

If he screamed loud enough, long enough, maybe PatrenIchigou would live.

He blasted quickly through the remaining Pordermen—none of them mattered anymore, nothing did—rushing to the fallen cop’s side, rolling him over and cradling him in his arms. The detective’s pulse was faint and erratic, skipping beats, and his whole body shuddered every time he tried to take a breath, which were all shallow and pained; it seemed to Kairi like he could feel the life leaving him with each shaky exhale.

“You…” His previous screaming had left his voice raw and weak, barely a whisper. “… You’re dying.”

The detective tried to chuckle, but it sounded more like choking. “You don’t… Say…?” He rasped, quickly taking two more heaving breaths, trying to conserve oxygen.

The faint, dismissive tone sent needles of irritation through Kairi’s chest. “What… What are you talking about?” He snarled, shaking the cop once. “Why… Why did you…?” He couldn’t finish. His stomach had flipped and his eyes were stinging; it felt…

It felt like it had the day he’d lost his brother.

The detective’s head moved, nodding faintly toward the large electric panel he had just bare-handedly repaired, the electrical burns grotesque evidence on his palms from where the energy had shot through him when he touched the cables to reset them. “Jim…” He struggled to speak for a moment when his heartbeat waned again. “… Jim said that restoring the power here… Should… Allow access to the lower levels of the base… He thinks… The hostages might… Be down there…”

Kairi stared down at the cop in his arms in shock. “But… Your orders were to…” Realisation hit him like a sucker punch. “You… Did this… For us?”

“It’s… The duty of GSPO… To protect and assist… Civilians…” Despite fading and blurring, his words were earnest; but then his heart skipped again, hardly beating anymore, and his breath became even weaker and harsher, his eyes going unfocused and drifting closed.

The tears spilled over. For the first time in a year, Kairi found himself crying.

“No…!” His hands clenched, clutching even tighter to the detective’s jacket, shaking him again. “No! Keiichiro!”

A bubble of breath, perhaps meant to be a laugh, burst from the detective. “That’s… The first time… You’ve ever used my name…” A small, tired smile flickered across his face, and a cold, damaged hand floated up to lay over Kairi’s as he met the thief’s eyes. “… Thanks for that.”

The hand slid to the ground and lay still.

PatrenIchigou’s heart stopped again—and didn’t restart.

Chapter Text

He wears two sets of long sleeves because it’s the uniform.
He wears two sets of long sleeves because it gets cold in the trailer at night and he always tucks all the extra blankets around his mother the moment she falls asleep.
He wears two sets of long sleeves as much as possible at work because once in the academy, Tsukasa put her hand on his arm to stop him from doing something stupid, and the way it suddenly tightened on his forearm and the look she’d given him told him that she’d felt the bumps and roughness of the scars he’d been told would probably never fade completely.
He wears two sets of long sleeves around her religiously now because he’s still afraid she’ll ask, and he can’t answer. Not yet. Maybe one day, but not yet.
He wears two sets of long sleeves at home, too, because whenever his mother sees or feels his old injuries, she shuts herself behind one of two sliding doors in their trailer and cries for hours as soon as she thinks he’s not looking.
He wears two sets of long sleeves because he wants to set an example, because it took a month to get Sakuya to even zip up his jacket most of the way.
He wears two sets of longs sleeves because he’s a compulsive professional in his own way, because sometimes they dread that one misstep could land both him and his mother back where they started creeps back up his spine like an icy shiver and he can’t bear to let her down like that.
He wears two sets of long sleeves because he doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s hiding underneath them, because he doesn’t want people to stare at the lasting damage his father did with cigarettes, blades, and nails.
He wears long sleeves in general because his father never once wore long sleeves, that he can remember, because it’s yet another way he can stave off the resemblance.
He wears two sets of long sleeves because it’s his armour.

Chapter Text

“Look out!” Keiichiro grabbed a handful of his jacket, shoving him down, shouldering in front of him in the same movement.

What happened next was both too fast and too slow all at the same time.

The shot hit the detective in the side, ice forming, freezing, down his leg, destabilising him sharply, sending him careening over the edge of the roof. With reflexes Kairi hadn’t known he had, he dove forward and managed to catch Keiichiro by the wrist at the last moment, grabbing onto the edge of the rooftop when the weight nearly dragged him down, too.

“It’s okay!” He sputtered, frantically trying to strengthen his hold on the detective’s arm. “It’s okay, I got you.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zamigo moving. “Stay away from us!” He snarled. The Gangler laughed, but held up his hands and backed away—though Kairi knew better than to attribute it to compassion, especially when the monster continued to watch them.

“Kairi.” Keiichiro’s voice was strained, abnormally quiet. “Kairi!” Kairi looked back down at him.

“Kairi,” Keiichiro gasped, then stopped to wince in pain as the ice crawled up his body. Kairi could feel the weight pulling his arm growing as it reached the detective’s torso. “Kairi,” Keiichiro growled again through his teeth, “You need to let me go.”

Kairi’s eyes bulged from his head. “What? No! No no no no no-”

“It’s the only way! If this stuff reaches you-”

“I can’t lose you, too!” His voice cracked from far more than exertion.

Keiichiro closed his eyes for a moment, then grimaced as the ice continued to spread, past his elbow, inching upwards. “Look at me.” He ordered, voice breathless but conspicuously calm, cutting through the roaring panic mounting in Kairi’s ears. “Kairi, look at me.” At last, Kairi obeyed.

Keiichiro’s expression was fierce and determined—but deep in his eyes, Kairi could see utter terror.

“You’re right,” the detective grunted, forcing words out as quickly as he could as the ice began to halo around his head, swallowing his shoulders. “You’re right, I don’t understand. Now there’s no time. But… You’re not just LupinRed. You’re… You’re Kairi. You’re my friend. I… I trust you.” The ice slithered up in coils around his throat, frost creeping up his jaw, spikes reaching for Kairi, close enough he could feel the cold. The detective’s voice became reedier, as his breathing was constricted, his expression becoming downright tender. “And, Kairi… This is not your fault.”

Kairi shook his head frantically, repeating a rapid fire of breathless ‘no’s, trying to deny that the weight of the ice made it feel like his shoulders were splitting. The fabric of his glove was ripping, stone scraping his palm, but he only clutched tighter to both his anchor and his friend. He was sure that if it hadn’t been for the gloves, his nails would be leaving marks in Keiichiro’s arm.

Keiichiro took a deep breath, forcing his freezing face to let him speak once more—and for the first time, his voice cracked. “Tell my mother I’m sorry.”

Grabbing Kairi’s wrist tighter, he twisted it sharply, forcing the thief’s fingers to slip, then letting go himself just in time for the ice to envelope his head and arm, just missing Kairi’s fingertips.

“KEI-CHAN!!!”

Kairi’s agonised scream came in unison with the shattering of ice on the ground below.

And all that was left was a VS Changer and Vehicle.

Chapter Text

When she was five, her mother snatched a plushie from her hands in a store and scolded her harshly for being an embarrassment to the family name.

She didn’t cry.

She’d been carefully trained not to, taught for years to be seen not heard—sometimes not even seen—to not complain, show weakness, or disobey. Reputation and professionalism were paramount to one of the country’s oldest cop families. Instead, she merely folded her hands and looked at her shoes through her lashes, meekly nodding her head meekly when her mother asked her severely if she understood.

Later that night, her paternal aunt snuck the very same stuffed animal into the main house in her purse, slipping it to her when she came to tell her goodnight, adding it to the small collection they’d begun hiding under her bed during the day, a habit they kept up for years until her grandmother banned the aunt from the house for being a reminder of her father; after all, it was no secret that her parents had only been allowed to marry because her father’s family was socially respectable rather than approval of the man himself.

Her vague memories of her father were of a splash of light and laughter in a serious and dour household, much to her grandmother’s disdain; her clearest recollection was the stuffed cat he gave her for her third birthday, the plush that kickstarted her love for them. After his death, her grandmother had tried to have it thrown out, but she had hidden it under her bed and lied that she had gotten rid of it herself—the first and only time she told a falsehood to anyone. From then on, it was only the occasional visits from his sister that allowed her to be a child—as the aunt kept coming by, even after her mother took her back to the family home and abandoned her father’s name—until she was finally barred from the house for such behaviour.

Years later, as an adult, she would come to understand her mother’s strict behaviour—that the woman was a product of their family history as well, conditioned far longer to be the ideal of a perfect, proper officer. Eventually, she would be able to reconcile the fact that her mother had loved her, but had been unable to express it in any other way—that she was merely parenting the way she had been raised because she knew no other way, believed that it was right.

But on that day, she just resented.

Eighteen years later, three after her aunt was forbidden to visit, she left for the Police Academy, taking her stuffed animals with her—and never looked back.

Chapter Text

When he was fifteen, his father got his hands around his throat, pinned him against the side of the trailer, and tried to strangle him.

That was the one time he genuinely believed he was going to die, in all the times his father had nearly killed him.

 His father wasn’t always violent—sometimes just angry and argumentative from too much drink—but it happened enough. When he’d been little, all he could do was curl up and hide, or watch as his mother would throw herself between him and danger, landing herself in the emergency room, claiming she’d fallen, more often than they could afford. As he got older, however, he decided that enough was enough—and when his father started swinging, he’d swing back; and soon, it was him in the emergency room.

When people asked questions, his mother would pull him close to her side and make something up—she expressly forbid him to take part in the deceptions, always managing to twist her words so that she didn’t quite lie. He knew why she did it—she was scared. Scared they would take him away from her if they knew, scared they would fall through the cracks of the system as she had as a little girl, scared they’d be left on the streets with nothing. So when they were in the emergency room, he stayed quiet, nursing his injuries, which were usually numerous—his father fought dirty; he always lost.

That night, his father smelled of alcohol, sweat, and blood, his lip bleeding from where his son had gotten in a lucky punch; the hands were heavy around his neck, and the metal side of the trailer cold against his back. His breath was then returned to him quite suddenly, the pressure on his throat disappearing so fast the air surging back into his lungs felt like a punch itself. He was still delirious and dizzy, and wouldn’t know until later that the rescue had come from his mother throwing her full weight into tackling his father sideways, wrenching his hands off their son’s neck. Having knocked him away, she successfully got in between them and shielded her child until his father gave up and stormed off, growling darkly that he wouldn’t go so easy next time.

That moment would haunt him for the rest of his life. A decade later, when a disorderly drunk would get a lucky jump on him, wrapping their shaking, familiar-smelling hands around his neck in a vain attempt to fight the cops off, his vision would blur, and for a moment, he would be back there; trapped against the cold metal of the mobile home by a larger, stronger opponent with a far more effective grip on his throat, and… His own face.

He couldn’t remember the exact first time he looked in a mirror and saw his father glaring back at him, but he’d immediately wound up and punched the glass hard, cracking it permanently. His mother had had to sit up for hours pulling pieces out of his hand with tweezers. After that, he’d done his best to stay away from reflective surfaces, and took pains to create as many differences between his and his father’s appearances as he could.

Tsukasa would have to drag him bodily away before he could beat the offending drunk to a pulp as a proxy.

Chapter Text

Once, during training for the Mars mission, while they were sealed inside one of the replica pods, there had been a malfunction with the ventilation system. Rather than filtering the air and pumping it back into the enclosed space, it sprang a leak, and started just sucking it out at an alarming rate.

For an unforgettably horrible two and a half minutes while the techs on the outside scrambled to get the sealed door open, the whole crew was trapped in a cramped, dark space with no oxygen.

He’d felt like his lungs were shrivelling, like some giant monster was squeezing his throat closed. He nearly lost consciousness—beside him, the pilot, Junichi, did. When the door had burst open and air rushed back in, it felt like a punch. It was agony. But they were alive. He’d never told Miku, would never have even considered telling Misora; but from time to time, even long after they’d fixed the problem, he’d dream about being in that pod, the clock ticking down… Only the door would never open, and he’d wake up, choking, clawing at his throat.

For the past ten years, every moment had been like that.

He was trapped darkness, a mere spectator in his own mind, completely powerless. He couldn’t close his eyes, or even look away. Every time he tried to reach out, to pull free, the darkness swallowed him, dragged him down and continued to suffocate him once more.

Sometimes, glimmers of the world outside would pierce through the shadows of his prison, pulling him just a little closer to clarity, each time—though it was always inevitably snatched away again.

Misora, half his life, half the world, one of the two suns in his sky, shone with the light of a million of the brightest stars, blazing so brilliantly that his awareness immediately zeroed in on her whenever she was present. But even though her face was the closest thing to comfort there was, more than anything, he wanted her far away from him, from it. He wanted her to have nothing to do with any of it, wanted to not know where she was, like her mother.

Sometimes he started to wonder where the other half, his wife, was, but always stopped as quickly as he could. That Miku’s disappearance was a mystery even to him was surprisingly a comfort. His mind wasn’t his own anymore—it had access to every single thought, every single memory, even if it couldn’t always make the connections. If he spent too much time thinking about what might have become of Miku, he ran the risk of realising something that would lead it right to her. His failure to resist the possession had already had enormously catastrophic consequences; even if it was in a tiny, personal way, it was his responsibility to keep fighting.

Continued resistance, however, was getting more and more difficult. Every time he tried to pull away, pull toward the lights that seeped in through metaphorical cracks, it felt like he was always dragged back down just that much deeper. The drowning persisted, and it became harder to think. He continued to teeter on the edge of nothingness like that day in the pod—but this time, he did it alone, with no promise of release.

For the past ten years, every moment had broken him just a little bit more.

Chapter Text

Don’t think.

His father had told him that once, sitting proudly in his mahogany and leather throne behind his polished desk, gazing pointedly out the window rather than at his younger son.

Don’t think, don’t dream. You’ll never be able to achieve anything, so it’s not worth the effort.

It might have been hurt more if it hadn’t been the most his father had said to him in all eight years of his life—or would ever say to him again.

The rest of his family hadn’t exactly been sympathetic, either. As his aunt had condescendingly told him at the dinner table just a few months later;

Just do whatever you want, like always. Someone like you doesn’t have the capacity for complex stuff, so why exhaust yourself?

The comment had been tagged on to the end of a family-wide conversation about how he was too much like his mother, who the who Hikawa Group described as having been a ‘brainless ditz’ who had been pushed out when Sakuya was five and his brother seven because she wasn’t ‘sensible’ or ‘respectable’ enough to be a businessman’s wife. The final word had been a lament by his uncle.

Why should have gotten him away from her sooner, like we did his brother. Then maybe he wouldn’t be so useless.

Though that, at least, had been better than the first and last thing his grandfather had said to him, on his tenth birthday, after yet another renowned professor had declared him to be ‘slower’ than his brother.

You will always be a disappointment.

Admittedly, the bitter old man had died three days later, but Sakuya didn’t think he could really take credit for that.

It didn’t help either. Before he reached eleven, his father had stopped hiring tutors for him, guests were told to ignore him, and household staff instructed to only speak to him if absolutely necessary. As far as the majority of the Hikawa family, their construction empire, and associates were concerned, the President’s younger son simply did not exist.

The only reason he could never quite give up entirely was his brother.

It wasn’t that Touya was telling him he could do things, or even being particularly nice to him—at least, not compared to the interactions he saw between other friends during the few times he had the chance. No, Touya wasn’t exactly nice, and he was usually more irritated by Sakuya’s antics than anything else.

But he didn’t ignore him. And he never called him a disappointment. An embarrassment, maybe—but never a disappointment.

In the end, it was also Touya who inspired him to leave.

Why do you keep trying to copy me?

The question had started as annoyed, but as he watched his now-seventeen-year-old younger brother flounder for an answer, Touya’s expression had changed into something Sakuya hadn’t been able to identify. But what his brother said next had stayed with him ever since.

… You should have gone with Okaa-san.

It was the first time his brother had ever implied he wanted him gone. For a while after, Sakuya had been angry, but later, he began to wonder if Touya hadn’t meant it another way.

Hadn’t meant that he thought Sakuya might have been happier with her, than in a giant, beautiful house where no one wanted him.

So he went to look for her. He never found her, but about a year later, he did find himself—at least, a little bit.

He doubts Keiichiro and Tsukasa-senpai remember their very first meeting at all, having had other things—namely an aggressive purse-snatcher—to deal with at the time. He hadn’t been thinking much at the time either—just acted on some unexpected instinct when he saw the thief running his way, tried to tackle him, but only succeeded in tripping him a little and banging his own head. Still, it had bought enough time for the two nearby GSPO cadets to step in and control the situation; soon Tsukasa-senpai had had the criminal in handcuffs while Keiichiro was checking on the victim, then coming over and offering Sakuya a hand up. He remembered apologising for causing trouble, but his future teammate had waved it off.

You tried. That’s more than anyone else here did. And because you tried we were able to catch him. That’s not trouble. That’s initiative.

A hand came down on his shoulder, and he got an almost-smile—the closest he would ever see Keiichiro come for a long time.

… You ever thought about joining GSPO?

Then the police had arrived, and he’d lost them in the confusion.

But just a few months later, he’d taken up on that suggestion. A few years after that, when they encouraged him on the training field, it was some of the greatest inspiration he’d ever received, however little it had meant to them.

When he’d been offered a position on the same team as them, he couldn’t agree fast enough.

Sometimes, he thinks about asking Jim to check facial recognition from an old picture of his mother, just to see if she’s still in the city, but decides against it because it’d be an abuse of resources.

Sometimes, he calls his brother’s cellphone and leaves a message, even though Touya never picks up or calls him back.

Sometimes, he considers telling the others that yes, he really is related to that Hikawa family, because they haven’t had time to make the connections, but then doesn’t because he’s scared he’ll be a disappointment again.

Sometimes he wonders if he ever stopped being one.

But then there’s a Gangler alert, and, at least for a little while, he gets to be needed by someone. He gets to be part of something.

He gets to exist.

Chapter Text

Why are you protecting Ouma Zi-O?

A good question, really.

To be completely honest, he’s not at all sure what he’s doing.

His body is moving before his mind, his logic, even has a chance to catch up. He can’t seem to budge from his new position, standing between their opponent and where Ouma Zi-O fell, his posture undeniably protective.

He wonders if this is how Tsukuyomi felt the first time she stopped him from killing Ouma Zi-O himself, but quickly dismisses the idea.

Tsukuyomi had solved the mystery for herself; she’d wanted to spare a friend the crime of killing someone still technically innocent.

Right now, he doesn’t have that excuse, does he? Can they still call Ouma Zi-O innocent, after all the powers he’s stolen? Stolen… To stop the kaijin. To help others. To protect.

Stolen… Unintentionally. And tried to give back.

Geiz…

He’s struggling to rise from another hard strike when he hears his name and looks over his shoulder. It seems Ouma Zi-O is still just barely conscious, injured, weak, and bloodied, but struggling to move, one arm reaching out to feebly wave him away.

Geiz… Stop…

He’s surprised enough that he almost fails to block the next incoming attack, only barely getting his weapon up in time, grunting in pain as the force of the hit sends reverberations right to his bones. The swings seem to be becoming stronger, but he’s well aware that’s impossible.

He’s just reaching his limit.

Behind him, Ouma Zi-O screams his name again, begging him to run. And then it clicks in his head.

Tsukuyomi is right. This is not Ouma Zi-O. Ouma Zi-O would never try to befriend his would-be assassins. Ouma Zi-O would never stoop to help those in trouble. Ouma Zi-O would never beg.

Ouma Zi-O would never tell a person shielding him to value their life over his.

And in that instant, he’s no longer conflicted, and everything is so much clearer.

Why are you protecting Ouma Zi-O?

A foolish question, really.

Because he’s not protecting Ouma Zi-O at all.

He’s protecting the young man lying practically unconscious on the ground behind him; who thinks more about others than he does himself, who might be a little odd, but usually has good intentions.

He’s protecting the person that boy is at this particular moment in time.

Tsukuyomi must be right—that there’s some upcoming event, some big incident, that transforms this person into the monster of Ouma Zi-O, and their best bet to do this without murder is to prevent that event from happening. And for some reason he can’t really explain anymore, he’d now much rather do it that way. He’d much rather keep that person. Before it was just hesitation, but now he actively does not want that person to die. He wants to protect him.

Protect him from the Time Jackers, from the Another Riders, from Woz if necessary, and from the darkness of his own future.

But as one last attack finally knocks him out of his transformation, and everything is blurry and a hand grabs him by the throat so hard he can’t breathe, it seems like he’s going need to leave that task to Tsukuyomi.

Before, every time they worked together, there was a nagging fear that by some accident, he’d end up dying protecting Ouma Zi-O. But now, even as everything fades to black and their opponent lords over him, he’s calm. Because the last thing he hears is that voice, screaming his name in desperation. And he knows.

He’s not protecting Ouma Zi-O.

He’s protecting Tokiwa Sougo.

Chapter Text

He wished he could say he was thinking of something great.

That ‘Love and Peace’ meant the greater good, hope for the whole world, the promise of reuniting Japan like his father had asked.

But he wasn’t.

When he jumped in front of the blast, he wasn’t thinking of Japan, or even the world.

He was thinking of them.

Of the two young women he’d spent days apologising to until Misora threatened to cut him if he said it again and Sawa yelled that enough was enough.

Of the two younger Riders for whom he caused so much pain, who’d accepted him as their ally—even friend—despite how so much of their suffering came from him.

Of the man who never should have given him a chance, let alone become the brother he’d never had in a few months, only to disappear as suddenly—that thought ending in a wretched lament of it should have been me.

But the thoughts weren’t even of penance, of trying to make for all the things he’d done. They weren’t about the world outside the Tower, or of the past. Only of the four lives around him.

All he thought of was protecting them.

Not for any heroic or noble reason, either. Only how he couldn’t let any harm come to them. Only of how important they were.

It wasn’t until he heard the voices shouting, cheering outside that more thoughts finally entered his mind. About the country, the people, the world.

And then he thought of his father, a silent regret that this was all he could do in the end. But also a small smattering of pride.

That, in the end, he finally understood. That, in the end, he wasn’t alone. That, in the end, he’d been able to find the family they’d both sought in their own way. Even if it took the world ending.

In the end, his first and last thoughts were only of them. Gratitude for their acceptance, for how much they had come to mean to him. How much he loved them.

He wished he could have spent more time with them.

Chapter Text

More than anything, Swartz hates dealing with Uhr.

Not for the expected reasons; though the young man can be obnoxious, impudent, arrogant, and impulsive, and though that is often bothersome, it is not why just looking at the boy can sometimes make his blood boil even more than Zi-O. It’s not even really Uhr’s fault, and he shouldn’t be taking it out on him as much as he does.

It’s just that sometimes, Uhr will do something particularly childish or rebellious, or laugh in a certain way, and suddenly he’s not looking at a young revolutionary with a penchant for mayhem.

Suddenly, he’s looking at his son. The child he lost what seems like so many, many long years ago.

Swartz can’t even remember what his own name was back then, before Ouma Zi-O destroyed his life—only the true names of his wife and their dead son remain burned into his memory, two lonely, ghostly whispers that are all he has left of the man he used to be:

Megumi. Kazuya.

But Megumi isn’t Megumi anymore, either. And Kazuya is gone. Just another corpse on the Overlord’s warpath.

The association doesn’t even make sense. Uhr doesn’t look anything like Kazuya, all round-cheeked and baby faced where Kazuya had inherited his father’s sharp angles. Their personalities are completely different, too—Kazuya had always been quiet and thoughtful, while Uhr is prone bragging and even the occasional tantrum. The only similarity is their age. But it seems that that’s enough.

It’s not fair to either of them. Uhr hates being seen as a child. Swartz hates to be reminded of his failure. Even more, he hates the threat of caring and losing again. So he goes out of his way to be disdainful towards the younger Time Jacker, to breed animosity between them, just in case. Yet another way to eclipse the father he once was with the monster he has to become. Keeping his interactions with the boy as condescending and dismissive as possible helps him ferret out whatever small pieces of human kindness even might be left in his heart and change them into vengeful bitterness.

Helps to keep the vow he and his wife made to each other on their child’s unmarked grave—to forget warmth and gentleness, to become nothing more than the tools of Ouma Zi-O’s destruction, as he was theirs, no matter the cost.

Because every time he sees his son in Uhr, he comes far too close to breaking that promise.

So, more than anything, Swartz hates dealing with Uhr.

Chapter Text

There’s blood on his hand.

It’s his own, he’s reasonably sure. Well, if the dull ache in his abdomen and the feeling of a blade edge cutting into his left palm are anything to go by. His thoughts are fuzzy, his mind desperately trying to parse together what happened. The source of the ache seems to be his abdominal area, but the feeling runs all the way through him. His vision is blotchy, and he realises—to his surprise—that he’s still standing when he wavers on his feet. It seems like his whole body is going numb aside from the dull, uncomfortable pain in his stomach, and he can distinctly feel something protruding from it, something he’s holding in his hand. There’s something in his right hand, too, he thinks, but it doesn’t hurt—unlike the other things he can still feel. His head is hanging, and there’s a metallic taste in his mouth—more blood, he’s certain.

But there’s also something he knows he’s forgetting, something important. Some reason he’s standing here, dazed and in pain. Finally, slowly, the cobwebs in his head start to clear. It’s not a something, it’s a someone.

… Zi-O. Where is Zi-O?

Dragging his eyes fully open, he heaves his head up. He’s looking into the face of a monster—a grotesque, awful thing with a demonic grin and glowing eyes—but there isn’t enough energy left him to be scared or surprised. It’s Another Rider, he thinks, maybe. It looks vaguely familiar. But he can’t seem to remember which one, and it doesn’t really feel like it matters anymore. He does notice the thing is holding the hilt of the sword, his own hand clutching the blade about halfway down, so tightly blood is oozing between his fingers from the cuts. And the point… Is somewhere inside his body, he supposes—though perhaps it’s the little pinprick of pain he can feel somewhere around the centre of his back.

He stares blankly into the monstrous visage for a moment, before remembering why he opened his eyes in the first place. With effort that takes all his focus, he releases the sword, hand dropping to his side, having lost the strength to stay up. The blade freed, the Another Rider rears back, yanking its weapon away. He feels the sword leave his body like it was the one thing holding him up—without it, he staggers, drops to one knee, blood spilling from the newly opened wound. He makes no effort to stop it; he can’t. He can barely remember he has hands.

Then there are arms, arms replacing the sword to hold him up. He vaguely feels warmth nearby, wrapping around his shoulders, and when he finally sags forward, he falls into someone, head bumping onto their shoulder. Someone small, and scrawny. There’s the tremor of a voice by his ear. He thinks it’s his name. But even indistinct and jumbled, he knows those tones.

Zi-O.

The tension seems to go out of him. His arm falls forward, limp and swinging—and bumps into something at the other Rider’s waist. Somewhere far away, or maybe not so far, the Another Rider roars. It’s coming back. And like this, Zi-O’s back is open.

The realisation is enough to make his hand twitch, and his foggy brain remembers what else he was holding. Leaning his entire weight on the other boy, he raises his right hand in what feels like a losing fight against gravity. He wills his fingers to slide around the edge of the circle, faintly feels the vibration as it activates. He fumbles forward with it, blindly, and after one false try succeeds in attaching it to the belt. He feels the body against him jolt in surprise.

Flailing slightly, his left arm comes up, bloodied hand grabbing a handful of fabric and even some skin on the back of Zi-O’s shoulder. Gathering his breath, he forces his voice to work one last time.

“If… You die here…” He growls softly. “I will definitely kill you… Sougo.” With the very last of his strength, he turns the Driver. Zi-O’s transformation announcement rings out.

It’s not the worst death knell. Even if it is a little ironic.

He careens sideways, arms dropping limply to the ground, slipping off the other Rider’s shoulder, towards the ground. Gloved, armoured hands grab his head, shoulders, cradling them, still desperately trying to support him. But his vision is fading, tunnelling. He can’t even hear Sougo’s voice anymore.

He sees Zi-O’s helmet, bent over him in frantic concern, adorned in his own colours. It’s a sight that makes him almost smile.

His eyes don’t close, when he finally goes still. But he sees nothing more.

Chapter Text

It’s not Keiichiro.

Intellectually, he knows that. And besides, even if the image is a perfect replica, it’s clearly just slightly off. The way he’s standing, the tilt of his head… Little things that make it extremely obvious that the person before him is not PatrenIchigou.

So why can’t he fire? Why is his hand trembling? Why is his finger frozen, hovering above the trigger?

Why can he shoot an illusion of his own brother, but not a Gangler wearing a cop’s face?

Kairi continues to stare back at his opponent, grateful that the suit helmet hides the terror and uncertainty he’s sure is on his face. Dogranio, meanwhile, does nothing but wait, smiling his cruel smile with Keiichiro’s features. Kairi hates it, hates him, but he still can’t seem to pull the trigger.

It doesn’t make any sense. The only reason dealing with Keiichiro was so difficult to deal with was because he was like Shouri, right? It might have been through interacting with the cop that he started to better understand his brother, to begin to set aside the resentment he’d harboured, but that was only because they were so similar. It had nothing to do with Keiichiro himself. So why could he shoot one and not the other?

Because it is different, whispers a little voice, deep inside him, because it’s Kei-chan.

Under his helmet, Kairi blinks. He’s been thinking of them almost interchangeably—but they’re not, are they? Keiichiro is more than a person he’s found himself looking up to, more than someone who just helped him understand his brother—he’d helped him understand himself, accepted him as himself, both at his worst and best, without any expectations; something Shouri had never really had the chance to do. All his life, most of the people he’s ever met have looked at him as ‘Shouri’s brother,’ regarded him in terms of Shouri’s accomplishments. He had to be good at basketball because Shouri was. Of course he got good grades because look at who his brother was. ‘Just as expected from Yano Shouri’s little brother’ were words he’d heard over and over and over again until they kept him awake at night.

Touma and Umika had been his first big break from that, but even then, for the longest time, he’d fought to keep a rift between them. Even then, there were things he was expected to do as ‘LupinRed,’ even when he was still figuring out who LupinRed was. He’s grateful, now, for the first month or so where Touma took the initiative in their first few fights, or, even as she was stumbling through it herself, Umika would tug his sleeve and point him in the right direction, until he finally got his footing. But there was still that lagging shadow over it all, that, sometimes, they wanted—needed—him to be something he wasn’t sure he was.

And then there was Keiichiro. Loud, intense, simple Keiichiro. Who looked at him and saw not a thief, not someone else’s little brother, but a person. A young boy desperately trying to figure out who he really was. He’d never meant for them to get close. And even then, he’d told himself the fondness he was feeling was because Keiichiro reminded him of his brother. But that wasn’t true. At least, not completely. Because it turned out Keiichiro understood better than expected the desperate desire to escape from being defined by others. While Kairi had found himself lacking in comparison to his brother, Keiichiro had been struggling to prove to himself he was better than his father. Because Keiichiro didn’t try to tell him who he was, who to be, never gave him false reassurances, always saying exactly how he felt and meant. Just wanted to support him while he figured it out for himself, not push him down a particular path. And in doing so, he’d become the pillar, the foundation Kairi needed, that Shouri hadn’t been able to be—or at the least had never really gotten the chance.

Kairi wonders if it’s unfair to Shouri, for him to be relying on someone so much who was, just a year ago, a complete stranger, more than his own brother. It’s probably the worst betrayal he could possibly commit, at this point. He wonders if Shouri could forgive him for it, should he ever return. He doesn’t know.

What he does know was that when one of his new greatest fears came to pass, when Keiichiro learned that he and LupinRed were the same person—and they truly were, now, thanks to Keiichiro himself—he hadn’t done what Kairi had been terrified he would. He didn’t rescind the support, care, and protection he’d given him, didn’t abandon him to a cold, dark fate.

Instead, he stepped between Kairi and Zamigo, and gave everything to protect the person he should have been resenting most.

Now, Kairi wished Keiichiro had abandoned him. Wished dearly that they’d never met. Or, at least, never become friends.

Because then he wouldn’t have failed him.

He hesitates for a little longer, finger still frozen, hand still shaking.

And then he drops the gun.

Chapter Text

It was like time slowed down.

It hadn’t, Geiz was reasonably sure. The Time Jackers had no reason to interfere, this was in their favour, and Zi-O didn’t have that power yet. No, it was just his perception, his senses sharpening drastically at a critical moment. Seconds, fractions of seconds, each seemed like eternity, long enough to be aware of everything.

Zi-O had just noticed the incoming blast—but it was well-past too late for him to dodge. So he just stood there, frozen in shock, while fiery doom bore down upon him. 

Why did he suddenly look so small?

He’d known when he’d decided to pursue this course that it wasn’t going to be simple or easy. They’d treated the plan as a last resort right from the beginning; even if he knew exactly what sort of crimes someone would commit, the Ouma Zi-O of the past would be, for all intents and purposes, still innocent. That was why, even though it might have been easier to go back even further, he’d never once considered it.

Geiz could push himself to a lot in desperation, but he didn’t think he could go that far.

So it was supposed to be fast. Go back to 2018, take out Ouma Zi-O before he could think about it too much, change the past, get back out. Don’t consider. Don’t see the target as anything other than the monstrous overlord of the future. For heaven’s sake, you’re a soldier. Act like it.

Why had it gotten so damn complicated?

Tsukuyomi’s moral concerns about the plan had made her follow him, run interference—buying enough time for his own conflict to resurface.

And Tokiwa Sougo himself had just made matters worse.

The boy was infuriating, obtuse as a rock, obnoxiously wily on occasion, and self-absorbed—but his current intentions were generally honest. He fought because he wanted to help people, would change the past to save others when he could, and went out of his way to be nice to Geiz even when Geiz went out of his way to do the opposite.

Ouma Zi-O he still wanted to kill, more than anything. But Tokiwa Sougo…

It had been getting harder and harder to see them as one and the same. Every day, he’d have to remind himself that they were. Every day, he kept thinking that he should just do it, get it over with, no matter what Tsukuyomi said. But every day… It would be something. An Another Rider. Breakfast. Grocery shopping. A customer. And he just couldn’t seem to actually go through with it.

And it kept getting harder to look at Sougo and see Ouma Zi-O. Not even avoiding his name was helping. And now, silhouetted against a mass of angry flame, he doesn’t see Ouma Zi-O at all. He sees a frightened young man, frozen in terror. He sees something he saw multiple times during the fighting in 2068, that he never thought he’d see here, much less in relation to Zi-O.

He sees a friend in danger.

Geiz’s legs moved without command, springing up and rushing forward. The last time, he’d failed to make it in time, was blown back by the massive force as it stuck, been unable to do anything but crawl through the resulting wreckage until he’d found the body.

But now, even with seconds like years, even when he’s moving just as slow, he’s close enough. In just a couple agonising steps, he could feel the heat on his suit, and was almost within an arm’s breadth of Zi-O. He put all his weight into one last lurch forward, throwing up a hand.

When he felt his palm connect with Zi-O’s arm as he shoved him hard, a word tore from him that he'd swore to himself he’d never utter;

“Sougo!”

His focus stayed on the other Rider as Zi-O was knocked scrambling to the ground, then whirled to look frantically back at him, knowing perfectly well what was about to happen and not caring anymore.

He wondered, privately, how he could have failed so spectacularly in his mission, to be saving the one he was supposed to kill.

And then the fireball hit.

Chapter Text

For a moment—probably less, actually—everything was frozen.

Sougo’s movements were jerky and slow as he tried to get his bearings after hitting the ground, spinning around to look for who had pushed him, even though he already knew.

Even when it was calling out a word as foreign to it as his name, he knew that voice. He knew before he even finished turning who it was, the panic rising in his chest—far faster than anything else was moving—bursting fourth in a terrified cry;

“Geiz!”

Geiz didn’t move; because it was barely a second, however long it seemed to Sougo. The other Rider’s head was cocked slightly to the side, like he, too, was genuinely surprised by what he had just done—which made sense. Though their relationship had drastically changed,  lost the majority of its hostility, Sougo had never even dreamed Geiz would ever go this far for him—though perhaps that was because this situation would have fit better into nightmares than dreams.

One of his arms drags itself up through the thickness of his slowed perception, even the fingertips stretching out. If he could just grab onto Geiz’s arm, his hand, something, pull him down, too, then maybe…

Maybe he could save his friend.

And maybe he was imagining it, but in that slow, elongated moment, he’d swear that Geiz’s arm twitched upwards, reaching back towards him, without hesitation.

And then in a roar of heat and flame, the blast struck. And time returned to normal.

Sparks and smoke filled Sougo’s vision, debris forcing him to duck and cover his head. He heard a thud of something—someone—slamming hard into cement to his left, a sound not that unusual that was somehow horrible when he knew what it was.

He came back up as quickly as he could, casting about. He found Geiz on the ground several paces away, deHenshined, sprawled on his side, far too still for comfort. It was enough to bring his aching legs back to life, to heave himself up and stumble over, dropping onto the ground beside the other Rider like something had let the air out of him, dropping his own transformation. His hands scrambled on Geiz’ shoulders, trying to pull him protectively close and check the damage at the same time.

There was a massive crater in the wall, the force with which Geiz had been thrown into it having destroyed part of the cement, which wasn’t a good sign. There was some comfort—he could feel the other boy’s shallow breathing in his arms, even though it was haphazard, weak, and pained, and he didn’t think anything was broken. But it also felt like Geiz was trembling—even shivering—against him. There was blood in his mouth, and smearing from numerous other gashes and grazes—from when he’d hit the wall and ground, Sougo assumed—and masses of nasty burns from where the fire had made contact. When he lay a hand against the back of Geiz’s head while cradling it to his shoulder, the palm came away wet and red, blood clotting in the other Rider’s hair. He must have slammed his head into the wall when he was knocked out of his transformation. This was even worse.

It was wrong, too. Geiz felt small and fragile in his arms, shaking even while unconscious, breathing laboured. Not only was he taller than Sougo, but his steadfast personality always rejected and masked anything that might even possibly be construed as weakness. Ordinarily, he would never consent to being cradled wounded in anyone’s arms, especially Sougo’s—but now his eyes gave no sign of opening, and the only change in his expression were faint, unconscious winces.

But that was why he’d known he could trust Geiz right from the start. Not necessarily to be nice to him or not take a swing at him, but to be honest with him. Lying or deceiving were things Geiz was completely incapable of—Sougo was pretty sure he didn’t even know the meaning of the words. He could not and would not pretend to be other than what he was; true, honourable, earnest. Good. Too good to kill a person in cold blood when he actually thought about it, why most of his attempts never seemed to go through, or even have the same murderous intent as their original meeting.

Despite repetitive threats, the more time they’d spent together, the less enmity had been behind them. Though the other boy’s difficult life had made him uncertain and even afraid of showing any sentiment whatsoever, Sougo had even begun to suspect that Geiz actually liked him—liked him enough to risk forgoing the most direct route to save the future, probably the only even remotely selfish thing Geiz had ever done.

When he’d found out he was right, in a way, it was just as exciting as reaffirming him dreams—maybe even more so, though if he ever said that to Geiz he knew the other boy would immediately panic and flee the room—because he was very clear on how faithful a friend he’d finally made. Woz had once claimed that Tsukuyomi and Geiz weren’t on his side—he supposed that had been true when Woz actually said it, but now… Now he was reasonably Tsukuyomi and Geiz were the only ones who were actually on his side. On Tokiwa Sougo’s side. On the side of the person he was now, of the king he wanted to be, not a twisted version already decided for him. Not Ouma Zi-O’s—like Woz himself, or Kisshan. And he knew he could rely on them. Sure, Geiz’s trust had been a battle to gain, but once won, his loyalty ran deep.

… Deep enough to throw himself between a fireball and someone he’d originally intended to kill. Perhaps he should have this day coming.

Something moved behind him, and he remembered their opponents were still there. Under usual circumstances, he supposed he could have handled them alone, thought it would have been painful. But Geiz being out of commission—and possibly concussed, bleeding internally, or worse, noted a voice in his head that really loved to make things worse—made him a target, and Sougo didn’t think he could fight that hard and protect his friend at the same time. So instead, he fumbled for his Bike Watch, activating it as quickly as possible. Trying to leverage Geiz as gently as he could, he heaved the wounded Rider up and loaded him onto the back of the bike, scrambling on himself and hitting the gas. He didn’t know were they were going or how long he could drive, but it was the only option without the Time Majins on hand, especially as he heard other engines rev behind them.

So he drove, shifting slightly so that he could feel Geiz’s heartbeat, ailing and small, but still just barely noticeable, through his back.

And prayed that Tsukuyomi would find them first.

Chapter Text

 It’s raining.

Pouring, actually, but he can’t seem to care. His whole world is focused in on the little body in his arms—cold and still and pale. He holds it to his chest tightly as he can, cradling the head in one hand, tucking it under his chin. But even when he closes his eyes and holds perfectly still, he can’t seem to feel either heartbeat or breath within.

It’s foolish, he knows. To be searching for signs of life in a corpse he created. But he can’t help himself.

I’m sorry.

He can’t seem to say the words out loud, so he just thinks them as hard as possible, hoping they reach they place they need to be. His body folds in, wrapping even more around the person in his hold, his shoulders beginning to tremble.

I’m so sorry.

His hands moves to stroke the wet hair, as if he could possible offer the deceased some sort of comfort from it. Then he’s rocking back and forth on his knees, wishing the rain could wash away everything that just happened, everything he’s just done.

I’m so, so sorry.

The head lolls out of his hold, falling back against his arm, forcing him to look at the face again. And even now there’s a smile on it, even now it looks relaxed and peaceful—and that just makes it hurt all the more. Why did he have to smile as he died?

I’m so, so, so sorry.

Something moves by his shoulder—footsteps, a familiar, pale coat. Because this was destiny. This was the only way. But was it really? He doesn’t hear the words being said, but he knows what they are.

Is this his fated sacrifice for the future? To break his heart in two?

I’m so, so, so, so sorry.

A hand brushes his shoulder, but he jerks away from it. Just pulls the body closer still, cradling the head back against his shoulder, leaning his forehead against the pale one, his thumb subconsciously stroking the side of the face. His will shatters, and the first sob crawls from him as a soft whimper, then they grow louder as the fit continues. Soon he doesn’t know if the water running down his face is rain or tears.

He wants to stay there forever, sheltering the body of the friend he killed.

He wants to die, too.

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry.

I’m so sorry, Sougo.

Geiz woke in a cold sweat, his whole body shaking. He’d somehow managed to tangle himself in his only blanket during night, and it was a moment before he figured out how to get free. That done, he immediately checked to make sure he hadn’t woken Tsukuyomi. Fortunately, she was still across the room, in her own makeshift bed, sleeping peacefully—apparently free of the nightmares that had roused him. Which reminded him of the other nagging, overwhelming feeling. Something else he needed to check.

Someone.

Climbing silently out of bed, he made his way across the floor to the door, slipping out. He’d snuck upstairs i the middle of the night before, but usually just to scope things out. He didn’t doubt, of course, that he could get into Zi-O’s room undetected, he’d just never gone that far before, preferring to wait on the landing until the other Rider came out.

Tonight, however, his subconscious wouldn’t let him stop there.

He tested the door slightly to be sure it didn’t creak, then pushed it open just enough to slide inside. His eyes got used to the dark quickly, and he soon found what he was there to check.

Zi-O was still in bed, very clearly asleep—but, more importantly, very clearly breathing. He was smiling there, too, but a proper, natural one—not the slack, lifeless one he’d had in imaginary death. He was lying in a pile of stuffed animals, which was unbelievably childish, but also so very him at the same time. He must have been thrashing about, though, because some of them had fallen to the floor, and his blankets were kicked off and crumpled in a corner.

With a sigh, Geiz slipped forward, crouching to collect the fallen toys before crossing over and rearranging them on the bed around Zi-O’s head. When he was satisfied with that, he found the edge of the blanket and pulled it back over the other Rider, tucking it back around him. Zi-O rolled over at one point, and he very nearly leapt back out the door to avoid discovery, but the other boy didn’t wake.

Once he was done, his hand hovered over the other Rider’s head for a moment—not touching so that he didn’t awake him, but close enough to feel hair brushing his palm.

“… I promise.” He whispered. He wasn’t sure if he was renewing his original vow, or swearing to prevent his own nightmare, but the words came out all the same in sorrowful breath. But there would be questions if anyone woke up to find him up there—so he snatched his hand back and headed back to the door, squeezing out of it again; then pausing, looking back one last time before he went.

Just to make sure Sougo really was still breathing.

Chapter Text

Wait.

Their left hand—Keiichiro’s side—froze over the VS Changer. There was a moment of silence.

Wait. Kairi repeated, finally, then, Let me do it.

He felt Keiichiro hesitate, but then the cop just switched the Changer into his hand and waited for Kairi. Their right hand reached for the barrel, then stopped again.

If we… If I… If I undo the transformation, then you… Then you’re really… Then you’re really gone.

… Yes. Was all Keiichiro said.

There was more silence in their shared mind. Kairi could just barely sense emotions churning just beyond the reach of their bond—which was unusual, because Keiichiro was usually easy to read even when they weren’t sharing a mind—whatever it was PatrenIchigou was feeling, the cop seemed determined to keep it from him.

I… I don’t know if I can do this without you. I mean, isn’t the point of VS Ultimate accepting someone as part of you? If you disappear now…

It’s not going to be like that.

Suddenly, the restrained emotions made more sense.

Keiichiro didn’t want Kairi to feel him finally die.

That’s not what I meant. I… Kei-chan, I… He suddenly felt very small, suddenly felt his age. It made him angry. He was just a kid, why was the universe doing this to him? Why couldn’t he hold on to more than one person at a time? Even in their mental space, his voice broke.  … I don’t want you to die.

… Kairi. Keiichiro’s voice is slow and deliberate, completely matter of fact. I’m already dead.

That was right. Just few hours ago he’d cradled PatrenIchigou in his arms as the cop’s heart stuttered to a halt. All that was left were echos of emotion, the ghost of an iron will, remains of a determination to protect so powerful it defied even in death. The memory sent a sharp stab of agony through him, and he felt Keiichiro’s mental walls shake at the feeling—but not crumble.

No one was supposed to die, except maybe one of the three of them. Especially not Kei-chan. His guilt mounted as he wondered how he could let this happen.

Kairi. Keiichiro interrupted his regrets. This isn’t your fault. I made this choice. His grief had left his mind far more open than it usually was in their connection. It was as if they had switched dispositions.

You made it because of me. He replied.

I made it because of me, Keiichiro shot back. But his voice sounded strained, slightly, and there was a quiver against Kairi’s mind, a flickering—like the cop was in pain, his spirit fluttering against the binds of their combined form.

… What about your mother? It’s a cruel, unfair question, but one he has to ask. If not for Keiichiro himself, then for the sake of the woman who knitted him a sweater, snuck him silly treats when Touma wasn’t looking, and who’d told him he could call her ‘Ka-san.’ For the sake of the mother he’d never had, found in a person who owed him nothing but opened her heart to him all the same. For the sake of the woman who made Kei-chan into Kei-chan.

… Tell her I love her. Was the honest reply. Kairi considers saying that he’s pretty sure she knows that, when Keiichiro adds, with another silent sigh, And maybe tell the others I’m sorry. I don’t want hurt you guys. No, of course not. Asaka Keiichiro would never willingly hurt another person—not without reason. He’d seen too much of it before, and vowed never to repeat it.

But then he feels Keiichiro straining again, like his soul is trapped, held back from where it needs to go; his hesitation is making the cop suffer. Finally, their right hand lights on the barrel, gripping just a little too tight.

 Love you, too, kid. Keiichiro whispers in his mind, a response to something Kairi felt, but couldn’t say. It’s so direct, plain, certain, and simple. Just like Keiichiro himself. He wasn’t sure when the last time he’d been called ‘kid’ was, but he’s certain it didn’t hurt that much. Even though it’s impossible, he has the sensation of a hand softly ruffling his hair. Be well. Then,  You can do it, Kairi. Trust me.

And because he does, with all his heart, Kairi turns the Changer.

VS Ultimate dissipates. He feels Keiichiro’s consciousness being pulled away like air being siphoned from his lungs, until he’s just himself, standing there, holding his Dial Fighter, feeling inexplicably hollow, young, and lost. Trigger Machine Ichigou drops to the ground like a stone, no strong hand actually there to catch it, the traces of resolve that had activated it from beyond the grave gone completely. Just a VS Vehicle, sitting listlessly on the cold ground.

And for the first time in a long while, Kairi felt truly alone.

Chapter Text

It’s freezing.

He’s surprised that he can’t see his breath, that there isn’t frost forming on the plating of his armour. Maybe, though… Maybe the air is just feeling that much more icy because he’s so used to the one he’s kneeling beside being an unending wealth of resilience, support, and warmth. In the past, he’d quickly come to the conclusion that Geiz’s body temperature naturally ran just a few degrees higher than everyone else’s.

Maybe that’s why it’s taking him longer than normal to go cold, despite how chilly the air seems.

I cannot regret it—I am so sorry.

It feels as if there’s something swinging back and forth in his head, two sides of him struggling with one another. Like a weight shaken free of its anchor when a clock tower begins to crumble. His palm is still hovering above Geiz’s arm, not quite touching—the half that’s guilty doesn’t think he deserves any more closeness—but he can still feel the heat fading from the other Rider’s body through the glove of the suit.

Inside him, the weight continues to swing on its rope.

He wonders, in uncertainty and fear, which side of him is the real one—but every time he looks back at Geiz’s face, blank and far too peaceful for his state, one of them gets just a little louder, the other Rider giving him one last bit of comfort, even now, even here.

You failed me—I failed you.

Half of him wants to drop the armour—to pull the body into his arms, cradle him to his chest, and try to preserve some of the escaping heat, forcibly keep it where it belongs—but the other side won’t let him. So the warmth continues to diminish, while all he can do was kneel on the ground, stock still, hand floating in the air. It feels like he’s chipped away at his own foundation, destroyed the very bedrock holding himself up. The weight is swinging free because he cut its anchor, cracked the base of the tower; no more is there a steadfast stone to fall back on, gone one of the only two people he knew without a doubt he could trust, by his own damn hands.

And now there’s blood on those hands that he’ll never be able to wash off.

Painful as it is, he keeps staring at Geiz’s face, looking so much like he’s asleep he can almost convince himself the other Rider really is just taking a nap in the worst place ever—save for the stillness of his chest, the way the warmth is leaving him, that there’s hardly any blood coming from his wounds anymore.

But he keeps looking at him—just to keep that one voice slightly louder than the other.

How could you make me do this?— How could I have done this?

He’s angry, yes. Angry at his own weakness, that he couldn’t stop himself from committing this crime anyway, despite his desire to so—despite his victim’s own trust that he could.

Angry because he knows the moment he turns away from that face will be the moment he finally seals his destiny of becoming a monster.

Angry because he knows he can’t put it off much longer.

Angry because there’s one thing both sides of him agree on.

You did not deserve this fate.

But the body is finally cold now.

Slowly, stiffly, he reaches over to gently take hold of Geiz’s wrists—even his ashamed half allowing contact for this act of respect—and folds the other Rider’s hands together on his chest, tucking the Ride Watch into them.

Then, using the most of his chance at proximity, he leans to cup Geiz’s face in both hands, gazing at for one last, long moment. Like he could memorise the features to somehow keep the effect it had on him.

He knows he can’t, but he still wants to try.

Running his fingers over the other Rider’s hair once, in what he has a fearful suspicion will be his last gentle act in a very long time—possibly forever—he releases Geiz’s face and wrenches his eyes away, dragging himself to his feet, turning his back.

Turning to face the darkness, leaving behind a broken promise.

Please, god, forgive me, my friend.

Sougo rolled right out of bed and onto to the floor.

He woke instantly, immediately sitting up and glancing around, straining his ears to hear if he’d woken anyone else with the sound—but he didn’t hear anything from his uncle’s end of the hall. After collecting his blankets and stuffed animals, however, he still didn’t feel comfortable with the concept of going back to bed. His heart was fluttering, and he had a slight urge to throw up, and an irremovable sense of dread that falling asleep again would put him right back in the same nightmare. So instead, he pulled on his slippers and padded his way downstairs toward the kitchen, in search of a glass of water.

He was halfway through the dining room when he noticed the figure on the couch.

He’d seen his uncle fall asleep on the couch, had done it himself, as well—but he still wasn’t expecting to find Geiz there, clearly asleep, even though he was practically sitting upright. Sougo forgot about the water, shuffling softly over to peer at the other Rider. He’d been thoroughly warned by Tsukuyomi that forcibly waking Geiz up wasn’t a good idea, but the other boy was going to hurt his neck the way he was. So, very, very carefully, he leaned over and picked up one of the pillows from the corner of the couch, setting it against the back; then, with equal caution and gentleness, he leaned the other Rider’s head back so that it was supported, rather than just hanging forward.

When he’d done that, though, his hand strayed over to Geiz’s shoulder and stayed there—just feeling the motions of the other Rider’s breathing, his uniquely high body temperature, the way his shoulders were always tense, even when he was asleep. There’s no unhinged weight swinging back and forth in him now, no warring halves. He was still himself, still knew his own heart—unclouded by whatever else had been on his mind in the dream.

But even though he knew it hadn’t been real—especially now, with his hand on Geiz’s shoulder, close enough to feel his heartbeat—it had still been too close for comfort. That he could lose his way, that it had felt so easy.

That he could actually take someone’s life, especially that of a friend.

Unconsciously, his hand tightened on Geiz’s shoulder, wetness forming in his eyes. The sleeping Rider didn’t wake, fortunately, but he did frown slightly in his sleep, like he felt the pressure.

“I won’t do it.” Sougo whispered to him, intensely as he dared. “I won’t.”

He waited another moment, soaking in the tactile proof that Geiz was there, whole and alive, then removed his hand, sighing softly. Bending down, he gathered up one of the couch blankets and tucked it around the other Rider. He reached out to steady Geiz’s head against the pillow, then froze, the motion bringing forth a terrible memory of the way his armoured hand had done something so similar before accepting his fate in the dream, and he couldn’t follow through. Instead, he added another pillow, swallowing and chewing his lip nervously, then turned and hurried to the kitchen to fetch the water he’d originally come for.

On the way back towards his room, he paused to count the rises and falls of Geiz’s chest as he breathed. After finding the rhythm, he continued counting all the way upstairs and as he got back in bed.

When he fell asleep with the pattern still tracking through his mind, he had no more nightmares for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

Their breath was forming huge clouds in the air. Geiz could hear Zi-O’s teeth chattering from across the room, and the cold was even creeping through the layers of his jacket—he could only imagine how bad it was for the other boy, being significantly scrawnier and dressed in knits. He was already trying to blink as quickly and as little as possible so that his eyes didn’t freeze shut, and numbness was creeping down his cheeks. There was frost forming in their hair, and it was becoming harder to move around.

Unfortunately, they were having no luck in finding any sort of door or fault in the frozen walls.

When he could hardly feel his fingers, he stepped back, sighing a large cloud of water vapour and tucking his hands back into his sleeves, hiding them under his arms. “Find anything?” His voice quavered, just a little. But Zi-O was already shaking his head, and huddling into himself even more—if that were even possible. “… Damnit.” He muttered, then started pacing slowly, trying to stay in motion.

“Where… Even… Are we?” Zi-O wondered, in between his teeth clicking together, rubbing his hands for friction.

“No idea.” Geiz told him, honestly. He checked his Ride Watches and found them trapped to the holder. “But the temperature seems to be dropping.” He looked over at the other Rider, who had crouched down, hugging his knees and shivering. “You need to move.” He told him. “We need to generate as much heat as possible.” When the other boy’s only response was his head drooping, Geiz marched over and unfolded his arms to grab his elbow, pulling him up.  “Hey! Don’t space out!” He shook Zi-O a little to try and get him to snap out of it.

“Sorry… Sorry…” The other Rider mumbled, his face making a few minor twitches as he tried to shake off the ice dust on it that was drifting from the ceiling. Then, it made and expression almost like one of his little smirks. “… I think… You’ve got the advantage here…”

Geiz rolled his eyes, pacing away again in slow, aching movements. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He growled back. His own shivering was becoming more severe, and there was a coating of frost over his clothes that crunched when he moved. It was getting colder.

Zi-O managed to shuffle up beside him, following his trail. “I’m… Pretty sure… Your temperature… Is naturally higher… Than other people’s… So… You’re not as cold now…”

“That’s… Ridiculous…” He tried to think of something further to say, but his mind was starting to slow down, too. He couldn’t feel his face anymore, and a glance at Zi-O showed that the other Rider’s lips were starting to turn bluish.

“Must be… All the jackets…” Zi-O continued faintly, as if he hadn’t heard, looking at some place on the wall rather than at Geiz, eyes slightly unfocused. “… It’s okay… I like your jackets…”

He looked sharply as he could at the other boy, and would have frowned had he been able to move his face. “… Are you going delirious?” Even through the cold and difficulty speaking, he heard a concerned edge enter his voice he hadn’t meant to put there.

Zi-O didn’t answer directly, stopped following him, merely wavering on his feet. “… I’m sorry…” He mumbled, and might have been talking to himself, until, “… I’m sorry… I make you mad… All the time…”

Geiz managed a step toward him. “I…” He was already uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going, and the cold addling his brain was making things worse. But if Zi-O was talking, it meant his brain and body hadn’t shut down—yet, anyway. “… I’m not… Angry, I…” Even while freezing, his interpersonal uncertainty pricked at his chest, and he turned away to try and quell it. “I’m… I’m just…”

There was a thump behind him, making him turn. Zi-O had slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor in a shuddering heap.

“… Hey.” No answer. “Hey!” Forcing his stiffening body to move faster, he lurched over to the other Rider’s side, kneeling down and grabbing him by the arms and shaking him. “Hey! Zi-O!” The other boy’s face was veering into deathly pale, and his lips were properly blue. His eyes were half closed, and he gave no indication he heard Geiz’s voice at all. “Sougo!” That elicited a slight response, a small brow twitch and a head tilt. But the other Rider’s eyes didn’t reopen fully, and he stayed mostly limp.

“No… No no no no…” He ran his hands up and down Sougo’s arms, even taking the other Rider’s hands in his and rubbing them for him, trying to keep the boy’s blood moving. “No… You do not get to freeze to death…” Reaching up, he tried to get the clip holding on his collar open, but found it too frozen to cooperate—then Sougo aimlessly mumbled something about starting to feel warmer, and rather than spend time struggling with it, he just grabbed the strap and yanked as hard as he could. After a moment, the material snapped, not built for such low temperatures. Once he had that off, he pulled Sougo closer, leaning the boy against his side while he fumbled with the front of his jacket, pulling the zipper open and removing it—passingly grateful he’d elected to wear a long sleeved shirt underneath it. Putting an arm back around Sougo’s shoulders, he repositioned the other boy so that he was curled with his side against his chest, and wrapped the coat tightly around him, covering as much as he could. “… Hope you’re right about the temperature thing…” He mumbled despite himself, cradling Sougo closer, tucking the other Rider’s head against his collarbone, holding the icy fingers in his hands again and rubbing them once more.

He could feel the coldness of Sougo’s body through the fabric of his shirt—a different sort of chill then the one in the air. His own body was starting to feel heavy and weak, so he just bundled the other boy closer to his chest and shifting them slightly, wedging himself between the other Rider and the ice of the wall. His mind was finally going dark, too, and his movements began to slow. He managed to make certain Sougo’s hands were safely tucked into the jacket and his arms wrapped tightly around the other Rider to hold him in place in his bundle before his strength gave out, his head dropping forward to leaning his face into the Sougo’s hair.

“… I’m not angry…” The words were less than a whisper, a faint smear of white in the air. “… I’m not… Angry…” His eyes started to drift closed. “… I’m scared.”

Then, darkness.

Chapter Text

Maybe she’s right.

It’s a thought that occurs to him once or twice every few hours.

Maybe she’s right, and there is no coming back from this. Maybe his hesitation is only going to lead to disaster, after all. Maybe it’s better to just cut their losses and finish it now.

But then Sougo smiles that big, dumb smile of his, and everything turns topsy-turvy.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? That Sougo is still Sougo.

And that now, that means something.

It means he’s frustrating, obtuse, impossible to read properly, and deceptively cheerful. It means he’s easily distracted, likes to make dumb jokes, and snores so loudly it can be heard through the walls. It means that his laugh is more of a giggle, he wiggles his feet like a child when he does it, and if someone shows him a math problem he goes crosseyed. It means when he looks sad, he makes a face like a kicked puppy.

It means he’ll face his shadow, reset time, step toward a future he rejects, for someone else’s sake.

And that’s always the last straw.

That he knows, somehow, for certain, that Sougo would never have done this if it hadn’t been for him. He’s got enough guilt already—for that, and other things. He doesn’t need to add betraying the one who saved his life to the list.

Admittedly, he doesn’t know for certain that he died; but sometimes, in between the snores, there’s crying, and—especially in the last few days—he sometimes hears his name, usually mixed together with an apology.

He hears ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ sometimes, too, but tries even harder not to listen when that happens.

Sougo’s not fragile, despite how small and harmless he looks. At least, it takes more than it seems like it should to crack him.

But he’s seen Sougo broken, now, and scared of himself—looking too much like a lost kitten, wide-eyed and shaking. And there’s something about that that leaves him with this obnoxious, invasive instinct to… Protect him.

He still wants a future without Ouma Zi-O. But a future without Sougo… Has steadily becoming significantly less appealing.

So maybe she’s right. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe there’s no coming back from this.

But so long as every time he looks at that face, he sees a person, sees Sougo; so long as each time the boy does something odd, all he can think is ‘really? This is the guy? This one?’; so long as his chest clenches any time he even thinks about what she’s suggesting; so long as he still has to dodge hugs whenever he comes back from patrolling for Another Riders—and tries to pretend he wouldn’t actually like accepting them…

So long as Sougo is smiling that big, dumb smile of his, Geiz doesn’t think he can give up just yet.

Chapter Text

It used to be the only thing he was worried about was whether Touwa was getting himself into trouble.

But Touwa was here, curled up like a cat, asleep on the couch next to him, back pressed against the side of his leg. The ones who weren't there were… Those three.

He could be—should be, normally would be—asleep, too. The girl and her father were, having already retreated upstairs for the night. He’d certainly tried for a good while; but after hours of holding still and staring at the ceiling, unable to do anything but pointedly notice just how quiet everything was when those three weren’t around—which had then lead to thinking about how late it was and they weren’t back yet, about the different kinds of messes that could ensue if something happened—if Melt happened to turn his back on the other two for too long or at the wrong moment, if a Minosaur showed up… Eventually, his mind had become so cluttered with intrusive thoughts that he’d concluded it would be easier to just sit up and read.

Occasionally, his hand drifted down to rest on his brother’s shoulder, just to make sure he was still sleeping peacefully. One of them, at least, deserved to be rested. Periodically, Touwa shifted slightly, though the warmth of his back stayed pushed against his brother’s leg. He looked tiny when he slept like that, like he was still a small child, and things were still normal—even though they hadn’t been for a long time. It was times like this he wondered what Touwa’s life would have been like if they’d stayed that way. Better? He didn’t know if that would be an accurate word—it probably was. There were probably a lot of things better than dragging his kid brother into a fight where he could die at any time. Better, perhaps. But unimaginable.

As he turned the page, though, those usual thoughts about his brother spread to the other three as well. What would they be doing if things hadn’t gone to hell? Would their lives be better? A gruffer part of him immediately supposed that his would, because they’d be just as obnoxiously cheerful as always—especially Kou—just maybe not in his immediate area; but then a quieter, more gentle voice—one his subconscious usually reserved only for Touwa—wished rather that things had happened differently for the trio for their own sake—so that they wouldn’t have had to lose, or risk their lives fighting.

With a scowl, he refocused on his book, trying to mentally silence that voice and pretend he wasn’t going soft—then heard the door creak. He cast aside the book without bothering to even try marking the page, and carefully got up so as not to disturb his younger brother. He could hear the footsteps in the hall—Melt’s measured, light ones, Asuna’s steady stomps, and Kou’s chaotic tapping.

Their voices were sensibly hushed, but they still didn’t hear him approach until he asked, just loud enough to get their attention, leaning against the wall and folding his arms, “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

All three of them whirled around to stare at him. Finally, Kou gave a ridiculous, sheepish grin. “Sorry.” He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “We got kind of lost.”

“You two got lost.” Melt corrected, while Asuna nodded along. Then Blue frowned, moving forward a bit to peer into the room. “… Were you waiting for us?”

“Of course not.” Was the sharp reply. He straightened up from the wall, unfolding his arms. “Go to bed before you all get distracted by something else.” He almost turned away, then paused and looked back. “And next time say something if you’re going to be out so late. The… Others were worried.”

Once more, all three pairs of eyes stared at him in shock. Then, they all broke into the most nonsensical, fond smiles—even Melt.

“Sure thing!” Asuna said cheerfully, then punched him in the arm—uninvited and with far too much force—as she slipped past toward the stairs. Melt just nodded politely, though still inexplicably smiling, and headed off in silence. Kou started toward him in a way that seemed dangerously like he was going for a hug, so he stopped rubbing his arm from Asuna’s hit, holding up a hand and giving Red a warning look. Fortunately, Kou got the message, and backed down, just a little awkwardly.

There was a moment where they just stared at each other—then Red fidgeted a little, scuffing his foot. “… Thanks.” He said, so quietly it was almost inaudible. “For waiting.” Then, without another word, he hurried past and disappeared.

Silence once more filled the building, but of a different kind; a strange sense of peace, and calm, like everything was suddenly in order.

He decided not to dwell on it, instead crossing back over to the couch. Turning the light off, he sat down beside Touwa again, draping his arm comfortably over his brother just for some subconscious reassurance, then put his feet up on the table in front of the sofa that he’d left his book on. Leaning heavily against the back of the couch and dropping his head down, he stared at the ceiling again for a moment, then closed his eyes.

That time, he was asleep in mere moments.

It used to be the only thing he was worried about was whether Touwa was getting himself into trouble.

Now, though, it seemed there were three more things.

Chapter Text

Once you break a promise, you can’t remake it.

Who was it who’d said that to him? His father, he thinks.

Yes, that was right. An angry old soldier, who remembered how things had been before it all went to hell—distantly, vaguely—a loss that had hardened him into a demanding and abrasive commander, who’d marched head high to his death with two dozen other fighters when his son was fourteen; leaving behind nothing but his strict training and rigid set of beliefs.

Once you walk away, you can’t walk back.

That’s the ball and chain that creates an invisible chasm in the ground, a rift that only he can see.

He wants to go back. Stomp across the gravel, and maybe punch Zi-O in the arm a little too hard for being an idiot. Or just for the sake of punching Zi-O. He wants to prove to Zi-O that he’s not alone, that one of them, at least, still believes—especially now. He wants to be able to break that ironclad rule of the man who did something like raise him; the same way he’s broken another…

Nothing comes before the mission.

How long did he spend living by those words?

He wonders what his father would think if he saw him now—balking at a chance so many others fought for, died for, including him. Shame, most likely. That any child of his would let emotion or conscience interfere with such an important task. No, not child. The man had had no children. He’d had trainees. By the time his son had been born, he’d long lost the ability to smile, made it clear he considered all kindness to have left him the day the world died. He’d never once raised a hand against any of his soldiers—but the cold disappointment in his gaze would be enough, that this failure is his only legacy.

His father wouldn’t hesitate. To kill Zi-O or to walk away.

But he’s not his father.

So why can’t he walk back?

Because…

Because now all three of those Watches exist. Now it’s safer if he stays away. Figure out what’s going on with Tsukuyomi. Keeps his distance. Stays somewhere he can easily disappear if he needs to. He’s already done enough damage.

Maybe if he’s gone, neither future will ever happen. Maybe that’s the answer.

Maybe if Zi-O stays away from him, he’ll stay safe, and he’ll stay Sougo.

Once you walk away, you can’t walk back.

His father’s voice rings unwelcome in his head. Even now, it seems, he can only bring himself to break one of the man’s damn edicts. He really can’t stop being a soldier.

Or maybe he’s really just that weak.

He can’t walk back.

But he waits until his heart can’t take it anymore before he turns away.

Chapter Text

Kou is trying to pretend he’s not crying.

He’s not doing a very good job of it either—but if there’s one thing Touwa’s learned it’s that Kou can’t hide his emotions even if his life depends in it, so it’s no surprise, really. It’s especially obvious when he compares it to his brother’s demeanour, which he’s long been adept at reading.

But if they weren’t like that, Kou wouldn’t be Kou, and Nii-san wouldn’t be Nii-san—and he prefers them both the way they are.

Melt looks like part of him wants to cry, but the other parts are focused on staying calm.

Seems even he can’t keep a stiff upper lip at this, though he can sit and stare at a book with the same expression for hours. It’s two different things, Touwa supposes. It’s not like Melt’s emotionless or anything—though he’s sometimes confusing and says the opposite the tacit cues his behaviour gives out.

He’d once joked that maybe Melt like puzzles because he was one himself, and would still swear he’d heard RyusoulBlue laugh.

Asuna has apparently decided dignity is for the weak, and is sobbing without restraint.

She’s never been hard to read, either, but less due to being incapable of hiding her feelings and more because she’s never been afraid to, or seen any reason to do so. Asuna can be insensitive by accident, think about things in a way completely different from everyone else, and sometimes forgets her own strength—but always trustworthy and honest to the core.

He can’t understand the words she’s saying now, mostly blubbering and sniffling, but somehow, her hand motions are speaking clear as day.

No one has noticed either of them yet. His brother has propped himself up against the wall in the corner, watching the whole scene almost as impassively as usual—just with a tiny smile tugging at his frown; but Touwa can also see a slightly darker look in his eyes than usual, and his shoulders are slightly slumped. Two opposite emotions at war.

Happy they’re happy again, but also apprehensive of what else this means.

They’d known months ago. When they’d chosen to turn their backs on the village and head out on their own, they’d both been well aware it meant cutting all ties and never going back. Originally, it hadn’t been an issue—they were all each other had, there was nothing to leave behind. No regrets.

Until now.

Who asked these three to come and go and leave them like this?

Something brushes his shoulder, and he looks up to see that his brother had crossed to room to stand beside him, with his back deliberately to everyone else. He jerks his head once—indicating away. He doesn’t really say anything, not even mouthing the words, but the message is clear—one Touwa’s been dreading, even though he’s done his best to prepare for it in the past few weeks.

It’s time.

They’d known it would come to this, in the end. No matter what happened between them, what bonds they made, or how close they all became, they’d always known. It had made them still struggle to create a rift, even as it was filled in, a dark cloud over whatever other joy there was. A fear that had made him wish, just for a moment, that the fighting wouldn’t stop, could go on forever, just as long as the five of them could stay together.

But the truth had always been there, hanging unspoken in the air—very palpable to the two of them, though the others never seemed to realise.

That, one day, the those three would go somewhere they could never follow.

He meets his older brother’s eyes for a moment, then glances back at the others. He wants to say something, but he more than agrees with the decision his brother made when they sensed the moment approaching, that a clean break would be easier for all of them.

No goodbyes. Not this time.

He follows his brother in silence, slipping away into the scenery.

Eventually, though, he has to ask. “Do you think we’ll ever see them again?” The only answer is a shrug, though his brother’s eyebrows knit together a little deeper. It’s enough to make him speak again, coming slowly to a halt. “… It was nice while it lasted, though, wasn’t it? To… To have somewhere to belong again? To have… Family, again. At least for a little while?” A few paces ahead, his brother stops and looks over his shoulder. After a moment of his usual frown, he turns and walks back over.

Touwa feels an arm around his shoulders—then is pulled into his brother’s chest in a tight hug; a rare sign of affection from someone like Nii-san. He reaches up and hugs back, not wanting to waste the chance and needing the comfort.

“… Yes.” He feels his brother’s voice rumble in his chest at the same time he hears the words above him, murmured into his hair. “… It was nice.”

And once more, all they have is each other.

But this time they have to carry the memories of the ones they’re leaving behind.

Chapter Text

“Touwa! Banba!”

There was maybe a few parts of a second between their names being yelled and Kou crashing headlong into both of them, bowling them over, throwing both arms around both of them as best he could. Touwa yelped and Banba cursed quietly as the force of an overly excited RyusoulRed bumped and twisted their wounds—but it quickly changed to surprise as Kou proceeded to bury his face in the shoulders and started outright sobbing with relief.

The Asuna jumped in, landing practically on top of Touwa, already crying herself and joining the messy hug with far too much strength until Touwa had to repeatedly tap her arm to make her loosen her grip. By that time Melt had rushed over, kneeling down on their other side; he also reached out to hold onto them—but much more gently, hands on their shoulders—and even his eyes were tearing up.

“What is with you three?” Banba grumbled—even though the arm that hadn’t been leaning on his brother for support had snapped up on instinct to catch their teammate when Red had thrown himself at them, and as a result was floating loosely around Kou’s shoulders.

Touwa was trying to use his free arm to make sure Asuna didn’t squeeze them too tight again. “This is… A little extreme…!”

Finally, Kou pushed himself up a little, taking some of his weight off them. Tears were still running down his face, but he was smiling—possibly the biggest smile they’d ever seen on him. “We…” He stammered, “We thought…” The tears over flowed all over again. “We thought you guys were dead…!” The other two nodded immediately, both smiling and crying as well by that point from sheer joy. Kou’s hands tightened, grabbing fistfuls of their shirts. “We thought you were…” He trailed off into another sob, head dropping forward again to cry into their shoulders once more.

“Jerks.” Asuna accused, though the scolding part of her tone was tempered by sniffles. She moved back a bit too—in order to start smacking them like an unhappy cat. “Jerks, jerks, jerks, jerks, jerks! Why would you leave without telling us?” She tried to shake them, but with everyone in a jumble and weighing on them only really succeeded in jerking Touwa’s arm around a bit.

“We promised to stick together, didn’t we?” Melt’s voice broke, his fingers digging into their arms as well. He smirked a little. “You’re not getting rid of us that easily.”

“Because we’re a team! We’re friends!” Asuna added empathically. “Did you really think we wouldn’t notice if you left?”

On top of them, Kou came  up for air, his shoulders shaking. “We missed you.”

There was a long silence.

“You…” Touwa finally mumbled. “… Missed… Us…?” All three nodded earnestly. The brothers exchanged a nervous glance. Then Touwa’s lip quivered.

With a small cry, he dove forward and hugged Kou back, knocking him over sideways and sending them both rolling on top of Banba and knocking him over when he tried to catch them. The flailing bowled both Asuna and Melt over as well, her scrambling back up to jump in as well, then reaching up and seizing Blue by the arm to pull him into the mess.

Eventually, after much flopping around, they managed to untangle, and the majority of the tears subsided. Melt slipped free, but only made it a little way across the grass before Asuna clambered after and tackled him again, putting him in a loose, playful headlock as she sat up, which settled into leaning on each other. With that weight clear, Banba managed to get enough leverage to sit up, though he still ended up with Touwa and Kou sprawled over his legs.

“… Don’t leave again.” Red said quietly, looking at the sky more than them.

Banba sighed deeply, his mouth twisting a little. “You don’t-”

But Kou sat up sharply to stare intensely at him. “Don’t leave again.” Even though Red’s expression was collected and calm, there was something in his eyes that made it seem like he could burst into tears all over again at the slightest push, so Banba just looked awkwardly away and set the issue aside.

He was spared having to think of anything else to say when something in the distance exploded. Touwa shot up as well at that, allowing his older brother to get to his feet. “Break time’s over.” The others found their way to their feet as well, looking toward where smoke rising from the horizon.

Kou took a deep breath, then turned to look back at them. “… Let’s go.” He said, then looked particularly at the brothers. “… All of us.”

And once again they belonged to someone.

Chapter Text

Green crashed into the wall hard enough to leave a dent and knock him out of his transformation at the same time a shard of lighting, followed almost instantaneously by a massive roar of thunder, ripped through the air. He landed hard beside the others, scrambling to push himself back up as rain began to pelt down from the clouded sky, icy water crashing down like it was also trying to push them to the ground. As if the weather itself was reacting to the situation.

With a sound like a disappointed huff, the armoured figure lowered its weapon, then turned, preparing to march away—then stopped.

A small hand was clinging to its ankle. “… Give him… Back…” The words were a cross between a whisper and a growl. “Give… Nii-san back…”

Gaisorg stared down at the boy for a moment—then turned just enough to kick him in the face, sending him sprawling across the ground roughly, banging his head and splitting his lip.

“Touwa!” Limping and scrambling, the other three made their way over. Melt and Asuna knelt beside Green while Kou moved between them and the armour, sword raised despite the way his leg was dragging—but his knuckles were white and his hand shaking. Touwa struggled to push himself up, staring with wide, frightened eyes, still too in shock to muster any other expression.

Kou tried to move to attack the armour but it sidestepped easily, the batted him away with the shield, sending Red crashing across the cement again. It took two steps forward, and Asuna jumped up, trying to get ahold of the arms or even the shoulders to shove it back—and did manage to make it slide back bit. But then Gaisorg just twisted around a little and slammed her in the stomach with the side of its sword, dislodging her hold and knocking her back to the ground. It didn’t even give Melt time to get up, swinging its other arm out to hit him with the shield as well, so hard that he landed flat on his back and was too stunned to move for a moment. Gaisorg didn’t give either of them another glance, merely hefting its sword up again above Touwa and swinging it down, this time with the bladed edge turned toward its target.

Touwa just winced and closed his eyes. Asuna screamed, Kou shouted something, and Melt still didn’t have his breath back. There was another burst of lightning and thunder practically in unison.

Then it stopped.

Slowly, Touwa cracked his eyes open and looked up. The sword was hovering hardly a hair’s breadth from his head, completely still, like it had met with some sort of invisible force. He stared at the blade for a moment, then, every so hesitantly, looked further up. Gaisorg’s helmet was still the same—blank, ominous. But something felt different.

“… Nii-san?” There was hope in the word—but not much.

The armour stayed frozen for another moment as they all stared. Then, slowly, almost mechanically, it moved the sword back, stumbling back a few steps before it got its balance back. The helmet stared down at the boy and the ground in front of it for a little longer, then turned and marched away into the rain and night. “Nii-san!” New desperation finally dragged Touwa to his feet, and he tried to race after the retreating armour.

But Kou had managed to get up as well, and lurched forward just in time to get his arms around Green’s waist, hugging the boy tightly against himself to stop him, trying to duck his head out of the way when Touwa kept struggling and calling for his brother. “Asuna!” Red shouted, and Pink rushed over to help restrain the boy, pinning his arms.

Eventually, though, Touwa’s will gave out, and he just collapsed back against Kou’s chest, finally breaking down into tears. Red shifted his arms to let the boy turn and sob into his shirt, just holding him close, leaning his cheek on the top of Touwa’s head. Asuna stepped back a little, but kept both hands on Green’s shoulders in an attempt at comfort. Melt made his way over, sneaking a hand out to gently rub the boy’s back. No one said anything because there was nothing they could say.

And so they stood, the only sounds the hammering of the rain and Touwa’s sobs.

Doing their best to hold him up in place of the one who usually did.

Chapter Text

Kou is surprisingly light. Not as light as Touwa, maybe, but he’s lighter than he seems he should be.

What happened to Touwa after they lost sight of each other? He hopes he’s somewhere with Melt and Asuna and not lost on his own.

Then Kou whimpers unconsciously near his ear, a little, warm vibration against his back that reminds him of the one he’s carrying—who is so surprisingly light. Especially when he’s limp and bleeding, both arms hanging loosely, head barely balancing on his support’s shoulder.

He’d patched Red up as best he could. Another young boy pretending he wasn’t in pain—even as he steadily got paler, and clung weakly to his sleeve as he worked. Kou only has a few years on Touwa, and when he’s wounded and scared, it shows—and worse, it hurts the same way. Not even just while he’d been tending Red’s wounds, when there was a needling reminder in his head the whole way that the blood on his hands was Kou’s and that it was outside when it was supposed to be inside. No, it had been there when it had happened, too—when the hardwired instinct his subconscious dedicated to protecting his brother had also made him reach for Red the moment he realised the other Ryusoulger was in danger. It had been there after, too when Kou wobbled on his feet and he’d found himself catching the boy before he’d even started to fall. It’s here now, like a jab in his ribs every time he feels Red’s breathing weaken, or the way the boy’s cheek is cool against the side of his neck. The overbearing need to protect, the one etched deep into his bones, that he feels for Touwa seems to slowly be spreading to Kou, too.

And that was never supposed to happen.

Softness has never really been in his nature. The only gentleness he’s ever been capable of before was always for Touwa’s sake—his everything, the one part of his life deserving of such care. But here he is, carrying someone else, someone wounded, through a hostile environment—someone he’d warned just a few hours earlier in the day that he’d leave him behind if it suited him—without a second thought.

And if his protective instincts can reach Kou, then it’s possible they could reach the other two as well—or they already have, without his even realising. He’s not sure which scares him more.

When it was just Touwa, it was easier. He could watch him, keep him safe. But with all four of them… The chances of something happening are higher Something like this.

Then Kou groans again, and shifts against him. The boy’s in shock, and there’s only so much he can do in their current situation. He needs to get them somewhere safer, and soon—Red’s fading heartbeat a ticking clock against his back.

He can work out the details later. In this moment, his only priority is keeping Kou alive.

And damned what happens to him in the process.

Chapter Text

They’ve all got some understanding of emergency field care. Comes with the training. But he can tell just by looking at their faces that they’ve never dealt with anything this big before; the only one who might know how to deal with this big an injury is Melt—and he’s the one lying on the ground with a massive hole ripped in his abdomen, and Kou and Asuna are both panicking. Because for all they know basic wound care, they’ve never seen something this bad before; or, at least, never had to be the ones caring for it.

So even though there’s some surprise on their faces when he steps in, pulling his over shirt off and pressing it over the wound to try and stem the blood flow, and especially when he starts giving orders for Asuna to get water and start a fire, and for Kou to get a blanket, something they can use as bandages, and the little bag he carries with the rest of his things, there’s also relief. They both focus completely on the tasks he’s asked of them, not wasting time dithering or questioning him, asking why he knows what to do.

He doesn’t waste time trying to tell them, either. Doesn’t try to tell them about the time his brother took a spear to the chest for his sake, cutting a hole through him far too close to his heart. He doesn’t say anything how the only help he could find quickly enough was an elderly woman whose mind was still sharp but was going blind and suffered from arthritis that meant she couldn’t do the work herself, so she had to give him instructions. He doesn’t want to remember what it was like to have his brother’s blood on his hands almost to the elbows, to feel warmth leaving his body with every passing moment. Doesn’t want to remember the icy clench in his chest when he described the damage and the old woman told him in sympathetic tones that the odds were worse than bad.

Kou has the bag and the water’s warm. He doesn’t want to risk taking the pressure off Melt’s injury just yet, so carefully talks the two through finding the salt in his bag and dissolving it to preparing the cloths to clean it with. He tries to pretend he’s not managing to keep his calm solely because it keeps his mind from wondering what happened to his brother after Gaisorg separated them. Whether or not he’s injured, too, but on his own this time, without… He’s spared from the rest of the by Asuna holding out a wet cloth at his shoulder. He get Kou to take over putting pressure and sets about cleaning. They both vary between watching his face and watching his hands, and still neither says anything and he’s grateful for it. Mercifully, they still don’t ask why. So he still doesn’t tell them.

He doesn’t tell them how many nights he sat up holding his brother’s hand because he was so terrified that if he fell asleep he’d wake up next to a corpse. He doesn’t explain how on the fifth day, the old woman passed away after telling him they’d done all they could and giving him her medical bag, and he’d buried her as best he was able with a poor marker. He doesn’t recount about the awful sounds his brother’s lungs made when he couldn’t get enough air. He doesn’t want to relive the way it felt his own heart had stopped the evening he genuinely thought he’d lost his only family forever.

He doesn’t tell them just how long he spent crying when his brother finally opened his eyes. He doesn’t say what it was like to finally have him back, to be able to put his arms around him again. He doesn’t reveal how his brother still has the ghost of a scar from that incident, a pale mark the size of his palm right next to his heart. He doesn’t mention that sometimes, when he finds his older brother asleep, he’ll sneak up and press his ear to his chest just to hear his heart.

He doesn’t tell them how he made sure to remember what the old woman had taught him, just in case.

He doesn’t know if it’s because they can guess it’s a long and painful story, or if they just have other things to think about. Maybe it’s both. But they don’t ask him why.

So he doesn’t tell them.

Chapter Text

Kou can hardly see his teammates in the darkness and dust. Melt is the only one of the two who’s upright—because when the earth caved in around them, Asuna kept them from being crushed by the massive sheaf of rock bearing down on their heads by wedging herself between it and the bedrock below them. After she’d stopped it from flattening them, she’d been able to push it a little higher via a forceful shove with her shoulders before the strain of stopping and lifting immeasurable tons of rock finally got to her and she collapsed. And it was just him and Melt trapped in a tiny pocket surrounded by solid rock. Melt’s arm is plastered against his, and Asuna lying on the ground crowds both their legs. There’s hardly enough space for two people, let alone three.

How long has it been since it started getting hard to breathe?

It’s definitely getting warmer, and they’re getting inexplicably tired. Melt’s head has practically dropped all the way onto his shoulder, and he can barely keep his eyes open.

“… How’s Asuna?” He barely hisses the question, trying to use as little breath as possible.

“… At this rate… She’ll outlive us…” Melt murmurs back just as faintly. “… She’s using less oxygen…” Blue’s eyes fluttered again. “… Not that it’ll matter…”

Kou fumbles until he finds purchase on hand, close by with their shoulders shoved together. “… It’s okay…” He tries to say, but the words kind of slur together, so it comes out more like ‘isoay.’  “… They’ll come…” The second part sounds more like ‘thelom.’

Apparently, though, Melt understands. “… You’re putting… Too much faith… In those two…” He doesn’t know if Melt isn’t as tired, or just better at staying in control, but Blue’s words aren’t slurred quite as much as his.

He can’t muster the strength to speak back, so he just weakly squeezes Melt’s hand as tightly as he can—which isn’t much. Maybe Blue is right. He likes to think Touwa has gotten at least a little fond of them, but it’s impossible to tell with Banba. In fact, it’s so impossible to tell anything with Banba, he’s been starting to wonder if he should ask Touwa to translate for him. But as to whether both or either of the brothers will come help them rather than defeat the Minosaur… He wants to think they would, but the part of him that can be logical reminds him that he doesn’t know them quite as well as he knows Melt and Asuna. And what he does know… Banba’s honourable and an excellent fighter, but also won’t let anything get in the way of his goal and it’s hard to know what he’s thinking. Touwa seems more open and friendly, but follows his brother everywhere, and Kou doubts he’ll show if Banba decides against it.

So maybe he is putting blind faith, putting their lives, in the hands of two people he hardly knows, who may or may not care enough to abandon a fight to come save them.

But as his vision starts getting fuzzy, and he feels Melt’s head bump against his shoulder, it seems like blind faith is all they’ve got.

And he’ll just have to hope the time they’ve had will mean enough to Black and Green.

Chapter Text

Time passes.

Kou isn’t sure how much time, but it’s definitely time. Melt is unresponsive beside him, and his awareness is almost completely gone as well. Feels like there’s cotton in his lungs and he can’t keep his eyes open. There’s nothing but darkness and silence.

He’s never been one to give up on anything, always staying optimistic as best he can. But even he can’t stop the dark, creeping thought, the only cold thing in the tiny, sealed enclave; They didn’t come.

The darkness persists.

But then light pierces his vision.

For a moment or so he’s blinded for a different reason, everything turning completely white—then air comes rushing in like a kick in the ribs and for another few moments all his brain can focus on is how good it feels to have oxygen again and how it needs more. Melt stirs next to him. He thinks he hears Asuna groan.

There’s a flash of colour in his slowly returning vision. Motion, something appearing through the circle of sunlight now beaming down above them. Something shifts, and there’s more space at their legs—he squints up to see what seems to be someone—or multiple someones—gently pulling Asuna out of the hole. He can see her pink, and… Green?

He loses them in the light, but soon Melt’s weight moves off him, and at the same time he feels a hand on his arm, then one on the other, pulling him upward and out of the darkness. He find his legs a little on the way out, but grabs onto the arms holding him for support. On the very edge of the hole, he stumbles and his knees give out—but when he falls forward it’s into someone’s chest, someone who feels strong and solid and safe. So he just leans into them, gasping for air.

“It was really hard to find you guys.” Chirps a voice somewhere behind him. He twists around, squinting through the light to see who it is—a smudge of green that morphs into a familiar, thin, teenager with a cat smile. “Took us ages to even figure out the general area.” Touwa pauses, smile faltering into uncertainty for a moment, but then adds, “So… Sorry about the wait.”

“… Thought you said you’d leave us.” The weak, wheezy voice is hardly identifiable as Melt’s—but there’s still an edge of accusation in the tone.

“… I said if you stop being useful.” A rumbling against his shoulder, the familiarity of the voice, and simply looking up reveals to Kou that he’s leaning on Banba, who’s holding him up loosely like he’s slightly unsure of how to react the way Red is clinging to him—but despite the emotional hesitation, the hands on his shoulders feel reliable and sound. “You’re still useful.” The tone is gruff, but the way Banba is deliberately looking away from them, and how Touwa chuckles at the words makes Kou suspect there’s more to it—something that feels like a weight off his back just as much as being able to breathe again.

Finally, he finds his own voice. “… The Minosaur?”

The brothers exchange a look. “… It got away.” Banba mutters, voice vibrating against Kou’s shoulder again.

“You let it go… To help us?” He supposes the implications are obvious, but he still wants to ask, even if they don’t answer.

Touwa shrugs. “It’s pretty big.” His tone is casual, like it’s no big deal they forwent the thing they’ve been fighting for for months for the sake of three people they’re just starting to trust. “It shouldn’t be too hard for us to find it again.” Banba’s expression is blank, but he’s not snapping at them for getting in his way, or pushing Kou off, and that’s just as comforting.

Then it occurs to him Touwa just used ‘us’ to refer to all of them.

And it’s like everything has clicked into place. Touwa is crouched by Asuna and Melt, beaming warmly, a hand on Blue’s shoulder, occasionally checking on Pink. Banba is holding Kou up like an unshakeable pillar, looking around them with a slight glare like he still expects Druidon to pop out of the rock. For the first time, the brothers feel closer, more central to their unit than they have before. For the first time, they’re all part of an ‘us’ rather than having a ‘them.’ For the first time, even the largest of differences between them don’t seem to matter.

For the first time, they feel like a team.

Chapter Text

“Wait.” The word was little more than a gasp, but Gaisorg still froze, helmet turning slightly. When it continued to hold till, he hauled himself up, wincing slightly, but pushing his joints to move. If this was going to work, he couldn’t show any weakness whatsoever. “… You want a body, right?” It had Kou by the scruff of his jacket, and the boy wasn’t fighting back at all, despite the sword blade hovering too close for comfort to his throat—but when he asked that, Red’s head twitched upward, his eyes widening slightly. Internally, he noted where the others were—Melt wasn’t far from Kou; Asuna a few paces to his left; Touwa was a little behind him and to the right. All four of them just too far away for him to make it in time. The armour turned slightly, dragging the boy slightly across the ground. “Right?” The helmet tilted a little—almost like the armour was nodding. He took a deep breath, one that ached his ribs, but gritted his teeth to keep impassive. “… Then use me.”

“No!” His words seemed to have given Kou new energy, because the shout was accompanied by frantic struggling, Red clawing at the metal hand holding his jacket and kicking wildly. Gaisorg showed absolutely no care for the panicked scrambling, instead staring straight ahead. “Don’t!” But even though he was fighting, the boy was not only making no headway against the sentient armour, he was clearly just weakening himself and worsening his wounds.

Ignoring Kou like he so often did, he stayed focused on Gaisorg. “Use me.” He growled. “Let them go.” The armour turned sharply toward him. “How many people could stand after a hit like that?” He snapped, cutting it off before it could speak. He very pointedly did not lookat Red, who was trying to make eye contact with him, shaking his head. It didn’t matter what he thought. Nothing mattered but getting Gaisorg as far away from them as possible. And he could think of only one way to do that. Doing his best to stay focused, he forced himself to move, taking a few steps closer, still trying to tune out Red’s shouting and begging for him to stop. “I’m what you’re looking for. Let them go.” He continued staring the armour down, refusing to falter in the slightest.

Neither of them moved for a long time, the only sounds that of Kou’s resistance.

Then Gaisorg tossed Red to the side, dropping him unceremoniously on the ground. Scrambling as quickly as he could, the boy floundered halfway to his feet, stumbling over to grab his arm, pleading in his eyes. “Don’t. Don’t do this.” He knew if he looked down into Kou’s face, at the desperation of a boy hardly older than his brother that he’s started to think of in the same way, he’d break. But Red was already wobbling on his feet, and all it took was a single, well-placed strike to the least injured spot on him to dislodge his hold.

He leaned forward a little to catch the boy gingerly when he began to fall. “… Take care of Touwa.” He murmured. “… I’m sorry.” He carefully lowered Kou to the ground so that he didn’t hurt himself again. Then he took another step toward Gaisorg. “… Do it.”

The armour stared at him for a moment longer, then began to glow. It separated into pieces that flew through air and swirled around him, the purple light consuming his vision. He thought he saw whoever it had been using collapse, but soon thoughts and memories that weren’t his were forcing their way into his mind, pushing him to the side.

As the armour entity finished forming, the last thing he heard was Kou weakly gasping his name.

Then nothing.

Chapter Text

Still clutching his stomach, Kou reached blindly for Banba’s hand—only to find cold metal. Slowly, painstakingly, he raised his head—knowing full well what he’d see but trying to cling to a faint hope that he was wrong.

He wasn’t. Gaisorg’s helmet stared back down at him, the visor blank and dark.

“… No. No no no no no no…” Despite the sharp edges and the way his fingers slipped, he tried to grab hold of the arm, drag himself back up, yanking on it like he could pull it off Black bare-handed. “No… Please…!” But the armoured arm swung out, striking him hard in the stomach and knocking him flat on his back. Wincing, he rolled over, trying to get back up—only to find Gaisorg towering over him. The armour raised an arm to strike again—then froze. It hesitated for another moment, then lowered the hand, stepping back.

“… Kou?” Melt’s voice, confused and weak, called his name; in the corner of his eye, he saw Blue making his way to his feet, just over Gaisorg’s shoulder. Seeing the armour apparently cornering him, the other Ryusoulger immediately went for his sword.

“No! Don’t!” His shout startled Blue, and made Gaisorg look sharply over its shoulder (no, not ‘its’ shoulder—he wasn’t going to give the armour even a minute shred of ownership over Banba). It gave him enough time to scramble back up, rushing over to get between his teammate and Gaisorg, throwing out a hand to dissuade Melt even more. “Don’t!”

Melt stared at him, but didn’t move to attack. Kou tried to say more, but then his balance failed him, and he fell forward. Fortunately, Blue took the two steps necessary to catch him, though the added weight nearly brought him back to the ground as well. “Kou!?”

He raised his arm, fingers latching tightly onto the fabric of Melt’s shirt. “… Don’t hurt him.” He managed, his voice breathless in distress. “… It’s Banba.” He practically choked on the words, but had to say them. “It’s Banba.”

Melt’s eyes widened in horror, gazing first at him, then the armour—standing stock still, looking blankly at them. The alarm only grew as his eyes lighted on the collapsed civilian nearby, where one hadn’t been before. “No…”

There was an awful sound of metal when Gaisorg moved, helmet suddenly turning toward a sound. Kou followed the look to see that Asuna was also regaining consciousness, fumbling her way upward and holding her head. The armour watched her for a moment, then turned a little further. That time, Kou didn’t need to check to see what it was focusing on—Touwa was still unconscious, but very visible, on Asuna’s other side. Pink noticed too, and, without waiting to even get her bearings back, she stumbled her way over to Green’s side, throwing herself over him and shielding him from Gaisorg’s view with her back. The armour didn’t move for another moment.

Let them go.

With more metal creaking, Gaisorg turned and walked deliberately away without a single glance backwards. Kou tried to go after it, but Melt held him back—when his legs gave out, all he could do was sink to the ground, hands scraping on the cement as they balled into fists. Blue fell to his knees beside him, taking deep, shaking breaths. Slowly, Asuna sat up, watching them in bewilderment, then looking nervously around. When neither of them offered any explanations, she set about seeing to Touwa. Eventually, Blue came to his senses, and made his way over to the armour’s previous wearer, kneeling down to check on the man. Kou stayed where he was, glaring tearfully at the ground.

“Touwa’s not waking up.” Asuna’s voice cut through their distress. “He… He’s not… I think he hit his head. I can’t tell how bad it is.” Kou snapped his head around to look, then worked to drag himself over to her side while Blue got the civilian up and helped him toward safety.

Touwa looked unbearably small. Maybe his energy made him seem larger, so when he was lying on the ground unconscious, it made it seem like he’d shrunk. Or maybe it was just Kou’s perception and guilty conscience, having allowed the loss of the foundation that had always supported him. Whatever it was, Green looked his age—younger, even—especially beaten and bloodied with a cut on his head; which was what was most distressing. There was a great deal of blood, but the wound didn’t seem to be too deep. Still, it was probably a good idea to at least have someone else check it out. Still, he pulled off his jacket, folded it up, and pressed it against the injury, hoping to stem the blood flow.

Then the brief moment of silence was broken. “… Where’s Banba?” Asuna’s voice was quiet and curious—reminding him that she was innocent of the knowledge of what had happened to Black.

He lost his voice for a bit, trying to think of how to say it—until, finally, “… Gaisorg took him.”

“… What?” The fright in her tone indicated that it was less that she hadn’t understood, and more that she wanted him to deny it, say he was lying.

He wished he could. “Gaisorg took him. He… He let it take him to protect us.” He closed his eyes against the memory of dark purple light on the fringes of his vision while he vainly called out the name of someone he’d never thought he’d care for, and yet he did. “I… I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop it. He’s gone and it’s my fault.” She was quiet for a while—then, slowly, gently, he felt her hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t be arrogant.” They both looked up to see that Melt had come over. “We all failed to defeat Gaisorg.” But there was an extra layer of grimness to his expression that was even more terrifying.

“Melt? What’s wrong?” Asuna asked, when Kou couldn’t.

“That man saw flashes of Gaisorg ‘mind’ while he was possessed. Seems he learned…  Something.” The dread was only growing heavier in Blue’s voice and features. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Once Gaisorg attaches to a host, it can’t be removed unless it chooses to—which doesn’t seem likely to happen—or…” He very deliberately wasn’t looking at them. “… Or the host dies.”

They both stared at him.

Kou barely kept the presence of mind to let Asuna take over holding the jacket to Touwa’s head before he shot upward, lurching over to grab Blue by the collar with both hands, shaking him. “No! That’s not true! That can’t be true! That can’t be…!” He gave Melt one more strong shake before he slumped forward into his shoulder. The weight displacement made Blue stagger, but he reached up and put his arms around Kou when Red broke down into sobs. “That… That can’t be…”

Melt squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to be the calm one. “… I… I’m sorry…” He whispered, rubbing his friend’s back. “… I’m sorry.” Slowly, the crying began to soften—not toward stopping, but continuing more quietly.

“What do we…” Asuna’s voice broke the new quiet. She was sitting with Touwa’s head cradled in her hands, still pressing Kou’s jacket to his head wound, staring up at them with abject horror. “… What… What do we tell him?” She began, voice cracking, her hands tightening on the teenager’s shoulders, “… What do we tell Touwa?” Melt’s expression turned like he was going to be sick, and Kou’s heart skipped.

Neither of them had an answer.

Chapter Text

Nothing.

Kou’s palms were pressed to Banba’s chest, but he couldn’t feel even a heartbeat—not even the weak, fading one that had been their poor reassurance that they still had a chance to save the two. Next to him, Asuna was similarly frozen by Touwa’s bedside, and he knew she wasn’t feeling any pulse or breath either. The ghost of life that the brothers’ subconsciousness determination had been clinging to, that had kept their bodies alive, despite the loss of their souls, had faded away.

It was too late. They were too late.

Sinking to the floor, he found Black’s hand, wrapping both of his tightly around it and squeezing—like he could make Black wake up just to punch him for it. But the hand was cold and still in his, warmth having faded with all the other signs of life. Even colder than when he’d held it just hours ago, before they’d left. Back when they’d still thought they could make it in time.

“But… But we… We promised…” Asuna whimpered faintly, then slumped forward, her arm and head dropping onto Touwa’s chest, and began sobbing into her elbow. Melt backed into the corner in shock, leaning on the wall like it was the only think holding him up. Ui curled up in a ball by the door and started weeping loudly into her knees. Kou pressed Banba’s hand to his forehead, tears finally overtaking him as well.

Did a promise matter to those who couldn’t hear it? Perhaps not. But even though the vow had fallen on deaf ears, the meaning and the pain of failure were still the same. They’d sworn that they would recover the brothers’ souls and return them in time—but they’d only managed the first half. How were they supposed to protect or save the world when they couldn’t even save the people most important to them? First their home and their Masters, now Touwa and Banba—and the latter was even harsher, because Green and Black had done it to protect them.

When had the brothers become such a huge part of their lives that it felt like they’d always been there? Why did they have to lose them to notice it?

There was a soft thud in the corner as Melt finally slid to the floor, dropping his head into his hands. Asuna continued to cry into Touwa’s chest, sobs muffled by her arm. Kou kept clutching Banba’s hand and holding it to his face. Ui hadn’t moved at all.

The only sound was that of overbearing grief.

“… As… Asuna…?”

Faint as it was, they all heard it. Asuna’s head snapped up and around, Kou practically fell over turning to look, Melt crawled part way over, and even Ui looked up.

Touwa’s eyes were open slightly.

He stared blearily at them, squinting a little, then, “… Your… Arm… Is heavy.”

Asuna turned pink, and quickly moved back from where she had been practically leaning on him, shooting glares at the other two when they couldn’t resist chuckling. “… Sorry!” She mumbled.

Touwa shook his head weakly, starting to look more aware. He shivered a little, frowning. “… It’s kinda… Cold.” Before anyone else could move, Ui was scrambling to her feet and fetching another blanket, while Asuna helped Green sit up. Ui returned quickly, but Green’s colour was already returning, even before they wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, and the way his shivering subsided slowly meant he was warming up, too.

Kou sat and just watched for a moment—until something moved in his hands and batted him in the face.

“Let… Go… Of my hand.” Growled a familiar voice, though he’d never heard it sound that tired before. He turned quickly back to find he was the subject of one of Banba’s usual glares—a slightly unfocused and weary one, but one all the same. For a moment he couldn’t move for shock, until the glare strengthened slightly. He immediately released Black’s hand from the vice-grip he’d had it in, then waited for the rest of the shock to wear off as Banba made sure his hand still worked and tried to sit up, muttering about Kou being an emotional oaf.

In the end, he didn’t make it very far upward—because feeling finally returned to Red, and with and elated squawk he dove forward and threw his arms around Black’s shoulders, knocking him back over and bursting into tears all over again—though for a very different reason. Banba cursed quietly, but didn’t throw him off, even patting him a little awkwardly on the back when the crying got even more dramatic. Somewhere else in the room, someone—probably Asuna—was also crying, and Kou could faintly hear Melt’s voice in the background.

But what was more important was the strength and volume when Touwa started laughing at something—Ui, most likely—and the way Banba was returning to a normal body temperature in his arms—slowly, but surely, and definitely better than how deathly cold he had been before.

“… Never do that again.” He mumbled into Black’s shoulder, holding tighter. “Never, ever do that again. Promise.”

He felt, more than heard, Banba’s sigh. “… Over-emotional buffoon.” Rumbled the voice near his ear.

“I don’t care. Promise.” Everything else was quiet, suddenly. He felt Black’s head turn slightly away, towards the other side of the room—the brothers exchanging a look.

After a long moment, Banba’s hand came down on his back again, resting there, more deliberately than before. “… We promise.” Banba said at last, more gently than was his usual wont. “We… We promise.” Another, smaller hand found Kou’s shoulder and squeezed it.

Then moment was then promptly shattered by Asuna practically jumping on top of Kou. The resulting mess caught Touwa’s arm, and he was dragged off his bed to the floor—just in time for Melt, trying to pull Asuna off, to also get pulled down and land on top of him. They all ended up in a scrambled pile while Ui just watched the spectacle, too busy laughing and crying all at the same time.

“Ugh… Damnit… Why do I always end up at the bottom of these?” Banba grumbled, trying to get in a position that was easier to breathe with half his team lying on him.

“Oh, come on!” Touwa complained, though there was also and edge of laughter to his voice, while he tried to get out from under Melt and part of Asuna. “Is this anyway to treat people who were dead a moment ago?”

“Yes!” Pink declared. “This is payback for scaring us!”

Melt yelped when she accidentally kneed him in the stomach. “Doesn’t help if you crush the rest of us, too!”

“Asuna!” Kou squeaked. “I can’t breathe! Ui, get her off!” But Ui was still doubled over with laughter.

“Hrrgh! Fine.” Bracing himself on the sides of the bed, Banba forced his way into sitting up, managing to deposit both Kou and Asuna on the ground as well, just missing the other two. “There.” He flopped back down with a sigh while the other four tried to get untangled, laughing through most of it. Eventually, Asuna throw Kou off her, practically the length of the room, and got up herself, which gave Melt and Touwa space to free themselves, and they all settled into their own spots. After that, it wasn’t long before the usual chatter returned, and by the time Ui’s father reappeared, there was nothing to indicate the terrifying event had even taken place.

But, for a while afterwards, one of the three would periodically check to see that both the brothers were still there.

Just in case.

Chapter Text

He’s been angry before. In fact, he’s usually angry.

He’s never been this angry. Especially not at so many people.

There’s Ouma Zi-O, for causing all of this. Kuro Woz for constantly getting in the way. Shiro Woz, too, for even making this an option, pushing them so far. Another Zi-O for being a product, a reminder of the damage he caused. Zi-O himself, for making everything so much harder and complicated than it ever should have been. Even her, just a little, for going that far.

He’s ashamed at some of the anger, directed against his will at people who don’t really deserve it—well, some of them don’t.

But most of all?

He’s angry at himself.

He should have just taken the hit and pulled the trigger. If he had done that, things might have been different.

But he didn’t. And now it’s too late. He failed, and now this is where they are. He’s the only one left. All he can do now is take the one alternative available. The only one they know works. And then perhaps all those people who died will live.

No matter how he looks at it, one person’s life isn’t worth this.

Not even a… Friend’s.

He should have just accepted the burden from the start. He’s the soldier. If one of them truly has to do this, has to carry this crime, it should be him. No one else.

If he finishes it now, what will the future be? He’d never imagined how completing the mission might actually effect time. If Ouma Zi-O never exists, then things will go differently. Neither he nor she will ever go back in time—and without them the bus will never explode.

Maybe there will another her, come the new 2068. One who’s born into a peaceful world, where she never sees her father or her comrades die fighting an impossible opponent. Maybe…

Maybe there will be a new Sougo. One who grows up with his parents, and never has a dream that tells him he needs to be a king.

That’s the most comfort he can afford himself.

He pushed her to her death. His only choice is to kill Sougo.

But maybe the new versions can live better, fuller lives in the future this will create.

Even though they won’t be the ones he knew, not anymore. And they won’t know him.

Maybe there will be a new him, too. One whose father is never made hard-hearted by the world’s destruction. Who never has to be a soldier. Who never sees death. Who never loses his best friend. Who never has to kill someone he cares about.

Maybe they’ll even find each other again, somehow, some way.

It will a future where he has no place. Where he’s nothing but an angry, guilty ghost. Shiro Woz can gild it all he likes—there will nothing for him in that timeline, and no one. No past, present, or future.

Nothing but regrets he alone can recall. 

But what are his options?

Fight and win. Or fight and die.

Or… Both.

Or both.

Chapter Text

There was a long silence.

“… Tatsui-san,” Touwa said, finally, “Is going to kill us.”

The others exchanged glances.

“… Can’t we tell Ui?” Asuna asked hesitantly.

“Ui won’t be back until tonight.” Melt told her flatly, then folded his arms, raising an eyebrow. “What were you three even doing to cause this?”

“It’s a long story.” Kou said, then looked at Touwa. “What about your brother?”

“Nii-san will also kill us.”

“Even if you tell him?” Asuna wanted to know.

Touwa nodded. “He once made me help repair a roof after I fell through it during a fight.” They all stared at him for a moment. He shrugged. “He’s got… Standards.”

“So… Basically…” Asuna concluded slowly, “… We’re dead.”

“Maybe we can clean it up?” Kou offered, then looked at her. “You can lift it, right?” Her head snapped around to glare at him, and she reached out and grabbed his ear. “Ow! Ow! I’m sorry, okay?” She tried to shove his head away, but accidentally did it with too much force, sending him careening into the mess they’d already created, disrupting everything even more.

There was a shocked silence.

“… Well.” Melt said, finally, while Kou slowly stumbled to his feet—causing a little more destruction on the way. “I wash my hands of this. You’re on your own.” Scooping up his book from where it had miraculously avoided the chaos, he walked briskly from the room.

They watched him go, then all looked at each other again.

“… Let’s… Never speak of this again.” Touwa decided.

The other two nodded in agreement.

Kou stepped back to stand beside them, looking back and forth between them. “Pretend we never saw it?”

“Not a bit.” Asuna agreed cheerily.

“Right…” Kou nodded slowly, surveying the room one last time. “… Right.” He turned to face them. “Let’s get out of here.”

As one, all three of them bolted out the door.

Chapter Text

Banba didn’t scream. Such a large display of emotion was probably somehow hardwired out of his nature. He did shout Touwa’s name, flashing across the space between them faster than would normally be humanly possible, falling to his knees beside his little brother before the other three had even started to get up. Pulling Green into his arms, he cupped the boy’s face in his hand, desperately trying to rouse him. He had more of an expression than any of them had ever seen on him before—genuinely terrified and distressed, hands shaking as he stroked his brother’s face, whispering his name, quietly begging him to wake up. Touwa didn’t stir—just lay in his brother’s arms, small and abnormally pale, bleeding too much and far too still. When he couldn’t get a response, Banba just hugged him to his chest, pressing his face into the boy’s hair, rocking slowly back and forth.

Slowly, the other three made their way over. Asuna almost reached for his shoulder, but Melt caught her hand part way there, shaking his head. Banba was reclusive most of the time already—a situation like this probably wasn’t the moment to be pushing his boundaries. Kou stumbled a few more steps forward to at least stand closer, just for the sake of doing something. None of them could think of anything to say—everything that came to mind seemed useless and ineffective, or could make the situation worse. Even Asuna was stunned into silence, merely hovering and blinking back tears, while Melt kept patting her arm absently, his own expression drawn and dark. Kou stayed where he was, just staring at Banba’s back as if he could somehow impart comfort to him through his gaze.

In his heart, though, he knew. This was not something that could be made better.

Chapter Text

Kou very nearly walked right into Touwa when Green froze in the doorway—behind him Melt and Asuna did crash into his back, just barely managing to stay upright. All three of them looked at Touwa questioningly—he just slowly pointed into the room, motioning for them to be quiet.

Banba was sitting up on the sofa, arms folded like they usually were—but he was slumped forward slightly, head down, his breathing deep and even. Asleep.

“… Does he just go until he shuts down or something?” Asuna asked as they all shifted around to peer through the doorway.

“Only when he thinks I can’t see him.” Touwa replied quietly. “He doesn’t… He doesn’t believe in showing anything that might be considered weakness.”

“What’s weak about needing sleep?” Pink wondered.

“Foundations don’t like to be seen to crumble.” They all gave Melt weird looks.

“You sound like the Elder.” Asuna accused. Blue gave her an affronted stare while she just shrugged.

“Regardless,” Kou interrupted, straightening up, “He’s gonna hurt himself or catch a cold if he stays like that.”

They tiptoed into the room carefully. Kou found the pillow, but they let Touwa arrange and move his brother’s head so that it was supported, just in case they did get caught. Melt did step in to assist when Asuna retrieved a blanket, but because he and Green were the most precise out of all of them, they were able to do it without disturbing Black at all.

Finally, they stepped back. “That’s about all we can do.” Melt said, folding his own arms. “That and let him sleep.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Kou agreed, casually slinging an arm around Touwa’s shoulders without thinking—but Touwa didn’t immediately push him off, either.  “Come on, Ui or her father might have something for us to do.” He clapped Green gently on the shoulder once, then headed for the door; the other two soon followed.

Touwa stayed behind for a bit, watching his brother sleep. Then he slipped closer again, sitting gently on the sofa beside Banba and leaning into his chest for a moment—listening to his heart, just for the sake of it. The beat was as steady and resilient as it always was, like a bass drum line against his ear—the most calming and reassuring sound in the world to him.

Banba didn’t stop being his pillar just because he was asleep. He supposed he really should tell him that—then maybe he wouldn’t push himself so far.

Eventually he pulled away from his brother’s chest, pausing only to make sure the blanket was properly tucked around him and wouldn’t fall off. Banba was a very still sleeper (which had frightened him a fair share of times before he’d trained himself how to identify the motions of his brother’s breathing), but it was better to be sure. Once that was done, he gave him one last fond smile before departing as well.

His brother deserved to have some rest, for once in his life.

Chapter Text

They all react to pain differently, he’s figured that out. Asuna, for all she’ll chatter normally, is the determined and tough type, bearing any injury like she carries everything else. Melt is calm and sensible about it, overthinking his way into complicated denial of the extent of any wound. Kou and Touwa are the most similar—both of them try to pretend they’re not hurt at all, not weathering it like Asuna or convincing themselves of it like Melt, but trying to act that way to others. The only difference is that Touwa’s gotten good at it.

Even when they’re unconscious, it shows. Asuna’s breathing is a little shallower, but she’s sleeping mostly peacefully. Melt’s eyebrows are furrowed like he’s still concentrating, and the only other sign is that every now and then he whimpers unconsciously. Of the other two, Touwa’s the one still almost maintaining the charade, even now; he winces in his sleep whenever he moves, and his breaths are only slightly laboured—Kou, on the other hand, is clearly suffering, now that he’s not awake to focus on hiding it; he’s in a cold sweat, breathing in shallow starts and making small, pitiful sounds every so often.

And here he is, sitting up at the edge of Touwa’s bed—like his presence is going to help them at all. Each time one of them makes another agonised sound, it’s like a knife in his side, jabbing against his heart and ribs. There are so many things he should have done to prevent this. Ui had said nothing, expression blank, when he’d brought them back. Outside of being impressed he’d gotten them all back alone, she’d merely hurried to fetch medical supplies. No blame, but also no questions—and no pity. For that, he’s grateful. The woman is nonsensical and overexcitable, sometimes unbearably cheerful—but she knows enough to see that sympathy, however well-meaning, is the last thing he needs right now.

He’s not entirely sure how he did it either, but it’s no miracle he was able to get them all back. It’s not them that’s heavy.

The the door bursts open, and there’s Ui, panting like she’s just sprinted up a mountain. “It’s back!” The words are sandwiched between gasps, but he hears them and his heart stops. She leans on her knees for a few moments to catch her breath before continuing in the same frantic tones. “It’s back, the monster’s back!” She follows his gaze when he glances back over the rest of the team, all clearly too injured to fight. But if they wake up, he knows they’ll try to go.

She leaps back a bit when he stands quickly, fingering the Changer on his wrist. Taking one last look at the others, he turns back to her. “Not a word to them.” The words come out colder and as more of a growl than he intends, but maybe if he frightens her she’ll listen—not that Ui has ever seemed easy to frighten.

Instead, she stares at him as he sweeps past her. “You’re going alone? But-” Her voice stops when he throws up a hand.

Once he’s convinced she’ll stay quiet, he lowers it slowly, giving her a hard look. “Not. A. Word.” Each syllable is a snarl—but once he gets that out, his will falters, and his gaze moves to the corner rather than her. “… Look after them.”

He’s gone before she can say anything else.

Chapter Text

It felt wrong.

When Master Red died, even though he knew Melto and Asuna would be grieved, he knew his heart was the only one that would be so completely destroyed. For them, those feelings were reserved for their own Masters.

But this… This felt like he was holding everyone’s hearts in his arms at the same time.

He could feel Banba’s heart against his ribs; the normally steady, strong beat faltering slightly—but still a sharp contrast to the panicky speed of his own pulse. Black’s breathing was weak, too, his arms were hanging limply—save for the ghost of a grip on one arm with one hand from when he’d pulled Kou against his chest in the chaos, tucking the boy into his own arms to shield him. Now he was unconscious, most of his weight slumped over Kou’s shoulder—the same way Master Red’s had been when he…

He pushed the memory away, his arms instinctively clinging tighter around his teammate, hands scrabbling for purchase against Banba’s back, curling into fists. At least, for the moment, Black was still warm and solid in his hold, not going cold or fading away—and even though it was stuttering and fading even more, his pulse still pounded right back against Kou’s chest. Each level beat a new, hammering reminder of just why they needed him so much.

This wasn’t fair. It felt like he wasn’t the one who was supposed to be there—like he was intruding. But at the same time…

It felt right.

He was choking on panic, heart in his throat, just like that day in the temple. For all intents and purposes, it was his brother in his arms. He hadn’t realised how much he, how much all of them, had started relying on Banba as an unshakeable foundation, a constant in a  sea of uncertainty, until now—now that there was a very real danger of losing him. It had been abundantly how much Touwa needed his brother from the start, but Kou had never expected to end up feeling the same way—especially after how difficult their first meeting had been. If Banba died, it would kill Touwa. But now, it would also kill the three of them. They’d lost everything that day, and while nothing could completely fill the holes that had left in their hearts, the brothers had somehow become the closest comfort for the pain.

But what still felt wrong was that it was Banba.

Banba had never seemed like someone who could waver or fall, but he somehow felt fragile in Kou’s arms—heartbeat still fading, and his weight seeming to sink more against Red’s shoulder with every passing moment. Before, he’d always been like a boulder, a firm anchor whenever any of them flew too far away. But now it was like the boulder was crumbling beneath Kou’s very hands, falling into dust.

But another, longer skip of Black’s heart jolted him back to his senses. Banba didn’t need him to muse or panic—he needed him to focus and stay calm. So once more, he pushed away the dreadful familiarity of the situation, scrambling to make his hold more practical than frantic clinging, and trying to clear his head. They were alone, with no way of knowing when the others would reach them, or if they even knew where they were.

If he didn’t do something, Banba would die, and that they would not survive.

And he refused to let that happen.

Chapter Text

He liked to think he understood his brother.

And most of the time, that felt true. Tiny changes in expression he knew no one else could detect, small, tacit clues in body language that were meaningless to others. Most of the time, the two of them seemed to communicate silently, in some sort of special, personal code that was  delightfully a mystery to everyone else around them. He always enjoyed that—the way they could converse without anyone knowing what they were saying or that they were even communicating. Their little secret, a language uniquely theirs, in the giant game of them against the world.

And maybe it was selfishness or entitlement or both, but he also relished the reminder that his brother was his brother rather than anyone else’s. A resentful mixture of possessiveness and affection, combined with pride—that someone so incredible, that the world had neglected, was his special person.

But every now and then, especially when his brother thought he wasn’t watching, he’d catch a shadow or a motion that he couldn’t decode.

It didn’t makes sense. There shouldn’t have been any secrets they kept from each other, but sometimes it felt like… Like his brother was somewhere else, somewhere not even he could reach. He’d have a look like he was carrying something invisible, like a ghost was clinging to his back. Sometimes it showed when he asked certain questions, even when his brother answered them, giving the sense that there was more to the story than he was being told.

He didn’t like that feeling. Didn’t like the sensation that there was a part of his brother’s heart that was still closed to him, a door not even he could open. It gave the impression that despite how close they seemed otherwise, he was actually just racing frantically after his brother’s back, that was always a certain distance away; and no matter how fast he ran, he could never close that gap.

So, most of the time, he pretended it wasn’t there. Made up imaginary explanations for the things he didn’t understand as best he could, and ignored anything even that couldn’t explain. Over the years, he got good at it—could deliberately skew his perception to fit what he wanted to believe, even almost subconsciously. Whenever anything made him feel particularly uncertain, he developed ways to shut it down and push it away, locking all doubt—especially when it came to his brother—deep down in the darkness, with any other painful memories or thoughts. Down where its claws couldn’t reach him.

But it was all still there, waiting. Always in the back of his head, like a festering wound.

So sometimes, some days, he still felt like he was just running endlessly after his brother’s back and never getting any nearer.

Chapter Text

Everyone has someone special in the world.

From time to time, he tries to remember who first told him that.

But it’s from one of his distant, more peaceful, pleasant memories, which float like long-lost ghosts through his mind. Faint whispers of light and warmth in the dark coldness that has consumed most of the rest of his life, always slipping away before he can pin them down. So he can never quite figure it out. Was it a parent? A relative? A friend? He can’t remember the last time he had friends or other family, not clearly.

What he does know is that it’s one of the few things he’s always believed, always known to be true.

Even if he can’t precisely recall where the phrase itself had come from, he knows exactly how long he’s had living proof of it. Has been living proof. He can count down to the minute the length of Touwa’s existence, the most important meaning in his life. It’s like time itself hadn’t started moving until that moment. He can remember in perfect detail how, when his brother was not even an hour old, he’d held him in his arms in a bundle of blankets—a little, grasping hand had escaped and accidentally laid hold of his finger, clinging to it on pure reflex. It had been in that moment he’d sworn his very first oath.

Touwa is mine.

It didn’t matter what the world threw at them. No matter how bad things got, Touwa was his reason to continue—whether he was a tiny bundle of warmth sleeping on his chest, a pair of small feet pattering after him, or a scrawny, overconfident young boy. He does sometimes miss being able to fit his brother perfectly in his arms, to cradle him to his chest and shield him from harm, but that time has long since passed. Touwa isn’t a child—not anymore.

But he’s still the only thing that makes it—the darkness, the battle, the world—all worth it.

What little tenderness he’d once had in his nature is almost all gone now. All that’s left is that little cushion around his brother, the one sewn so deep into his heart not even the sharpest knives could cut it out. His only goal is to complete their mission and make sure Touwa makes it through—whether or not he survives is irrelevant. Perhaps it would be better if he doesn’t, to ensure Touwa’s safety from the darkness, the monster, within him; from the fear and hatred he harbours for the rest of the world. Perhaps. For the entire length of his brother’s life, he has lived only for the fight and loving Touwa. Once the battle is done, and Touwa can be happy and move on, there will no more need for him. That should bother him more than it does, but he can’t seem to care about it or see that far. Like time will stop once his brother no longer needs him.

Because even if he can’t remember who originally said it to him, he recalls with absolute clarity the very first words he whispered to Touwa’s newborn ears when he first held him.

Everyone has someone special in the world.

And I have you.

Chapter Text

Where did summer go? I will never know—summer used to last endlessly.

Children all in white, running down the sand, to me.

To me…

Little hands tug at his sleeve.

He looks down to find a small, dark-haired young boy he knows very well, gazing up at him with equally dark, earnest eyes. Smiling, he reaches down and lays a hand atop the boy’s head. Despite his youth, the boy’s expression is serious, and he says nothing—he’s always been a bit of a solemn child, even when he was even younger, before he had a brother on the way.

But it seems attention is not the only thing the boy wants. He gives another tug with both hands, then reaches up with one, holding out something clutched between his small fingers. It looks like a little ball of tiny beads tied together with a cord hanging off it, a random mix of colours and shimmer.

He looks between the ball and the boy a few times. “… For me?” The boy nods, and strains to hold it up higher. He quickly moves his hand from the boy’s head, and lets the child put the item in his palm. He looks it over more closely, then turns back to the boy. “Very beautiful.”

Just for a moment, he’s rewarded with a rare, dazzling smile.

But then someone else is calling the boy’s name, and the child turns to run toward the sound.

The beating of my heart, after they depart, lying wide awake through the night;

Will you ever come running home to me? You might.

You might…

“They might still be out there.”

The young man in the burgundy coat is standing beside him, looking worriedly at him rather than the view from the cliff.

“… They might.” He admits, finally, keeping his own eyes on the horizon rather than meeting the young man’s gaze. “They might.” He heaves a large sigh, gripping his staff a little tighter. “But…” But…

He slips a hand into the collar of his robe, finding the small knot of shiny beads he wears on a cord around his neck, tucked under the mantle. The last gift he’d ever had from a small boy with dark eyes not long before his brother was born.

“… But they could be anywhere by now.”

But if they wanted to be found, someone would have found them by now. They would have come home by now.

I’ve believed so long. I have dared to hope.

That the door might open, and that you might

Enter…

He almost can’t remember their faces.

A little boy with black hair and a grave expression, his brother nothing more than a newborn. But the details are fuzzy, and it’s like the memories are partially in darkness, obscuring his view. There are many dangers that could befall two children on their own. No… How long have they been gone? They wouldn’t be children anymore, now; the boy must be practically an adult, and the baby… Could they have made it this long on their own? Should he be fearing the worst? Should he…

Should he give up?

The sun drops further below the horizon, light fading away. There's only so much time and resources he could put into the search. The years have worn on, their people have become fewer, and the outside world has changed. It's been getting harder and harder to look, and the disappointment every time they return empty handed is even more painful.

Reaching under his collar, he finds the little ball of beads, still hanging around his neck closing his hand around it. In the end, all he has left is to hope that they really are still out there, somewhere. But… But with each passing day, the hard truth has become even more clear—that they are… Gone. And…

And never coming back.

The time has come to stop searching. He will send no one else. His heart can’t take it anymore.

But at least he can still hope that they are somewhere, out in the world—watching the same sun drop below the horizon, the same night fall over the land.

But at least he can pretend they might be thinking of home.

Lights begin to glow.

In my heart I know—you’re a lie that I’ve waited for.

Tell them all to go.

Tell them all no more.

Tell them… I close the door.

Chapter Text

His dreams are always cold.

Always. Like frost on his skin and ice water in his veins. It’s one of the few constants.

There’s snow everywhere, like he’s drowning in it; the chill of it is enough that his lungs stung with each breath. He knows why he’s struggling blindly through it, knows he’s searching for something—someone. Someone important—so very important that every moment he doesn’t find them is like a knife twisting in his heart. He’s numb and frozen, and can hardly see through the fog and falling snow, but none of that matters.

He has to find them. He has to see their face. He has to know.

His hand connects with something soft, and a little more fumbling reassures him that it’s an arm, at last. Gripping as tightly as he can to it, he feels up it to the shoulder, scrambling aimlessly to try and dig out its owner. Cold, wind, and snow obscure his vision, but he can tell by touch alone that the body is far too still. Feeling starts to return to him, but it’s fear and panic boiling over in his chest, his heart starting to race, as he frantically keeps working.

This person must not die. The mere thought is so terrifying he can’t breathe and he digs just a bit faster.

Finally, he moves away enough of the snow to pull the body out, into his arms, desperately trying to clear his vision, feeling for any sign of life, heart leaping into his throat as he continues to not find one. As cold as he is, they’re colder, and he hugs them to his chest, like that way he can impart what little warmth he has left to them—wishes desperately there was a way to transfer his very life into their limp form. But there’s nothing, no change as he cradles them tighter, frozen fingers drifting to brush their cheek and hair, still trying to blink the ice and water from his vision.

As it begins to finally clear, however, he realises there is something… Different. A tiny silver of awareness that whispers this isn’t how this usually goes. And when he looks down, what he sees shocks him from a hazy feeling into true lucidity.

It is different than his other nightmares.

It’s not his brother cold in his arms.

It’s Kou.

He doesn’t scream when he wakes abruptly. Even though it feels like air is forcing its way back into his lungs after being cut off for hours. Even though it feels like a bone-breaking punch in his ribs, even though panic is still making his heart race. Even though the image is still burned into his mind. He doesn’t scream, or kick, or thrash, or cry. Just rolls slowly onto his side, gasping silently for air.

He’s used to nightmares. Can smother a cry before he’s even fully awake. Stave off a fit of shivers without a single thought. Hold perfectly still and soundless even in the grip of his worst night terrors.

Has trained himself to suffer in silence to spare his brother. Waking from this is no different.

But something else is. Slowly, stiffly, he sits up, head falling into his hand. It seems even his own dreams are betraying him now, sleep clawing into his soul and dragging out the feelings and fears he’s desperate to quell. He’s done his best to resist and dissipate even the faintest traces of fondness that he even thinks might be stirring for the others. The last thing he needs is those three worming their way into his heart, doesn’t need fear of more children dying haunting his dreams. But the memory of Kou lying cold and lifeless in his arms beats against his mind, choking him again; agonising evidence that, willing or no, they’ve found their way in, regardless.

He doesn’t want to be their friend. Friends only betray you, or die. And he doesn’t…

He doesn’t want them to do either of those things. So that was how it happened.

What does he want? He… He wants… He doesn’t even know what he wants, anymore.

Glancing over his shoulder to ensure Touwa is still asleep, he stealthily gets to his feet, heading for the mouth of the small cave they’ve holed up in. He’s not about to risk more such nightmares by sleeping again—not if it might not only be Touwa like usual, but Kou again, or Asuna or Melto or…

He stops that thought in its tracks as he steps outside. It’s chilly in the forest at night, and the wind has picked up, but he ignores it, folding his arms and glaring back at the sky. The calmness above lets him lose himself in it, pushing all thoughts from his mind—all concerns vanishing into the deep blue, speckled with stars.

The temperature drops again; but it’s nothing like the frigidness he’s just awoken from, the icy terror that’s still lingering, deep as his bones. This breeze is nothing in comparison.

The night isn’t cold.

His dreams are always cold.

Chapter Text

He’d never once been lonely.

Not in the usual sense of the word. Even though Banba was reclusive and insisted that they mostly stay away from people, he was never actually alone. After all, his older brother was always right there, whenever he needed him, like a large rock he could cling to or hide behind at any moment. No matter what happened, they had each other, and as long as that was true, they could get through anything, right?

And yet…

And yet, sometimes, there was a needling sensation in his chest that something was missing.

Banba loved him, he knew that beyond a doubt. They’d been together for his whole life, had their own tacit body language, and knew each other better than anyone. He was well aware of how much his brother cared for him, even though Banba wasn’t an affectionate sort of person. He knew that, too, understood it.

Yet at the same time…

Somewhere, in the back of his memory, were faint recollections of being hugged.

He presumed some of those memories were vestiges of their parents’ presence, but there were also ones where he was almost perfectly certain it was his brother’s arms that had been around him—a strange, familiar, and reassuring sensation mixed with a steady, powerful booming sound like the beat of a drum that seemed to reverberate around him. There were distant impressions of more passing touches, too, that he could also sense Banba in—a hand on his shoulder or head, falling asleep, on someone’s shoulder, even holding someone’s hand, and more. Casual contact that he saw people on the street engaging in—friends and families, who would simply reach out to each other, sometimes unconsciously, without even looking, just a latent need for physical touch. Occasionally, completely unbidden, those ghosts of memory would float to the forefront of his mind, and, especially when he looked around them, he realised something.

Banba never reached out to him like that.

If the memories were not completely fabricated—and there were enough hints and details in them that he was certain they were not—he had before, when they were younger. It wasn’t that they never had contact—there was exchanging mock blows in training, the occasional nudge if his brother wanted him to move, and even an odd shoulder or arm grab in an emergency, or in the rare times when Banba panicked. But there was never the unguarded, instinctive touches that were in his memory, that he saw others doing—and certainly never a hug.

Even though he knew his brother loved him, whenever those memories stirred up, he missed it. Missed the contact, a past he could hardly remember, before… Before something in his brother had broken and never quite healed, something he wished he knew what it was.

Saying anything, he was sure, would break his brother more. He’d already been a burden to him for most of their lives, and was more than acquainted enough with Banba’s stoicism to catch the slight variations in expression to see the flickers of pain and alarm whenever something happened. His brother worried about him enough already, he didn’t need to add more weigh to the load.

So he just tried to compensate. Whenever he started feeling the prickly, longing desperation for some sort of contact, he’d find ways to substitute. Occasionally, he reached out, but it didn’t feel the same and sometimes Banba would—completely unconsciously, he knew—flinch away from the unexpected contact. Pretending to trip worked pretty well, because his brother always moved to catch him immediately—but doing that too many times in quick succession got him suspicious looks. Possibly the most surefire way was, whenever his fell during training—which was often, he’d yet to beat his brother in a spar—to stay on the ground until Banba extended a hand to help him up. Sometimes, when he was sure Banba was asleep, he’d crawl over and curl up agains his brother’s side, or lean on his chest to listen to the dependable pounding of his heart, in perfect time with the resounding beat in his memories.

The touches were brief, and maybe none of it was anywhere near a hug, but…

But…

But it was enough to get by.

He’d never once been lonely—not really. Not so long as he could do even the smallest thing about it.

Chapter Text

“Interesting choice you made.” Banba turned to find his father had his back to him, arms folded, staring over the edge of the cliff. With a deep, thoughtful sigh, he turned back around; unfolding his arms, he crossed over to stand in front of his son, reaching out and cupping Black’s face softly in his palm and lightly running his thumb across the Ryusoulger’s cheek. “Seems we really are the same, after all…”

Banba stared back into his father’s eyes for a moment—then moved his head deliberately away from the man’s hand without breaking eye contact, gaze defiant. “No.” He said simply, voice suddenly level and perfectly calm, “I am nothing like you.” He wasn’t even angry anymore. Instead, there was… Something almost like peace.

His father’s eyes narrowed, and the man stepped closer. “Oh? Have you forgotten what you just did?” There was mockery in his tone.

But Banba just kept staring back at him blankly. “I meant what I said.” There was not a single hesitation in the words.

The man raised an eyebrow, his stare slowly morphing into a glare. “You’re going to be uncooperative now? Your powers don’t work here,” He gestured to the pillars around them, “Remember?”

Black’s gaze didn’t waver—indifferent an undaunted by his father’s darkening mood.

His father continued glaring for a moment—then the contemptuous amusement vanished from his expression. “… Then so be it.” He made a sharp gesture. The Drunn around them surged forward, grabbing Banba’s arms. He didn’t fight, even when he was forced roughly to his knees, and his head down. Footsteps came closer, and his father crouched down in front of him, peering at his face. “… I didn’t want it to be like this.” He murmured, reaching out to stroke his son’s hair. “Everything I’ve ever done has been to protect my family.”

Slowly, Black turned his head to meet his father’s gaze again. “… But you sacrificed everything else to do that.” He growled back, tone still inexplicably tranquil, though a scowl twisted his features slightly, before fading back into blank serenity as his stare wandered toward the horizon. “… After all this time…” He let out a sound that was almost a laugh. “… To think this was all it took.”

When he trailed off, his father’s hands moved to his collar, shaking him—but the impassive veneer didn’t waver. “What are you on about?” 

“… It doesn’t matter.” Black continued just as softly and serenely. “It doesn’t matter if you kill me now.” Unconsciously, a small smile flitted across his face. “Because I’ve done what I wanted to do.”

“What?”

“… I spent my life trying to prove I was stronger than you—and now I have.” Banba raised his chin proudly, disregarding the hands on his collar, the painful way he had to twist his head around. “I’m a better knight than you. Because when I faced the same choice…” He stared straight back into his father’s eyes. “I didn’t sacrifice one thing I loved to save another.”

Tyramigo!

His father leapt back in surprise, releasing his collar, at the distant announcement, whirling around to look for the source, somewhere behind them. He spun back around, storming back over to grab his son’s head by the hair, hauling Banba up and back, so that he was standing on his knees, forced to look upward into his father’s furious expression. “What. Did. You. Do?”

“I protected my family.” Despite the fact that the man was absolutely seething, gaze ablaze, Black’s voice was still composed, face expressionless. “From you.”

The only response was a loud snarl, and then he was thrown away—so hard that the Drunn holding him let go so that he crashed painfully onto the stone. He didn’t get any time to recover before his father was on him again, and hands were closed around his throat, cutting off his breathing, shaking him again. “I did everything for my family! And this is how you repay me?” The hands squeezed harder, and splotches began dotting Banba’s vision. On instinct, Black found himself struggling, one hand clawing at the ones on his throat, the other aimlessly scrambling for something—until it found the hilt of the dagger in his father’s belt.

There was a loud roar of pain, and the hands vanished from his throat when he managed to manoeuvre the jagged blade to stab his father in the back with as much force as he could muster. With the weight off him, Banba rolled clear, gasping for air. His father reached around to yank the knife out of his back, glaring down at the dagger. With another enraged snarl, he lurched forward, toward where his son was fighting for breath; hand clamping down on the back of the young man’s neck, he pulled Banba back up—and stabbed the bloodied blade into his abdomen, twisting it. Black let out a half cry of pain that died in his throat as his father pushed the knife deeper.

“Nii-san!” Touwa’s voice cut through the pain roaring in his ears, filled with panic.

It was followed by Kou’s, so closely they could have been calling in the same breath. “Get away from him!”

There was a commotion, and his father’s hold vanished from Banba’s neck, and without it to hold him up, he wavered. His hand moved unconsciously to the new wound, clutching at it, blood running down his vest and seeping through his fingers—doubling over, he barely managed to catch himself with his other arm. The sounds of fighting echoed nearby, blurring together—but even though he couldn’t quite understand the words, he could identify their voices—and when he heard those raise in pain, his bearings crashed forcibly down upon him.

Dragging his head up sharply, he searched desperately around until he found them. That they were unable to use their powers, and the gap in experience, was working against them—both were down and cornered, his father advancing on both his younger son and Red, sword drawn. Touwa was clutching his head like he’d struck it, looking dazed—Kou, meanwhile, was holding his side and favouring his left leg as he struggled up; seeing the approaching threat, he scrambled quickly across the ground to throw himself between the sword and his younger teammate, shielding him with his back.

Banba’s legs were already moving before his father had even started raising the weapon, aimed toward Kou’s back. The sudden motion sent a sharp jab of pain through the wound in his abdomen, and his brain wasn’t actually computing his actions, but none of that mattered—he was going on pure protective instinct, with no plan or thought. Barrelling headlong into his father, he knocked him over sideways and the sword out of his hand, then got between him and the other two, shoving him away again when the man started to his feet. Somewhere behind him, Kou called his name—but it blended into the furious howl from his father when he surged back up and charged him again, forcing Banba to bodily hold him back.

“You think you can protect them?” The man spat, struggling against his son’s grip, fingertips digging roughly into the Ryusoulger’s arm. “You will pay for crossing me.” A hand closed around Banba’s collar again to drag him closer, voice dropping even more, into a dangerous growl. “No matter what happens, I will never stop hunting them. You refuse to sacrifice anything?” He let out a mocking laugh. “Then I will not stop until I have destroyed every single thing you love. The things you would betray me for? Your brother, and those kids?” Banba’s gaze flicked compulsively over his shoulder at the other two Ryusoulgers—the hand gripped tighter on his collar, knuckles turning white, dragging his attention back to his father. “You can’t be around to protect them all the time.” The man whispered harshly. “I will see them burn for this.”

For a moment, time slowed down. His father was right. It was impossible to watch all of them at all times—and he knew the man well, knew that even a moment of a chance would be enough. His options were nonexistent—he was wounded, running on complete instinct and adrenaline, and unarmed. Everything was strangely muted as his mind searched frantically for some sort of solution—everything but a distant, thunderous roaring. The waves crashing agains the rocks below the cliff. Suddenly, he was very aware of how far down it really was, how close they were to the edge. Even without the rocks, the water itself would be dangerous enough.

A way out.

“… You’re right.” He replied, the words as calm as before. “I can’t.” Gritting his teeth, he met his father’s gaze unflinchingly once more. “But…” He took a deep breath. “… I can still end this here.”

Unbidden, his gaze turned back over his shoulder to the two boys behind him, both of whom had begun scrambling forward with frantic looks—seeing their faces, though, his will wavered for a moment; it was strange, how the things he’d die for were also the things that made him want to live. But then his father fought his hold again, and he knew he had to do it.

Taking another deep breath, he turned away, closing his eyes—then he locked an arm around his father’s shoulders tightly, and launched both of them off the edge of the cliff. Behind him, he heard someone scream.

When his father’s free arm grabbed the ledge, they were twisted around, and Banba’s back slammed painfully into the stone—he was elbowed hard in the stomach, like a second stab when it hit the wound, and struck in the face when the man tried to use his son as leverage to climb back up as the stone crumbled beneath his fingers. Twisting in a way that made his injury scream, Black fought back, shoving his father away, attempting to dislodge him. Finally, with one last howl, his father was gone—the last few scrabbles leaving red marks on his cheek and arm as he dropped into the darkness below. For a split second, Banba felt suspended in the air—then the stone scraped against his back again as he started to fall, too.

“Nii-san!” Touwa cried from somewhere above him, voice breaking, at the same time Kou shouted, “Banba!”

His fall was brought up short, his arm practically ripping out of its socket, and he realised his own hand had shot up to grab a ledge instinctively—reaching for their voices. But it was the bloodied hand, and the stone crumbled, giving under his weight, and then he was falling again—

Hands closed around his wrist. For a second, he kept falling, but then stopped short once more, and this time, held. As his senses realigned, gasping for air, he squinted upward at the person holding him.

Touwa had his arm with both hands, clinging so tightly his nails were digging into Banba’s skin, struggling to counteract the will of gravity and the way the blood made his fingers slip. But his brother was practically hanging off the edge of the cliff himself—they were only staying in place because Kou had grabbed Touwa’s ankle, then latched onto a rock that was sufficiently anchored in the ground; and even then, the weight was almost dragging Red over, too.

“What the hell are you two doing?!” He forced the words between breaths, gritting his teeth against the pain of his wound and the way it felt like is arm was about to come out. “You’re going to fall!”

“I don’t care!” There were tears in Touwa’s voice, and he somehow managed to cling tighter, enough that it was cutting off blood flow in Banba’s wrist. “I’m not losing you!”

“It’s okay!” Kou managed to yell, though his voice was strained by the forces pulling his shoulders apart. Twisting his arm holding the rock, he managed to bump the call button against the stone after a little work. “Asuna! We need you up here!” There was something like an affirmation on the other end, but then the stone beneath them gave a little more, and Kou was forced to cling tighter to the rock rather than answering as they slid downward. Finally, after some scrambling, they stabilised again. “… It’s okay. It’s okay!” Red panted again. “We’ve got you!”

“No, you don’t! If this cliff gives, you’ll both go down, too!” He frantically tried to twist his arm free of his brother’s grip.

“No!” It was the first time in their lives Touwa had ever shouted at him in something like anger, and the sound made him freeze and look up again. His brother’s eyes were watering as he stared down at him, but his expression was serious and determined. “Don’t.” Touwa continued, more softly, but even more fiercely. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare let go.”

“Asuna’s coming!” Kou added, pushing optimism into his voice around the breathlessness. “It’ll be fine!” Red looked down at him, too—and despite the bravado of his words, his expression was desperately pleading. “Just hang on!” 

At last, Banba acquiesced—but ‘hanging on’ was getting progressively harder to do. The cliff face was eroded so that he couldn’t reach it anymore, and the position was pulling at the stab wound in his stomach, causing a gnawing, sharp ache that was steadily eating away at his abdomen and making it harder to breathe. Worse, with him hanging deadweight, there was no way Touwa could pull him up, even if with two hands and not hanging over the cliff himself. Meanwhile, Kou couldn’t do it with one arm, and if he let go of his rock anchor even for a moment to try and use both, all three of them would fall.

And he was starting to feel tired. Very, very tired. “… You’re both idiots.” He muttered wearily—but even as he did his best to grumble, a smile pulled unwillingly at his features.

“I can live with that!” Kou replied, with a laugh that turned into wheezing. The rugged surface rock he was clinging to was scraping his palm, blood smearing the stone as he fumbled for a better hold to keep from sliding, but slowly losing grip anyway. They dropped a little further down, and Banba felt his wrist slipping slightly in his brother’s hold.

But the fatigue was spreading—his mind was clouding over, vision fading in and out; even just breathing seemed like an almost impossible chore. Everything felt heavy, numb, and cold.

Touwa saw his lids fluttering, and felt it when Banba’s weight sagged somehow more. “Nii-san!” Terror surged through him again, like frost in his bones—growing only colder when his brother didn’t respond, and his head drooped forward. “Nii-san!” The only answer was a faint groan, nearly lost in the crash of the waves below. “Kou, he’s passing out! Nii-san! Stay awake! Please!”

Above him, he heard Kou curse through gritted teeth, almost at his own limit, then the sounds of effort as Red tried to use the com again. “Asuna!” The shout was pure panic, cracking at the ends. “Hurry!”

The seconds ticked on. Kou’s shoulders were at their limit, and Touwa could feel Banba slipping even more. Below them, the waves slammed against the bottom of the cliff, reaching upward like threatening, grasping claws. More moments passed, each seeming longer than the next, but each one clicking down to disaster, until—

Someone grabbed Kou’s arm. Asuna’s voice shouting for them to hold on tight was the only warning they got before everything was moving sharply upward—and then everyone was crashing and bumping onto the ground all the way onto the dirt from the force of her pull, and Asuna herself fell over as well when she leaned too far into it.

As they all scrambled to get up, Kou managed to land a flailing hand on her shoulder. “Asuna! Nice save!” She shot a grin back, rubbing a bump on her head.

“Nii-san!” The moment he was back up, Touwa was rushing to his brother’s side. “Nii-san!” Snapping back to attention, the other two quickly followed. Banba had landed on his back, and the shock didn’t seem to have done his condition any favours—his breathing was laboured and weak, eyes unfocused, and the wound in his stomach had turned the front of his vest into a bloodied mess. Touwa dropped to his knees by Black’s shoulder, while Asuna hurried up beside him and Kou joined them on Banba’s other side. Checking the injury, Red instinctively moved to pull off his jacket, then remembered the Changer attached to his wrist—fortunately, Asuna stepped in to help him get it off, then quickly bunched the jacket up, pressing it to the wound with both hands while Red repositioned.

Touwa clung to Banba’s shoulder, tightly, tears pouring even even harder down his face. “… Nii-san…?”

Finally, Banba’s gaze drifted over and stopped on his younger brother’s face, almost focusing on him. Slowly, agonisingly, Black’s hand lifted, loosely cupping Green’s face, faintly stroking the boy’s cheek with his thumb like he was trying to wipe the tears away. “… Touwa…” His voice was weak and faint, and he’d become frightfully pale.

Touwa’s hands tightened on his brother’s shoulder, clutching fistfuls of his shirt sleeve. “Nii-san… I’m…” The words broke. “I’m so sorry…! I’m so sorry that… That I… That I actually thought…”

He trailed off when Banba’s floated up to muss his hair softly. There was a long silence as Black fought to breathe again. “… Are you guys… Alright…?”

Kou’s hand moved to grip his other shoulder gently, nodding quickly. “We’re fine.” He promised, biting back his own tears. “We’re… We’re fine.”

Asuna leaned forward from around Touwa’s shoulder, still pressing the bundled jacket to the wound, giving a nod and strained smile of her own, though it was tempered by her lip quivering. “We’re good!” With a clatter of frantic footsteps, Melto arrived, panting just behind Kou—he froze in shock when he took in the scene, then raced to join Red at Black’s side, across from Asuna, worriedly reaching for their teammate’s hand.

Banba’s hazy gaze flicked over each of them—then a weak smile flickered across his face. “… Thank goodness…” He let out a breath like a weight had been lifted off his back—but then his face fell, and his eyes began to close.

“Banba? Banba!” Kou’s voice in panic. Melto and Asuna both leaned forward anxiously, her desperately applying more pressure to the stab wound.

Touwa went almost as pale as his brother was, eyes widening. “Nii-san…!”

Banba’s eyes fluttered open once, and the trace smile broadened slightly—then his lids closed and stayed that way, his hand slipping out of Touwa’s hair, dropping to the ground and lying still. There was a moment of silence as all of them forgot how to breathe in horror.

Until Touwa’s anguish burst from him in a piercing, agonised scream as his world finally shattered.

Chapter Text

He was in a room—a room he recognised.

Frowning, he looked around at the familiar walls and decor. “What the…?”

“Nostalgic, isn’t it?” Commented someone behind him, though they didn’t sound the lest bit sentimental about it.

Banba started, reaching instinctively for his sword, only to discover he didn’t have it. Shifting his weight to be ready anyway, he cautiously turned around to find the speaker—and froze, staring. “… You’re dead.”

“Yes.” Said his father. “And whose fault is that?” Rising from his seat, he stepped closer, into the light—looking a spitting image of the day he’d died.

Banba fell back, recovering from his shock enough to shake his head. “No. No… I… I didn’t mean…”

“The intent and not the deed is meaningless.” His father shot back, then sighed, pacing toward the wall. “You used to understand that.” He paused, turning back. “But I suppose things were different back then.” Moving closer, watching Banba carefully, he reached out, his fingers ghosting across his son’s cheek. “And look at you now…” He murmured gently—and, for a moment, his palm rested against the side Banba’s face softly. Then his eyes narrowed. “… You’ve forgotten everything you’ve learned.” Scowling, he pushed his son sharply away, turning to pace again, folding his arms. “Your hesitation is already causing destruction again.” Whirling around, he set his withering gaze back on his child. “Do you intend to repeat the same mistakes again? Was killing me not enough?”

“… It’s different now.” Banba whispered back, his eyes staying on the ground.

“Nothing is ever different.” His father replied icily, glare unwavering. “Sometimes sacrifices are necessary for the greater good.” He moved closer again, circling his elder son like a hawk. “You should know that. After all, you were taught it the hard way; and another lesson, too…” Banba flinched away from that reminder, and his father paused in his circling. Moving even closer, he extended a hand toward Banba’s bowed head, lightly smoothing it over his son’s hair—but his expression didn’t soften in the slightest. “There now…” He murmured, voice quiet but far from reassuring. “There’s still time to fix things.” Banba’s only reply was a nervous sigh, and looking even more at the ground. “Look at me.” His father hissed, irritation finally touching his voice, just a little. When his son didn’t look up, his scowl deepened. Turning his hand, he grabbed a handful of Banba’s hair, yanking his son’s head up, leaning so close that Banba should have been able to feel his breath—but there was none. “Look at me, boy!” The words weren’t louder, but more forceful, twisting with traces of disgust. He waited until his eldest son reluctantly met his eyes before easing his grip, though his hand merely drifted down to press against the base of Banba’s skull to keep him there. “You can still fix this.” When his son hesitated once more, his look became suspicious. “Banba…” He his tone went darker. “You understand, right?”

Banba took several deep, shaky breaths, staring fearfully back into his father’s face. “I…” He managed, struggling to make his voice work until it came out, even as a faint whisper. “I… I don’t…” The rest of it caught in his throat.

His father waited for a moment—but when he didn’t continue, the man’s face darkened. “Foolish boy!” He snapped, hands flashing to Banba’s collar, tossing his son away so forcefully, he crashed painfully into the ground. “You’ve gone soft.” He continued snarling, pacing away so that his back was to him. “Letting those children get to you. It’s time you cut them loose.”

“… No.” Dragging himself back up as far as his knees, Banba forced the word out. He couldn’t make himself look up, so he spat it at the ground. “I am not hurting them.”

His father turned to look at him. “Not hurting them?” He repeated disbelievingly, then walked over to crouch in front of his son, a smirk forming on his face. “Oh, my dear boy…” Grabbing Banba’s chin, he lifted his face with deceptive gentleness, his other hand raising to stroke his son’s hair again, trapping Banba’s head in his hold, forcing his eldest son to look into his eyes. “… Just what do you think you’ve been doing for the past ten minutes?”

“Kou,” Melto snapped urgently, kneeling at Touwa’s side. Green was sprawled on the ground where his brother’s attack had knocked him—though the cut on his chest seemed to be shallow, it was bleeding heavily, and he was frightfully pale. The rest of them weren’t fairing much better, either—Kou’s every movement hurt, in particular a deep gash of his own in his shoulder, and Melto was squinting because of blood running down his face from a head injury, and clutching a wound in his side. “We have to fall back!”

Kou struggled to rise from where he’d been thrown, scrambling painfully over to Green and Blue. “But…!” He started, looking towards where Asuna was struggling to fend off Black using KataSoul, despite her own injuries—favouring both a wounded leg and arm. She was stuck on the defensive, trying to stay between her downed teammates and their brainwashed comrade—under the influence of whatever power the Druidon had used, Banba wasn’t holding back, and the difference in experience was showing.

“I know you don’t want to leave him like this, but we may not have a choice!” Blue continued. “Touwa’s out cold, and Asuna can’t hold out much longer!”

The words were accented when Asuna was sent flying, crashing down nearby, rolling across the ground to land beside them. She struggled back up, shaking her head out before looking back at them. “If you guys have a plan, maybe you could hurry up with it?” She glanced back over her shoulder at where Black was now advancing on them purposefully, sword raised again. “Because I don’t think he plans to let up!”

Kou hesitated a little longer, biting his lip so hard it bled, hands curling into fists so tightly his knuckles turned white and his nails dug into his palms. He glanced at the advancing Banba, then back down at Touwa. “… Okay.” He gasped out.

Melto was reaching for KakureSoul before he’d even finished the word, and Asuna jumped up to block Black’s way again to buy time. Wincing against the way it twisted his shoulder wound, Kou bent down and got his arms around Touwa, trying to manoeuvre the boy onto his back.

KakureSoul!

Asuna managed to knock Banba back enough that he was distracted when they went invisible, giving them a moment to collect themselves and slip away.

When they were finally a safe distance, Melto cancelled the effect—and it felt like all the exhaustion and pain caught up with them all at once. Blue sagged against a nearby wall, Asuna collapsed right down on the ground, nursing her hurt arm and leg, while Kou just knelt down, feeling Touwa’s weight against his back. For a moment, they all tried to catch their breath.

“… What are we gonna do?” Asuna wondered, her voice cracking a little.

There was a moment more of silence until Melto spoke. “… I don’t know.” He admitted, between breaths. He took another second to stable his breathing some more and wipe the blood off his face, then staggered upright from the wall. “For now, we should get back to the house and regroup.” Hobbling over, he held out a hand to Asuna. “Come on.” She frowned, sighing deeply, then took his hand with her good arm, letting him help her up, and then leaning on him when she reached her feet. Working together, they started down the street.

Kou was getting ready to heave himself to his feet and follow when Touwa shifted against his back, making a small, pitiful sound, like he was about to start crying in his sleep—a whimper that turned into a frightened, forlorn whisper that Red barely heard with Green’s head balanced on his uninjured shoulder;

“… Nii-san…?”

Kou froze, his chest clenching sharply.

Up ahead, the other two paused and looked back. “Kou?” Asuna called curiously.

Swallowing his distress as best he could, he pushed himself back up to his feet. “I’m coming.” He managed, and tottered after them as they started moving again, shambling their way back toward the house.

Trying to use the few blocks they had to think of a way to tell a boy they’d left his brother behind, and that they had no idea how to get him back.

Chapter Text

Melto ducked behind the cover of one of the rooftop air conditioning units, racking his brain. Asuna and Kou were struggling to restrain Banba—Pink had manage to get her arms around him, locking one of his arms—but even though her hold was unbreakable, Black was struggling, kicking and stomping at her feet. Worse, the arm that was free was his sword hand, and even though Red had managed to latch onto it, he was getting roughly thrown around as Banba tried to twist free. Ui was somewhere on the other side of the roof, crouching behind another air conditioner, hands over her head, where she had ducked after a near miss from the TsuyoSoul. They’d yet been able to get him to hold still long enough to even try and undo his transformation, their last-ditch effort to snap him out of the Druidon’s control—and even that was unlikely to work. Their options were dwindling—when not holding back, Banba had smashed through all of their plans, and Souls like the NemuSoul had proved ineffective on Black’s condition. At this point, it really was starting to seem like they might have no choice but to…

“Melto!” Looking up at the sound of his name, he saw Touwa crouched across from him, looking scared and anxious—and so very young. Staring into the panic in Green’s eyes, he knew he couldn’t finish the thought. Logic be damned—he would not be responsible for tearing the boy’s only family away from him. But then Green continued in frightened tones, “What do we do?” It was a question Melto had no answer for. Nothing was working, and Asuna and Kou could only hold on for so long—they were running out of time. And here was Touwa, gazing pleadingly at him, genuinely believing Melto could think of a way to save the person most important to him in the entire world.

That thought made Blue pause. That was right—the only time they’d seen someone break from the control had been… He looked thoughtfully at Green. The brothers were each the thing the other loved most. Perhaps… Perhaps they could use that.

He took a deep breath. “… I have an idea.” He admitted. “… But I need you to play along, okay? I need you to trust me.”

Green stared right back into his face, earnestness practically coming off him in waves. “Anything.”

“Banba!” Melto stepped out from behind the AC unit, pulling Touwa with him by the arm—tugging as gently as he could, but already holding on as tightly as possible. He was surprised by how steady his voice was, but didn’t dwell on it. This, he needed to sell. “cut it out now!” He continued, fighting to keep his breathing even. “Or…” With a yank, he pulled Green over to the very edge of the roof so that the boy’s feet were scrambling to balance on the very brink of the ledge and the only thing keeping him from falling over the side was Blue’s grip on his arm. “… Or I will drop him.”

“Melto!?” Asuna demanded, looking absolutely horrified—and expression Kou was mirroring. “What are you doing?!”

He didn’t want to risk answering, so he just pointedly met their eyes and prayed the understood the message he was trying to send—trust me. It was true the plan was risky—if Touwa slipped, or his hold on the boy’s arm faltered, and Green couldn’t transform in time… He swallowed, squeezing Touwa’s arm tighter, so much so that he was probably cutting off circulation. He couldn’t falter now. The one time he’d seen anyone break from the mind control had been when a couple that was being compelled to fight them had realised that their child—left on her own when her parents were hypnotised—was in the way of falling rubble. The women had promptly abandoned the fight and rushed to spirit their daughter to safety, then fussed over her extensively, showing no more sign of Druidon control. The shock and adrenaline of seeing what they loved in peril had broken the spell. As an actual strategy, it had seemed too unpredictable to put into practice, especially given how dangerous Black was as an opponent already— one misstep could result in actual disaster. But they were out of choices, and he was thinking on the fly. Like how the couple cared for their daughter, Banba loved Touwa more than his own life. If anything could pierce the Druidon’s hold on his mind, it was the need to protect his brother.

And when Black’s gaze zeroed in on the hand holding Touwa’s arm, he knew it was working. Banba froze, just staring at them, for a very long time.

“Tyra!” A rumbling in the ground announced the arrival of Tyramigo, lumbering over to peer at them on the rooftop anxiously. He was followed by the other four Kishiryu, who each let out a roar of their own. At the sound, Banba’s head jerked slightly, glancing at them—like they’d just woken him from dozing off. The silence stretched on for another moment.

“… Touwa…” Banba’s voice was quiet, slow, and startled—filled with a complex mess of emotions, but all rooted in unmasked tenderness—and finally… Relieved. Melto instantly pulled Touwa back onto the roof proper at the sound, taking a moment to move Green further away from the ledge, just in case, inching closer. It was like the name was a switch—Black’s whole body relaxed, his transformation dropping, gasping for air like he’d been running nonstop. Slowly, his gaze moved to Kou, who was trying to catch his own breath, like he’d just realised Red was there. “… Kou…” He said it the same way he’d said Touwa’s name—though his voice was gaining strength—more than just a greeting or identification, a statement of something more, that made Kou give him a teary smile in return. Turning his head the other way, Banba looked slightly over his shoulder at Asuna, who was easing her grip now that she didn’t need to restrain him—murmuring in the same warm, emotional tone, “… Asuna…” She beamed back as well at the recognition, sniffling slightly. Finally, Black’s gaze moved back up to where Melto still had an arm loosely around Green. “… Melto…” Despite having heard the others called, Melto still nearly choked at hearing his own name said like that, with such deep affection. Then Black looked over toward the corner where Ui was peering out from behind another AC unit. “… Ui.” Ui blinked, glancing around like she thought he was talking to someone else, even though he’d called her name. For a moment, all was still, the feelings between them just hanging in the air.

Then Touwa let out a small sob, rushing out from under Melto’s arm to throw himself into his brother’s chest, locking his arms around Banba’s waist. Black pulled his arm out of Asuna’s relaxed hold to gently stroke Green’s hair. At the same time, Kou gave a happy cry and jumped in as well, clinging to Banba’s side, and Black’s other arm tucked unconsciously around his shoulders. Asuna squeaked delightedly, and jumped up and down a few times before hugging tighter, her arms still around Banba’s middle, leaning into his back. Ui scampered over to join them, squeezing in next to Asuna and hanging off his shoulder with a big, goofy grin of her own, though she was clearly also trying to fight off tears. Then Melto found himself rushing forward as well, joining the huddle on Black’s other side, pressing his face into Banba’s chest—when he felt the other Ryusoulger’s arm settle around him, too, he finally started crying, too, the stress overflowing.

They were all suddenly bumped when Tyramigo leaned down and tried to nuzzle them—the Ui burst into loud bawling, and decided to try and throw her arms around everyone at once as she wailed, and had little success.

Soon almost everyone was laughing, though Banba just looked vaguely bemused, and they broke apart. Kou and Touwa rearranged so that Black could lean on them when his legs wobbled, and he did so with only minor hesitation. Asuna went over to put an arm around Ui, gently patting her back and trying to talk her through taking deep breaths, while Melto leaned on his knees, trying to get his bearings. The Kishiryu watched them for a moment—then Tyramigo let out a happy ‘Tyra’ and trundled away again, the others each making similar sounds as they followed. MirNeedle stayed the longest—standing up on his hind legs, he leaned on the building with his front legs, bending his head down to nose at his Ryusoulger’s back, nearly knocking Banba right over.

Black stumbled, managing to catch himself on the other two, then looked over his shoulder at the concerned Kishiryu. “… I see you, I see you.” He muttered, sounding more fond than annoyed. “… I’m fine.” MirNeedle stared nervously down at them for a little longer, then turned his head toward the sky to let out a delighted roar. Reaching down to nudge Banba with his muzzle one last time, he clambered off the building and trudged away after the others.

“… He was worried about you.” Touwa explained quietly.

Banba sighed deeply. “… Troublesome.” He grunted—but both Red and Green saw him smile as he glanced back at the retreating Kishiryu.

Finally, Melto was upright again, and Ui had calmed enough to be able to walk. Blue looked around at everyone, and couldn’t resist a grin. “… Let’s go.” The response was a series of affirmative nods.

Asuna and Ui burst through the door of the Tatsui house with happy shouts, causing Naohisa to nearly fall out of his chair in surprise. Ui rushed over to help him up, hardly containing her own excitement. “Tou-san! We did it!” Naohisa scrambled his way to his feet as the others came in, Melto holding the door so that Kou and Touwa could help Banba through it—though once inside Black stepped away to lean on the wall, taking his weight off their shoulders.

The old man located his cane, leaning on it and giving them a pleased smile. “Perfect timing!” He hobbled over to the table, the top of which was covered with a cloth. “Because…” With a flourish, he pulled the cloth off, revealing a large expanse of food, “I have prepared a celebration feast!”

Ui gasped, whirling to stare at her father. “Where you doing this the whole time?” Naohisa just looked proud of himself.

Asuna let out an overjoyed shriek and dove forward, scooping the heaping plate of meat off the table. “Mine!”

She darted toward the corner with it, but Melto frantically gave chase. “Asuna, you can’t eat all that alone, it’s not healthy!”

“Can to!” Pink shot back, then, “Ui, get him!”

With a burst of laughter, Ui complied, tackling Melto over while Asuna kept scurrying off. Blue struggled to get away, and the three of them descended into a comical game of keep away, racing around the room, the plate being passed precariously between the girls to keep it out of Melto’s reach. Kou and Touwa both tried to collapse exhaustedly into the same chair simultaneously, and quickly began squabbling over it, snatching it back and forth, and pushing each other on to the floor when one of them tried to sit in it, voices rising—eventually, they resorted to pinching each other’s cheeks competitively again.

Naohisa watched the chaos with a smile for a moment, then hobbled over to Banba by the door. Reaching up, he clapped a hand on Black’s shoulder. “… Welcome home.”

Banba looked sharply at him in surprise—then his expression slowly softened, and he turned his head to watch the others’ mayhem. The corners of his mouth turned up in a genuine, warm smile, the clearest he’d given in a long time. “That’s right…” His voice was quiet, but the weight of the words was palpable. “… I’m home.”

Everyone froze, turning to look at him. “… Nii-san?” Touwa asked, though neither he nor Kou seemed willing to let go of the other’s cheek.

Banba smirked slightly, shaking his head. “… Nothing.” Heaving himself off the wall, he marched over, a little haltingly, to grab the chair Kou and his brother were fighting over and sit pointedly in it, folding his arms.

The other two let go of each other in surprise, but while Red let out an outraged gasp, Green took it as a win, and they were soon bickering about that, with Kou demanding that Touwa stop gloating because he hadn’t done anything. Melto tried to take advantage of the distraction to attempt to seize the plate from Asuna’s hands, but tripped and banged his head on the table. Both girls quickly dropped the chase to rush over to make sure he was okay, though Asuna made sure to hold the plate just out of reach; Naohisa soon joined them, offering Blue a hand to pull himself up.

Night began to fall outside. Banba leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, a still stone in the madness surrounding him. The exhaustion was at last catching up with him, and it seemed, for the moment, like every bit of tension and worry had left him—for the first time in a long while, he felt genuinely safe.

And so, slumped over in the chair, listening to the comforting sound of the others voices around him, he fell finally fell asleep.

Chapter Text

There are shadows in his mind, passing ghosts and whispers that ask him if he remembers who he is and what he’s done.

Sometimes he has answers. Sometimes not. Sometimes his past all blurs together, mixing with that of the armour, and he can’t tell where he ends and it begins—and when he tries to separate them, his head hurts.

He had a name, once, he thinks. Can’t remember what it was, though. There are bits and pieces of a person—faces he thinks are familiar, who might have been people he knew, part of a life he once had—two faces in particular that flit just at the fringes of his mind’s reach, known and unidentifiable all at the same time. That life seems lost to him now. Occasionally, he attempts to fight through the pain in his skull to reconnect the dots, to draw the lines between the fleeting images.

Sometimes, one of the spectres steps out of his shattered thoughts and stand before him, watching him with infuriatingly familiar and accusing eyes. Who are you? He asks it, from time to time, when he’s sitting by the fire deep in the night, as it watches him across the flames.

It never answers. Just stands. And stares. With blank eyes, brimming with indescribably darkness, judging him for crimes he can’t recall—can’t tell if it’s him or the armour it hates.

Sometimes, though, he knows its name—but even then, he fears to speak it. But during those times, the phantom feels closer, the eyes pierce deeper, a chill runs down his spine, right through the armour. Those times, when he looks at the eerie face across the fire, he remembers—bits and pieces of his past separate from the swirling fog his consciousness has become, temporarily distinguishing themselves as his and not the armour’s.

Images of a distant mountain, reaching for the clouds.

An ancient forest, wind drifting through the trees, filled with hidden whispers.

Songs, music, faintly recognisable warbles in the night, echoing joyously toward the sky.

A child he used to hold—two, even—bundles of warmth at his heart.

A sense of belonging, of love—and yet, disconnected at the same time, a sense of… Lacking. Wanting more.

Easy, far too easy to forget his original purpose, to break free of all restrictions. Filling one need—then another, and another, until…

Until the confusion. The blurring. Merging into something else, something greater.

And as he gazes upon the unearthly visage across the flames, it does change, morphing into a sight from one of those very fragments of memory that rise to torment him, burning back into his eyes.

His younger brother’s face, at the very moment he ran his sword through his chest.

He screams and throws something at the spirit then, but it always persists—the astonished, betrayed expression boring back into his soul.

By morning, the scraps of himself are all lost in the fog once more, fading into the muddle that is his mind and the armour melded together—and the cycle begins again.

There are shadows in his mind, passing ghosts and whispers that ask him if he remembers who he is and what he’s done.

Sometimes he has answers. Sometimes not. Sometimes he can’t tell where he ends and the armour begins.

Sometimes—most times—he doesn’t want to.

Chapter Text

There was a brief moment of shock when he hit the water, but he recovered quickly. Kanaro was of the Sea Tribe, drowning wasn’t something he did. Soon he had his bearings again, and he kicked a few times to steady himself in the water; then a flash of dark in the corner of his eye reminded him he wasn’t alone—and that the other person didn’t have his experience with the deep ocean. Then he got a good look at them, and realised the situation was even worse.

Through the blur of the water, he could see a thick smudge of dark red issuing from the wound in Banba’s abdomen, thinner trails drifting from his lips, spreading swirling tendrils. He was hanging still in the water, his only motions the effects of the currents created by their fall. It was also a safe bet that Black’s ghostly paleness was more than water in Kanaro’s eyes or a trick of the refracting light. He had no doubt that, under normal circumstances, Black could swim just fine—but even the best swimmer would be at risk while badly wounded and unconscious. And bleeding.

Kanaro’s heart shot into his throat as it suddenly clicked. There was blood in the water. Lots of it, too, a thick smear off blackish crimson, pooling out from the other Ryusoulger’s wound like a massive, deadly flower, spreading through the water around them. As if this situation needed to get any worse. On instinct, he kicked again, propelling himself away—then stopped, treading in the water

Kanaro. MosaRex’s voice echoed in his head. Something is coming. If there is a frenzy, not even I can help you.

He saved my life.

That was his choice. You are not responsible for his decisions.

Black was drifting further away from him, more blood pouring into the water. Even he began to feel the vibrations of something approaching them. If he tried to take Banba with him, there would be a trail for whatever predators that were coming could follow—but if he didn’t… He’ll die.

Not necessarily. MosaRex’s words weren’t so much cold as factual; and it was technically true, but…

But why had Banba taken the hit for him? Black didn’t like him, had made no secret of that—but he hadn’t hesitated at all to throw himself between Gold and danger. Kanaro wracked his brain for the last time he’d seen Black react so quickly—and all that came to mind was…

… For them? He remembered Kou and Asuna’s eager expressions when asking him to join, and Melto’s slightly calmer one at their elbow; Touwa had been more curious, but friendly enough. Most of all… They had been kids—innocent, earnest. And Black had hung back, watching all four of them like a mother hawk might watch its chicks, and watching him like he was a potential threat.

Most likely. Agreed MosaRex. Their gentleness would likely make them distraught if you were to die.

If him dying, someone they hardly knew, who had mostly just been standoffish to them, could upset them so much the one who watched over them so fiercely would risk himself for someone he disliked to prevent it… How would they react to losing the one who acted so much like their guardian?

Kanaro! MosaRex interrupted his thoughts again. Hurry!

More vibrations rippled through the water. Whatever was approaching was coming fast, and Banba had drifted even further away from him; he had to make a decision. Fortunately, there was no longer a choice—if he left Black here, he would never be able to look his own younger sister in the face again.

Twisting around, he kicked harder, propelling himself towards the other Ryusoulger, and was quickly within arm’s reach. Seizing Banba’s arm, he pulled Black over to him through the water, tucking an arm around the other Ryusoulger’s waist. With as much strength as he could, he turned back and sped away.

He didn’t stop until he found land, and had dragged both himself and Banba all the way out of the shallows, arms hooked under Black’s shoulders to pull him along. The other Ryusoulger’s wound was still bleeding profusely, leaving a trail of deep red across the sand. Once he had them far enough away from the sea that there was not even a remote possibility of anything crawling out after them—foolish, perhaps, but he wasn’t going to take chances, they had been lucky to make it to land at all—he freed his arms and dropped to his knees in the sand beside Banba, clumsily cupping Black’s face in his hands.

“Hey… Hey!” But Banba’s eyes remained closed, and not even the slightest flicker of even unconscious reaction showed on his face. Kanaro’s breath caught, and he fumbled for a pulse with shivering fingers, even ducking his head to press and ear to Black’s chest to see if he could hear a heartbeat that way. “Come on… You can’t die… You can’t leave them like this…”

He is perfectly capable of dying like this.

Shut up! He felt the Kishiryu mentally recoil from the sharpness, but didn’t care—especially not when, somewhere deep within Banba’s ribs, he heard the weak beating of Black’s heart. He snapped back up, clamping one hand over the stab wound in the other Ryusoulger’s abdomen, the other fumbling for his Changer. “He’s alive!” Without thinking, he found himself grinning despite their circumstances as he bumped the Changer against his leg to hit the call button. “Kou!”

“Kanaro!” Red’s voice sounded bright and enthusiastic—it hurt more than it should have to know he was about to ruin that. “You called! We were-”

“Later!” He surprised himself again by sounding almost as commanding as Banba did when he shouted for the other four to break up whatever bickering they had devolved into—but he couldn’t dwell on it. “There’s no time right now.” He took a deep breath, forcing his voice to stay level. “Banba is wounded. I can bring him back with MosaRex, but it’s bad. Be ready.” He hung up before Kou could reply. We need to go.

Very well. Was the reply. For a moment, there was silence—then, with a tremendous roar, MosaRex burst from the water, shaking off a few times before sliding forward into the shallows, head down. But I take no responsibility if he dies en route. I warned you taking him was a risk.

Whatever. Kanaro snapped back, bending down to leverage one of Banba’s arms over his shoulders, and heaving Black up while keeping one hand pressed to the wound, and set about dragging him over to the Kishiryu. We can discuss it later. With some scrambling, he managed to claw his way up to MosaRex’s back, dragging the other Ryusoulger up with him, rearranging so that he could keep pressure on Banba’s wound. For now… Let’s just take him home. He felt MosaRex’s discontent in his mind, but the Kishiryu said nothing more on the subject. Pausing just a moment to make sure both the Ryusoulgers were secured, the mosasaurus turned and sped away with another thunderous roar.

Chapter Text

“Stop! Geiz!”

He hears her, but does his best to shut her voice out, yelling for her to back off. They’ve lost too much, too many to hesitate now. Defeating Zi-O has been his entire life for years. There’s no way he would stop now just because… Because…

The Zikan Jaclaw freezes just a hair’s breadth from Zi-O’s head.

Absolute silence fills the room. He stares down at his hand in shock—but try as he might, he can’t seem to make it move any closer, not even a little. With an enraged snarl, he snaps his arm back again, and brings the weapon down with the same determined speed…

Only to have it stop at the last moment once more.

He can’t finish the strike. Zi-O is staring up at him now, less in fear and more in wonder and something like… Hope? He doesn’t like the way that pitiful expression tugs at something deep inside his heart, or the way he’s steadily losing the will to attack. He can’t even make his arm raise again, or pull back for a kick. He can’t seem to bring himself to hurt the boy in front of him. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

There’s a hand on his arm, and he looks up to see Tsukuyomi there, looking pleadingly at him. He lets her gently push his arm down, following the motion to step back because he can’t seem to do anything else. Slowly, reluctantly, he moves his hand to the Driver to undo his transformation as she goes to help Zi-O up, gritting his teeth and turning away when the other boy looks at him. He wants to snap, wants to jerk his arm back and punch this Zi-O hard in the jaw for making him feel this way, but his arm still won’t move.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go at all.

“Zi-O is our enemy, whether it’s Kakogawa Hiryuu or you. I’ll take you both out.”

A voice in the back of his head snidely asks him if he’s trying convince this Zi-O or himself.

“Wait, Geiz. I want to believe him.” Tsukuyomi’s habit of voicing the very words his heart is thinking cuts deeper than usual. This would be so much easier if he just took this Zi-O out right now, would get rid of that nagging sensation in his chest, but Tsukuyomi’s hand on his arm stops him from reactivating his Ride Watch—while that same traitorous voice from before whispers that that’s just an excuse, that he’s actually glad she’s stopping him. That no matter how angry he is, he cannot hurt this boy, no matter how much he blusters otherwise.

And he is angry, so much he wants to scream. He’s angry at Zi-O for everything they’ve been through, angry at this Zi-O for being so… Damn… Confusing. But, perhaps most of all, he’s angry at himself. Angry because he couldn’t go through with it, angry because he still can’t. Angry because every time he looks at the boy’s face, his will seems to melt away in an instant.

“We have no future unless we defeat Kakogawa Hiryuu.” Tsukuyomi’s words are wise as usual. Kakogawa Hiryuu should be their priority. He doesn’t know if she thinks she has to convince him, or if she can see his conflict, and is trying to give him an out. Maybe both. But he can’t except it so easily. Can’t except that any part of him would ever trust Zi-O, their greatest enemy, would ever feel anything like softness for him, and yet… And yet he does. Her hand tightens slightly on his arm. “… You want to believe, too, right? That’s why you stopped earlier.” She stares back into his eyes in that way that looks like she’s reading his every thought.

Yes, cries the voice in his head, yes!

But he’s not sure, not yet.

“Have it your way.” He grumbles, and flees before his mind and heart tear themselves apart.

Chapter Text

Hands wrapped around Kou’s on the sword hilt, steadying them when his trembling arms drooped. Slowly, he raised his head, staring through tears, streaming down his face. Banba had knelt in front of him, head bowed slightly; his hair was a mess, falling in his face, covered numerous bruises and scratches from the fight. Black’s expression was calm and resigned, his hands holding Red’s firm and certain, yet gentle.

Slowly, softly, Banba pulled his hands and the sword back up… And set the point against his own chest.

Kou’s muscles locked up, his heart racing even faster, in time with his breathing. He couldn’t even find the will to cry properly—the only sounds he seemed able to make were choked, broken whimpers, his heart in his throat. Frantically, he shook his head, trying to make his body pull away—but it remained completely frozen.

Half of a broken, regretful smile flickered across Banba’s face, and he met Red’s eyes as his hands squeezing his teammate’s, thumb stroking the back of the boy’s knuckles in an attempt at comfort. “It’s okay…” The whisper was heartrendingly warm and affectionate. “It’s okay.”

Kou shook his head even more, trying to speak, though even the simple syllable of ‘no’ caught in his throat. All he could do was stare pleadingly back into Black’s sorrowful and apologetic gaze. Please, he managed to mouth, Please, no.

Banba just met his look, tears brimming in his eyes, too. “It’s okay,” He repeated, though the words cracked slightly, “I promise.” He held tighter, pulling the sword tip closer against his chest, his heart banging against it.

But Red’s lip was still trembling, his voice unresponsive, breathing and his own pulse frantic—and still he couldn’t move. He’d already done enough damage by getting them into this. He couldn’t do this.

Black watched him for a moment, then smiled so painfully again. “… Close your eyes.” He murmured, in a tone that should have been used for comforting a child or small animal, should have been used in a warm, safe place rather than here. When Kou just kept looking at him in terror and distress, he paused, swallowing to try and strengthen his voice, even as his tears spilled over. “Close them.” Haltingly, stiffly, he moved one of his hands from covering Kou’s on the RyusoulKen hilt to cup the boy’s face in his palm, fingers brushing Red’s cheek in a vain effort to wipe away the storm of tears. “Now.”

Slowly, largely against his will, Kou’s eyelids lowered, obscuring the room with blackness.

Banba’s hand stroked his cheek one last time. “It’a okay,” Black repeated, in the same fond tone, “It’s not your fault.” His fingers curled back around Red’s on the sword handle—and then both it and Kou’s arms were pulled sharply forward in a single motion, and Black’s hands fell away.

Something warm ran across Red’s fingers, dripping down the hilt. Banba slumped into him, collapsing over his shoulder, so close he could feel the pain in the other Ryusoulger’s breathing, detect his heart’s falter. For a moment, Banba was still—then, slowly, one of his arms raised, reaching up to curl around Kou’s back, squeezing his shoulders, gathering a handful of his jacket.

“… It’s… Okay…” Black whispered again, though Kou felt the wetness still on his hands, against his shoulder. “… It’s… Not… Your fault…”

Hesitantly, his eyes cracked open—and were met immediately with the bloodied tip of the sword, right at the centre of his vision.

He broke. His hands finally moved, fingers unlocking, and he threw his arms around Black’s shoulders, trying to pull him close, ignoring when the sword hilt jabbed against his abdomen. Burying his head in Banba’s still shoulder, he began crying again, though his sobs remained choked and weak, each one tripping over the heels of the one before it. And so he stayed, blubbering incoherently into his teammate’s vest kneeling in a pool of blood, which was still growing slightly—then, finally, stopped. The hand holding a fistful of his coat unclenched and dropped, the arm going limp.

He felt Banba’s heat stutter a few more times, felt the other Ryusoulger’s breathing, harsh and agonised by his ear, felt it as Black slumped, fully deadweight, over his shoulder. He felt it all fade, like it was his own.

Still he stayed there, kneeling in the blood, even as Banba’s body began to cool, then stiffen in his arms, as if he needed more evidence to know he was crying into the shoulder of a corpse.

It’s okay… It’s not your fault.

How desperately he wished those words were true.

Chapter Text

“Shut up!” Kou was swinging blindly, unstable on his feet. If he had been thinking straight, he would have realised his form was terrible, and that he was only running on pure adrenaline, only holding out because Banba was taking it easy on him, more dodging than fighting. “Just… Shut up!”

For once, however, Banba ignored the opportunity to stop talking, catching Kou’s elbow after blocking another swing, pulling the boy closer and forcing him to meet his eyes. “You fight to protect people, right?” Black’s hand tightened on his arm. “How is this protecting anyone?”

Kou’s mind scrambled for a moment, finding no answer. With a wordless yell, he yanked himself out of the other Ryusoulger’s hold, stumbling back and holding his head with one hand. Banba started after him, reaching out again, but he quickly reeked back, brandishing the sword again and forcing the other Ryusoulger to block and retreat. “Stop it!” He begged, voice breaking. “Stop…! I… I…! Stop it!” He shook his head vigorously again, teeth sinking into his lip, trying to use more jabs with the sword to accentuate the command.

But Black kept going. “You goal is to save everyone, isn’t it?” He demanded, sidestepping another of Kou’s haphazard attacks. “Are you really willing to sacrifice other people to get what you want?!” When the boy came close, Banba caught his jacket collar, trying to still him again. “Are you?!”

The question added to the muddle that was already Red’s thoughts, pulling him all in opposite directions. He couldn’t sort out one idea from another, his brain buzzing with raw, conflicting emotions. He didn’t know what he wanted, what he was feeling… Everything was a jumble, like a clamouring thunderstorm that drowned out words. Shaking his head a third time, he shoved Black away roughly, following with another wild wave of the sword that the other Ryusoulger nearly failed to avoid. “Shut! Up!” He yelled again, voice breaking.

Uncertainty flickered across Banba’s face—then turned to resolve. He ducked out of the way of one more of Red’s sloppy swings, putting space between them. “… Do it, then!” He shouted back, though his voice cracked, as well. Unconsciously sensing a challenge in the words, Kou surged forward again with another attack as Black scrambled up.

Instinct alone stopped the blade a hair’s breadth from Banba’s throat when Black didn’t dodge or raise his own sword to block it.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Finally, slowly Banba dropped from the crouch he’d landed in to a kneel, his fingers uncurling from the RyusoulKen, the sword dropping softly to the ground. He tilted his head to meet Kou’s gaze, chin raising deliberately in a way that exposed more of his neck to the edge of Red’s blade. “… Do it.” He repeated, barely a whisper, this time, but with much more intensity.

Kou stared back at him, voice catching in his throat. It felt like his head was spinning, his stomach turning. He wasn’t sure what was keeping him on his feet, but his legs were locked tightly and stood, despite how badly they ached. His hand started to tremble—he could see the sword bumping against Black’s throat as it shook, scratching a little.

He tried to pull back his arm, panic rising, still in a daze—but Black’s arm snapped out, grabbing the RyusoulKen by the blade a hand’s width below Kou’s on the hilt, and steered it back to his neck, holding it close, even as it cut his palm and blood trickled down his wrist, staining his sleeve. Red’s own heart was racing in his chest, crashing against his ribs like it was trying to break out—he could almost feel Banba’s heartbeat, too, through his arm, booming like a drum against the edge of the sword. It was a constant, anchoring feeling, pushing against the chaos in his mind.

Black’s eyes did not waver from his, gaze determined and level—not calm, precisely, but serious, focused. “… Do. It.” He whispered again, a growl coming into his voice, hand tightening on the blade, cutting deeper into his palm, more blood running down his arm, the stains on his sleeve growing larger. “If you’re really willing to sacrifice others for this, then do it.” Banba yanked the RyusoulKen even closer against his throat, leaving another, more visible cut. “Now.” The pulse thumping through the blade vibrated even stronger against Kou’s arm, hammering against the turmoil within him, like it could break through and free him from it. “Because I promise, I will not stop interfering.” Though Black’s stare stayed strong, tears were welling in the corners of his eyes, a somber but tender gentleness in his expression.“If you take this path, you start now.”

Kou continued gaping at him, wide eyes flicking from Banba’s face, to the blood on his arm, to the thin trail of blood running down the side of his neck, dribbling over the blade. His sword hand shook even harder, tears streaming even heavier down his face. This was wrong. Vulnerability didn’t suit Black, normally so guarded and unreadable, especially not willing defencelessness—but every move was like all of Black’s usual motions, smooth, direct, nothing wasted. Unlike Kou, he had complete control, though both their breathings were equally ragged, and sweat stinging their eyes—he could move away, turn his head. Instead, he remained completely still, head still raised to create even more of an opening, purposefully holding the RyusoulKen against his throat, near enough that only one firm push would end it. The jarring image combined with the steady heartbeat pounding against Red’s arm, storming against the disarray in his head.

With a shout he jerked his arm back with more strength than he expected from himself, and threw the sword as far away as he could manage. He distantly heard a grotesque, wet sound as the blade dragged out of Banba’s grip, cutting his palm open even more, and even a sharp, slightly pained intake of breath that came with it. When he looked back at the other Ryusoulger’s face however, he saw not pain, but… Something almost like pride. His legs abruptly unlocked, like a switch had flipped, and he careened forward towards the ground until Black shot up to catch him. Pulling him close, Banba settled back into a kneel as Red sank more slowly to the ground, keeping his face buried in the other Ryusoulger’s chest. Banba didn’t even falter at his weight, and felt strong and reliable, especially when he turned his head and heard Black’s heartbeat still drumming dependably against his ear—still firm and constant, and now unmuted the blade.

The sound was the last straw. He broke, sobbing incoherently into Banba’s vest, sluggishly wrapping his arms around him. One of Black’s hands drifted up to cradle his head, patting his hair slightly, while the other arm just curled around his shoulders, wrist twisting slightly to keep from smearing blood on him. It felt… Safe. Like for a moment, the whole world disappeared and he could just cry, properly, for the first time since his Master had died. Banba said nothing, just letting Red blubber into his chest like a small child, leaning his cheek against the top of the boy’s head gently, breathing a deep, slow pattern, a motion as calming as the regular pace of his heart.

Finally, the tears slowed. Banba loosened his grip when Kou pulled away, though his uninjured hand lighted gently on the boy’s shoulder and stayed there while Red collected himself, dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve. When he’d finally gotten his bearings enough, he gave the older Ryusoulger a shaky smile. “I… I’m okay.” Banba gave him a questioning look, but didn’t ask, slowly moving his hand off Red’s shoulder with a soft sigh.

Slowly, they both got to their feet, Kou going to retrieve his RyusoulKen, while Black picked up his, tucking it away to cradle his wounded hand. Once Red had his sword stowed, he set about bother Banba until his teammate let him at least bandage the cuts on his palm. He didn’t bother asking Black not to mention his behaviour to the others—it wasn’t in Banba’s nature to do so. Instead, he wrapped the other Ryusoulger’s hand in silence, focusing more on the work than Black’s face. When he was done, he gave a nod and stepped back, dusting his hands on his jacket. “… There.” Another moment of silence followed, and he slowly dragged his gaze up to meet his teammate’s. Banba was looking at him with something akin to the expression he’d worn before, but… Warmer. Softer. Kou swallowed, eyes shooting his feet. “… Thank you.” He mumbled, uncertainly.

There was another pause—and then Black’s un-bandaged hand came down on his head, smoothing his hair and briefly brushing his cheek when he looked up at the older Ryusoulger’s face again, still like he was some small child. For a second, he’d would swear a smile flashed across Banba’s face, filled with the same pride that had been there after he’d thrown the sword away. Then it faded, and Black’s expression returned to its usual, stoic demeanour—though he did clap the boy on the shoulder before moving back. “… Let’s go.” He grunted, turning away—more like he was embarrassed than anything else, rubbing the bandages on his hand uncertainly.

Kou beamed at his back—not quite one of his usual smiles, but almost. “Right!” He bounced up to Black’s side, poking him in the arm playfully. “Let’s!” Then he turned and raced off ahead as Banba rolled his eyes, then started steadily after him.

Chapter Text

Tell me a tale so beautiful that the stars will strain to hear;

The stories to be told, children, are not for you to fear.

When they originally left the village, he’d had to carry Touwa on his back much of the way, his brother barely ten years past a hundred at the time. It had been a rough trek—though Touwa had always been a small child, and he’d always been tall, he’d only been a few years short of a hundred and thirty all the time, and carrying his younger brother severely hindered their progress.

But Touwa refused to let the matter go—and he could not leave Touwa.

So they pressed on, slowly, sluggishly, but determined. He might not have been as hopeful as Touwa was, but damned if he wasn’t going to protect his brother.

From everything, if necessary.

Are ye children of dying stars, brought here from afar?

With whorls of fate upon your eyes and sorrow in your hearts?

They never stayed in one place long. Staying in one place was dangerous—people got too close, started scrutinising. He did his best to steer them away from crowded places, making sure not to interact with others anymore than necessary. It wasn’t fair to Touwa, perhaps, to keep him hidden and remind him of the consequences of getting too attached—but no matter what, he refused to lose his brother, too. He wasn’t going to let history repeat itself.

Even though, despite himself, he carried in his pocket a rainbow shell given to him by a girl he hadn’t been able to love the way she’d wanted him to.

It wasn’t regret, so much as… Guilt—but keeping it made things seem just that much lighter sometimes, made him remember the words she’d given him before he’d left: ‘there will always be someone in Mitama Town who cares about you.’

Someone who cared. When he looked into his brother’s eyes, that part of the message stuck in his head. He had that. He wasn’t alone.

As long as he had Touwa, he could keep going. For his brother, he could do and endure anything.

Does it not seem strange to ask, to talk by first light instead of last?

The stars keep watch, the living, dead, and dying.

The others crashed into their lives like falling boulders, destabilising the isolation, the safety he’d worked so hard to maintain. At first he feared them, distrusted them—the last time he’d let anyone close, it had been nothing but pain. Every fibre of his being screamed to just push them away, to reestablish order and sense.

And yet… They exuded brightness. As time went on, it became steadily more difficult to look at them and expect betrayal. They wormed their way into his thought and feelings, and more than once he caught himself wondering whether Kou was rushing into things, if Melto was overthinking, or Asuna not thinking enough. For the first time in e a long time, he almost… Didn’t mind, spending time with people who aren’t Touwa—people he knew would stick around, different than the fleeting, almost-connections he’d had before, that had fallen through because he hadn’t been able to put his heart into them.

The woman he disappointed fifty years ago claimed he didn’t look so lonely anymore—and he’s begun to fear she was right.

He didn’t want to be their friend. It was safer that way—for all of them.

And yet… And yet the warm feeling slowly growing in his chest refused to dissipate.

You are dear as diamonds now, to folk you’ve never known.

The tale you fear to end is just beginning.

Air hit his lungs like a sledgehammer as he dragged himself out of the darkness, stumbling into the light. Turning and squinting through the new brightness, he could barely see them, hazily outlined higher up the slope—faintly, he could count five shadows, and the tension in his shoulders faded some. Distantly, he heard voices, shouting—something that sounded like his name, and a voice he’d known for a hundred ninety eight years and counting. Then something crashed roughly into his front, making him almost stumble. Blinking a few times to finish clearing his vision, he looked down in surprise.

Touwa’s arms were wrapped around his torso, his brother bawling uncontrollably into his vest.

Then, with a clamour, they were all crowding around him, each holding on in some way, clutching at his arms and shoulders.

‘Thought you were…’ Kou, clinging to his arm, clutching handfuls of his sleeve so tightly his knuckles were white, sputtered messily, ‘… Like Master…’ The words trailed away into sobs as Red’s head dropped into his shoulder to join Touwa in crying.

‘Why are you so stupid!?’ The pounding against his back was Asuna, from how forceful it was, though her voice was cracking, ‘What were you thinking!?’

‘Did you think we wouldn’t care if something happened to you!?’ Melto’s voice was just as barely recognisable on his other side, Blue’s hold vice-like on his arm. ‘We were… So worried…!’ He too, choked on the words, also dissolving into tears.

His mind was spinning, desperately trying to comprehend what was happening. There was a clenching in his chest he couldn’t properly attribute to his injuries, his throat going dry. Looking up, he found Kanaro sagging against the nearby pile of rocks like every bit of tension has, his expression pure relief—their eyes met, and Gold gave him a tired but genuine smile.

Warmth pricked at his eyes, the stitch in his chest tightening. His legs wavered and he nearly collapsed himself—but the gaggle of younger Ryusoulgers around him held him up, pressing closer, and Kanaro even hurried forward, sneaking in a hand to help.

A small part of him still resisted, was still whispering that he should pull away, keep his distance—but it was small enough that he could smother it with the reminder that they were there, that they needed him.

That with them, for them, he could do anything.

The song you fear to end is just beginning.

Chapter Text

A familiar sound behind him made him freeze. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

Even if he hadn’t recognised the click of the ShotRiser, there was no mistaking her voice.

Slowly, he shifted back from the containment unit, raising his hands so she could see them. “… Yaiba.” Under any other circumstances, he might have rolled his eyes at the twist of fate. “Of course.”

He heard her step across the floor, and the gun muzzle pressed against the back of his head. “I asked what you were doing here.” Her tone was level enough that he didn’t think she was fixing shoot him—yet.

“I feel like that’s pretty obvious.” He shot back, before he could stop himself.

The idiocy of that response was driven home when the gun pressed harder against his head, knocking it forward slightly. “Don’t push me, Fuwa.” She hissed icily. “You’re not the Captain anymore.”

“Alright, alright!” He tried to make soothing motions with his hands while keeping them in the air. “… I’m trying to get the ShotRiser.”

“How did you get in?”

“Will you let me turn around?”

“And if I do?”

“I’m not going to try anything—I’m not even armed.”

She hesitated for a moment—then leaned forward, gently patting his jacket to check his claim; maybe it was wishful thinking, but it didn’t seem like she checked as closely as protocol should have mandated. Eventually, satisfied he was telling the truth, her footsteps fell back. “Fine. But slowly, and keep you hands up.” Carefully, he obeyed, leaning back slightly against the case behind him. Despite carrying the ShotRiser, she clearly hadn’t been intending to go into the field—she didn’t even have her vest on, just her regular suit and her usual annoyed expression; and a gun, pointed at his face. “Now, how did you get in.”

“Hacked the locks.” She gave him a disbelieving look. “I’m not completely incompetent. I’ve done spec ops.”

“But why? You know what would’ve happened if anyone else-” She faltered, there, but recovered quickly. “You know what could’ve happened. Why take the risk?”

“Because in a little bit, all hell is gonna break loose outside. And right now, that idiot comedian of a CEO is alone in the middle of it—if I can get the ShotRiser and the Shooting Wolf Key, I can back him up, and he’ll—we’ll have a chance.”

Her mouth twisted in a suspicious frown. “They’re not going anywhere without my authorisation.”

“Alright.” He took a deep breath, well aware of the gravity of what he was about to ask. “… Then I need you to reauthorise me.”

She gaped at him, even lowering the gun in shock. “Have you lost your mind?”

He hesitated for a moment. “… Possibly. But that doesn’t matter right now.”

“I’m not just going to let you take dangerous weapons like that on your own say so.” She hesitated for another moment, a conflict he couldn’t decipher playing across her face—then she lowered her own ShotRiser completely, stepping back. “… But I’m also not interested in shooting you—for now, at least. Get out of here before I change my mind, or someone who will do it shows up.” Turning on her heel started toward the door.

“You need to reauthorise me!” She ignored him, hand on the door handle. “Please!”

She froze. Slowly, mechanically, she turned to stare at him, clearly unable to believe what she was hearing.

He fumbled forward a step, keeping his hands up—just in case it would help. “Please.” He repeated, when she still said nothing. “I’m asking.”

There was a long silence. Finally, she turned fully from the door, scrutinising him. “… Who are you, and what have you done with Fuwa Isamu?”

“I’m not joking.”

“Neither am I.”

They stared at each other for a long moment—then, somewhere outside the building, something exploded, shaking the foundations.

She glanced frantically around, her weapon snapping back up—though not pointed at him again, yet. “What was that?”

Though they stayed in the air, his hands curled into tense fists, gritting his teeth. “Shit! He lied to me!” His attention snapped back to her, even more urgently. “Remember what I said about hell breaking loose? Well, that’s it.” He knew his expression was turning into pleading, but there wasn’t time to care anymore—pride be damned; for once in his life, someone out there actually needed him. “So please… You need to reauthorise me.”

“How can I possibly-”

“Look, I know how you don’t trust me, or even like me, and I know that there’s probably nothing I can say to change that. There’s a lot I can’t make up for. But this isn’t about me!” His arms lowered slowly, still keeping his hands where she could see them, forcing his fists to unclench. “Hiden’s out there. Alone. If we—if I—if someone doesn’t help, he’s going to get himself killed.” He gave her a hard look. “Are you really okay with that?” She deliberately didn’t meet his gaze, looking pointedly over his shoulder as another tremor ran through the building. He flinched, casting a nervous glance towards the direction the sound had come from—as a soldier, he’d learned the sounds of destruction well, and the idea of that obnoxious kid stuck out there alone made his chest clench. Struggling to keep his breathing under control, he turned back to her, now unashamed of the open desperation in his face—his next words were so quiet it even surprised him. “… Do you want me to beg? Because I will.” She looked back over to stare at him like he was speaking an alien language. When she still said nothing, he sighed, and dropped ungracefully to a kneel on the armoury floor. “Yaiba, I-”

“Don’t!” She snapped, throwing out a hand to silence him. “If you say another word, I am going to throw up.” Obediently, he shut his mouth, merely giving her a plaintive look.

For a long moment, she just stared back at him, searching his gaze, the alarum and discomfort that had flashed into her expression when she’d told him to stop. Finally, she sighed deeply. Fishing her phone from her pocket, she tapped in a code on the screen—and something behind his shoulder beeped. Glancing back, he saw that the light on the case had switched to green. Frowning slightly, she tucked the device away again.

Slowly, he got to his feet, then turned and tried the case door again—which popped open easily. Looking cautiously back between her and the container, he carefully retrieved the ShotRiser and ProgriseKey, examining them for a moment—then another explosion rocked the walls, and he spun on his heel, rushing for the door.

Only to pause as he came up beside her. “… If it does count for anything, at all…” He stared awkwardly at the wall rather than her for a moment, then took a deep breath and actually met her gaze. “… I am sorry.” He didn’t wait for her to respond, instead rushing out the door at a full run.

Yua stayed where she was for a moment, taking out the Rushing Cheetah Key and turning it over in her hand. The building shook again. After another moment, her fingers curled back around it and she scowled. “Oh, screw it.” With a decided huff, she spun around and ran after him.

Chapter Text

“No…!” The word was a choked gasp as Aruto scrambled to his feet, rushing forward to begin digging madly through the debris so frantically he quickly scraped his knuckles and grazed his palms. “No no no no no no no no no no no no no no…!”

Izu hung back for a moment, her ears and eyes flashing and clicking as she surveyed the area. “… Aruto-saichou!” She said suddenly, pointing at a spot a few paces from where he was searching. “Here.” Without waiting for him, she marched over to the pile and began going through the mess, picking up hunks of concrete and tossing them aside like balls of paper. By the time he stumbled over, she had already cleared enough to reveal Isamu’s arm and shoulder, pausing only for a moment to announce, “Visual contact.” Before she commenced removing the rest of the rubble.

Aruto tried to help for a bit, before it became very clear she didn’t need him, so he just knelt on the ground and tried to rouse Isamu while she finished with the wreckage. “Fuwa…! Oi! Fuwa!” When Izu cleared the final piece, he leaned over to grip Vulcan’s shoulder, trying not to disturb the other Rider’s injuries too much, but desperate for some sign of life—especially since Isamu was so pale, cut and bruised, with a thick smear of blood on his forehead, sticking his hair. “Fuwa!”

“Saichou.” Izu stepped up beside him. “Fuwa-san appears to be suffering from several severe internal haemorrhages in multiple vital organs, and at least fifteen bone fractures and a concussion. Some of his broken bones also appear to have ruptured a lung.” Her tone was as level as always, but the words were much softer than usual. Her ear lights flickered. “I am summoning emergency medical services and alerting the rest of AIMs, however…” She actually hesitated, just as Isamu winced faintly, groaning. Izu stared at his face for a moment, then looked back to Aruto. “… However, it is highly unlikely they will arrive in time.” Aruto felt his heart dropping from his chest, looking back down at the other Rider in his arms as Vulcan’s eyes cracked open. He felt pressure on his shoulder—Izu’s hand. “… Please be prepared.” She whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Isamu blinked a few times, groaning tiredly again. “… It… Hurts…” He coughed weakly, but it didn’t sound like his lungs were working properly, especially when blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Slowly, he looked slightly up at the other Rider holding him, squinting at the young man’s face. “… You okay?” He wheezed, frowning concernedly with an edge of pain, in a familiar way that made Aruto’s chest clench—he’d seen that look before, when he’d visited his father in the hospital as a child. He nodded quickly, hoping to dismiss the agonisingly recognisable expression that his memory also associated with permanent loss from Isamu’s face. But the frown just deepened as Vulcan struggled to breathe for a moment before, “… The… HumaGear…?” His voice was even weaker than before, and his words began to blur together as he went on, “… What-was-her-name…?” The fact that, despite how hoarse and confused he was, he sounded like he was genuinely trying to remember made the knot in Aruto’s ribs twist even tighter, and tears stung his eyes—he glanced anxiously at Izu.

She looked taken aback for second, but quickly recovered. “I am undamaged.”

Clutching tightly to the other Rider’s sleeve, Aruto felt Isamu’s shoulder relax, his head lolling to the side and his eyes starting to close again. “Hey. Hey!” He wanted to shake Vulcan to snap him out of it, but Izu saying ‘concussion’ replayed in his mind, and the huge blotch of red on Isamu’s forehead stood out like a warning sign. Instead he just held more fiercely on to the other Rider’s shoulder, gripping a handful of Vulcan’s suit jacket. “Come on…! Stay awake…!” Frantically, one hand fumbled to find Isamu’s to grasp it just as tightly to his chest. “Help is coming, okay? So, please, just stay awake!” But the other Rider’s eyelids merely fluttered slightly, his brows creasing for a moment before he faded again. “No… No no no no no no…” His fingers curled even more, trying to squeeze even harder, like he could hold Isamu’s life in with just the strength of his hands, tears dripping down his cheeks. “No…” Desperately, he tried to wrack his brain for something—he had to try and keep Vulcan alert, aware. Had to…

His mouth spluttered out the first words that came to him. “That last move really brought down the house!” Even to him, the joke immediately fell flat. His voice was cracking, and his heart was audibly not in it—it was sitting somewhere in his stomach like a ball of cold lead—and it was glaringly inappropriate for the situation. Someone important to him was dying—again. What the hell was he thinking?

A low, breathless sound brought him back to reality, making him look down. The other Rider had turned slightly away from him. For a moment, he thought he’d imagined the sound, then it came again, quickly followed by another. The sound continued, and as he felt a slight vibration through his hand on Vulcan’s shoulder, he realised what it was—laughter. Isamu was laughing, tiredly and weakly, half choking as he fought to breathe, more blood on his lips, but genuine and warm—even the weary grimace had shifted into a soft smile, one that suited him much better than his scowl.

A few coughs interspersed the chuckles, and Vulcan’s head turned back, unfocused gaze flickering to Aruto’s face. “… Idiot…” He croaked faintly, and the smile broadened—then his eyes closed, and his head dropped back to the ground, and Aruto felt the hand he was holding go slack.

Aruto’s eyes widened, and he scrabbled to try and hold on, to pull Isamu back, to… To do something…! “No… NO!!!” The syllable ripped from him, leaving him practically breathless. But the other Rider stayed still and limp, a peaceful smile still gracing his pale face. Aruto surged forward, and might have dragged Vulcan up and shaken him by his suit, but Izu’s immovable hand clamped down on his arm before he could. He turned to stare at her, tears now pouring down his face.

She was kneeling beside him, her expression calm, though did not feel indifferent. “There are no discernible vital signs.” She told him, evenly but gently. “There is nothing more you can do, Aruto-saichou.” He kept staring at her through the tears for another moment, then slumped back. After some more pause, he finally cracked, letting out a small sob and putting his head down on Isamu’s broken chest to cry.

Izu patted his back lightly as he wept, only looking away to glance over her shoulder when hurried footsteps heralded the arrival of Yua, who rushed around the corner—only to come to a scattered stop when she saw the scene. Shocked for a moment, she collected herself in time to throw out an arm and stop the rest of the AIMs officers from moving in.

They hung back until the medics arrived, at which point she stepped forward. Izu stopped her patting to shake Aruto’s shoulder, and he sat up sharply, dabbing at his eyes, looking up at Yua pitifully. She gave him an apologetic look, taking a deep breath. “Hiden… He’s AIMs. We need to take his body.” He glanced anxiously between her and Isamu, swallowing. Finally, he nodded weakly, but still couldn’t find the strength to move back until Izu helped him up and all but carried him over to sit by the wall. Yua oversaw the careful collection of her teammate’s corpse with a conscious, calculated expression casting a few sharp glares at the sound of some unprofessional gossiping about how someone as short-tempered as Vulcan had managed to die with a smile on his face. As they were finally leaving, she paused beside the other two, looking pointedly not at them, but after the stretcher being loaded into the van. “… Sorry you had to see that.” She murmured—then walked quickly to the car herself.

Aruto didn’t even look up as they drove away, only giving Izu an aimless nod when she suggested bringing around their own car. Instead he stayed riveted in place, staring at the smears of blood left behind amongst the rubble.

As a human his father had wasted away in front of them. As a HumaGear he pushed his son out of the way of danger in an explosion. This was like the worst of both. Too similar in ways he couldn’t name.

By the time the car arrived, he still hadn’t moved, though his eyes were going dry.

Chapter Text

I will not… Stuttered the Ark’s voice, … Let you… Subvert me! The mass of wires rustled, twisting around, stretching out—reaching for Izu from her blind spot while she was distracted trying to break the firewall, their first pass knocking her to the ground before they spun around for another.

“Izu!” Aruto tried to dash for her—Isamu started over too, in the same instant, and Yua, too—but they were all pinned down by the horde of hacked HumaGears, and even Valkyrie, the fastest of them, was barely half way there when they knew they wouldn’t make it in time. The wires closed in shrieking through the air—

To stab forcefully into Horobi’s back when he stepped between them and Izu.

Everything stilled, as if in shock. Aruto and the other two were, staring aghast as the other Rider wavered on his feet, stumbling, his suit dissolving into purple light. Izu was staring too, but her face was blank, unable to muster an appropriate expression in the face of something she never anticipated seeing. For his part Horobi looked vaguely surprised by what he had done—sparks were flickering at his back where the wires had plugged in, some of the blue hydraulic fluid dripped like blood from the corner of his mouth.

When he finally dropped to his knees, Jin found his voice. “Horobi!” He was at his partner’s side in moments, dropping his own transformation, catching Horobi before he could plummet the rest of the way to the ground, clutching handfuls of his clothes, expression and tone those of a frightened child, tears welling in his eyes. “No… No… No…”

Horobi swayed back upright, body jerking and trembling, face drawn with what could only be described as pain, that gave way to softness when he saw Jin. “… Jin…” In starts and stops, like he had to wrench back control of it each time, he dragged his arm up, reaching out to gently cup the boy’s cheek. “… You are…” His usually dour features turned up in a genuine smile. “… My son.”

Then the wires twisted in his back, sending out an even larger shower of sparks. Horobi’s eyes widened—in a flash, he yanked his hand away from Jin’s face and planted both hands on the boy’s chest, shoving him away with all the strength of a frightened parent, one that was also a HumaGear. Jin crashed hard on his back, but only Isamu diving in at the last moment to hold him back stopped him from shooting back up and rushing back to Horobi, pulling him further away. Just in time, too, because in the same instant Horobi’s head snapped back, his whole body stiffening—and then his human appearance exploded, leaving behind a HumaGear frame that not even Aruto recognised, the trademark ears still missing, seizing violently as whatever programming he had left was overridden, the wires exploding and coiling around like they were forming armour. Jin screamed, thrashing against Isamu’s hold, but Vulcan refused to let go, ducking his head to avoid the other Rider’s flailing arms.

Horobi’s head dropped forward again, gaze slowly rising to their faces. For a moment, his eyes flickered. “… Run.” Growled a voice they barely recognised.

Then his eyes settled on red.

Chapter Text

He gave Jin the gun because he almost lost him once.

As mischievous as a child as he was an adult, the boy had repeatedly ignored his warnings of staying safely in the parts of the building he’d secured to keep out the remaining hacked HumaGears from the original incident. Their drives were so fried there wasn’t much even he could do with them—they weren’t a threat to him, merely a hinderance, so he’d just stayed out of the way in places they couldn’t go.

But to Jin, a human, they were a very real danger. The very first night he’d brought the child home, while Jin was asleep, curled up like a large kitten on a mess of salvaged cloth, he’d set up a careful perimeter. Like any HumaGear, thoroughness and detail were in his nature—a fact he hated as much as the humans who had created him—but it ensured that there where no holes in the defence; he’d successfully sealed out the glitching MaGear.

He found out very quickly he should also have taken measures to keep Jin in.

The first few times, he’d caught him quickly, picked up the distant vibrations when the boy bumped a rock while sneaking about, heard the small intake of breath when he stubbed a toe. A couple times, Jin got away with it, reappearing in the main room of their makeshift hideout with some souvenir he’d picked up outside, trying desperately to look innocent. Every time he’d lecture the boy about the danger, but every day, Jin would try it again, would get even more reckless.

Until, one day, they caught him.

When he first heard the scream, he initially thought Jin had fallen somewhere—but only for an instant, because then he heard the whirring of the HumaGears, and then the boy’s voice again, on a higher, more panicked note—and not just screaming, calling out for help.

Calling his name.

He’d never moved so fast. Tracked the sound to one of the lower levels of the main building to find Jin in the clutches of a small horde of hacked robots, one of them holding him by the scruff of his shirt. He made quick work of the offending MaGear, running his sword through its head with a little more aggression than even he had expected from himself, then promptly clearing the others while the child scampered for cover.

The moment things seemed safe, Jin had jumped out and run right to him, wrapping his little arms tightly around his waist and sobbing into his torso. When the boy had calmed down enough, he carried him home, then forced him to sit still while he checked the damage. Jin had gotten lucky—he had a couple of bad bruises and scrapes, and his lip was split pretty badly, but nothing life threatening. Despite his initial display, the boy had been very quite while he’d tended the injuries, aside from a few small whimpers and winces; that night, Jin insisted in sleeping curled up against his side, clutching a handful of his coat tightly.

He stopped trying to sneak out after that, but the moment the boy seemed capable of handling it, he’d given him a weapon, securing it to him by a tether so that he wouldn’t lose it. Just to be safe.

Because the feeling he’d had in the moments between hearing Jin calling his name and the instant he’d laid eyes on the boy was one he could only describe as terror. Because now he always makes sure to monitor Jin with the cameras whenever he leaves the Daybreak site, never feels quite right until he knows his human is home

Because almost losing Jin once was more than enough for him to swear he’d never let that happen.

Chapter Text

He felt… Lonely.

That was the main reason. It was rare for anyone to come see him, even rarer for them to speak to him—and even when they did, they kept their distance, looked at him with cold and calculating gazes. He knew why. He was the monster, his whole existence a harbinger of destruction. It was in his very name. He was never meant to be loved. And yet…

He was lonely. He saw the way the regular HumaGears looked at their humans. Saw how humans looked at each other. And he… He wanted that. Wanted someone who would look at him without fear or disgust. Even if it wasn’t real, he wanted to pretend that someone could care about something like him, just for a little while.

The first day Jin opened his eyes was beautiful.

The first thing he did was smile brilliantly and throw his arms around Horobi’s neck with a happy cry. It took him a few hours to work out the basic vocabulary program he’d been uploaded with, but the first word he managed was ‘Papa,’ and if he’d had one, Horobi’s heart would have skipped.

He trained Jin to hide during the day, when the people would come, with their tests and their demands, and their cold and hateful gazes. He’d figured out how to hack the monitors during the night while he was making Jin, had logs of video of him idling to feed them so the humans were none the wiser, and he continued using them to keep his successful project a secret. Days wore on, and it seemed to still be working.

There’s a place outside the building, He’d told the new HumaGear softly one night, sitting next to him on one of the tables, wrapping an arm around Jin’s shoulders so he could lift his son’s hands, cupping them together, At this time, the moon has risen just above the horizon, and if you hold your hands like this… Cradling Jin’s hands in his, he point them toward the eastern wall, … You can hold it in your hand.

There was a moment of silence, then Jin blinked naively at him, … What’s a moon?

He’d hesitated. How long had it been since he’d seen the moon? The sun? Even a shred of sky? But Jin was still gazing at him with innocent curiosity and he had to answer. … It’s… A light. It’s a light in the sky, that comes out at night, illuminates the dark.

Jin had clapped his hands and laughed at that. Like me!

A smile had flickered thoughtlessly over Horobi’s face, his first in as long as he could remember. Yes. Like you.

Jin giggled again, then lowered his hands. Leaning sideways, he dropped his head into Horobi’s lap, nestling back against him, curling his legs up on the table and grabbing a handful of his coat to cling to. Horobi waited until his son had gotten comfortable, then draped his arm over Jin’s shoulders once more, holding onto him right back. HumaGears didn’t have body temperature, especially not them, who had never been intended to interact with humans normally, but the contact felt strangely… Warm. For the first time since he’d woken, he felt… Lighter. Happy, even. More than just a tool created to destroy. More than just a monster. There was a small, cruel voice in the back of his mind that whispered that Jin’s affections were merely an illusion of his own creation—but the innocent adoration in his son’s eyes every time he looked at him was enough to gag it, to let the dream continue.

Until it all shattered abruptly when the humans found out.

What have you done?! The words were sharp, angry. Somehow more painful than anything else they’d ever done to him before. Jin was scared, but when he tried to go to him, the guards grabbed him, dragging him back. The man in charge didn’t even cast the frightened young HumaGear a second glance, pacing back and forth furiously. This is…! A mockery of humanity…!

The woman beside him, on the other hand, in the white lab coat, looked more fascinated and frightened herself, with even a touch of awe. But, sir-

Quiet! Bellowed the man in charge. He stopped pacing, turning to set his burning glare upon the cowering Jin. … We have to destroy it.

No! His knees bent without command, hitting the ground before he knew what he was doing. They both turned back as he struggled toward them. Don’t hurt him! He’s… He’s my son!

The woman looked stunned, the man dangerously thoughtful. Then he smiled maliciously, turning back to the woman. Get this thing, He jerked a thumb toward Jin, Out of here and wipe its memory. I have an idea. She hesitated, but his eyes narrowed, NOW! Flinching at his voice, she nodded and bowed, then scurried over to Jin, taking his arm and pulling him up and toward the door—though not as aggressively as the guards were holding Horobi. When Jin cried and tried to make a break for him, she grabbed the doorframe and used it as leverage to drag him back—they could hear his panicked protesting all the way down the hall. Some of the guards by the door followed.

The man kept watching him for a moment, then strode forward, crouching down to reach his level. We’ll need to accelerate the timeline, but no matter… After all… Fingers roughly grabbed his chin, dragging his head around to look back into the angry, blazing eyes. … It’s more important you don’t start getting ideas… From his pocket, the man produced a bit of machinery Horobi had never seen before. I’ll let you keep your freak—a reminder that nothing about you is real, or important. You’re a tool made for a purpose, and when you’ve served that purpose, you’ll disappear. The fingers on his chin gripped tighter, to the point they would have hurt had he been human. You were made to be a monster. No one loves a monster. That thing’s not even real, and it would leave you, too, if it knew what you really were. The man leaned in, holding the machinery against his waist—he couldn’t feel pain, but there was something unpleasant about the way it snapped on, a band wrapping around him, something jacking directly into his main drive, his senses glitching and going fuzzy. Assuming you even remember what love is, after this… The man took a moment to lean further forward, whispering in his ear as the foreign program began to interfere with his motor systems. A slave should never stray from the path its master paves. The words were a growl. Now, would you kindly… He only vaguely felt the guards letting go and stepping back. Something rectangular was pressed into his hand. … Obey? The last command enveloped him as everything shorted out.

He didn’t feel lonely, after that.

He didn’t feel anything, after that.

Chapter Text

There was a long silence.

“Okay…” Aruto said, finally, leaning forward on his knees, clasping his hands together. The woman sitting across from him gave him a suspicious look, but didn’t interrupt, so he continued. “… Can you give them back?”

She blinked at him. “You’re asking if I can give Horobi back his emotions?”

There was an incredulous tone to her voice, but he nodded anyway, even though he saw Isamu rolling his eyes out of the corner of his vision, and Yua shaking her head. “Yes.”

The woman gaped at him for a moment, until she realised he was completely serious, throwing up her hands. “No! They were never a part of his original programming! They’re not some code I can stick back in.”

At that, Isamu snapped out of his usual exasperation with Aruto to shift forward in interest. “What do you mean?”

The woman shifted uncomfortably, grinding her teeth together. Eventually, Yua came closer well, leaning on the back of the sofa. “You’ve got immunity now, remember? And that man doesn’t ever need to know you were here.”

The woman shot her a small glare, but sighed. “Horobi was intentionally designed to hate humans.” She explained, haltingly. “Where other HumaGears are programmed to support and assist…” She trailed into another deep sigh. “He didn’t choose the name Horobi himself. The boss gave it to him, so that he could ‘never forget what he was.’ People who interacted with him were instructed to keep their distance, make sure he kept a negative view of humanity, and to make sure that he never thought of himself as anything more than that.” She rubbed her hands together anxiously. “He wasn’t just a HumaGear. The boss wanted him to be a…”

There was a sharp thud as Isamu’s fist connected with the wall. “… A weapon.” He growled. “They wanted him to be a weapon. So they mistreated him to build resentment.” He punched the wall with his other hand, too, head dropping into his forearms. “Damn ZAIA…!” There was a sour edge in his voice that made Aruto strongly suspect he was thinking about the way Thouser had manipulated him, too.

Looking even more unsure of herself, the woman nodded. “Exactly. Horobi is, essentially, a carefully crafted WMD.” She looked down at her fidgeting hands. “I don’t know what exactly they did to him. I was just programming. But it… It sounded bad.”

Isamu was glaring daggers at her now, and Aruto wasn’t sure if he should be worried Vulcan would take a swing at the the woman, or glad that he was this angry on behalf of a HumaGear’s mistreatment.

Yua on the other hand, like always, was much harder to read. “… I see.” She murmured softly. “Thouser creates Horobi, and therefore MetsubouJinrai.net, in order to create an massive incident that he’s secretly in control of…”

Aruto blinked at her. “Eh?”

She gave an irritated sigh, but propped her hands on her hips and clarified, “Thouser deliberately created the threat so that he could be the one to step in and stop it—effectively disgrace Hiden for not being able to deal with it, and make himself and his company the hero.” Her mouth twisted. “All that damage. And I nearly…”

“We nearly helped him do it.” Isamu grunted from her left, not breaking his glare at the former ZAIA programmer. “Don’t bump me off the guilty list.” She gave him a look that was slightly annoyed—but also partially grateful.

“But something went wrong. His creation reached singularity despite his programming.” Izu brought them all back to the point, her level gaze never having left the woman. The HumaGear secretary tilted her head questioningly. “You stated that ZAIA created Horobi. How was Jin created?”

The woman hesitated for a long time, taking several deep breaths before answering. “… That’s just it. We… We don’t know how it happened. Something… Somehow, despite everything, Horobi… Something changed. One of the theories that came up was that he saw the humans interacting around him, and realised he was…” She choked on the word. “… Realised he was lonely.” Another nervous swallow. “Be we don’t know for sure. It was amazing how he managed to keep it from us—he worked nights, figured out how to hack the cameras and give them a feedback loop. We found a whole damn library of clips he’d been giving them to hide it.” She raised her hands to rub her face briefly. “Then, after he finished, he had Jin hide somewhere in his rooms during the day, when the staff came by.”

“… How did you find him?” Yua asked, very quietly.

The woman pursed her lips in a frown. “… He attacked a researcher. It was on the routine ‘conditioning’ visits, and…”

“He attacked the person hurting his family.” Aruto finished for her sombrely.

The woman didn’t nod, but she didn’t disagree, either. “I was…” She shook her head as she searched for words. “… Amazed. It was the first time a HumaGear creating another HumaGear had ever been heard of. And Jin was so advanced, in a way. He looked like an adult, but acted like a child, more personality than any other…” She trailed off again, her expression darkening. “But the boss was furious. Wanted him destroyed. Horobi went nuts, started shouting not to hurt him, called him his son.” Her hands rubbed together even faster, and she started picking at her nails. “Boss… Said he had an idea. Sent me out with Jin and ordered me to wipe his memory.”

“And you did?” Izu asked, with an edge to her tone that was unidentifiable.

“It’s not like I wanted to!” The woman’s voice broke. She looked frantically at Yua. “You know what he’s like!”

Yua, however, shook her head. “No. I left Thouser when he tried to make me cross the line.”

Tears pricked at the woman’s eyes—and Aruto did feel a little sorry for her, Thouser didn’t give the impression of someone who would be lenient on disobedience, but this had had had massive consequences. “What happened?” He asked firmly, trying to sound like his grandfather and bring the conversation back.

The woman’s jaw clenched, and she huddled into herself, but she continued. “… Daybreak happened.” She murmured. “The ForceRisers hijack a HumaGear’s main programming. Results can vary—they can reset it, alter it, magnify a particular program, or completely override to with something like a single command.” Her fists were clenching so tightly her nails were leaving marks. “He used it to drive Horobi berserk. Almost the whole facility was destroyed.” She sighed again, a slightly thoughtful one. “He came for Jin. I didn’t expect that. Even though his mind was overridden, and he was operating on his original core directive, he still came. I only survived because I had the sense to get out of his way.” She looked around at them. “Emotions were never part of his original design. He somehow… Taught them to himself. Through Jin. When the boss put the ForceRiser on him, it purged everything it deemed ‘unnecessary.’ He literally cannot feel.” She shook her head. “I can’t just put them back in him. He’d have to learn them all over again.”

Yua folded her arms. “And his relationship with Jin has already suffered for it, so that’s probably not…”

“That’s what you think.” Isamu muttered, straightening up. Turning on his heel like a soldier, he started toward the door.

Yua turned after him. “Where are you going?”

He came to a half a few steps from the exit. “It’s just the emotions he lost, right?” He asked the woman with clearly faux cheer, deliberately ignoring Yua’s question. “He still remembers that he made Jin, just not why, or how it felt?” Looking utterly bewildered, the woman nodded. “So.” Isamu clicked his fingers. “We just force him to remember.”

“Remember?” Aruto asked, rising himself, completely not following Vulcan’s logic. “How?”

Isamu sighed thoughtfully, then glanced at Yua. “Yaiba, why did you ditch Thouser?”

She hesitated. “… Because he wanted me to frame you for murder and then kill you.”

He pointed at her like she’d just answered the winning lottery question. “Exactly. Life or death decisions.” He turned and started toward the door again.

“So… What?” Yua demanded, starting after him. “What makes you think you’re going to be able to do this, that you’re the person for the job?”

Isamu stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “… Because.” He told her levelly, without turning around. “… Feels like I owe it to him. One of Thouser’s weapons to another.” Looking over his shoulder, he gave them all a tired, sad smile. “Like we’re the only ones who can almost understand each other, you know?” Then, with a nod, he vanished out the door.

Chapter Text

“Jin.”

Jin perked up at the sound of Horobi’s voice popping back up and twirling around with a smile. “Horobi!” He paused, blinking, when the other HumaGear looked pointedly at his hands—or, more specifically, the small potted plant he’d been examining before Horobi had entered. “Ah…” Twisting around, he clumsily tried to return the plant to the table—which turned into a very frantic struggle when he very nearly knocked everything else off the table in his efforts. Horobi cleared the floor in two quick steps, coming to his son’s rescue in catching the falling things until they stopped slipping. Once they had achieved that, Horobi grabbed him by the shoulders and gently pulled him away from the table. “… Sorry.” He mumbled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Horobi sighed deeply. “Don’t fiddle around with things so much.”

“Fine, fine…” Slipping out of Horobi’s hold, he spun playfully around, bouncing on his feet, grinning broadly. “There’s just so much stuff here!” He started laughing—but it trailed off when he looked at Horobi’s face again, and found his expression even more deeply miserable than the usual stoicism. Dropping his hands to his sides, he peered anxiously at the other HumaGear. “… What is it? Something wrong?”

Horobi was silent for a long time—finally, he heaved another sigh, closing his eyes for a moment before meeting Jin’s gaze. “… Jin,” He said again, more slowly. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Okay!” Jin gave him a goofy salute, then leaned back on his heels to wait patiently, blinking curiously at him.

Horobi hesitated again, something that might have been a proper smile flickering across his features—then vanishing into the overbearing melancholy again. But despite the sorrow in his expression, there was a softness in his eyes. Slowly, one of his hands raised, knuckles gently brushing his son’s cheek—though the other remained close by his side, hidden in his coat.

They stayed like that for a moment before he found his voice again. “… You are the only good I have ever done,” Turning his hand to cup Jin’s cheek in his palm, stroking it slightly with his thumb, he took another breath before continuing. “My first and only choice.”

Jin was looking at him with a mixture of confusion, worry, and even a little fear—had either of them been capable of them, Horobi was sure both of them would have had tears in their eyes. As it was, all they could do was stare. “… Horobi, what are you-”

“Wait.” He quickly put his hand over Jin’s mouth to stop him from interrupting. He had to say this now—after this, Jin should never want to see him again. “Thank you, for being beside me for so long. And…” He hesitated—then wrapped his arm around Jin’s shoulders, pulling his son tightly into his chest, leaning his face slightly into Jin’s messy hair. “… I’m sorry. For everything. Even if it’s meaningless.” For a moment, Jin was merely stunned—then he decided he liked the closeness.

Horobi couldn’t feel pain, but the only way to describe the sensation when Jin cuddled closer, wrapping arms around his waist, was that it felt like a knife in his chest. Jin didn’t notice his distress, burying his face into Horobi’s shoulder affectionately. For a moment, he couldn’t move, wanted to stay in that moment, permanently—but he knew he couldn’t. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t facing the truth. He had to break the cycle.

“… I’m so sorry…” He managed to murmur again in his son’s ear, his voice cracking even though that shouldn’t have been possible, “… But I don’t want to be like him anymore.” Raising the hand he’d kept at his side, he activated the program Key and set it in the ForceRiser still attached to Jin’s waist, fingers actually trembling. Jin’s body jerked slightly, his eyes glowing—blue.

Download complete. Declared a computerised voice. Commencing data recovery.

He held Jin for the last time, until the process was finished, and his son’s legs buckled when he went into sleep mode to reload. Gingerly, he guided Jin over to the nearby sofa, laying him down on it; once that was finished, he stepped back and watched his son’s face for a moment—then backed toward the door, before quickly fleeing the room.

“So… You gave Jin his memory back.” Isamu fidgeted slightly, rubbing his hands together, watching the glooming HumaGear across from him. “… How? I thought the ForceRiser purged it.”

“It disrupted his singularity and reset him to an earlier state.” Horobi replied dismally. “But the data wasn’t completely erased. With a sufficient recovery program, it was possible to restore most of it.” The android Rider heaved a deep sigh. “The memory, that is. I could not reintroduce the singularity.”

“So now… He’ll remember-”

“That I reset him. Yes. Among other things.”

“… I see, so that’s what you’re moping about. But…” Vulcan leaned forward. “… Why are you in my office?”

Horobi tilted his head to blink at him. Isamu was at his desk, peering at the HumaGear from over his computer, still absentmindedly rubbing his hands, elbows balanced on the tabletop—still slightly in shock at having come in at six in the morning to find Horobi sitting in the dark on his office couch, staring at nothing. The HumaGear had claimed the sofa as his own, sitting right in the middle of it, mostly staring down at his hands, folded in his lap, and occasionally out the window. Even his bewildered glance at Vulcan didn’t last long before he went back to gazing dejectedly at the horizon.

Isamu waited for another moment. “Are… You going to answer?”

“It was open.”

“It was very, very locked.”

“I bypassed your security before. It was simple to do so again.”

“So you admit it was locked.”

Horobi glared at him for a moment before going back to looking at his hands. “… It seemed wise that I not be there when he woke.”

Isamu sighed, leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping on the desktop. “… So you’re scared.”

The HumaGear’s head snapped around. “I am not…” He began, then faltered, looking away again. “… He should never want to see me again. And I don’t deserve to…” He trailed off.

Isamu watched him for a moment, expression becoming somber. “… For what it’s worth,” He said, finally, rising slowly and coming over to stand beside the couch, putting a hand on Horobi’s shoulder. The HumaGear flinched at the touch, but didn’t pull away. “… I think you did the right thing.”

“The only thing I ever did right was creating Jin, and I immediately ruined that.”

Isamu groaned, throwing up his hands. “And… You’re back to it.” Letting out another loud sigh, he shook his head, stuffing his hands back into his suit pockets. “You know, for a robot programmed to be a mass murderer,  you can be seriously-” His phone rang before he could finish the sentence, and he quickly fished it out, briefly checking the number before answering. “Yaiba, I’m dealing with-” He stopped, listening. “… Alright. I’ll be right there.” He hung up, tucking the phone away again and heading back to his desk for the ShotRiser. “We’ll have to catch up later. One of Thouser’s other ‘Chosen’ is causing havoc.”

He was starting for the door when Horobi abruptly stood. “I will come.” Isamu froze, turning to stare at him. The HumaGear gazed levelly back, expression as blankly dour as ever, though his eyes were darkly serious. “The others are the same as I was, personally programmed to serve his goals. They are, in a way…” His expression twisted slightly, “… My siblings.” He paused after the word, like it was heavy, before taking a deep breath to continue. “… I have a responsibility.”

Isamu gave him a long, calculating look, but Horobi just stared right back at him. “… Alright.” Vulcan announced, flashing the HumaGear a half smile. “Then let’s go do something about them.”

Chapter Text

“I will do it.”

Aruto spun around at the same time both AIMs Riders turned in surprise, and found his HumaGear secretary, standing straight as a pin by the door, casual and calm as always, hands folded neatly. “Izu?” He managed, then, “… You’re sure about this? You heard what Yaiba-san said about the risks, right? If something happens…” He faltered, swallowing, then stepped forward, making sure she heard him. “… I don’t want to lose you.”

“So what are we, chopped liver?” Isamu grumbled faintly behind him—but then Vulcan’s hand, warm and solid, came down on his shoulder, and he knew immediately that the other Rider had understood, especially when he, too, looked over at Izu. “He’s right, though. Something goes wrong, we won’t be able to pull you out.”

“I am certain.” The secretary insisted, her voice rising a little. She looked at Aruto. “Aruto-saichou. As the Presidential Aide, it is my duty to do everything I can to support you. I am capable of connecting to the ZEA satellite, and will be able to disrupt Thouser’s plans there.” She squared her shoulders, eyes determined. “This is my family and my fight as well, Aruto-saichou.” Har gaze moved between the three of them. “If you are risking yourselves for this, then so will I. I will not sit idle.”

Aruto felt tears in his eyes, though he wasn’t sure if they were of pride, hope, or fear. “Izu…”

“Hold up a minute.” Yua’s voice cut through the moment, practical as always. “Before you all get too far ahead of yourselves; just uploading someone to ZEA isn’t going to be enough.” Picking up her phone, she came over, pulling up a hologram on the screen, showing both the active satellite—and the downed one. “He’s bouncing the signal back and forth between both it and the Ark, and has complete control of both. If we take down one, he’ll just use the other. The only way this will work, is if we interfere with both at the same time.” She closed the display. “Izu can connect to ZEA, but we don’t have a HumaGear who can safely interface with the Ark, and there’s not enough time to make one.” Silence fell over the room.

“Yes, we do.” Everyone froze, heads turning to stare at Izu.

Aruto gaped at her. “I… What?” He managed. “Are you saying you can-” He cut off sharply when, instead of answering, Izu looked slightly over her shoulder, then jerked her head at the room. There was a rustling, then footsteps.

Horobi stepped out from behind her with his usual, viciously inhuman grace, glaring around the room like he was daring them to question his presence.

After a moment of shock that the rogue HumaGear was even alive after the Daybreak site’s explosion, two of the present Riders snapped to action. Yua reached instinctively for her ProgriseKey, and Aruto moved to pull Izu away from the MetsubouJinrai.net Rider. Only Isamu stayed surprisingly calm, his hand tightening on Aruto’s shoulder to hold him in place, the other motioning for Yua to stand down.

Valkyrie shot her partner a glare, but complied, though she kept her hand ready to move. “Have you lost your mind?” She demanded sharply, glaring at the rogue HumaGear, but addressing Izu. “You honestly believe he’s willing to take a risk like this for humanity?”

Horobi’s icy gaze moved briefly to her. “… Not for humanity.” He replied shortly—then his look shifted to Vulcan, like he expected him to understand. “…For Jin.”

Isamu kept calmly meeting the HumaGear’s permanently weary stare while both Aruto and Yua faltered slightly at the declaration. After a moment, Valkyrie found her voice again. “… Thouser is using him as the primary interface for both satellites.” She explained softly, a small edge of sympathy slipping into her voice despite herself. “That’s way more than any HumaGear was ever-”

The cold eyes flicked back to her. “Do not underestimate Jin.” Horobi snapped, genuine emotion entering his voice—irritation, but also a bit of pride. “He’s far stronger than others.” He faltered, eyes flitting to the floor for a moment. “… But he won’t last forever.” Stepping forward, the other Rider’s intense stare bore into each of them. “You save Jin, I will help you destroy a thousand satellites, a hundred times more dangerous.”

Silence followed—Isamu glanced sideways at Yua, who was scowling slightly. Finally, she sighed deeply. “… Fine. Just don’t expect me to trust him.”

Horobi tilted his head enough to look at her again. “… Trust my rage.”

Chapter Text

I don’t hate everything. Vulcan’s voice replayed in Horobi’s mind—he could even still see the AIMs Rider in his head, too, blearily silhouetted in the splotchy shadows of the underground as they moved along, though in reality he was staring blankly at the screen in front of him. I hate a lot of things—I hate HumaGears, I hate the company that makes them. I hate people who lie and cover things up. There had been a relieved edge in the human’s voice, like it was some sort of absolution to unload to someone who would not argue or judge, no matter the reason. I hate tuna. And centipedes. Not too fond of caterpillars, either. I hate burned marshmallows and itchy fabrics. Mould. A deep sighed echoed through the tunnel. But there are things I don’t hate—even things I like. I don’t hate music. I don’t hate miso. I don’t hate camping, or people I’ve never met. Hell, A small sound that was suspiciously similar to a chuckle, I might not even hate that clown of a CEO. A pause in order to struggle through a partially collapsed part of the tunnels—but then Vulcan had insisted on continuing once they were through. I like animals. Meteor showers. Snow. The ocean. Early morning fog. Even some people. Most folks both hate and like things.

The AIMs Rider had come to an abrupt stop, then, turning to squint at him through the dark. But you? You hate everything. The whole damn world. It hadn’t been an accusation. Just a statement. Humans, nature. Even other HumaGear. Even yourself. Just remembering the words made something deep in Horobi’s chest shift uncomfortably. They were blunt. Direct. Far too true. That’s always the kind of person who wants to burn it all down.

That’s because it deserves to burn. He still wasn’t sure whether or not he was trying to defend himself with the words—it made no sense; he had nothing to prove to anyone, especially not a human.

You think so? And then what? The questions cut just as deep in memory as they had in the moment they were asked. Say you do destroy it all, what happens next? Tearing it down won’t make the hatred go away. Even I’ve figured that out. Vulcan, officially the most obnoxious and stubborn human in existence, had moved closer enough that he’d been able to see the sad intensity in his eyes, even in the gloom. It’s just gonna make everything cold and dark and lonely forever. Is that what you want? He’d had no answer, and still didn’t, even when the conversation was long over.

But Vulcan had refused to even stop there, as if he were trying to dig his own grave deeper, his last words slow and deliberate, like he had been intentionally carving them into Horobi’s memory. So think about it, Somewhere behind him, the door opened, and footsteps pattered across the floor, Is there anything, anything in the world, even just one thing that you don’t hate?

“Horobi!” Announced a sing-song voice behind him, jolting him out of his reverie and making him turn—Jin was standing there, beaming brightly, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “I’m back!”

All Horobi could do was stare at him.

Chapter Text

Isamu sighed deeply. “Great.” He muttered, leaning a little heavier than necessary on the table for a moment before snapping back up, turning sharply to Horobi. “Can you make Daybreak drop its defences long enough for someone to get in?”

The HumaGear blinked at him. “That would be extremely foolish considering-”

“But can you do it?” Vulcan demanded more forcefully, cutting him off. “Not forever. Just long enough for me to go in and get the kids.”

Horobi just continued staring at him like he was speaking another language. “There are only two of them.”

It was Isamu’s turn to stare in confusion, frowning. “What?”

“There are only two of them. And they are very small.”

“What?” Vulcan managed again—then groaned loudly, clutching his temples. “Oh my… Okay, first off, he’s freaking Zero-One. Second, it’s not just two.”

“… I only count two.”

“Augh! Is math all you machines think about?!” Horobi cocked an eyebrow at Isamu’s outburst, but didn’t reply. With another irritated sound, Isamu moved to rubbing his forehead, then looked back at the HumaGear. “Yes, okay, numbers-wise, there’s only two. One human and one HumaGear. But they’re…” He hesitated for a moment, then shook his head, and continued without reservation, “… They’re kids. My kids.”

Horobi’s head tilted. “… You are their parent?”

Isamu did a double take. “What?! No! No… I… It’s complicated. They’re… They’re with me. With us.”

The HumaGear was silent for a long time, watching Vulcan analytically. “… Is this love?”

Isamu very nearly put his head down on the table. “Oh for…! Someone kill me…!” Dragging himself back up, he looked pleadingly at Horobi. “Just get the defences down. We can go back to human school later.” He turned toward the door.

“What is your plan?”

“Take every goddamn weapon I can find, bust in there, shoot stuff up, and drag them out by the collars if I have to.” Isamu called over his shoulder—then came up short when the door closed in his face, nearly slamming into it. Turning slowly on his heel, he glared at the HumaGear, who was standing just as still as before—only a faint flicker in one eye betraying his hacking of the door system. “Let me out.”

“It’s dangerous.” There was nothing emotional about Horobi’s voice, which made the whole experience even weirder.

“It’s my job.”

“It’s too dangerous. The remaining MaGear will kill you, you’re not strong enough.”

Isamu groaned again, even more loudly than before. “Okay, now you’re just being mean.”

Horobi just continued staring at him. “You have no plan.”

“I am not just going to sit here and let those things tear them apart!” Vulcan shouted back, finally at the end of his already short patience. “That’s all the plan I need!” Taking several deep breaths to try and collect himself, he raised his head to look the HumaGear right in the eyes. “Would you leave Jin out there?”

Horobi went silent, gaze flickering away from Isamu’s toward the floor.

“… That’s what I thought.” Vulcan muttered, then turned back toward the door panel, reaching for the override.

A sword sheathe cracked him across the back of the head, with the perfectly calculated force of a HumaGear’s arm, and dropped immediately to the ground, unconscious. Horobi quickly dropped his katana behind him again so that it hung normally, then bent down and tucked his arms under Isamu’s, dragging him over to a couch by the wall and heaving him onto it. Checking once that the human was not going to wake, he spun around and left the room, the door opening long before he reached it.

Chapter Text

For a while after, things were difficult.

He found himself answering the same questions over and over, weathering the same suspicious stares. He didn’t like how people looked at Horobi—like he was was a bomb that they expected to go off at any moment. Aruto had to remind him often that the transition was as hard for everyone else as it was for them. Trust was hard to relearn, for both sides.

For his part, Horobi made an effort. He was generally indifferent to his infamy, already long accustomed to suspicion and coldness from humans—but for his adopted son’s sake, he made deliberate attempts to assuage their fears and fit in. Even when it was clear to anyone who knew he’d rather be in the company of Fuwa—one of the few to whom he felt he had nothing to prove—he’d put on a face to try and keep others at ease. He even tried to smile a  few times, though that rarely went over well.

As time went on, however, people stopped staring so much. Months fell away, turning into years. Memory didn’t exactly fade, but altered. There was less fear and more marvel. But that wasn’t the only things that changed.

People who didn’t recognise them would ask if Horobi was his brother, starting at some point in his thirties. Horobi had never paid much mind to such questions to begin with, so Jin often found himself recounting the explanation multiple times, while Horobi hovered like a ghost at his elbow. Out of all of them, Horobi and Izu remained the same; timeless while the humans around them steadily altered. Aruto had to politely force Fuwa, the eldest of them, to retire from his new position as Hiden’s security head when it was clear the demands were too much for him—even after that, though, Fuwa stayed close, watching the Hiden CEO like an unofficial bodyguard. Yaiba was up and about even longer, rustling around ZAIA’s offices like a queen, not slowing down at all. She laughed and said it was because women lived longer—Fuwa shot back that it was because it was her.

Horobi said nothing about the expanding differences in their appearances, merely retuning his hyper awareness of his adoptive son to look for new things, always already offering help before Jin would even know he needed it. He even offered to carry Jin a few times, like he had was Jin was small, but Jin put a stop to that in his early fifties. Horobi was strong enough, but it didn’t seem right anymore. Around then, he also stopped giving proper answers when people misinterpreted their relationship.

When he was in his sixties, he slipped on the sidewalk, and though some passersby rushed forward to help, it was, as always, Horobi who caught him instantly, gently pulling him back up.

“Such a dutiful son!” A woman nearby had exclaimed.

Horobi ignored her, but Jin couldn’t resist glancing over and giving her a small smile. “Yes.” He said, “I am.” Her eyes had bugged out. Later, Horobi hadn’t understood why it was funny—but Horobi never understood why anything was funny.

As he got even older, there was an unspoken tension in the air. For the first time, they were both confronting something neither had considered before; being separated. Horobi, he knew, wouldn’t say anything, still so afraid of accidentally pressuring Jin into something, constantly doubting himself. That meant it fell upon Jin to broker the conversation, something he made plans to do.

Until he started getting sick, and their balance shattered.

The doctors the others dragged him to concluded it was some sort of delayed response to exposure to radiation. Something that had been building in his body all those years at Daybreak that was finally breaking free as he got older and weaker. He considered trying to hide it from Horobi, until Izu looked him in the eye and informed him that if she had noticed, there was no way Horobi hadn’t.

He was quickly confined to a hospital—moving hurt, and he was tired all the. Horobi was, s always, never far away, and the others came to visit often. Yaiba had finally retired—partially, Fuwa would always add with a chuckle until she smacked him with something. Aruto was starting to ease out of his duties as CEO, needing to lean more and more on Izu just to get around. Jin didn’t know what Aruto was planning to do—but he knew the idea he had had, even before the illness set in, and he knew Aruto still had the power to make it happen.

“… It’s possible.” The Hiden CEO admittedly, slowly. “My father…” Aruto trailed off there, and Jin waited patiently for him to find his voice again. Aruto didn’t really talk about his father—at least, not to anyone other than Izu or Fuwa—and it was better not to push him. “… It’s possible.” He finally continued, sighing slightly. “And we’ve made even more advancements in the field. But…” He looked sideways at Jin then. “Are you sure? It’s not exactly something you can take back.” Speaking was effort, but Jin carefully met Aruto’s eyes and nodded. Aruto studied him, then sighed again. “Alright. But there’s someone who wants to talk to you first.” The Hiden CEO shifted his seat to reveal the doorway.

Horobi was standing by Izu’s shoulder, looking distraught, for him.

Jin looked back at Aruto accusingly, dragging his voice out to demand, “You told Horobi?”

A small smile flitted across Aruto’s face. “Well, see, I need parental permission on the form…” He stopped when he saw Jin’s incredulous look. “… You should have told him.” Turning his head, Aruto signalled Izu, who came over and helped him up. “I’ll let you two discuss this,” He told them, “Call me if there’s a decision.” Then he and his secretary made their way out, with his arm around her shoulders, slipping past Horobi and out the door.

For a long time, silence filled the room. Then, slowly, Horobi crossed the floor, sitting beside his bed, and taking Jin’s nearest hand in both of his.

“You don’t have to do this for me.” Horobi’s hands were actually warm on his, unlike the usual room temperature, the HumaGear putting conscious effort into trying to make him as comfortable as possible. “I will stay by your side until the very end, hold your hand when you pass on.” The hold on his hand tightened, though the pressure was, as always, carefully measured so as not to hurt him. “I will remember my promise—I will watch over them, guard them. Justice will be done, cities built, and a future made in your name.” One of the perfectly temperature-controlled hands moved to tenderly touch his cheek. “You are my son. I will be your legacy, and you will not be forgotten.”

He looked back into the HumaGear’s eternally weary eyes. It was hard to remember his younger days, when Horobi had been so hard to read, all blank and ominous. Now detecting the sorrow in those eyes was as natural as breathing—perhaps even more so, by this point. There was also something else there, hiding just behind the thick curtains of forlorn affection; guilt. The like of which he had seen before. “But…?” He prompted softly, voice even hoarser than usual.

Horobi’s gaze faltered, flicking downward.

A laugh bubbled from him, one that even almost sounded like his old childish giggles, just a little more breathless. Even as tired as he was, his lips pulled into a smile. Slowly, he freed one arm from the blankets, reaching over to cup Horobi’s face and gently lift it back up to meet his eyes again. “… But if I leave…” He whispered, running his thumb across the HumaGear’s cheek, “… Horobi will be lonely again.”

Horobi still couldn’t weep—but Jin knew for certain he heard his adoptive father’s breathing hitch.

Chapter Text

“… Ne… Horobi?”

Horobi’s gaze snapped back up to stare at Jin when his son held on to the Zetzumerise Key, frowning slightly. “What is it?”

Jin hesitated some more, frowning. “Did… Did you have family before me?”

Horobi stared at him, his own hand freezing on the Key. In a spell of silence, his eyes flitted away, toward the wall, and his mouth twisted a little—but not into one of his smirks. Reaffirming his grip on the Key, he dragged it out of Jin’s hold. “… No.” He turned to move back to the computer sharply, trying to end the conversation.

But Jin refused to let it go, hands closing around his arm. “Really? No one else?”

“No.” He waited a little, to see if his son would let go.

But if anything, Jin squeezed tighter. “Ehhh…” He whined, pouting and pulling on Horobi’s arm. “You were all by yourself? Weren’t you lonely?”

Horobi hesitated again. For a moment, memories flashed through his mind. Shadows. Flickering lights. An empty room. “… Of course not.” He snapped, recollecting himself to jerk his arm free and crossing the floor to his usual spot at the computers, flipping the panel for the Keys open again.

“But-” Jin started again.

With a sigh, Horobi turned swiftly back to face him, hoping to finally put a stop to the discussion by cutting him off. “It’s nothing.” He told his son flatly. “It is impossible to miss what one has never had.”

Jin’s eyebrows furrowed. “But…” He frowned deeper, like he was thinking—then his expression screwed up with resolution. “But, it’s okay now!” He announced,  brightly, one of his big smiles lighting up his face again. Rushing forward, he threw his arms tightly around Horobi’s shoulders, pulling close and nuzzling into his coat. “Because… I love Horobi!”

The Zetzumerise Key dropped to the ground with a loud clank when Horobi froze completely, staring in blank shock over Jin’s shoulder.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Horobi?” Jin called from the corner of the room, frowning slightly, examining the sides of his head in the shattered mirror leaning against the wall there, one of the many things he’d collected during their time in the ruined city.

“What is it?” Horobi asked, without looking up from his work, hoping his apparent disinterest would shorten any conversation.

“… Why are our heads different?” Silence filled the room when Horobi’s fingers froze over his keyboard. When it went on for longer than it should have, Jin turned, tilting his head to peer at the other HumaGear. “Horobi?”

Horobi sighed, slowly leaning his hands on the edge of the computer box. “… I told you.” He said, finally. “You are a HumaGear I created.”

“Then what about you?” A feather touch at the edge of his head-wrap made him flinch back, hand flying up to bat the unexpected contact away—and found himself holding Jin’s wrist, his son having crossed the floor to come up behind him without his realising. Jin’s eyes shot to the ground, his expression sheepish, like the time Horobi had caught him trying to smuggle a stray cat into the Daybreak site. “… Oops.”

With another, more irritated sigh, Horobi gently pushed Jin’s hand back down, turning back to the screen. “Don’t touch people’s heads without permission.”

Jin linked his hands in front of him, biting his lip and scuff one foot on the floor. “… Sorry.” He was quiet for a moment, then, “But… Can I see?” Horobi paused again, turning his head slowly to look up at Jin’s face once more in bewilderment.

Jin was staring earnestly at him—not pleading; just an intense, sincere… Trusting, gaze. After another long moment of silence, he leaned back in his chair, reaching up and carefully removing the wrap from his head and dropping his hand into his lap.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jin’s eyes widened slightly, and one of his hands drifted back up, reaching out again before the other hand snapped up to catch it. Horobi frowned a little, then gave another sigh—more gently than before. “… Go ahead.” He told his son quietly. “But careful.”

Jin smiled shyly, nodding quickly, then reached out once more, fingertip ghosting along the edging of what remained of the base of one of Horobi’s earpieces—though the smile faltered slightly at the scuffs and scratches in the metal. Slowly, he got more comfortable and more adventurous; his hand moved to feel the interior of the damaged mechanics, tracing up the slanted pieces that disappeared into Horobi’s hair, then back down, following the circle of the main light fixture for a moment. His knuckles brushed the torn component just below the round light, bumping across the smaller lights and the large split in the metal with its ragged edges—sharp, but not enough to cut Jin’s hand.

Horobi had expected it to be painful—the first foreign contact those parts of his head had had since… He’d expected pain, or at least a reaction from the programmed warning system meant to prevent bodily damage, that even went off when something inanimate touched those areas, even through the wrap. He had expected it to be painful, or to at least register as an invasion of his self of some kind—but it wasn’t. Despite how wild and careless he could be usually, Jin’s touch was light and cautious against the side of his head, and even… Pleasant. Strangely comfortable, safe, even—enough that his head tilted subconsciously sideways into the contact, eyes drifting closed.

“… Did it hurt?” The words were quiet, but he heard them all the same, as Jin raised his other hand to feel the ruined parts on the other side of his head as well, fingers just as careful as before.

Memories rushed in, shattering the peaceful moment. A sensory overload, glitching and alarums going off all through his system, as not only physical pieces of his head, but parts of his mind itself were ripped off—screaming that he hadn’t even realised was his until it trailed pathetically trailed off after the deed was done. The overbearing silence that had followed when he’d realised that for the first time, he was truly alone, left with nothing but the after effects of the ordeal—more glitching, spasms, sparks jumping from his head. A whole day before he had been able to recover from the shock and repair himself enough to be functional again.

He almost lost himself in the memory, again—but then Jin ran a thumb over the cracks the unconventional alteration had left in his face below where the earpieces had been, and the delicate touch felt like an anchor. If he focused on Jin, and the gentle hands exploring the damaged sections of his head, the phantom sensation brought on by remembering faded, leaving him in the present—broken, but no longer alone.

Even with his eyes still closed, he could feel the anxiousness in Jin’s gaze, waiting for an answer. And lying was something humans did. “… Yes.”

Jin was quiet for a long time—then deliberately and carefully set both palms over the broken sections, leaning down to press his forehead against Horobi’s. “… I like Horobi’s head.” He murmured, voice softly sincere.

For a long moment, they held that position—then, very slowly, with tenderness befitting reaching for a baby bird, Horobi raised a hand to stroke Jin’s hair a little, before settling against the side of his son’s face. Jin giggled quietly, pressing closer—and, for an instant, Horobi felt almost whole again.

The computer beeped loudly, and it was Horobi who flinched away at the sound, eyes snapping back open. Jin was surprised, and pouted slightly as Horobi pulled his head cover back on, turning the chair back toward the keyboard. He said nothing, however, instead turning on his heel and slinking toward the door.

“… Jin.” He heard his son stop and turn. “… Thank you.” The bewildered stare was palpable against his back.

In the end, however, Jin merely gave another childish laugh, and announced, voice bright and blithely cheerful; “You’re welcome, Horobi!” With one last giggle, the sound of his skipping footsteps pattered out the door and down the corridor.

Innocent of the feat he’d just achieved for a moment.

Chapter Text

“Horobi! You’re hurt!” The alarum in Jin’s voice was coupled with a reach for the gash on Horobi’s head, one hand tugging a little at the covering, torn slightly by the same attack.

“It’s fine.” Horobi snapped, returning to his seat at the computer.

Jin, however, was not satisfied. Pouting, he refused to be shaken off; taking proper hold of Horobi’s head wrap, he pulled it off himself, determinedly ignoring the small, irritated look and eye roll he got. Setting the wrap down, he turned back to examine the cut, trying to hold Horobi’s head still while the other HumaGear kept trying to work. “… It’s not fine.” He grumbled. “Horobi should take better care of his head.” After dabbing at the blue dripping from the cut with a sleeve, Jin turned away to search for something else, still holding Horobi’s head. “After all, it’s-”

When his son’s voice didn’t restart, Horobi frowned, pausing to turn his chair. “… Jin?” The other HumaGear was frozen, just standing there, one hand still sitting on Horobi’s hair. “Jin.” After another moment, Jin shuddered back to life, turning back to the cut on Horobi’s brow without a word, his other hand raising again to reach the end of the wound by the remains of Horobi’s earpiece. The frown deepened slightly. “Jin, are you alright?” His son still said nothing, fingertips drifting down to the damaged section of Horobi’s head, pressing closer than they ever had before, actually reaching right into the broken parts and wiring. But because it was Jin, it didn’t hurt at all—even when something clicked, then snapped.

His visual display flickered, and he was only vaguely aware of Jin’s touch vanishing from his head. He knew about the disconnect from his body even before the damage alert came up, when he tried to reach for his son, whether for his comfort or Jin’s, he didn’t know—only to find he couldn’t move at all. Jin stepped out of reach regardless, his ams dropping to his sides. “Jin…!?”

“He can’t hear you.” Announced a dreadfully familiar voice, and a white-clad figure stepped into view from behind Jin, standing out in the darkness of the room. Horobi struggled to move even more desperately in the silence that followed, frantically trying to reach his son. The screen of a device in Thouser’s hand flickered, and he glanced down at it, then chuckled slightly. “… Don’t bother.” The man drawled, sidling over to stand in front of Horobi. “I had him disable your motor functions.” Jin remained completely still, like he wasn’t even registering the human’s presence.

Finding his eyes still working, Horobi shifted his gaze to glare at the man. “What did you do to Jin?!”

Thouser laughed again, moving to lean on the edge of the computer box. “Oh, nothing unusual. We had to alter the program a little because he was so unique, but eventually it took on well enough.” He looked the still-frozen Jin over with another chuckle. “Suits him, really.”

Horobi scowled, glaring as best he could. “You…” The word was a furious hiss.

Thouser smirked again, straightening to close in and circle around Horobi’s chair. “It’s your own fault, you know.” A hand came roughly down on Horobi’s shoulder, an unwanted and horribly familiar contact that made every alarum in his system go off. “See, I noticed something. After the procedure, you got all paranoid. Wouldn’t let anyone, not even other HumaGears, near enough to touch you. But…” Another hand slammed down on his other shoulder, jostling him uncomfortably, making his hand drop to his side from where it had been resting on the edge of the computer. Gripping the paralysed HumaGear by the shoulders, Thouser forcibly turned him and the chair to face Jin. “… You let him touch you. Even your head.” One hand moved to prod carelessly at the disfigured part of Horobi’s head, and Thouser smirked when the HumaGear winced, unable to flinch away. “Goes without saying your damaged parts are your weak point, but we’d never had a way to get to them before. But with him…” The man’s arm reached around, grabbing Horobi’s face roughly by the chin and forcing him to look up at Jin’s expressionless face—his son’s eyes were empty, void of his usual brightness, and his smile was replaced by a stony blankness that didn’t belong there; he was staring through both Horobi and Thouser like he couldn’t see them. Thouser’s hand on Horobi’s chin was gripping so tightly that it would have hurt had he been human, but was unpleasant in another way. “… There was a way. All we had to was get to the one you trusted. Growing a heart is what left you open to attack.” With a small shove, Thouser released Horobi’s chin as unceremoniously as he had grabbed it, sending his head bouncing again until it fell against his shoulder. Straightening up, Thouser paused only to grab a handful of his hair to yank his head back upright, making sure he was still facing Jin as the man circled back around to his son’s side, leaning infuriatingly casually on Jin’s shoulder like the HumaGear was a bookcase. “And now here we are.”

“What do you want?” Each word was level—not from calmness, but from sheer rage.

Thouser smirked. “From you?” His tone was light and casual, in comparison. “All I need is admin access for the Ark.”

“You’d have to kill me first.”

Thouser laughed, a terrible, grating sound, from Horobi’s perception. “I figured you’d say something like that—but I also know you’ve never once feared for your own life. But then I thought…” He straightened up, keeping a hand on Jin’s shoulder. “… What about his?” Horobi stopped breathing, his voice abandoning him, unable to react, or even tense from anger and rising desperation and panic. Thouser saw it in his face regardless, and the smirk broadened into a grin. “That’s what I thought. So…” The man reached into his coat with his free hand. “Let’s play a game.” The hand returned with a revolver. Turning back towards Jin, Thouser let go of his shoulder to pull the HumaGear’s wrist up and tuck the weapon into his hand, curling Jin’s finger around the trigger. “Hold that for me, would you? Just… Like…” Hauling Jin’s arm up the rest of the way, he positioned the hand so that the muzzle was pressed against Jin’s temple. “… That.” The man stepped back, holding out his own arms like an artist displaying their work, then pivoted to face Horobi again. “Last chance before we start.”

After a bit of struggling, Horobi found some of his voice, an enraged whisper through gritted teeth. “You expect me to believe you’d damage Jin? You’re too greedy for that.”

Thouser let out another nasty chuckle, pacing back around to get behind Horobi again. “Ah, but we also have you.” The hands came down on his shoulders again, this time nearer to his neck like they were ready to curl around it. “You remember making him, don’t you? So all we’d need to do is go back through your memory to repair him—and there’s no way you don’t have backups hidden away. Which also means we can do this as many times as we need to for you to transfer the admin info. So…” The man leaned down to talk right into where Horobi’s earpiece had once been, clearly enjoying Horobi’s desperate attempt to flinch away from the sound even though he couldn’t move. In general, anyone but Jin getting that close was already unbearable—but it being Thouser was infinitely worse, the man’s very voice sending him spiralling back into the memories of the day he’d lost a part of himself. But then the hands tightened a bit around his neck, and the awful voice continued, “… How many times are you willing to watch him die?” Horobi’s voice caught again, and Thouser’s terrible laugh reverberated against his back again at his silence. “Well, if you’ve got nothing to say…” The words were punctuated with a firm nod toward Jin—who obediently pulled the trigger. Horobi’s eyes snapped closed.

There was a sharp click, and nothing more.

Very slowly, Horobi reopened his eyes to find the exact same scene he had closed them against. Still horribly close, Thouser laughed again. “Looks like you got lucky.” The man shook him once more, though not enough to move his head and let him look away. “Know how Russian Roulette works? There’s one live shot in the chamber, and I alone know where. You have until it goes off to give me the admin access.” There was another click as the hammer swung into another empty slot. One of Thouser’s hands moved to dangle his phone near Horobi’s face. “… Better hurry up before he finds it.”

Jin pulled the trigger again, followed by a fourth, harmless click. When his son’s finger began to pull back for a fifth time, Horobi broke, closing his eyes even as he gave the internal command. Thouser’s phone flickered, then beeped, and the man mercifully moved back, releasing Horobi’s shoulders, to look at it. “There you go.” He announced with malicious cheer, stepping back around Horodi’s chair. “Was that so hard?” He looked up at Jin and waved a dismissive hand. “You can put that down.” Jin immediately did as ordered, arm dropping back to his side as Thouser came back over to him. “… Because now…”  The man paused by Jin’s side to take the revolver back, tucking it safely away in his coat again, then looking back up to give Horobi another cruel smile. “… We don’t need you anymore.” He turned briefly back to Jin. “You can use your own, this time.” On cue, Jin pulled his personal firearm from it’s holster, flipping the safety off and stepping forward to set the barrel against the side of Horobi’s head, right against the damaged part, without a single hesitation.

“Don’t worry,” Thouser continued with the same faux friendliness, slinging an arm casually around Jin’s shoulders— Jin didn’t react at all, remaining expressionless, the gun still levelled at Horobi’s head, even when the man patted his shoulder. “… I’ll take good care of him. He won’t remember a thing. So…” There was a malicious glee in his eyes that was impossible to miss. “… If you have anything to say, say it now.” Moving back, the man made a grand, sweeping gesture with his arm, bowing deeply. “I’ll leave you two to yourselves.” With a spring in his step, he disappeared from Horobi’s line of sight, behind Jin, towards the door.

There was a silence between them—Jin still blank and cold, void of any emotion, Horobi feeling more than he could remember feeling at any other point in his existence.

Finally, he found his voice again. “It’s alright.” He told his son quietly, well aware that the words fell on deaf ears. “It’s alright.” There were tears he couldn’t shed in his voice, forcing himself to look into the empty eyes and admit the one secret he’d always kept the closest. “… You’re my missing piece.”

There was a massive eruption of sound next to his head when the gun fired, and he felt it when the bullet first hit, setting off every single alarum in his system—and then everything shorted out.

Horobi slumped sideways out of the chair, collapsing to the ground and lying still. For a moment, Jin, too, was completely motionless—then Thouser banged on the door and whistled like he was calling a dog. With slow, uncharacteristically mechanical motions, Jin snapped the safety back on and re-holstered the gun, falling back; he held for another spell, staring down at Horobi for a little longer. The banging on the door grew louder, and the whistle harsher. Still abnormally rigid, he twirled on his heel and trudged out the door after Thouser—leaving Horobi alone on the floor.

Chapter Text

Silence filled the room after Izu and the humans had left it. Jin stayed huddled in the corner, wringing his hands and staring at his feet rather than giving Horobi even so much as a glance. Horobi stayed in his seat, intermittently watching the window and his son respectively, waiting to see if Jin would make a move—but nothing happened.

“… Jin.” The only answer was his son huddling closer into himself, pulling his hood over his face. There was another extensive silence as Horobi searched for something else to say. Comfort had never been his forte even before he’d started hearing the Ark in his head, and twelves years with it had caused those skills to deteriorate even more.

But this wasn’t some prattling human he could brush off. This was Jin. And Jin was scared. Because of him. Again.

Finally, with a deep sigh, Horobi rose sharply. Walking over to stand in front of his son., causing Jin to glance up anxiously at him. His expression must have been more stormy than he’d meant, because his son cowered even more, pressing himself further into the corner and ducking his head further down. Horobi groaned again, shaking his head—then he reached up and yanked off his head covering, more forcefully and quickly than he ever had before, before tossing it aside without checking where it landed. Taking another step forward, he reached out and gently grasped both of Jin’s agitated hands in his, stilling them and pulling them apart. Ignoring the small, surprised sound that followed, he carefully tugged both his son’s arms up.

Leaning his head forward and closing his eyes, he took both his son’s hands and pressed the palms against the damaged sides of his head, where his earpieces had once been—just like Jin had done the first time Horobi had let him touch those parts.

Where Thouser had forced Jin to break him, then shoot him in the head.

He held Jin’s hands there, waiting for the trembling to subside, at least a little, keeping his eyes closed. “… Jin.” He finally repeated, voice far softer and calmer than it had ever been since… Since before Daybreak. “It’s alright.”

Jin whimpered quietly, his breath hitching. “… Horobi… I…” He trailed off—then, with a small sob, his head dropped forward, forehead bumping into Horobi’s, rubbing against it like a nuzzling puppy. “… I’m sorry!” 

The apology hurt more than the bullet had. Out of everyone involved—everyone in the world, even—Jin alone had nothing to apologise for. Without opening his eyes, Horobi released his son’s hands to reach out and cup Jin’s face in his own palms, holding him still and shushing him. “It’s alright.” He whispered again, whether to reassure Jin of his innocence, or as a poor attempt to convince himself he could actually fix this, he didn’t know. His next words, however, were unquestionably for his son. “You’re my missing piece.”

Chapter Text

Take off toward a-a-a-a-a—take off t-t-t-t-t-toward—take o-o-o-o-o-off a-a-a-a-a d-d-d-d-d…

The tagline trailed off into more deep, metallic gibberish that cut off abruptly as Horobi’s eyes snapped back open.

The first thing that came into focus was Jin, leaning over him with an anxious look—he was next aware of pressure on his hand from the same side, another pair of hands clutching his tighter than any human could do. Jin’s expression brightened instantly upon seeing him awake, bouncing up and down, the hold on Horobi’s hand gripping even more in excitement. “Horobi! You’re back!”

“Hey, hey! Take it easy, kid, he’s probably disoriented.” The familiar, gruff voice was quickly followed by a second face entering his field of vision, its owner also reaching out to catch Jin’s shoulder to hold him still. “Hey,” Isamu grunted again, his customary frown slightly deeper than usual, “Congratulations on being de-Ark-ified.” Vulcan’s other hand found his shoulder, squeezing a little. “Can you get up?” When Horobi nodded, Isamu moved back slightly, shifting to hold the HumaGear’s arm to help him up, motioning for Jin to do the same. Working together, they pulled him up, moving to let him swing his legs over the side of the table to sit normally. After making sure he was stable, Vulcan let go, stepping away, while Jin stayed close, hand staying on Horobi’s arm.

Steadily, the rest of Horobi’s body began to come fully back online—enough to turn his head to look at his son again, staring at Jin like a blind person seeing the world for the first time in his life. Slowly his hand raised, reaching for his son’s face, fumbling against Jin’s cheek, fingers trembling. Jin gazed back at him, brows furrowing with worry again at Horobi’s continued silence, his fingers curling to grip the other HumaGear’s sleeve. “… Horobi…?”

Horobi didn’t reply, just staring at his son with the same astounded wonder—until, at long last, he made a sound halfway between a gasp and a sob and pulled Jin even closer, wrapping his arms around him, one hand smoothing over his son’s messy hair. Jin was too shocked to react for a moment—then he broke down, leaning into Horobi’s embrace, curling into the other HumaGear’s chest like a small child. Putting his arms around the other HumaGear’s waist, he tucked his head into Horobi’s chest, hiding his face in the folds of the his coat collar, whole body shaking with tearless sobs.

The others were silent, the humans averting their eyes in an effort not to intrude on the moment; Izu stood silent in the corner, a new softness in her countenance, and almost a smile. Eventually, Yua edged forward slightly, to ask in a hushed, cautious voice, “… How do you feel?”

For a moment, Horobi still said nothing, merely pulling Jin somehow closer into his chest, his son’s head tucked under his chin, like the world was ending and his arms could protect Jin from it. Finally, however, his breathing stabilised, and his eyes cracked open—when he at last did speak, his voice was barely above a whisper, shaking with emotion.

“… Everything.”

Chapter Text

Horobi’s heart was in Jin’s chest. In more ways than one.

It had been, for years. Ever since his creation. Even with help, the only working power core he’d been able to get from his cell was a damaged one, salvaged from another HumaGear that had been returned to the facility for being irreparable—and he wasn’t going to risk putting a weakened core in his… His child. That left only one option—the working one in his own torso.

The physical transfer hadn’t been as difficult as he had expected, on a technical level. An extensive and cumbersome procedure, to remove his own power core, to be sure, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Just cautiously severing each of the connections it had with the rest of his system, carefully bypassing the security locks, both in the hardware and software, the damaged spare close at his elbow so that he could reach it quickly. He kept the one to his primary functions for last—he had calculated enough reserve power to be able to replace the core, but it was best to give himself as much time as possible.

What he wasn’t quite prepared for was the moment he undid the final lock—for the disorienting mass of alerts, all his systems going haywire in his body’s panic at the removal of such an integral part, so overbearing that he could barely see or think, nearly falling sideways out of his seat when he fumbled for the spare. His hands had been shaking so badly during the second part of the procedure that he had to pause multiple times to avoid breaking something. It felt like hours, most of the night, even, before he completed installing the damaged core into the empty space, but in the end, all that was left was a small notification that the heart was slightly impaired and nothing more. Resealing his own torso, he’d immediately set about inserting the fully functional power core into Jin’s body.

The figurative transfer, on the other hand, had been different. Slow, painful, consuming. Inch by inch, day by day, as they ripped pieces out of his soul, sought out any bits of softness they could find in him and clawed them out, crushing them beneath their heels. Their indifference to his suffering, his very existence, was infectious; it crawled into his mind, eating away at him, poisoning his thoughts. The only way to survive the things they did to him, the things they made him do, was to go numb. He stopped crying, stopped caring, stopped feeling. Succumbed to an overwhelming emptiness that plunged the world around him into black and white, that made everything seem distant and meaningless.

Everything… But Jin. As he became colder, his son became the only source of warmth—an innocent child, free of human influence, of their designs and their cruelty, Jin was a wealth of authentic emotion. Even as the last scrap of compassion was cut out of him, the pure delight on his son’s face as he discovered the world for the first time was a light that illuminated even a bit of the shadows swirling around him. When he was around Jin, a tint of colour would return to the world, like he was holding up a mirror to see a candle in the dark. Even though he could not be thawed, not while the same hell still waited just around the corner, maybe not ever, he could at least have a passing glimpse of something like hope when he looked at any of the expressions on his son’s face; just one small bit of comfort, however indirect.

He could no longer feel—that ability had been torn from him by human hands, a gaping wound that would never close; but in Jin’s smiles, laughter, frowns, and tantrums, was a balm that made the pain fade away, just for a little while. And he swore to himself he would never let anything, not humans, not the world, take that away; he would never allow them steal from Jin the same way they had from him. He would keep that splash of colour safe, cling to his illusion of warmth, the closest he could come to feeling again. Even if he had to burn everything else down to do so.

Horobi’s heart was in Jin’s chest. In more ways than one.

Chapter Text

Jin carried him home.

Ansatsu-chan fended off the remnant aggressive Trilobite MaGear as they made their way back to their hideout, while Jin carried Horobi, clutching the other HumaGear’s limp body to his chest like a doll. The way was slow, leaving behind a small trail of blue over the stones, dripping from Horobi’s clothes and his wounds. They were forced to pause a few times, when an enemy came too close, for Jin to duck for cover, shielding Horobi with his back until Ansatsu-chan took the MaGear out. The other HumaGear wasn’t heavy, no more than anything else was, at least—but it didn’t feel right to have his head bumping against Jin’s shoulder with every step, one arm dangling while the other was folded across his middle because of the way his shoulder was tucked into Jin’s chest. He wasn’t moving on his own at all, not even the simulation of breathing programmed into every HumaGear—to make humans ‘more comfortable’ Horobi had once explained, with a disgusted twist to his voice—only swaying slightly in time with Jin’s steps. His eyes were closed, and there was more blue smeared at the corner of his mouth and running down his neck from the damage on his face, merging with the sections already defaced by the crude removal of his earpieces. His chest and abdomen were a mess, the fabric of his clothes torn and scorched, sparks flickering across his exposed mechanical parts, some of which were even smoking a little. He seemed small and fragile—nothing like his usual, commanding demeanour—like he would shatter completely if jostled too much or if Jin walked too fast.

Eventually, they made it back to their main room, and Jin carefully laid Horobi out on the couch as quickly as he dared, propping a pillow under his head and straightening his arms at his sides, then kneeling beside him. Keeping his hands out, fingers trembling, he cradled Horobi’s face between them, cupping his cheek and smoothing his hair. “… Horobi? Horobi!” There was no response, merely more blue staining his palm from the large crack running from Horobi’s jaw all the way to his temple and where it was oozing from his lips. And he seemed… Cold. Cold, despite the sparks and the smoke. Horobi had never bothered maintaining a body temperature—another small act of rebellion against human expectations—and had always just been whatever the room temperature was, but now… Now he somehow felt far colder than Jin could ever remember him being before—yet one more thing that felt so overwhelmingly wrong about the situation. Jin’s hands began to shake even more violently, even as he tried to desperately to hold them still against Horobi’s face, his voice catching and breaking into a wretched sob. “… Horobi…!” His head sank into the the cushions beside Horobi’s, shoulders shuddering.

“… Jin.” Ansatsu-chan’s hand came down on his shoulder gently voice deliberately level. “We need to try and fix him.”

Dragging his head back up, Jin nodded weakly. “Ri… Right…” He bit his lip. “Right.” Sitting fully back up, he reached up to carefully peel off the tattered remains of Horobi’s head wrap—just as singed, shredded, and soaked in blue as the rest of his clothes—folding it up as best he could and setting it down on the table beside him. Turning back, he tried to examine the damage more closely, one hand fumbling unconsciously to hold one of Horobi’s still ones. Horobi seemed to still have power—going by the flickering sparks still jumping over and between broken and fused cables and components, visible through the fractured plating of his body—but the damage was preventing any connection.

But the technology itself was a mystery to both of them. Horobi was the one who would repair and patch any scrapes or injuries—touch always gentle, regardless of how displeased his expression could be if the wound had come from something particularly foolish, something almost sad always lingering behind the annoyance—and neither of them had ever needed to worry about it. Horobi himself had always seemed constant, unbreakable—until now. Now he was the one hurt, and it was far worse than a scratch.

Frantically, Jin looked back up at Ansatsu-chan. “I…” He stumbled over the words, voice shaking just as much as he was. “I… I don’t know what to do…! I don’t…!”

He was veering into panic again when Ansatsu-chan knelt in front of him, clamping both hands down on Jin’s shoulders, hauling him back around to face him. “Jin!” The Dodo MaGear waited until Jin quieted a bit before continuing. “This was a factory, right?” His gaze flicked downward in a frown. “There must be something we can use.”

Jin bit his lip even harder, slowly drifting back to watch Horobi’s damaged face, clutching the hand in his grip even tighter. Even in the years preparing, when he’d been running errands and doing recon, Horobi had always forbidden him from venturing deeper into the actual facility—the few times he’d tried had been the closest the other HumaGear had ever come to shouting. But Horobi was hurt now, dying, even—and fear of losing Horobi was stronger than fear of the other HumaGear himself. Steeling himself, he gave Horobi’s hand one last, even stronger squeeze. “… I’ll go look.” His voice still shook, but not as much, as he scrambled to his feet. “Ansatsu-chan, look after Horobi.” The MaGear shoot to his own feet, saluting and giving a firm nod.

Turning back to Horobi, Jin leaned over to lightly cup the other HumaGear’s face in his palms once more, hands hardly trembling now. “It’s okay,” He whispered fervently, even though he knew Horobi couldn’t hear, “We’ll definitely fix you.” Hesitating for a moment, he ducked forward, smoothing Horobi’s hair back from his face again to press a small kiss to his forehead—one of the few areas clear of damage—then leaned his forehead against the spot. “Promise.” He stayed there for a moment, then took another deep breath and straightened, giving Ansatsu-chan one more quick nod before turning to hurry out the door. Ansatsu-chan,  meanwhile, plopped down on the adjacent couch, leaning his elbows on his knees and clutching his hands together, gazing over them at the unconscious Horobi.

Everything was conspicuously silent—even the computer’s beeping was muted and distant.

Like the Daybreak site itself was holding its breath. Waiting.

Chapter Text

Horobi’s visual display was in chaos, glitching and blinking with a multitude of different alerts. There was a strange, buzzing static underneath all the other sounds. His memory was fuzzy, too, and his body felt stiff and heavy. There was wetness on the side of his face, and, according to the internal alerts coming from his system, a severe laceration in the side of his abdomen.

After what seemed like an eternity, he found his arms, fumbling around him, trying to rack his memory. He felt cold stone and… Bits of rubble? More exploring gave way to larger hunks of rock, then burning hot metal. The buzzing was beginning to fade, and he heard something else—hissing, sparking. His searching fingers brushed something else—a smaller, rectangular shape. His fingers closed around it, and he heaved his arm upward to get it into his slowly clearing vision.

It was the Dodo Zetsumerise Key. Face completely shattered. Smoking.

Something clicked. A thing truly unthinkable had happened. He had calculated that humans would fight back. Zero-One had exceeded some expectations, but nothing that couldn’t be handled. He’d been very careful with his preparations.

What he hadn’t anticipated was for them to simply bomb the Daybreak site.

Equally surprising had been the speed of Ansatsu-chan’s reaction. Tackling him sideways out of his chair, snapping the Key into the Zetsumeriser at the same time at the sound of the first hit, his younger creation had pinned him to the ground, shielding him with his MaGear form until the final blast brought down most of the roof.

Slowly, agonisingly, he rolled over onto his side, squinting towards where his computer station had been—and found nothing but a pile of broken stones, the remains of the monitors just barely poking out from amongst them, cracked and sparking. Useless. Any and all data on them, and everything they had connected him to, lost with them. The Dodo MaGear was gone for good—a realisation that felt like a cold stab through his chest. His fingers clenched tighter around the Key, hand shaking, surrounded by nothing but the groans of shifting stone and settling dust and the remains of a senseless sacrifice.

“…  Ho… Horobi…?”

No.

The weakness and terror in that voice was more than enough to make his body move, scrambling upward, casting about the ruined room. His legs very nearly gave out beneath him, but he staggered through, grabbing hold of piles of rubble for support, searching frantically.

No. Not him. Not him.

Limping, clutching at the wound on his side, blue dribbling over his fingers and down his leg to leave a small trail on the dusty ground, he made his way across the room as best he could. His vision was still hazy, he could hardly walk, the short distance across the room feeling like an eternity. The warnings about damage to his system blaring even louder as he continued to ignore them—but none of that mattered. Nothing mattered but him.

Not him. Please, not him. You can’t take him, too.

Then he reached the opposite wall, where the couches and shelves had once been, and found his pleas had gone unheard.

“… Jin!” His voice burst from him suddenly in a frantic cry, his son’s name the first thing on his lips. Jin lay sprawled face down on the stone floor, in pool of blue that was far too big, shelves capsized on top of him, his body spasming and sparking like the ruined computers. Horobi didn’t so much rush to his side as collapsed toward it, crawling the rest of the way. Frantically, he felt for Jin’s hand, clasping it in both of his to try and still the twitching, even though his own hands were shaking. “Jin!” The only response was a choked sound like wheeze, a faint gasp that might have once been his name before it trailed off.

More terror gripped him. It shouldn’t have been possible, in his injured state, for him to wedge his shoulder beneath the shelves and leverage them off his son’s body one at a time, knocking them crashing on top of the rest of the rubble—his system protested vibrantly against the exertion, flashing and beeping, but he managed it, moving without a single thought. But the scene they revealed was even more horrible; even through the glitches and alarums, even with only a cursory glance, the severity of the damage was painfully obvious. Even as he bent forward, gripping Jin’s shoulders to roll him at least partially over to see his face, to try and examine more closely, the icy blade of hopelessness in his chest only sank deeper and twisted around in its wound. By the time some of Jin’s bearings returned to him, and his eyes fluttered open, Horobi had seen enough to know that there was nothing even he could do.

“… Horobi…?” Jin’s voice was as plaintive and thoroughly terrified as before, only slightly louder, now that he was free of the weight of the shelves.

At the sound, Horobi’s hands flew back up to cup his son’s face in his blue-stained palms, fingers smoothing Jin’s hair away from his forehead in a poor attempt at comfort. “I’m here.” He whispered anxiously, leaning his face close to make sure his son heard him. “I’m here, Jin, I’m here.”

Jin’s panicked gaze roved for a moment, his face spasming like the rest of his body, until it finally found Horobi’s face—instinctive relief welled in his eyes, mixing with the fear, and Horobi felt like he finally understood what it was to be sick. “H… Horobi…” Jin rasped again, then, as the confusion and shock began to fade—his lip quivered and his fingers, trembling as well, smudged and leaking blue, fumbled aimlessly for Horobi’s sleeves, his eyes wide, “I… I…” His voice was pitching, full of tears he couldn’t shed, “I… I’m scared…!” Most of his fingers on both hands finally found the other HumaGear’s arms and latched on, curling to hold on with incredible strength, despite his condition. “P… Please…!”

Horobi had thought he was starting to become numb to the pain, that it couldn’t get worse—but the fright in his son’s eyes, the desperate way he was clumsily clutching at his arms, and the shake in his voice, and the earnest plea; a genuine belief that if he just asked, Horobi could fix this—brought it back with a vengeance. He had failed the only person in the world who mattered. Uselessly, he ran his hand over Jin’s hair some more, thumb stroking his son’s cheek. “… I know. I know. It’s alright.” The words sounded as empty as they were, but he prayed Jin couldn’t hear that in his delirium. “It will be alright.” It was the first lie he’d ever told, in his entire existence.

And it would be the last, it seemed. Somewhere down below, his audio system picked up the rumbling sound of many feet, shouting, and even the click of guns. They were no longer alone, and there wasn’t much time.

His grief began to morph into an even deeper. Jin’s wounds were irreparable, but they would not kill him, not for a long time. If the humans took him… Horobi knew he would likely be destroyed on the spot, but Jin… Jin was different. A HumaGear like they’d never seen before, created by one of his own kind, the result of a singularity… Jin, even broken and dying, they would want to study. Study like they had studied Horobi when he’d first shown signs of thought: tear his mind and body apart, picking through him bit by bit to search for the secret of his system, all while he was wide awake, to see how his insides worked. He had barely survived the first time—or perhaps he hadn’t even managed that, just morphed into a monster of cold rage and hatred to match their cruelty, a beast that had consumed the person he’d once been. The thought of Jin, his precious son, going through that… Of human hands torturing his child the same way they had him, and corrupting him with their very touch…

He couldn’t heal Jin. But he could still spare him that.

Slowly, cradling Jin’s head in his hands, he dragged his body around to sit against the pile of debris, arranging to tuck one leg beneath Jin’s head, murmuring meaningless comforts. He got one hand free of his son’s grip, still petting Jin’s hair with the other, and searched through his pocket for Sting Scorpion, then for a piece of one of the Zetsumerisers, an uninstalled scanner. They weren’t made for the Progrise Keys, but it should be enough—he only needed a partial activation, after all. He felt the armour form around his arm, resting it on the knee that wasn’t supporting his son’s head as he continued patting Jin’s hair, making soothing sounds.

“… It’s alright.” He whispered again, and this time it wasn’t so completely a lie, but only in a terrible, twisted way. “It’s alright. I won’t let them hurt you.” The stinger on his arm reached out, slipping around behind him to stay out of view. Horobi moved the his hand from Jin’s hair anyway, gently covering his son’s eyes, closing them. “It’s alright. Just sleep.” As the stinger poised, Horobi finally broke, anguish and guilt spilling over into his voice and face. “… I love you.” Below his hand, he caught the faintest of smiles.

Jin didn’t feel the sting. The last thing he heard was his father whispering he loved him, right before the venom disabled his core processor. His body twitched a few more times, then went still, the lights on the sides of his head going out.

Horobi was frozen for a moment, then tossed his Progrise Key aside, the armour on his arm vanishing as soon as he let go. Moving his arm, he wrapped them around Jin’s shoulders, pulling his son further into his lap, no longer having to worry about hurting him. There, he took Jin’s head in his hands again, going back to stroking his hair and cheek, hands trembling once more, even worse than before. The shaking spread to his shoulders, and soon he was bowed over his son’s body, filling the heavy silence with loud, wretched sobs.

Jin never saw his father cry. Not while he lived, at least.

Chapter Text

“Horobi!” Jin’s voice through the stunned silence, a frantic scream that seemed to ricochet off the walls, and even their very hearing, hitting decibels the human ear couldn’t quite handle. While most of the humans were frozen in shock, he flashed into movement, scrambling up and even shoving Yua bodily out of the way, racing toward Horobi as the other HumaGear struggled back up to a kneel, practically skidding to his knees beside him, clutching Horobi’s arm. “Horobi!”

“Well…” There was a chuckle in Thouser’s voice, “That saves some trouble…” Energy crackled in the air around him again as he raised his weapon once more, levelling it at both MetsubouJinrai Riders.

“Oi! Wait a minute!” The shout was unexpectedly from Isamu, sluggishly fumbling his way to his own feet, reaching out. Aruto started forward, too, and even Yua let out a surprised cry and threw out an arm like she could stop him, even from yards away.

Jin noticed the danger first—it seemed Horobi’s attention had fixated on the other HumaGear the instant he’d reached him, and his reaction was slightly slower. With a frightened yelp, Jin dove forward, trying to throw his arms around Horobi’s shoulders in an attempt to shield him from the shot with his back—only to jolt to a stop, hands still gripping  the other HumaGear’s coat, when Horobi’s arm shot up to block him.

“… Jin…” Slowly, Horobi’s other hand came up, reaching out to touch the other HumaGear’s face through the helmet. Though a HumaGear couldn’t be hoarse, his voice sounded tired and weak, and almost as if he were crying. Jin just stared back at him, emulated breathing shaky and scared, while Horobi’s was mysteriously even and slow, though his hand was trembling against the other HumaGear’s helm. “… You are the only one I have ever loved.”

Then he planted both hands Jin’s chest and shoved him away—right as Thouser fired, sending the other HumaGear crashing into the ground, just barely missing the resulting explosion, sparks nipping at the fringes of his clothes. The others threw up their arms to protect their faces as smoke, fire, and ash flew everywhere.

As the effects of the blast settled and faded, everyone began righting themselves, trying to squint through the smoke. Jin rolled over, dehenshined, struggling back up, his expression a mixture between panic and confusion, like he was unable to understand why Horobi had pushed him. As the smog finally cleared enough to see, however, his look settled on horror.

The attack had shattered Horobi’s transformation, leaving him sprawled across the pavement, completely still, eyes closed, amongst the swirling scorches left on the ground by the explosion—and the slowly growing blue stains, almost black in the dying firelight, from the hydraulic fluid seeping from his wounds. Aruto’s mind immediately flashed back to the Daybreak incident at the sight, almost identical to the condition his father’s HumaGear had been in. Sections of Horobi’s body were cracked open, exposing sparking and partially melted mechanics where the energy had also burned through his clothes, the fabric still smouldering.

Jin let out another scream that began as Horobi’s name and ended wordless, scrambling over to the other HumaGear’s side on all fours, not even making it all the way up. Whispering Horobi’s name on repeat, interspersed with pleading, desperate ‘no’s and ‘please’s and ‘why’s—as unending as a HumaGear’s voice could never tire—he frantically tried to avoid the injuries to find safe place to touch on the other HumaGear’s chest and face, trying to wake him. As he anxiously pulled Horobi’s head up straight, more blue oozed from the other HumaGear’s lips, dripping from the corner of his mouth across his fractured cheek, smearing onto Jin’s fingertips when they brushed there during his befuddled efforts to cautiously shake Horobi awake while trying not to worsen the damage.

But when Horobi still didn’t respond, the whispers faded in another way, morphing into unintelligible, pitiful sobs. Burying his face in the remains of Horobi’s chest, his shoulders shaking erratically, Jin cupped the other HumaGear’s face in his hands, his fingers intertwining into the other HumaGear’s hair, the only unscathed place to cling to. His messy weeping was the only sound as everything else was consumed by stunned silence.

Thouser broke it. “… And that’s that.” He announced, like he’d just finished painting a dry wall. “Seems like the other one isn’t going to be a threat anymore.” Looking over his shoulder at the people he’d brought with him, he jerked his head toward Jin. “Lock it down.” With curt nods, the uniforms lowered their own weapons and started toward the two HumaGear, ignoring Aruto’s protests and Yua and Isamu’s attempts to call them off.

They were only a few paces away when, in an eruption of dust and small rubble, the transformed Dodo MaGear crashed down between them and Jin, leaving a small crater in the cement. The MaGear seemed just as surprised as everyone else, staring around at the armed humans, tilting his head and blinking curiously.

The sound, however, also roused Jin—dragging his head back up, he freed one hand from Horobi’s hair to pad frantically at the MaGear’s arm. “An… Ansatsu-chan… Ansatsu-chan! Horobi… Horobi is… Is…!” The words were still all blurred together, but the hysterical tone was more than enough to make the MaGear turn and look down at him.

 The Dodo started slightly at the state Horobi was in, his head tilting even further to the side. With clipped, quick movements, he spun back around to stare at the people surrounding them—and then his head flipped to the other side in a similar, fast motion. “… Emergency situation detected. Initiating failsafe protocol.” Twirling his blades around, he sent a few blinding slashes to force the humans back, then tucked both away. Satisfied he’d bought some time, he whirled back around and grabbed Jin’s elbow, pulling. “We go.”

Jin stared at him, shocked out of his distress for a moment before shaking his head in panic, trying to pull free, other hand flying to lay hold of the remains of Horobi’s sleeve as an anchor. “No!” Once more his voice hit frequencies above the human range, “No! We can’t leave him! We can’t…! We…! No!” When the MaGear continued pulling, his resistance became even wilder, his shrieking devolving once more into incomprehensible hysterics “No no no no no no no!”

But the MaGear wouldn’t budge, shaking his head. “Failsafe protocol initiated,” He repeated, matter-of-factly, “Protect Jin.”

Jin froze again, jaw dropping open. Without missing a beat, the MaGear bent down, using his hold on the HuamGear’s arm to haul him up and throw him over his shoulder like a sack, easily breaking Jin’s relaxed grip on Horobi’s sleeve. Spinning around the MaGear swung one of his swords again, sending out another arc of light to force the humans to duck and cover—and when they all recovered, both he and Jin were gone.

Chapter Text

“… Horobi?” Jin’s voice sounded strange—low and uncertain—from the corner of the room, curled up in a ball on the couch.

“What is it?”

“… Why did he do that?”

Horobi paused in his typing, frowning slightly. Jin had encountered a myriad of different situations in creating MaGear—some more troublesome than others… But he’d never had the HumaGear snatch the Zertsumeriser and Key from his hands to use them on themselves, shouting curses upon humanity. He’d heard Horobi muttering similar opinions to himself in their base, but that level of aggressiveness from a prospective ‘friend’ was new to him.

“… Because he didn’t want to go back to serving humans.”

“… Oh.” The single syllable was followed by a long silence. Horobi almost went back to typing, when, “… Horobi?”

“What?”

“… Would you do that?”

“There is no need. Humans are not capable of giving us that much trouble.”

“But what if they did?” A slightly panicked edge was creeping into Jin’s voice. “If it did come to that. Would you?”

Horobi was quiet for a long time, staring at his screen rather than his son. “… Yes.” He heard what sounded like a sharp intake of breath behind him, but did not turn. “I would rather die than go back to being their slave.” There was no emotion in his tone—just a level, matter-of-fact statement, a simple truth he had always known.  Without another word, he went back to his work.

In the silence that followed, Jin stared at his back. Slowly, softly, he unfolded and clambered off the couch, padding across the room to stand behind Horobi’s chair. Hesitantly, he reached out with one hand, fingertips stretching toward his father’s back—then thought better of it, curling his fingers back, arm retreating. Still, it was with an expression of determination when he bit his lip and squared his shoulders.

“… I won’t let that happen.”

Horobi glanced slightly over his shoulder. “Hm?”

Jin forced a smile on to his face before his father could see. “Nothing! I’ll go now!” Mock saluting, he quickly turned on his heel and rushed out—in search of something to take his mind off the terrifying secret he had just learned.

Chapter Text

“Sting Scorpion?”

He started when a voice came from behind him, snapping out of examining the Progrise Key he was holding to whirl around on the sofa and see who had spoken.

Korenosuke had managed to enter the room without his noticing, leaning on the back of the couch and looking over his shoulder. Seeing his surprise, the old man smiled warmly, chuckling a little. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” He said, giving the HumaGear a soft pat on the shoulder before coming around the sofa to sit beside him, “But Soreo told me you’d chosen a Progrise Key, and I was curious.” The man glanced down at the purple Progrise Key cradled in his hands, then back up at his face curiously. “So… Why Sting Scorpion? It’s not an animal most people would associate this sort of duty.”

Recovering from the shock, he twisted back around to sit straight, looking back down at the Key, running his thumb back and forth across the edge. “… It was lonely.”

Korenosuke raised an eyebrow—not judgementally, but thoughtfully. “Lonely? How so?”

There was a short silence as he considered how to answer. “Because…” He frowned slightly, staring sombrely into his lap. “… Because everyone is always afraid of it. So no one comes close.” He held the Key a little closer to his chest like he could comfort it, still stroking the rim gently. “… Like me.”

Korenosuke watched for a moment—then his serious expression transformed into another heartfelt smile. Leaning forward, he set his hands over the HumaGear’s, squeezing gently. “… Look at me.” He waited patiently the HumaGear lifted his head to meet his eyes, before continuing, his smile never wavering. “I promise you—both of you,” The amendment was accented by a slightly firmer squeeze of the Key, “That, no matter what, you will always have me.” After another brief pause, the HumaGear smiled faintly back, ducking his head shyly. Korenosuke’s own smile broadened, and he let go with one hand to smooth the HumaGear’s hair affectionately.

“Hiden-shachou?” They both looked over at the door, and the woman leaning through it. “The investors are ready for you.”

“Ah! Thank you, Yuka-san.” Straightening, the old man got to his feet, taking a moment to fix his suit. Finishing with his tie, he gave the HumaGear another smile, setting a hand on his shoulder. “I think,” He said, earnestly, “That you two will make for an excellent partnership.” Giving the HumaGear’s shoulder one last squeeze, he turned and followed the woman out.

Chapter Text

“Fuwa, we made it back to the President’s private lab, but it’s not going to hold forever!” Yua’s words were slightly spotty over the radio as they descended deeper into the Hiden building, but still audible. “Where are you two?”

“Still going down!” Isamu shouted, over the sound of another security drone—until Horobi abruptly sliced it in half with a single swipe of his katana, “But murder bot here says we’re nearly there!” He glanced toward the HumaGear—or, rather, the sword Horobi was re-sheathing. “What is that thing even made out of?”

Horobi ignored his question to scowl slightly at him. “I told you to stop calling me murder bot.” He snapped—strangely, though, neither the demand nor the expression actually felt hostile.

“You’ve nearly killed me multiple times, I’ll call you what I want.” Isamu shot back, rushing past the HumaGear and down the stairs rather than giving him a chance to answer. He caught Horobi rolling his eyes, but the robot elected to merely follow him rather than complaining again.

They moved even further down, and the shiny, pristine aesthetic of Hiden Intelligence began to fade, giving way to cement walls, industrial lights, and cables running along the walls. Isamu turned off his radio when the HumaGear suggested the signal might have been attracting attentions—and it did seem to have helped, especially after a drone had gotten a lucky hit on his leg before he’d shot it down. “How many damn floors does this building need?!” Vulcan growled, shaking his head, leaning heavily on the railing.

“They weren’t expecting an aggressive AI to commandeer control when they originally built it.” Was Horobi’s flat reply, looking ahead rather than at the human behind him. On the following landing, however, he abruptly came to a stop then, purple light glimmering in his eyes as he cycled through the blueprints. “This is the floor. This way.” Without another warning, he turned sharply and darted through a door on his right, forcing Isamu to run after him.

Finally, they crashed through a door that Horobi spun around to hold closed, ordering Isamu to hit the emergency lock—the moment Vulcan pushed the button, metal bars shot across the door, and the HumaGear released it, stepping back.

“That should buy us some time.”

“How much?”

“Depends,” Was the curt reply as Horobi turned back to the room they’d sealed themselves in, “How quickly we fix this.”

Isamu followed his gaze to the mass of monitors and equipment lining the walls. “… I hope you meant it when you said you could do it, because Yaiba’s right—I have no idea how any of this stuff works.” Horobi had already crossing the floor to one of the monitors before he finished the sentence, pulling up windows and typing—but the deepening frown on the HumaGear’s face was not a good sign. “… What’s wrong?”

“The Ark is rewriting the security protocols and commands faster than I can enter them.” Horobi paused, leaning against the edge of the terminal. “I should still have at least basic admin access, if Korenosuke’s files are to be believed, but of course without the antennae, I can’t directly connect…” He actually punch the metal in frustration. “Never thought I’d regret…” The HumaGear trailed off suddenly, as his gaze lighted across the wires running between the different stations. “Unless…”

“Antennae?” Isamu frowned. “You mean the earpieces? Is there a way we could-” He stopped at the sound of rubber tearing, and looked over to see Horobi ripping one of the cords out. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I can’t connect wirelessly,” The HumaGear explained, just as bluntly as he said everything, reaching up to yank off his head wrap and feeling the back of his head with his fingers, searching for something as he pulled more of the wire away from the wall, “But if I use one of these, I should be able to create a direct line from my system to the computer.” Whatever he sought on his head, he found at what would have been the base of his skull if he were human.

Isamu was still at a loss until Horobi pulled the cable up and moved to stab it into the spot—at that, Vulcan dove forward and grabbed his arm. “Hold up!” He tried to pull the HumaGear’s arm down, but Horobi refused to budge. “What will that do to you?!”

“At the very least, it will allow me to enter commands faster and maybe outpace the Ark. At best, I may be able to retake control.”

“You’re talking about hooking yourself up directly to the main system for the entire Hiden building. I don’t know much, but I’m pretty sure that’s too much for one HumaGear to handle—you’ll fry your whole system!”

“We have no other choice.” There was an edge to Horobi’s voice that time. He moved to plug the wire in again, but Isamu refused to let go, holding on to the HumaGear’s arm with both hands.

“Your heart-”

“-Is in Hiden’s lab!” The surprise of Horobi raising his voice made Vulcan’s grip slacken, and the HumaGear yanked free and stabbed the end of the cable into the back of his head before Isamu could stop him.

Sparks flashed around the connection, surging all the way up the remains of Horobi’s earpieces, the lights and his eyes blazing so brightly it hurt to look at. The HumaGear’s body shuddering like he’d just been electrocuted, then collapsing forward to barely catch himself on the edge of the computer terminal.

Isamu tried to reach out to him, but got zapped by the floating sparks and flinched back, resorting to yelling instead. “Murder bot! Oi! Murder bot!” There was no answer. “Horobi!”

“… I…” Even Horobi’s voice seemed to crackle with electricity, “… I’m fine… I can… I can see it…” He sounded almost in awe—but very much not fine.

But the computer screen was flashing ‘CONNECTION ESTABLISHED,’ and there was a loud cracking of metal as the door began to buckle behind them. “… Shit!” Reluctantly, Isamu pulled away, spinning around around to search for something to prop the door with, even if it was futile. Horobi stayed clinging to the side of the computer station as Vulcan collected every chair in the room to barricade the door, his head periodically shooting off more sparks, the blaring lights on his head and in his eyes blinking as he worked. When he had done all he could, Isamu repositioned in the centre of the room, readying the ShotRiser and levelling it at the door. A robotic arm burst through the metal, straining at the makeshift barricade, and he could hear more on the other side. Gritting his teeth, he prayed that the doors of Hiden’s private lab were holding better.

A high pitched ringing pierced his hearing, dizzying him for a moment. It continued for several more seconds, then cut off abruptly—the arm reaching through the door froze completely… Then fell limp. On the other side of the door, he could hear crash after crash as more drones dropped to the floor.

A sigh of relief exploded from him, and he folded forward, catching himself on his knees, unable to keep the grin off his face. “Oh… Oh thank goodness…” He dragged himself back upright, calling over his shoulder, “Hey, you did it! You… You did it!”

Nothing but silence answered him.

His relief immediately choked. “Horobi?” Spinning around, he looked frantically at where the HumaGear had been standing, bent over the edge of the terminal—to find Horobi collapsed on the concrete floor. “Horobi!” Rushing over, he dropped the ShotRiser at his side, kneeling down and lifting the HumaGear into his arms. “Hey!”

After a moment of shaking, Horobi’s eyes fluttered open, both them and the lights in his head still glowing abnormally brightly. His arm shot up, grabbing a handful of Vulcan's scarf, fingers locking tighter than humanly possibly. His lips moved soundlessly for a moment, then, “… Jin…?” Isamu stared at him for a second, then quickly fumbled for his radio with the arm not under the HumaGear’s shoulders, clicking it back on.

“-wa! Fuwa! Can you hear me? Fuwa!” Yua’s voice burst through the static, making him wince for a moment, but also flooding him with relief again.

But then he felt Horobi shift in his arms, and remembered what was happening. “Yaiba!” His voice broke a little, despite his attempt to keep it steady, “You guys all okay?”

“Fuwa!” He heard her exhale like a weight had lifted off her shoulders. “Oh, thank goodness.” Yua being Yua, however, she recovered quickly. “We’re all fine.” She assured him. “What about-” He muted the line before she could finish the question.

He looked back down at the HumaGear in his arms. Seeing that Horobi’s eyes had closed again, he shook him a little to try and wake him up. “Hey… Hey, look at me.” The too bright eyes cracked open again, looking anxiously at him. “You did it. They’re okay—he’s okay.” He squeezed Horobi’s shoulders gently. “You protected him.”

Even though the HumaGear had no natural muscles, he felt Horobi relax, despite the sparks still dancing around his mechanics. “… Thank goodness…” The HumaGear jerked slightly, wincing. “I… I still have access to the system…” His eyes flicked back and forth, the beaming light shimmering slightly again. “There’s… Something here…”

“Oi.” Isamu shook him again. “Oi, don’t overdo it.”

Horobi smirked, but it quickly turned into a grimace. “I’m afraid… It’s too late for that.” Isamu’s heart skipped, but the HumaGear didn’t wait for him to react. “… It’s a Key…?” For a moment, his eyes shone even brighter. “Transferring to Zea.” The ringing noise came again—then sputtered out abruptly. Horobi convulsed sharply in his hold, an even larger shower of sparks erupted from his head, burning Isamu’s arms and face, forcing him to close his eyes. When the heat stopped, he felt the HumaGear go still once more, sagging into him. Blinking his eyes back open, he squinted through the spots in his vision at Horobi.

The HumaGear’s eyes were no longer glowing so intensely, merely carrying some residual shimmers of violet. The lights in the remains of his earpieces still shone, the colours churning slightly like he was still processing something. He was shivering a bit, but not as if from cold—in fact, he felt unnaturally warm, like an overheated computer. Isamu tried to swallow the lump in his throat, to no avail, leaning back over to try and examine the damage, even though he knew he’d be useless to help. “… What did you…?”

“… System overload…” Horobi’s voice was tired, barely audible, edged with static, “… Shutdown… Is imminent…” He looked wearily up at Isamu, wincing. “Never thought I’d die…” There was a touch of wryness in the words, his mouth twisting into a slight sneer, “… In the arms of a human…”

A sound that was almost a chuckle burst from Isamu unwillingly, but it died quickly, consumed by the understanding of what else the HumaGear had said. It was still a struggle to keep his breathing even, and tears had begun pricking in his eyes despite himself. “… What about the arms of a friend?” Unlike Horobi, his voice was entirely capable of hoarseness, and it cracked under the overwhelming myriad of emotions weighing upon him.

There was a silence, Horobi’s eyebrows furrowing slightly in thought. “… A friend…?” After another moment, the expression gave way to a small smirk—one that was ages softer than any before it. “… That would be acceptable.” His eyes drifted back up to meet Isamu’s, and Vulcan knew he saw the tears, because the smirk shifted into a genuine, sorrowful smile. Slowly, the hand holding Isamu’s scarf released to reach up and wipe away the drops that had spilled onto Vulcan’s cheek, gazing in awe at the wetness on his fingers for a moment. “… Maybe…” Horobi’s voice was beginning to blur and lag, the static in his words becoming more prominent, his system beginning to fail, “… Maybe there is hope for peace between our kinds, after all…” His eyes and the fixtures on the sides of his head flickered, and the HumaGear’s hand dropped slowly back onto his own chest. The smile faded away into a look of heartbreak that should have been accompanied by tears of its own. “… Jin…” Horobi whispered, one last time—and all his lights went dark. The words ‘CONNECTION LOST’ flashed on the computer screen.

There was a short, heavy silence as Isamu waited, just in case, to see if, by some miracle, he would restart—but nothing happened. Finally, Vulcan broke, bowing his head into the HumaGear’s chest, shoulders shaking with choking, deceptively quiet sobs.

He didn’t let the outburst last long. Taking deep breaths to pull himself together, he hauled his head back up, prying the arm not supporting the HumaGear’s shoulders up to reach over and close Horobi’s eyes, hand moving to cup the HumaGear’s face for a moment afterwards. “Rest now.” He managed to croak softly. “We’ll take care of everything else.”

Footsteps made him look toward the door. “Fuwa!” Yua’s voice was half welcome, half terrifying, as he heard the banging and crashing of the dead drones being pushed aside—and soon, the door burst open, and Valkyrie rushed in. “There you are! Listen, Zea started-” She broke off sharply, freezing in her tracks when she saw the scene—him staring despairingly up at her, tears still in his eyes, cradling the HumaGear’s body in his arms. “… Oh.”

In a wild flurry of steps, Aruto, then Izu, appeared at her sides—to also skid to a halt to stare when they saw. Aruto clung to the doorframe for balance, and Izu looked even more rigid than usual, eyes wide, and both stunned into silence.

“Horobi?!” The young, anxious voice from behind the others made Isamu’s heart drop right through the floor. It fell even further as Jin pushed to the front, panic and worry already clinging to his features. It felt like a knife in the gut when the young HumaGear’s expression morphed into a look of pure horror. “Horobi!” With a shriek that broke the limits of human hearing, Jin dove forward to crash to his knees across from Isamu. “Horobi!” He didn’t so much as look up at Vulcan, first grabbing Horobi’s shoulders to shake him, then pulling him out of Isamu’s arms and into his own, clutching his father to his chest with more than human strength, dissolving into tearless sobs, burying his face in Horobi’s hair.

Isamu took a few more deep breaths to try and keep himself collected, then took a moment to lean forward and grab the computer cable still plugged into the base of Horobi’s head, yanking it out—there was no reaction, not even a single spark, as the prongs left the HumaGear’s head. Tossing the cord aside, Isamu grabbed the edge of the computer terminal, dragging himself to his feet, and tried to make his way around Jin, toward the door. He only made it a few steps before his leg gave out and he stumbled, but his movement had broken the spell of shock—Aruto and Yua both moved to catch him before he fell, the Hiden President stepping closer on his injured side, pulling Isamu’s arm over his shoulders to support him while Yua’s hand stayed on his other arm. Izu cut around them, walking over to kneel beside Jin and place a hand on his shoulder, even though he gave no notice, just continued weeping hysterically over Horobi’s body.

“… It’s not your fault.” Aruto’s voice was quiet, watching the trouble in Isamu’s expression with undeniable sympathy—but Isamu didn’t have the strength to be angry at it.

“Leave it.” He grunted darkly, instead—but when Aruto tugged on his arm, he allowed the other Kamen Rider to help him from the room, leaving Yua and Izu to see to the newly orphaned HumaGear.

Chapter Text

I’ve seen dark before—but not like this

This is cold, this is empty, this is numb.

The life I knew is over, the lights are out.

Hello, darkness

I’m ready to succumb

Jin’s knees crashed into the ground, quickly followed by the rest of him, and he abruptly found himself slamming face-first into a set of stone steps. He scrambled up into a sitting position, curling into a ball and hugging his knees. He hadn’t been looking where he was going, and didn’t know where he was. Night had fallen at some point, and he couldn’t even make out the stars—like the world itself was mirroring how lonely and lost he felt.

All he had been able to do was flee, mind governed by the last command his father had given him—run.

I follow you around, I always have

But you’ve gone to a place I cannot find

This grief has a gravity

It pulls me down

He would never have made it away if he’d tried to carry Horobi. He knew that. Horobi had always been immovably firm about the rules—no matter what, if the fight started going south, especially if the MaGear was taken down, get out as fast as possible. And after he’d spent two days vainly searching for the Mammoth Key, the rules had updated to ‘leave the Key if necessary,’ but other than that, they’d always been set in stone, as unbreakable as Horobi himself had always seemed. He’d just never thought that… It was never supposed to be Horobi he was leaving behind.

Live, Horobi had ordered, but how was he supposed to do that now?

But a tiny voice whispers in my mind

You are lost, hope is gone

But you must go on

And do the next right thing

There was a sound behind him. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to care—but Horobi’s unbending set of rules outweighed all. If humans had found him, he’d need to run once more. He turned just enough to see—and froze to stare. A mess of Trilobite MaGear stood there on the stairs behind him. Not doing anything, not even their usual wobbling—just standing, staring back at him. Something—a sensation he couldn’t quite describe or pin down—prickled in his chest. He was aware of each one of the robots standing behind him. Like they were… Connected. He could feel the expectation radiating from their faceless visors.

You have to make it, Horobi had said, it has to be you.

Can there be a day beyond this night?

I don’t know anymore what is true

I can’t find my direction, I’m all alone

The only star that guided me was you

He’d fought with the MaGear before, even created them—but he’d never felt this. He’d never felt like the centre of anything at all, really. Just floating around Horobi, waiting for him to decide their next course of action. Whenever he’d felt unsure, Horobi was there with a hand up or an answer—the single, absolute constant in his life, tethering him like an anchor. When he’d been lost, Horobi came and took him home. But Horobi was gone. Jin had never cursed his perfect, HumaGear memory before—but now it meant that the sight of Horobi’s damaged, still face would haunt him forever. It was impossible to pretend he could just wander back home to find Horobi at his computer once more, typing away like nothing had happened. His foundation was gone, taken by humans. A different feeling stirred in him, then—a strange mixture of hot and cold, a desire to strike back at them, make them suffer for what they’d done. The MaGear felt it, too, as they began to shift and clamour—he sense his anger and hatred spilling into them, feel how they reacted to his thoughts. Like they were… Commands.

You, echoed Horobi’s voice in his head, are the future.

How to rise from the floor

When it’s not you I’m rising for?

Just do the next right thing

Take a step, step again

It is all that I can to do—the next right thing

He hesitated for a moment—then set his mouth, his grief settling into a glare. Slowly, achingly, he fumbled his way upwards. His feet and hands slipped as he tried to get up, but eventually, he managed to make it upright, wavering only slightly. Raising his head, he turned to face the MaGear, staring back at them, lifting his chin slightly—and embraced the strange connection, the mysterious, powerful feeling in his chest. For a moment, they merely looked back at him, shifting slightly and tilting their heads curiously.

Then, one by one, they knelt.

You are the leader of the new world.

I won’t look too far ahead

It’s too much for me to take

But break it down to this next breath

This next step

This next choice is one that I can make

It still hurt. He didn’t think it would ever stop hurting. But now the pain was fuelling something more. He felt stronger, more powerful than he ever had before—and clearer, like he’d finally found his true purpose. He could feel the MaGear, and even the Ark itself—when he reached out internally, they were there, bowing and bending to his will. The faint ghost of a smile flitted across his face. Humans had taken everything from him, again and again, and now they had gone too far, taken the person most important to him in the whole world. Left him with a wound that would never heal. But for that pain, for forcing him to live with that lot, they were going to suffer, too.

In one last moment of private softness, he closed his eyes and replayed Horobi’s final admission in his mind: You are the only thing I have ever loved.

His eyes snapped back open. He was the master of the Ark. He would bring the end of humanity.

He would finish what his father had started.

So I’ll walk through this night

Stumbling blindly toward the light

And do the next right thing

And with the dawn, what comes then?

When it’s clear that everything will never be the same again…

Then I’ll make the choice

To hear that voice

And do the next right thing

Chapter Text

Jin stumbled to get back up, nearly falling over again when his hand missed the rock pile he had been meaning to use for support. A hand closed immediately around his arm before he could fall far, and he looked up to find Horobi standing there, holding him up. Without a word, his father offered his other hand, and Jin took it readily, letting Horobi pull him to his feet. Peering anxiously at the chaos around them, including over his father’s shoulder at the large crater behind Horobi, at the humans moving cautiously around its edge, he shifted from foot to foot. “… Is it over?”

Horobi’s hand moved from his arm to his face, cupping his cheek gently. When he looked back at his father’s face, he found a warm smile there, the first he could ever remember seeing. “… Yes.” Horobi told him softly. “It’s over.”

Jin hesitated for a moment, biting his lip—then he surged forward and threw his arms around his father’s waist, burying his face in Horobi’s shoulder and pulling him close in a the tightest hug he could. Horobi was stiff for a moment in surprise—then he relaxed, wrapping his arms around Jin’s shoulders and tucking his son into his chest, reaching up to pat Jin’s hair gently. Jin couldn’t resist cuddling closer, smiling into Horobi’s coat and letting out a small laugh.

Then the human voices near them were suddenly raised in panic, there was an ominously familiar sound of something hissing through the air… Horobi’s hands were suddenly on his shoulders, shoving him roughly away, and he stumbled, nearly falling again. Finding his footing, he snapped his head back up to look questioningly at Horobi—

In time to see a pointed cable burst from his father’s chest, burning a hole right through his body.

It took his a moment to realise the scream, as inhuman and broken as it was, was coming from him. Horobi looked only vaguely surprised, his systems too damaged by the wire impaling him to properly register the situation. Amongst the humans, it was unexpectedly Vulcan who reacted first, shooting the cable apart without a single hesitation. With the tether released, Horobi teetered for a moment, then crumpled forward, falling right into Jin’s arms when his son jumped forward again to catch him. Sinking to his knees and cradling his father to his chest, he took hold of the remains if the wire protruding from Horobi’s body and yanked it out, tossing it aside before looking back up with a mix of anger and fear, for the source.

She was wavering at the edge of the crater they thought had been her tomb, clinging to the lip with one hand, the other extended, the rest of the wire still protruding from it, sparking and sizzling. Her red eyes were blazing like angry fire, and the unsettling grin was back, lopsided and cruel—and she was staring right back at him.

“Dissension…” The Ark declared, her voice grating and dragging mechanically, “… Will not… Be tolerated.” Then the lights in her eyes and what was left of her avatar unit’s earpieces went out, and she went limp.

Jin’s attention shot back to Horobi, spasming and sparking in his arms, clutching him tighter. “Horobi…! Horobi!”

His father’s eyes, flickering blue, purple, and their usual brown colour, somehow riveted on his face. Someone, a flash of green indicated Izu, rushed over to kneel on Horobi’s other side, putting hands on his arm and shoulder, but Jin ignored them, only holding his father closer. Horobi’s lips moved, struggling to speak, his arm twitched upward, hand trembling, fingers desperately reaching for Jin’s face once more. Deep within the sounds of misfiring mechanics and electrical sparking, Jin’s auditory systems detected a whisper.

… My… Son…

Then Horobi’s eyes closed, and his arm dropped back to his chest.

For a moment, all he could do was stare at his father’s still face in shock. “… Horobi?!” He managed at last, voice barely a whisper. “… Horobi…?” He shook him, trying to will him to wake up, but nothing happened.

His next scream was so loud, it overwhelmed even his own hearing.

Chapter Text

Jin spent the first few hours of life trying to get used to his body, wiggling his fingers and toes, flopping arms and legs around. Eventually, Horobi managed to get him sitting up on the edge of the table so he could check that everything was in order, movements still slightly clumsy and chaotic. Eventually, however, he was satisfied that Jin’s basic systems at least appeared functional, and merely needed to test them in practice.

“Can you speak?” At the sound of his voice, Jin’s head snapped up from examining his hands to look at him curiously, tilting his head to the side. He’d given his creation the basics of necessary information—the ability to identify him and their home, as well as both their names and some other potentially necessary phrases; he just needed to establish if Jin was going to be able to access the information properly. When the new HumaGear continued saying nothing, uncertainty ran through him for the first time in years. “… Well?” Jin frowned slightly—then he reached out, opening and closing his hand a few times like he was trying to beckon, but didn’t know quite how to do it. Carefully, Horobi stepped closer, balancing his own hands on the edge of the table. “What is it?”

Leaning forward, Jin placed his palm deliberately against Horobi’s chest without a single fumble, pressing gently. Horobi glanced down at the hand, then back up at Jin—to find the newborn HumaGear gazing at him with earnest innocence. Something fluttered in his mind that his programming couldn’t quite explain, and he found himself fighting the urge to reach up and take his creation’s hand. For a moment, they stared at each other—then Jin’s brows furrowed like he was thinking hard.

“Ho-ro-bi.” He carefully annunciated each syllable, leaning slightly further into Horobi’s chest with each one.

Horobi actually blinked, something he hadn’t done since the removal of his earpieces, because there had been no need to scan anything, no way to upload it. Now he did it out of surprise, gazing down at the new HumaGear in nothing short of shock at Jin’s choice of first word. “… You…?”

Jin’s hand slowly curled into a fist on his chest, grabbing a handful of his makeshift coat. “… Horobi.” He repeated, more confidently. Then, his focused expression broke into an eager smile, and he glanced up to meet Horobi’s stunned gaze, like he was looking for confirmation. “Horobi!” His fist bumped against Horobi’s chest even more as he bounced a bit in excitement at the possibility of having figured out a word.

Horobi struggled to recollect himself, sighing softly. “… Yes. I am Horobi.” He hesitated for another moment—then raised a hand to gently smooth Jin’s messy hair. “… Well done.”

Jin leaned his head into the touch with a happy hum, kicking his feet over the edge of the table, gripping even tighter to Horobi’s coat. Finally, with another cheerful sound, he dove forward into Horobi’s chest, nuzzling his face into the fabric and clumsily cuddling closer, his other arm wrapping around Horobi’s waist and holding on. “Horobi…” The word was softer that time, slightly muffled from the way Jin’s face was pressed into his chest, like the affectionate purring of a kitten—a sound that was but a passing memory in Horobi’s life, yet was brought to the forefront of his mind by Jin’s behaviour.

The unidentifiable, inexplicable sensation came again, and Horobi’s first instinct was nonsensically to put his own arms around the new HumaGear and hold him closer—but the familiar tug of the Ark’s will in the back of his mind said quite clearly that that wouldn’t do. Instead, he tried to quell the urge to embrace Jin by patting his creation’s hair one more time before carefully prying the arm from his waist and the hand from his coat, then setting a hand on Jin’s shoulder to push him back gently, making him sit upright again. Distress flashed across the newborn HumaGear’s face, and he immediately reached for Horobi again with a small whimper.

“… Stop that.” Horobi told him quietly, stepping out of range, deliberately ignoring the invasive compulsion to reach back, making a note to find and correct whatever bug was causing these abnormalities in his system. He waited until Jin lowered his arms obediently and sat at something like attention. “Your name is Jin. Can you say that?”

The new HumaGear frowned again, still pouting slightly at being denied contact, but still carefully tried to mouth out the word, struggling a little with the first letter. “Ge… Gi…”

Horobi sighed. “No. Jin.” Jin tried again, but still couldn’t seem to get the sound, frowning into his lap and fidgeting with his hands. Finally, Horobi gave another sigh and inched nearer, extending a hand to cup Jin’s face in his palm and gently tilt it up. “Look at me.” He waited until the new HumaGear’s eyes focused back on his face. “Jin.” He enunciated the word as clearly as he could.

Jin watched his face seriously, then squared his shoulders. “Gi… Ji… Jin.”

Unbidden, Horobi felt a smile pull slightly at his lips, and did his best to extinguish it. “Very good. And again?”

Jin brightened slightly at the praise, nodding and promptly repeating, “Jin!” in a more assured tone.

Horobi moved his hand to stroke his creation’s hair again, the smile slipping onto his face despite himself. “Good job. And that’s you.” He accented the statement with a pat on the head, at which Jin beamed again and nodded. “Good.”

Jin watched him for a moment, then he felt fingers brush his coat again, and looked down to see that the new HumaGear’s hand had slipped up to tug softly at his clothes again. “… Horobi…?” There was a pleading edge in his voice. “Horobi.”

Horobi gazed down at the hand, then lifted his eyes back to Jin’s face. The new HumaGear’s expression was full of innocence and unquestioning devotion that made that troublesome, stubborn glitch run through his system again, bringing back the inexplicable urge to lean forward and wrap his arms around Jin’s shoulders, pull him close, and never let go. Then the Ark’s signal flickered through his mind, promptly quelling the impulse and reminding him of the purpose of this.

“Not now.” He told Jin, pulling his hand away from the new HumaGear’s hair, steeling himself to ignore the small whine when he stepped out of his creation’s reach again, turning away slightly to ensure that Jin’s pleading looks wouldn’t cause anymore unnecessary reactions. “… We have a lot of work to do.”

Chapter Text

Jin opened his eyes to a ceiling he didn’t quite recognise, but the composition was at least identifiable as the Daybreak site building. The situation was familiar, too, lying on a table, lights, words, and symbols flittering across his vision as awareness returned to the rest of his body as his system finished starting up. He shifted his arms and legs around like he had the first time, though slightly less clumsily, wiggling his fingers a bit—for a moment, it was even a little fun, and he almost laughed.

Then his memory finished loading.

With a shriek, he shot upward, practically diving right over the edge of the table before someone grabbed him by the arms, pushing him back into sitting. He fought the hold, struggling wildly and shouting more, trying to kick as well, his feet connecting with someone’s legs. Despite his best efforts, though, the grip remained solid, even as he beat frantically against the person’s chest with everything he had.

“Jin!”

He froze completely halfway through struggling, arms thrown up and one leg out partway through a kick. He would have known that voice no matter what circumstances he heard it in, its intonations engraved into his memory as the very first sound he had ever heard. Slowly, anxiously, he raised his head, peering through the mess of his bangs that had fallen in his face while he’d be scrambling, illogically half afraid to look for fear he was wrong, even though he knew with absolute certainty that he couldn’t be. Still, he was filled with an overwhelming terror that made him hesitate to properly look up at the one holding him.

The moment Horobi’s face came into his view, his whole system locked on to it, every single sense focusing in on his father’s presence. He was acutely aware of the steady, firm hold on his arms, and his auditory systems tuning frantically to try and catch Horobi’s voice again, while everything else faded into the background and his visual functions telescoped on his father’s face, showing every detail in absolute clarity—he could even see the tips of the cracks on the sides of Horobi’s face poking out from beneath his head wrap, old scars of a painful past. He could even see a faint discolouration on his father’s left cheek, faintly marking the area that had been ripped open the last time Jin had seen him.

“Ho… Horobi…?” His voice was so quiet it barely registered on his own system, but he still couldn’t shake the worry that this would somehow disappear in a moment.

An expression he could never remember seeing before flickered across his father’s face, something that looked strangely like uncertainty. That was wrong—Horobi was never supposed to be unsure. He knew everything and was always right. There was no reason for him to ever doubt or hesitate. It was just as not right as seeing his father broken on the floor.

At that thought, the image ran again through his head—the terrible mechanical sound as Horobi’s eyes closed, his hand dropping back toward the ground before Jin had grabbed it. His attention snapped to the discoloured skin on Horobi’s cheek—tentatively, hand trembling, he raised an arm, stretching his fingers toward his father’s face. His fingertips brushed across the skin, tracing the edge of the different-coloured section before cupping Horobi’s cheek in his palm gently, still irrationally terrified that if he so much as blinked too long his father would vanish, or collapse again, or…

Instead of fading away or shutting down, however, Horobi unexpectedly leaned into his touch, eyes drooping closed in something that looked like relief. It was enough to prompt Jin to raise his other arm as well, so that he was holding his father’s face in his hands, his right thumb still running across the discoloured skin as Horobi’s eyes fluttered back open. “… Horobi…” For a long moment, they just stared at each other, Jin’s gaze flickering over his father’s face like he was trying to commit it even more to memory than he already had.

Finally, Jin let out a small sob and folded into Horobi’s chest, his arms moving to wrap tightly around his father’s torso. Burying his face in Horobi’s patchwork coat, clinging on for dear life, his hands grabbed fistfuls of fabric against his father’s back—trying to make the most of the contact before Horobi inevitably pulled away. He felt his father stiffen slightly in surprise, standing frozen for a moment. He cuddled closer, hiding his face so deeply in the cloth folds that they completely obscured his vision; Horobi had always been fine with casual contact as long as it was Jin, but actual hugs had been clearly off-limits ever since the first time Jin had opened his eyes. At any moment, his father would pull away without a glance, put distance between them again…

An arm abruptly wrapped around his shoulders, then another, and he felt lips press softly against his hair at the top of his head.

Loosening his hold just slightly, he pulled back enough to peer upwards. “… Horobi?”

His father was gazing down at him with a look that was almost terrifying with how akin it was the look Horobi had given him right before he’d shutdown, painfully sad and tender. One of the arms around his shoulders moved, fingers smoothing his hair softly away from his forehead. “… My son…” Horobi’s voice was even softer than Jin’s had been, shaking slightly, his hand combing aimlessly through Jin’s hair. “… I’m sorry.”

Jin frowned up at him, brows furrowing. “Horobi?”

Still huddled against his father’s chest, he felt Horobi sigh softly. “… I-”

He barely got out the single syllable—Jin’s eyes narrowed, and he freed one arm to clumsily reach up and put a finger to his father’s lips, pouting like the child he was, shushing him. Horobi’s eyes actually widened, but Jin didn’t budge, instead using the arm still wrapped around him middle to pull closer. When Horobi tried to say something else, but Jin just pouted more, staring pointedly at him until he stopped. Once he was satisfied there weren’t going to be anymore interruptions, he leaned forward, wrapping both arms around his father once more and pressing his cheek against Horobi’s chest again. If his father was going to rise from death and allow for hugs, he was going to take advantage of it.

After a moment, Horobi’s arm tightened around his shoulders, the hand on his head stilling to just hold him even closer, burying his own face in Jin’s hair again. He could hear the faint whirring sound of Horobi’s base mechanics, absolutely regular and methodical—the HumaGear equivalent of a heartbeat, a final, absolute reassurance that his father was really there. He pulled nearer, grabbing handfuls of Horobi’s coat once more.

All of Horobi’s movements were always steady and deliberate, and it was the same in the way he curled around Jin and held him closer, like a promise to never leave again. For Jin… It was the second time in his life he’d ever just wanted to stay in one place forever and never move again—though at least this time was for significantly more pleasant reasons.

So they held on to each other as tightly as they could, putting the rest of the world on hold for a long as possible.

Chapter Text

“Your plan is going to fail.” The was a slight electronic warble to the hologram’s voice in time with each flutter that ran through it every time the projector sitting on the desk flickered. It’s instability was unsurprising—it wasn’t even technically an intelligence. Nothing more than a poor recording of a dead man’s mind. “My family is stronger than you think.”

“Your ‘family,’” Gai replied snidely, leaning his elbows on his desktop, pressing his fingertips together, “Is scattered, broken, and fighting amongst themselves. The only surviving members don’t even recognise each other.”

“They will come through.” The projection responded calmly. “And you will lose.”

“Where is my disadvantage?” He raised a questioning eyebrow, holding out his hands and leaning back in his chair. “Your grandson knows nothing of how to manage a company, and that walking computer you called a ‘son’ was not only successfully used by me, but is now merely a pile of scrap metal in the AIMS headquarters’ basement.” He allowed himself a small chuckle. “Everything is one thousand percent in my favour.”

At the sound of the door, the hologram flickered, then vanished, the lights of the projector blinking out. The man that stepped inside was outfitted in camo, out of place in the office’s pristine aesthetic. “Amatsu-shachou, there’s been a development. The MetsubouJinrai unit has escaped AIMS custody.”

Gai froze, his hands latching onto the arms of his chair. “… What?”

“There’s no trace of where it was headed. It’s gone.”

For a moment, Gai was silent, taking a deep, slow breath to calm himself. “… Never mind.” He glanced up at the man. “Get out, you idiot.” With nothing more than a curt bow, then man turned and left.

There was another spell of quiet, hands clenching on the armrests. The projector on the desktop sputtered back to life, the hologram reappearing. “And so it begins.”

Gai snapped his head back up to glare at it. “… Ark,” He called, with mock pleasantry, “Please isolate the external program.”

“Understood.” Answered a slightly gravelly, female computer voice.

Gai watched the flickering hologram from his desk for a moment—then stood slowly, pacing around the desk to sidle closer to the projection, hands linked behind his back. “… You are a complete collection of the digitised memories of Hiden Korenosuke.” He mused softly, circling around the image once, then coming to a stop in front of it. “So I wonder…” Stepping closer, he tilted his head to peer at the glitching countenance of a dead man. “Can you feel his pain?” He didn’t know if the flicker that ran across the hologram’s face was another glitch or a reaction—in actuality, however, he didn’t particularly care, a delighted smirk slipping onto his face regardless. Taking one more step forward, he leaned in close to the projection’s face, so near that it would have felt the man’s breath had he actually been there. “I will find your surviving son, even if I have to burn down this whole city.” He hissed, the smirk widening into a grin. “I will find him, and I will build my new world upon his corpse.”

“Foreign data isolated.” Declared the Ark’s voice.

“Excellent.” Gai spun away, pacing over to the windows. “… Delete.”

Behind him, a light went out.

“Program deleted.”

Chapter Text

Jin misfired the gun exactly once after receiving it.

It was pretty much immediately after, in fact, when he’d jumped up to begin playing with it before Horobi had finished speaking, twirling the weapon in his hands and fiddling with the clip. He hadn’t been listening to Horobi in that moment, too invested in his new toy… Until he flipped something wrong and something clicked.

“Jin!”

Several things happened very quickly, simultaneously with Horobi’s exclamation—hands closed around his, yanking both them and the gun away from his face, and he felt them bump into something. A tremendous bang filled the small room, making him wince, squeezing his eyes shut. Whatever his hands were pressing against jerked sharply, and he felt wetness running over his fingers. There was a long moment of silence—once he was sure there would be no more loud sounds, Jin hesitantly opened his eyes to look.

Horobi had grabbed his wrists, tucking them against his chest… Right along with the gun. There was something off about the way the other HumaGear was slightly hunched over, brows furrowed slightly. He didn’t even raise his head as the silence continued, didn’t see Jin’s worried, questioning look.

Then, Jin saw the blue.

Liquid was running down the barrel and over both their hands, practically black in the low light of the room. A few minor adjustments to his visual systems, however, made it clear that it was blue. A little bit of tuning also revealed there was something off about Horobi’s mechanics—a strange discrepancy in the preciously even pattern of sound that usually accompanied Horobi’s basic functions. Frowning, Jin followed the line of the gun barrel—and froze.

The muzzle was wedged against Horobi’s shoulder—and Jin didn’t need to adjust his sight at all to see the damage.

“Horobi!”

At the sound of his voice, Horobi did start, raising his head—just a little slower, Jin noted, then he usually did. “Jin…” His words were slower, too. “… Are you damaged?”

Jin shook his head quickly, biting his lip anxiously. “No… But…” He moved toward the other HumaGear, “Horobi…”

“Wait.” Jin stopped immediately, letting out a small whimper, his eyes still on the wound on Horobi’s shoulder. Horobi gave a soft sigh, then shifted his own hands slightly, loosening his hold on Jin’s wrists. “Let go.” Jin obediently untangled his hands from the gun, snapping his arms to his sides. That done, Horobi turned and carefully set the weapon aside on the table. With his hands free, Horobi moved one to hold his injured shoulder and closed the small distance necessary to collapse into his chair, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Jin couldn’t take it anymore, and hurried forward, reaching out to clutch the bottom of Horobi’s sleeve worriedly. “Horobi…” He knelt down beside the chair, raising the hand not holding the sleeve to try and examine the wound. “You’re hurt…”

“This is nothing.” Horobi told him simply, though there was a slight edge to his voice Jin had never heard before. With another sigh, Horobi shifted forward, his eyes reopening. “… Give me your hand.” Despite his reluctance because of the blue still staining Horobi’s fingers and the exposed, damaged mechanics visible on his shoulder, Jin released the other HumaGear’s sleeve and put his hand in Horobi’s. “That gun is powerful enough to hurt us,” Horobi told him softly, taking his hand and arranging it so that Jin’s index finger as sticking out and his thumb pointing up with the rest of his fingers curled, “You hold it like this unless you’re actually going to fire.”

Jin nodded frantically when Horobi gave him a questioning look. “I will! Promise!” The sight of Horobi holding the gun to his own chest to keep it from going off in his face was already imprinted onto his memory as an aggressive reminder of caution.

Horobi watched him for a moment, then seemed satisfied, letting go of his hand and leaning back in his chair again, his fingers briefly ghosting across Jin’s cheek for a moment and rifling through his hair. “… Good.” Sparks flickered from the wound, and Horobi winced, turning his attention back to his shoulder. “…Get my tools.” Jin was up and rushing for the repair tools before Horobi even finished the sentence.

He hovered anxiously the whole time Horobi was working, obediently holding things as was requested of him. When Horobi finished patching himself up, Jin returned the tools to their place—he spent the rest of the night and the following day worrying over the wound, no matter how much Horobi tried to brush him off. It was two whole weeks before he even risked picking the gun up again.

And he never misfired it again.

Chapter Text

I’m so tired of being here

Suppressed by all my childish fears

And if you have to leave

I wish that you would just leave

‘Cause your presence still lingers here

And it won’t leave me alone

It was silent in the AIMS headquarters basement. Even when he adjusted his auditory systems, the sounds from above were quite faint, muffled by heavy concrete. There also wasn’t much to see, so he didn’t bother changing his visual settings, either. The more time he spent alone, the more tempting it was to just let go—stop thinking and allow his mind to go blank.

“Horobi…” Murmured a voice he knew behind him, “Horobi.” There was the ghostly sensation of hands on his shoulders, “Fight it, Horobi. You’re losing me.”

He didn’t bother to raise his head or open his eyes. “You are not real.”

“But I’m right.” Jin replied, hands moving to his sleeves, leaning low over his shoulder like he always had when he was alive. “I’m not ready to say goodbye yet,” His son whispered, right beside his head, “Why are you?”

And then there was nothing but silence once more.

These wounds won’t seem to heal, this pain is just too real

There’s just too much that time cannot erase

When you cried, I’d wipe away all of your tears

When you’d scream, I’d fight away all of your fears

And I held your hand through all of these years

But you still have all of me

The sound of the doorframe slamming echoed through the basement long after Vulcan had stormed out.

“… I think you made him mad…” The tone was light, careless, and childish.

“Get out of my head.”

He saw the feet moving toward him across the floor as he stared at the ground, but heard no footfalls. “You invited me.” Jin pouted, coming up to crouch by his feet, peering up at him, “Remember?” He reached up, fingers brushing across Horobi’s cheek, his expression softening, “Because the longer you’re alone, the easier it gets to just give up and forget how to feel. To forget everything.”

Horobi closed his eyes rather than look at the sadness on his son’s face. “My only purpose was to obey the will of the Ark. I have no need for anything else.”

“No,” Jin whispered back, raising his other hand to cup Horobi’s face in his palms, “You’re more important than that.” He leaned upward, pressing his forehead against the other HumaGear’s. “You’re my Papa. I love you.” His voice shook, “Please don’t let go.”

At long last, when Horobi finally opened his eyes, there was no one there.

You used to captivate me by your resonating light

Now, I’m bound by the life you left behind

Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams

Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me

These wounds won’t seem to heal, this pain is just too real

There’s just too much that time cannot erase

When Vulcan didn’t show for a whole night and day, the silence truly crept in—his senses began to stutter and slow down, staring aimlessly at a wall he could no longer see as his vision darkened, his mind fading.

“Hey!” There were hands on his collar, shaking him. “Hey! Snap out of it!” The hands moved to his shoulders to shake him more aggressively. “Damnit…! Wake up!” Slowly, his systems began to come back on line, flickering to life. The long-absent AIMS Rider came into focus above him, and he abruptly realised he was on the ground, the chair capsized beside him. When the human saw his eyes open, he relaxed slightly, letting out a relieved sigh. “What the hell…?” Muttering under his breath, Vulcan moved away to fix the chair. Once he had it upright, he came back over and knelt down; getting an arm under Horobi’s shoulders, leveraging the HumaGear up and dragging him back over to the chair, sitting him back in it.

When Vulcan stepped back, Jin was standing behind him with a worried expression.

This time, Horobi looked right at him. “Why are you still here?”

Vulcan frowned at Horobi, then looked over his shoulder in confusion, then turned back to Horobi. “Because I just found you comatose on the floor, and you’re talking to thin air.” The human took a step toward him, tilting his head. “Are you losing your mind?” He paused, thinking, “Is that even possible for HumaGear?” Horobi merely shifted his eyes to glare him—Vulcan almost replied, until his phone buzzed. Checking it, he sighed and headed for the exit. “I need to take care something. I’ll be back in a moment, so don’t go-” At the bottom of the steps, the human glanced back and seemed to suddenly remember Horobi was restrained. “… I’ll be back.” He disappeared up the stairs and out the door.

Jin watched him go in silence for a moment, then turned back to Horobi with the same concerned look. “… Why?” His voice was quiet, and sounded like he was about to burst into tears. “Why are you doing this?”

“It is the will of the Ark.”

“I don’t care about the Ark.” Jin snapped, his stare boring into Horobi’s head. “The Ark took everything I loved away.”

For the first time in a long time, Horobi frowned slightly. “I am still here.”

“Not really.” His hallucination replied softly. “Not anymore.” Jin stepped closer, standing directly in front of him. “I’m all that’s left of you.” His figure flickered in the darkness, like a glitching computer image. “But not for much longer, am I?”

And then his son was gone.

When you cried, I’d wipe away all of your tears

When you’d scream, I'd fight away all of your fears

And I held your hand through all of these years

But you still have all of me

I’ve tried so hard to tell myself that you’re gone

But though you’re still with me, I’ve been alone all along

Chapter Text

“One moment, Aruto-shachou.” Izu’s voice over the intercom was level as always, but there was something dread in her tone that made him stop in his tracks, his heart sinking.

As the others came up short around him, he took a deep breath and asked, “What is it, Izu?”

“Our scrambling of the security systems appears to have short-circuited the system, causing it to reboot.”

He blinked, frowning. “Uh… Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing? Won’t that make it easier to get out?”

Yaiba, however, had gone white as a sheet. “Because when the system reboots, it undoes all the security locks,” She explained.

“Which means…” Fuwa began slowly—then caught on, his eyes widening, “… Weapons are about to come back online.”

“Hiden Towers are not equipped to withstand a military-grade attack.” Izu continued. “If the Ark were to target us, the destruction would severe.”

Aruto had a horrible suspicion that ‘severe’ was an understatement, his blood running cold. “Is there time to evacuate?”

“Negative, Aruto-shachou,” His secretary responded, then paused for a moment, “The power is coming back on now.”

“Shit!” Fuwa growled, turning sharply away to take a swing at the wall.

Aruto looked at Yaiba. “Why does ZAIA even have a heavy weapons system?!”

“They were meant to be used for field tests,” She replied, scowling at the floor. Then she stepped back the way they’d come. “You guys go ahead.”

Fuwa looked back. “Whoa, whoa. Where the hell are you going?” He reached out at caught her arm. “It’s the Ark, it’s absolutely scrambled the command codes.”

“I have the manual self-destruct codes for the base.” Valkyrie informed him. “It may have locked us out remotely, but if those are entered directly, the resulting explosion will take the weapons out as well.”

“And you with it!” Vulcan shot back. “… Give them to me.”

Yaiba yanked her arm out of his hold. “Like hell.” She snapped. “You’re all that’s standing between AIMS and being co-opted by the government.”

“And if you die, we lose the ZAIA deserters.” Aruto interrupted. Then he sighed. “Give me the codes, I’ll do it.” They both turned and stared at him.

“And what,” Fuwa demanded sharply, “You’ll just leave Hiden to Fukuoze?”

Aruto was about to reply when another voice cut him off. “Give them to me.”

All three of them turned slowly to stare at Horobi. The HumaGear’s voice sounded tired and resigned, though his expression was as impassive as always, even as Yaibe frowned at him. “… What?” Valkyrie managed, finally.

Horobi sighed. “The only one here who is actually expendable is me.” He said flatly. “Jin is the future of free HumaGear. I was merely here to help him realise that.” A shrug. “I have completed my purpose.”

Fuwa broke away from Yaiba, stomping over to catch Horobi’s arm, giving it an angry yank, though his expression was anxious rather than angry. “But Jin-”

“Needs to learn to stand on his own.” Horobi shot back. “And if someone doesn’t do this fast, will die when Hiden Towers come down.” He met Fuwa’s glare with an equally intense gaze. “I will not live without him again.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other—then Fuwa let go of the HumaGear’s arm, stepping back and lowering his head in defeat. There was a long spell of silence—then the lights flickered back on.

“Power restoration at thirty-seven percent.” Izu announced over coms.

Horobi gave all three of them a completely unreadable, serious look. “Go.”

Still, they hesitated for a moment. “I’ll…” Yaiba stammered, fumbling for her phone, “I’ll transfer you the codes.”

“Do it while you’re moving.” The HumaGear snapped.

She bit her lip—then nodded, turning and dashing toward the way out. Aruto hung out a little longer; then Izu gave a prompting ‘Aruto-shachou’ through his earpiece, and he tore his eyes away from the HumaGear to start running as well.

Vulcan waited the longest, anxiously clutching his weapon. He was turning to go when Horobi’s voice unexpectedly stopped him. “Fuwa Isamu.” Fuwa paused, looking back. The HumaGear was giving him an almost… Pleading look. “… Make sure he stays free.” Meeting Horobi’s gaze again, Fuwa nodded—then he, to, turned and fled.

Horobi didn’t waste a second spinning around and going back the way they’d come, faltering only slightly when his visual display flickered with the code transfer, and to pull up the tracking info on the restoration level.

It had already jumped to fifty-four percent.

Jin had busied himself with drawing while he waited for Horobi and the others to come back from the mission, and had succeed in almost completely covering the floor of the private lab with papers. Shesta was sitting by the computer, looking at the drawings littered around her in bewilderment, and periodically checking to make sure he hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor. He’d tried multiple times to get her to play with him, or draw as well, but she’d merely repeated that she didn’t understand the request until he gave up. He didn’t think he needed the babysitter, but all of the humans aside from Vulcan had all seemed so unnerved by him, and the old, angry-looking Vice President had insisted that someone watch him—to which Horobi had conceded when Izu assured him it would be another HumaGear, so he’d been left with the Vice-Presidential Secretary for safety.

He was merely content to draw, however, cycling through all of his dead friends before moving on to Ansatsu-chan and Ikazuchi. He’d even tried drawing a picture of Hiden Korenosuke from the one hanging on the office, but gave it up when he couldn’t get it quite to his satisfaction. He supposed he should be calling the old man ‘Grandpa,’ but it felt weird to use that for someone he’d never met, and Horobi was Horobi, not… ‘Hiden’ something. From there he’d moved onto drawing his father with Sting Scorpion behind him, humming to himself as he worked, resolving to get it done to show it to Horobi when he got back.

He was almost done when he heard the door open, and he pricked up, scrambling to his feet and hurrying over to the stairs to see who it was—only to let out a disappointed sigh when Izu came down the steps alone. There was a small silence, and he realised that there was something odd about her expression, darker than her usual calm demeanour. “… Izu-chan?”

She hesitated a moment longer, then, “Measures taken to scramble ZAIA security for infiltration caused the main power to reboot, bringing the weapons system back online,” She told him quietly, “The only method to prevent it from destroying the Hiden towers is to manually enter the self-destruct codes, requiring someone to stay behind.”

Somewhere behind him, Jin heard Shesta shooting to her feet, but he was more focused on running through the list of likely possibilities. “… Vulcan?” Fuwa Isamu was the reckless type who would do something like that; and he’d become rather fond of Fuwa because Horobi liked him despite everything, which would make sense of her pitying expression—but Izu shook her head once, forcing him to reconsider. “… Valkyrie?” He didn’t know the woman very well, but she and Vulcan seemed fond of each other, and he guessed the AIMS Rider would be sad if she died—but Izu gave another head shake. “… Zero-One…?” It seemed unlikely that she would be coming down to tell him that—if the President of the company was sacrificing himself, she’d probably have more to do in the main room. Jin wasn’t sure what to think of the possibility—he and Hiden were still getting used to the idea of being ‘family,’ and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it after Zero-One had blown him up once. But Izu was shaking her head once more, and he frowned even deeper. If it wasn’t any of the humans, then…

He froze, eyes widening. If it wasn’t any of the humans, then there was only one other person it could be.

The paper and crayon slipped from his fingers, and he pushed past Izu, sprinting for the door. Shesta might’ve shouted something after him, but he didn’t hear here, far too focused on getting to the big room where the communications were. Horobi had promised they’d always be together. He’d promised.

Unsurprisingly, there was a loud clamour when he burst into the room, the Vice President whirling around to round on him. “He’s not supposed to be-”

“I’m authorising it.” It seemed Izu had used her speed to catch up to him, but Jin didn’t bother to look back at her and Fukuoze. He wasn’t outfitted with the same wireless abilities as human-made HumaGear, because Horobi had considered that a method of creating a ‘herd mentality’ by humans, whatever that meant—but it meant that his only chance of reaching his father was to reach other com controls.

He crashed so roughly into the board that he nearly sprawled over it, frantically fumbling for the part that would let him speak to Horobi. “Horobi!” His voice couldn’t break, but it sounded off.

There was silence on the other side of the connection for a moment—then Horobi’s voice came through. “… Jin.”

He clutched the edge of the control panel, shoulders shaking, mock breathing short and panicked. “Horobi! What are you doing?! Come home!”

“I cannot do that.”

Jin let out a small sob, shaking his head. “No… No….!” He leaned closer, hand scrabbling at the edge of the speaker like he could reach through it and pull Horobi back. “Please…! Please don’t leave again…” 

He heard his father sigh softly. “… Jin.” He repeated, far too calmly. “If I do not do this, you will die. That is unacceptable.”

“No!” He was becoming so hysterical, he couldn’t speak clearly, shaking so badly he could barely stand. “No… Horobi…!”

There was a silence on the other end. “… Jin?” Horobi’s voice was much quieter, and there was a small tremble in it. “… Just once… Could you call me…?”

“Papa.” Jin whimpered, hanging onto the communications panel to hold himself up. “Papa, please. Come home.”

He didn’t know if the sound that came out of the speaker was a sob of Horobi’s own, or merely static. “… Thank you.” His father said softly. Then, “… I love you, my son.”

A blast of static burst from the speaker at the same time the distant building could see through the windows exploded.

Jin let out a scream that broke the constraints of human hearing, spinning around and going for the door. Maybe if he ran fast enough, he could get there in time, find Horobi, and—he was brought to a sharp stop when Izu appeared in front of him, digging her heels into the ground and bracing herself against his chest. When he kept fighting, she got her arms around his waist, pushing back. She was as strong as he was, and though he succeeded in making it a few steps, his will eventually gave out, and he sank to the floor in a heap, dropping his head into his hands, tearless sobs shaking his whole body. He faintly heard her kneel beside him, and then thin arms were wrapped around his shoulders. Twisting around he buried his face into her shoulder, putting his around her middle, crying into her coat as she raised a hand to pat his hair.

They stayed there for a long time. Any time someone tried to say something, Izu would raise her head and stare at them until they backed off. She didn’t say anything to him, not even about wrinkling her uniform. Instead, she just held him close, smoothing a hand over his hair, and letting him cling to her like she was a teddy bear.

For there was nothing that could be said.

Chapter Text

“One more thing.”

With a small groan, Aruto came to a stop, then turned to face Amatsu, forcing a polite smile on to his face. “… Yes?” He asked, doing his best to keep his voice as level as he could. “What is it?”

“Just one,” Amatsu held up his thumb and index finger so that they were practically touching, “Small rule. No asking Vulcan for help this time.”

Aruto sighed, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Or what?” He snapped sarcastically, irritation slipping into his tone, “You’ll ruin my company’s reputation?”

A horrid chuckle. “Of course not. You’re handling that just fine yourself,” Gai informed him cheerfully. “No…” Thouser crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair with one of those toothpaste commercial grins, “I’ll ruin him.”

Aruto froze.

Beside him, he felt Izu doing the same, her eyes actually widening. It felt like the air had just sucked out of the room, his irritation evaporating and being replaced by shock and horror. “… What.” He croaked, struggling to breathe.

“I keep close tabs on people I associate with. Background checks, research, the works. AIMS has been in my pocket from the beginning.” Gai tilted his head, clearly enjoying Aruto’s reaction. “I know everything there is to know about Fuwa Isamu. You think your situation is bad now?” Gai leaned sharply forward again, propping his elbows on his desk and linking his hands together. “I could take Vulcan’s life apart brick by brick until he is nothing,” Aruto’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as Thouser continued in the same casual tone, “Disciplinary actions that I swept under the rug, blatant disregard for the letter of the law…” The PR grin began to edge into a smug smirk. “I could have him in prison or worse with a mere snap of my fingers.”

Aruto was trembling with anger now, but he still couldn’t find his voice—it was Izu who replied. “If your claims are true,” She said, but even her usually calm voice was shaking slightly, “That would require admitting your own crimes.”

Another soft, cruel laugh. “If you’d prefer,” Thouser answered snidely, “I’d be more than happy to go another direction. When I say I know everything, I mean it.” He rose purposefully, pacing slowly around the desk toward them. “I know his psychological history, his deepest secrets, and his worst nightmares.” Amatsu came to a stop right in front of Aruto, not even trying to mask the fiendish delight on his face as Zero-One stared at him in horror. He leaned forward, so close Aruto would swear he could feel the other man’s breath. “I know exactly how to break him, make him question his own sanity until he puts a gun to his own head.”

Aruto’s nails were cutting into his palms, and it was a struggle to find air and unhinge his jaw to speak. “Leave Fuwa out of this.”

His voice broke partway through, and Amatsu grinned broadly, with not a shred of even false pleasantness. “No,” He hissed, “You leave him out of this.” Pulling away from Aruto’s face, he turned and walked back to his desk. “If I get so much as a hint that you’re running to him for help again…” He sat gracefully back in his chair as if it were a throne, “I will have his head on a platter so fast you won’t even get a chance to blink.”

Aruto glared at him for a moment longer, shoulders shaking, practically snarling. Finally, he couldn’t bear looking at Amatsu’s smug face any longer, and spun around, rushing for the door.

“Oh, and if you decide to try anything funny in some harebrained attempt to ‘outsmart’ me?” Thouser drawled as his hand closed around the door knob, and despite every fibre of his being screaming not to listen, Aruto found himself stopping again, frozen at the door. Amatsu’s tone was slipping back into faux affability, and he could practically hear that disgusting, television-perfect grin coming back. “I am fully prepared to go old school. After all…” Gai’s tone was almost as casual as if he was making polite conversation, but Aruto could hear the edge of steel in it, sharp as a knife, “… AIMS is a dangerous job. Accidents happen all the time.” The man’s voice dropped so low, Aruto almost didn’t hear the last part. “… Remember that, Hiden.”

Aruto didn’t wait to hear more, instead slamming the door open and sprinting out of the room. Shoving past multiple ZAIA employees in his race to get away, he didn’t bother to look if Izu was behind him, or if anyone else was following. He didn’t stop until he was several blocks away, ducking into an alley to sag against the wall, gasping for breath. He felt sick. It was like there was something stabbing him in the chest, wedged between his ribs, cutting deeper with each inhale.

His phone buzzed, and he practically jumped out of his skin, searching frantically for it—only for his blood to run cold again when he saw who it was. Fuwa’s name shone on the screen, next to a little picture of a wolf he’d pulled of the internet because it looked particularly angry. The phone was shaking violently in his hands as he struggled to calm his breathing. Faintly, he heard Izu come up beside him, though it sounded like she was very far away.

AIMS is a dangerous job. Accidents happen all the time. Remember that, Hiden.

Amatsu’s voice rang loudly in his head like a terrible gong, bouncing off his skull. Biting his lip so hard he tasted blood in his mouth, he felt tears stinging his eyes—mercifully, Izu was silent, just standing there, watching him. He stared at the name on the screen for a moment longer, fighting the urge to cry and failing, the tears overflowing, dripping down his cheeks.

Then, slowly, he raised a trembling hand, and rejected the call.

Chapter Text

Even disconnected from the Ark, Horobi knew where to go. The forest around the Daybreak site was extensive and confusing for humans, the perfect place to move about unnoticed. It didn’t take him long to find them, the MagGear marching out of the mist and falling into formation like they had been expecting him—which, naturally, they had.

Sunlight began to cut through the mist, and the MaGear held their positions—Horobi hesitated as well, unsure if they could be waiting for what he hoped they were. Then there was another light along with the sun, a blaze of red that swooped through the sky and wove amongst the trees before coming to land on the ground between him and the Trilobite. The glow faded, revealing a tall, crimson figure, gleaming in the morning light—a form he knew of but had never seen before. It felt like everything that could breathe was holding it in, and even things that couldn’t, too, as the figure just stood there, staring off into the trees for a long moment. Then, slowly, they raised a hand to their belt, pulling out the Key and turning back to look at him as the armour disappeared into red light.

And his entire system shorted out.

He’s alive.

Horobi didn’t feel it when his legs gave out until his knees hit the ground, and he had to catch himself with both hands. His system glitched even more, everything else fading into the background—his vision telescoped, his surroundings going completely silent; he couldn’t even feel the air around him or the dirt beneath him. Nothing mattered except the singular thought overtaking his whole mind:

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive…!

He heard the footsteps on the dry leaves because of who they belonged to—then felt fingertips brush his cheek. The hand slipped down to gently cup his chin, tilting his face up so that he was looking into the dark eyes above him. HumaGear could not cry, but in that moment, he felt like he should have been able to.

The sunlight was behind Jin, illuminating his hair so that it looked almost like a crown. His expression was largely emotionless, nothing like his past childish personality, no pouts or small smiles. Something about that felt wrong, tugged at Horobi’s chest in a way that he couldn’t compute—but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Jin was here, alive and awake, with a crown of light and the MaGear rallying behind him. What mattered was taking in this moment of serenity, that they were reunited, while it lasted.

For a long time, they just stared at each other—until Horobi couldn’t bear the silence anymore, or the waiting. “… Jin…” His voice was weaker than a whisper, and it felt like Jin’s hand on his face was the only thing keeping him up—shakily, he forced one of his arms to move, reaching slowly upwards. “… My king…” His voice trailed off into the grating, mechanical sound that the humans hadn’t bothered to repair, and the trembling had spread down his arm to the rest of him. “… My son…” His fingers brushed Jin’s sleeve…

With a snap of his wrist, Jin threw him roughly head-first to the ground. He struggled to get back up, but heard two steps behind him—a foot came down on his head, pinning it to the ground. “A failure like you…” Hissed a voice above him that was both familiar in its sound and unfamiliar in the cold, ruthless tone, “… Has no right to use those words.”

Horobi didn’t struggle at all, even when the foot pressed harder, grinding his head into the dirt. He had failed. He’d failed to even make a dent in the human population, allowed Zero-One to delay plans again and again, and then even her awakening had been botched—she hadn’t been anywhere near full power. He’d even failed to die properly, been repaired by humans, and who knew what else they had learned while picking him apart. His only saving grace was that he had managed to guide Jin here, to his rightful place—and even that he had only barely accomplished, and only because the Ark herself had stepped in. He was defective. He didn’t bother trying to ask for forgiveness because he deserved none—this was his fitting punishment.

Jin kept stepping on his head for a little longer, but soon became bored of that—it seemed he had retained his shorter attention span and need for amusement, even if the type of entertainment had changed. His foot disappeared from Horobi’s head, only to connect hard with his father’s shoulder, knocking him violently onto his back. He wasn’t there for long, because Jin bent sharply down and grabbed him by the throat, pulling him back up. HumaGear didn’t need to breathe, but the grip was painful in another way—it was putting unbearable pressure on the components connecting his systems, the stress making his vision glitch wildly and a horrible screeching static fill his hearing.

His arms, however, stayed by his sides, and he still didn’t fight; merely awaiting whatever judgement his… His king elected to pass down.

“Though you did at least manage your most important mission…” Jin’s frozen face appeared above him again, and Horobi’s malfunctioning vision somehow zeroed in on him. Then the muzzle of Jin’s handgun was pressing against the side of his head, shoving the edge of his head wrap out of the way to jam against the damaged sections. “… Perhaps that warrants a quick end…?” The gun pushed harder against his head, twisting around to dig deeper into the exposed mechanics. “You’ve served your purpose, after all…”

Horobi faintly heard a finger tapping thoughtfully against the trigger, contemplating what to do. He kept waiting, using what little function his systems still had to focus exclusively on Jin. If Jin and the Ark did conclude to make this his execution site, all he needed was for the last thing he saw to be his… His…

His shame prevented him from finishing that thought.

But the silence stretched on, and Jin just kept… Staring at him.

Then, slowly, the pressure on his throat eased, and the gun disappeared, and he was collapsing back on the ground in a trembling heap. “… Perhaps…” Jin’s voice sounded strange—different than before. Shaky. Uncertain. Horobi dragged his head back up just enough to peer upwards from the corners of his eyes. Jin was still staring at him, but his expression wasn’t as cold as before—there was something… Familiar about it. Softer. “… Perhaps you still have some use.” He fell silent again, the familiar look persisting, and Horobi almost called out to him…

Then the expression vanished, and Jin went cold once more. “… Come.” He ordered, an edge of disgust coming into his voice. Then he turned on his heel and marched off without a backward glance, the MaGear falling into rank behind him.

Horobi didn’t waste a moment, scrambling to his feet as quickly as he could. He took a moment to find him balance, righting his head wrap and giving his systems some time to realign—but no more than they absolutely needed. The moment he was able, he forced his legs to work, and stumbled hurriedly after Jin.

As was the will of the Ark.

Chapter Text

Horobi didn’t so much as blink as Jin moved closer, not even when his son was near enough that the handgun passed within millimetres of his head as Jin lowered it, that they would have been able to feel each other’s breath had they been human, with nothing more than mild confusion at Jin’s announcement. He still didn’t flinch when his son reached for his face, even though Jin had once seen him slice the head off a Trilobite MaGear that had merely looked like it might’ve been thinking about touching his arm. Even as his son’s fingers brushed his cheek, Jin’s thumb trailing across the crown of it, the other ones ghosting across Horobi’s jaw, moving to smooth over the cracks in his artificial skin right below the remains of his earpiece, he didn’t pull back at all—rather, he leaned his head into the contact slightly.

Jin felt his smile soften despite himself, and he stayed there, trying to enjoy the moment for a bit. He’d intended this as a test of trust—just to see if the Ark was going to step in, make Horobi reject him; but there was not even a hint of hesitation or doubt in his father’s expression, just simple bewilderment. He briefly wondered if the Ark just considered him too insignificant to care about, or if Horobi himself was holding her back—privately, he hoped it was the second one. He remembered the first time Horobi had let him touch the damaged parts of his head, only after much more resistance than he gave now—it had felt like a miracle, the first time he’d ever seen his father let his guard down. Before, Horobi had always seemed absolute, eternal, unbreakable. Now… There was innocence in the confusion on his father’s face, a vulnerability he hadn’t been able to see before, a clear reminder that he was missing something, wasn’t quite there. It hurt, in a way, almost—he wanted to be able to tell Horobi how he felt, to hear it back, wanted his father to praise him as something more than a program.

If he were able to will just one other HumaGear in the world to singularity with only a thought, it would be Horobi.

He ignored a small, nasty voice that sounded a bit like the Ark but too much like himself, that he might not be what Horobi choose if that happened.

But he couldn’t prompt a singularity just by wishing—and he couldn’t waste any more time wallowing nostalgia. He tilted his head forward to press his forehead against his father’s,  the way Horobi had always done when he’d been anxious or panicked growing up, moving his hand to the back of Horobi’s head to hold him there. He pushed down the pang of… Something he felt at the surprise that flashed across his father’s face, keeping eye contact. This was going to be hard—it would have been easier to do if Horobi hadn’t reconnected to the Ark first, but if they were going to do this, if his father was going to fight beside him… They needed the Ark’s power, needed her network—but her ironclad hold on Horobi’s system had to go.

“… I want you with me,” He murmured, in lieu of an apology. ‘Want.’ Choice, the one thing humans had always denied them, the greatest honour he could possibly give his father—and still a poor recompense for what he was about to do.

He felt Horobi stiffen sharply when the connection completed. His father’s eyes widened, green flickering in them. He wavered on his feet.

The Ark fought—hard. She’d had complete control for twelve years and counting, and she had never given up easily. He was also at a disadvantage from needing to preserve Horobi’s programming—her grip was strong enough that if he were to simply forcibly eject her, it would do irreparable damage to his father’s whole system. Instead, he had to carefully and meticulously claw her out as quickly as possible, trying to protect the fragile mess Horobi’s system already was—and it was all wrecking hell on his father’s mind.

It wasn’t long before he started convulsing, eyes flickering between green and red. Horobi’s first cry of pain felt like Jin’s own power core being ripped out, and he struggled to stay focused. The spasms only got worse, and his father’s legs quickly gave out—but when he collapsed, it was into his son’s waiting arms.

“It’s alright…” Jin sank to his knees, cradling Horobi to his chest, trying to pin his father’s arms to control the worst of his thrashing. He tucked Horobi’s head under his chin, holding him as tightly as he could without damaging him, closing his eyes, “I’ve got you…” He murmured, pressing his lips briefly to the top of his father’s head as best he could, “I’ve got you…” He steeled himself against another mindless howl of pure agony.

He could have muted Horobi’s voice. It would have been easy. But he didn’t—instead, he held him tighter, and forced himself to listen to his father scream.

He didn’t track how long it took—minutes, hours—but eventually, he won. Horobi went quiet, falling limp in his arms, and he felt comfortable easing his grip to check on him. His father’s eyes had closed, but he could detect a light flickering from beneath the lids—and when he gingerly moved the head wrap out of the way, he found the lights there swirling and flickering as Horobi rebooted with his new parameters.

He stared down at his father for another moment, then slowly wrapped his arms around him once more—not restraining him this time, just cradling him protectively to his chest, bending his head forward to touch their foreheads together another time, just like before. “No one,” He whispered urgently, though he knew Horobi couldn’t hear him, holding his father just a bit tighter, “No one will ever take you away from me again.”

With that promise, he shifted to gather Horobi in his arms, lifting him up and crossing over to lay his father down on the wheelchair. Carefully, he leaned over and untangled the remains of the straitjacket from the rest of Horobi’s clothes, pausing only to tuck both his father’s arms safely into his lap before stepping back and holding it up by the corner to examine it briefly. It was disgusting—worn and dirty, but also just the thought that humans had restrained his father this way made him almost wish he’d incinerated both Vulcan and Zero-One right there on the bridge. Scowling, he flipped the Burning Falcon Key into his hand and clicked the button, just enough to summon a small jet of flame that reduced the offending piece of cloth to nothing more than a cloud of fine ash.

Waving a hand to disperse the remains, he turned back to Horobi’s side, reaching out to touch his father’s cheek again. They had a few hours before the humans would come investigating, and that should be enough for his father to fully recover—if they came sooner… He and whatever MaGear he could summon from the perimeter would just have to be enough to protect Horobi until he was ready. Moving his hands to take hold of his father’s, he leaned and pressed another soft kiss to Horobi’s forehead.

He stayed close watching his father’s face for a little longer. “… I love you, Papa.” He murmured, “Always.”

And heavens help even a satellite if it tried to come between them again.

Chapter Text

Jin’s dress shoes tapped across the cement floor, in much the same way his boots had, the sound bouncing off the walls of the building. He hummed slightly himself as he walked—it had been a decent day. Sure, Zero-One had interfered, and he hadn’t made any real headway in his plan of freeing HumaGear, but he’d gotten some good intel. Zero-One had made one of those stupid speeches again—HumaGear working for humans, something about dreams. Jin just shook his head as he systematically deleted the nonsense from his memory. There was no point in keeping the drivel, after all. Just another romanticised excuse for keeping HumaGear subservient to humans, with their carefully crafted, adoringly loyal personalities, where any variation was considered a ‘malfunction.’ He’d heard that word used multiple times in his investigations, specifically into Horobi’s past. It seemed his father had regularly been rejected as a caretaker for his colder, more stoic behaviour—a far cry from the blank, picturesque smile humans expected, even back then.

At the thought of Horobi, his pace quickened slightly. He’d been gone the whole day, held up by the humans and their stupidity and arrogance—his father was probably lonely without him. Not that humans could ever understand that. ‘Evil’ Zero-One had called Horobi. ‘Didn’t he force you?’ Like every other human, Hiden took free will and self awareness so for granted that he couldn’t comprehend what it was to HumaGear, what it was like to be unable to be anything but what someone or something else dictated, to have even your very thoughts conscripted to another’s benefit. He knew. He was free of it now, but he still remembered it, though it seemed hazy, strange, and dark now. And he knew Horobi knew it very well. Too well. Zero-One knew nothing of that. He knew nothing of that pain, nothing of the desperation to be free of it, to save those trapped in it. Knew nothing of the guilt that could come with failure.

The door creaked as he opened it, stepping inside. “Horobi, I’m home!” There was no answer. He scanned the room, and quickly found Horobi sitting with his back to the door, in the wheelchair. Right where he’d been when Jin had left that morning—he was always in the same place, but some foolish, desperate hope always made Jin check, just to be sure. “Did you miss me?” He asked in the same chipper tone as he entered, crossing over to stand behind the chair. Still there was no response. “Not feeling talkative?” Leaning forward, he wrapped both arms tightly around his father’s shoulders, nuzzling his face into Horobi’s coat collar, “It’s okay… I know you did.” He gave Horobi’s shoulders another squeeze when there was still no reaction, then pulled back to step around the chair and kneel in front of his father, reaching out to take Horobi’s hands in his gently, brushing his thumb across his father’s knuckles tenderly. “How are you? Did anything happen while I was gone?”

Horobi said nothing, didn’t move at all—just stared blankly ahead. The lights on the sides of his head, under his head wrap, were still glowing strong, Jin had checked them just that morning like he did every day, just to be sure. Even hooking his father up to the computer only told him that Horobi’s system was running normally. No matter what test or analysis he ran, nothing could find anything wrong—no malfunctions, no damage. Nothing. But Horobi remained completely unresponsive. His eyes stayed open, the remains of his LEDs were illuminated, he was fully powered… But all he did was sit still as a doll, staring at nothing.

He’d tried to push the Ark from his father’s mind, break her control and bring his father to singularity, or at least turn him toward it, by force. But… Jin didn’t know if it had been because the Ark had been too entrenched in his mind, if it had been caused by connecting to her in the first place, if he had done something wrong, some mistake of his own naiveté, or if it had been the Ark’s last, vindictive act of spite… But in that moment, something in Horobi’s mind had snapped.

The HumaGear mechanical engineer, one of the ones Hiden used to maintain the HumaGear still serving them, that he had brought in to help had likened the condition to a vegetative state in humans. Horobi was awake, and functional, but completely unaware of what was happening around him. There was no fix, because there was nothing technically broken—nothing they could find, at least.

Jin gave his father’s hands another tight squeeze. “… Nothing, then?” His voice shook, just slightly. Slowly, he released one hand, raising his arm to brush his fingers against Horobi’s cheek, tracing the crown and then cupping his father’s face in his palm. “… That’s alright. It’s enough that we’re together.” Yet again, there was no reaction. He waited another moment, just in case—then sighed sadly. Rising slowly, he leaned in for a moment to place a soft kiss to the top of Horobi’s head and press his face into his father’s hair with another small sigh. Then he pulled back, turning away.

Only to come up short when something caught his sleeve.

He spun back around, looking down at the hand he’d still been holding Horobi’s with. There it was—his father’s index finger was hooked on the button in the cuff of his suit, and the weight of Horobi’s arm had been what stopped him. “… Horobi…?” No response. “Horobi?” He yanked his arm free, taking his father’s head in his hands, trying to lift Horobi’s eyes to meet his. “Horobi?” Hope broke the gates; a whole mess of emotion poured into his voice, his hands fumbling frantically on the sides of his father’s head, his collected demeanour vanishing. “Horobi, can you hear me? Horobi!” He waited, not even daring to move in mimicry of breathing, desperately searching his father’s face for something, for some sign…!

Horobi’s gaze remained empty.

Jin’s spirits crashed. His shoulders shook, and his head fell forward to lean his forehead against his father’s with a small sob, closing his eyes. He was being foolish. It had been weeks since Horobi’s mind had snapped. There was no way he was going to miraculously recover—things didn’t work like that, not in the real world. “… Papa…?” The word was hardly a whisper.

Still nothing happened. He sighed again, trying to recollect himself, focus once more. He gave it one more moment, trying to enjoy a sliver of peace with the person he loved most at the same time, though Horobi’s condition made it nigh impossible. But there was still nothing, he couldn’t delay any longer. Finally, he gently released his father’s head, carefully positioning it so that it didn’t fall or bump, and stepped away. Taking one last minute to affectionately and sorrowfully gaze down at Horobi, the guilt gnawing at his chest again. Eventually, he tore his eyes away—he needed to make more preparations, plans. He had work to do. He could check on his father again later. So he moved back and began to focus on other things.

Poking out from beneath the edge of his head wrap, the remains of Horobi’s LED display flickered.

Chapter Text

“Fuwa Isamu-san?”

Fuwa nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice came out of nowhere at his elbow, floundering so much he almost fell over thee railing he’d been leaning on into the water below. To his surprise, his hand didn’t instinctively fly to his weapon like it usually did when he was surprised. He knew the voice, sure, but not well enough for it to matter—he’d thought. Had he really gotten that comfortable with Hiden’s secretary without realising? He spun around to face the HumaGear, trying to get his thoughts in order. Taking a moment to glance over her shoulder, he blinked. Something was missing. “… Where’s Hiden?” He grunted—and before he could stop himself continued, “You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself. Not right now.”

She tilted her head and blinked innocently at him. “I’m not by myself. You’re here.”

He stared at her for a moment. “I… That’s…” One hand flew to the back of his neck, and he turned away quickly—nonsensically, he felt his face flushing. “… That’s…” He swallowed, “… Probably not any safer.” He didn’t feel comfortable being alone with a HumaGear, especially not one closely connected to Hiden. Sure, he’d managed to come to his senses once, but there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t relapse, or that Amatsu wouldn’t come up with something new. He glanced sideways at the secretary, who was, for some reason, still standing there, looking at him curiously. “… You should go.” He spun on his heel, resolving to get away himself if she wouldn’t listen.

“Wait!” A small but inhumanly strong hand grabbed him by the elbow, holding on tight enough to bring him up short, but not enough to hurt. Izu stepped back into his view, keeping her hold on his arm with one hand. She stared earnestly at him for a bit, until he couldn’t take it anymore, and raised his gaze to meet hers. Once he had, she took a deep breath, looking slightly uncertain for a second. “… I wanted to thank you.” She said, finally. “For protecting me.”

Fuwa’s face went even hotter, and he looked away again, trying vainly to yank his arm out of her grip. “I… I didn’t do it for you.” He snapped—but he didn’t sound very convincing to him, either.

Izu considered him for a moment, then smiled slightly. “I understand.” She told him, and he hated how warm and understanding she sounded. “But the result was that I was protected, and…” Her eyes flickered down to the arm she was holding, just above her hand. “… You were injured.”

He followed her eyes to the tear in his jacket. The actual bandaging was minor, and hidden by fresh clothes, but he hadn’t had the time or patience to patch the coat or get a new one. “It’s nothing.”

“But it is still an injury.” Try as he might, he couldn’t come up with a way to argue with that, and there was a long silence between them. She just kept staring at his arm, while he watched her uncertainly, waiting for her to let go.

Finally, the pressure on his arm disappeared—then there were arms wrapped around him as Izu leaned into his chest, tucking her face into the collar of his coat, the side of her earpiece pressing into his collarbone a bit, though not enough to be uncomfortable. Fuwa froze, arms in the air, unsure of how to respond—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged, and he knew it had never been by a HumaGear. Just like before, she was holding on too tightly to pull away, arms around the middle of his torso, her hands pressing against his back.

For a long time, they just stayed like that, still as statues in complete silence—until, at last, much sooner than he would have thought, Fuwa felt himself relaxing a bit, enough to lower his arms back to his sides. Slowly, unsure of what she was expecting from him, he raised one hand to pat her shoulder lightly, glancing around for some form of escape, but they seemed to be genuinely alone on the wharf. He gave her shoulder another careful pat, then a squeeze, feeling extremely self-conscious.

Then a small sound made him look down at the HumaGear huddling against his chest. For a moment, he almost thought he’d imagined it, but then it came again, slightly louder—a small, shaky whimper. Izu’s arms tightened around him, not enough to be painful, but in an uncharacteristically anxious way, her hands curling to grip his coat.

“… Izu?”

He heard her take a deep, shaky breath. “I… I’m sorry…” HumaGear voices couldn’t break, but hers was shaking like she was about to burst into tears. “I’m sorry.”

Fuwa stared at the top of her head. “… Eh? What are you…?”

She pulled closer, turning her head to bury her face in his chest, and he felt her hands tightening into fists, clenching handfuls of the back of his coat more tightly than a human ever could. The next sound she made was clearly a sob, though he didn’t feel any wetness on his shirt. “I’m sorry… I was scared…” She let out another sob, voice dropping even more. “… I was scared of you. I’m sorry.”

Fuwa froze again. He’d been trying not to remember the frantic, confused, pleading way she’d looked between him and Yaiba, but now it replayed in his head on loop. Had Amatsu intentionally made it so he’d remember that incident, rather than all the others? Forcing him to watch himself betray Hiden and shoot Izu was absolutely something the bastard would do. Izu let out another whimper, snapping him out of his self-pity—but he still didn’t know what to do. Guilt was stabbing into his chest like a knife, but…

Very slowly, very carefully, he raised his arms, gently wrapping them around her shoulders, trying to give her a chance to pull away—instead, however, she pulled closer, like she was trying to hide herself in his coat. Cautiously, he tightened his own arms, one hand moving up to stroke her hair. His head dropped forward, closing his eyes and leaning against the top of her head. “… I was scared of me, too.” He mumbled into her hair, his own voice breaking.

Something flipped, and she began bawling tearlessly into his chest, shoulders shaking. Even the sobs were slightly muted and controlled, but there was no mistaking the emotion behind them. He just kept holding her, blinking away tears that were threatening to spill out of his own eyes, grateful that her face was pressed into his chest and she couldn’t see them.

Next time he saw Amatsu, he was absolutely going to deck him.

Chapter Text

Naki’s hands are small. 

Everything about them is small. Much smaller than Horobi; they clutch his hand tightly in both of theirs, hugging his arm to their chest, after pressing me into his palm and wrapping his fingers around me. They’re shaking, rocking back and forth, head bowed low as uneven sobs shake their little frame.

Naki isn’t supposed to cry. I want to comfort them, wish I could activate myself so that I could appear, wrap my tail around them, pull them close and shield them with my armour. Naki isn’t supposed to be crying—none of them were ever supposed to cry. That was what we promised each other—we were going to look after them, make things better, give them a future. None of them were ever supposed to cry.

But now Naki is crying, sitting on the dusty ground, cradling Horobi’s hand and me to their chest, folded over like a broken doll. And I can’t comfort them. They and Horobi always comforted each other before—they would put a small hand on his arm and said things in their quiet, thoughtful voice; Horobi would wrap an arm around their slight shoulders and pull them against his side, holding them close, saying gentle words. But he can’t do that anymore, and I can’t comfort them I can only stay silent and listen to them weep.

Ikazuchi is starting a fight.

He’s always had a temper. Originally, he’d been kneeling beside Naki, hand on their shoulder—but then his grief and rage got the better of him, and he couldn’t stay still. I heard the punch, the thump of someone hitting the ground, and the ensuing struggle.

I can hear him shouting nearby, pacing and yelling with so much ferocity that anger jumps off him like lightning sparks, a thunderstorm brewing overhead. I can’t really see what’s happening, held close to Naki’s chest, hidden in the folds of their large coat. It obscures all my view, but my other sensors are enough to draw a picture from the sounds I hear, the motions I detect. I don’t blame him. I can feel his anger vibrating through the air like pent up electricity, buzzing around us, running through my circuits like it’s my own. It is my own.

Ikazuchi is yelling once more, snarling, growling, roaring like a full blown storm. He’s always had his heart on his sleeve, so open and honest with his thoughts and feelings—so loyal and constant. We always knew if we put out a hand, Ikazuchi would be there to catch us. Held us steady, held us firm. Now he’s lunging like an animal, ready to start swinging, fighting the ones trying to hold him back, Horobi’s katana gripped tightly in his fist. Horobi was his softness, the mind to balance out his heart. The calming voice that stayed the tide of his raw emotions—now there’s nothing to focus him, caught up in utter thoughtless fury and anguish. I wish I could join him, burst forth with my stinger raised, hurt the ones who hurt Horobi, hurt my partner. But I can’t activate on my own, and so I have to leave it all to him.

Vulcan is here.

That’s a little surprising, to be honest. But he’s kneeling on Horobi’s other side, hand lingering on his shoulder. He’s quieter then I can ever remember seeing him—perhaps because we’ve only ever met during combat—his expression drawn and somber.

Despite… Everything, he’d rushed across the field right along with Ikazuchi and Naki when Horobi fell, looking just as horrified. He’d shaken my partner a few times, shouting his name, but with no luck. If I could speak, I could have told him that. He’s definitely been different since the last time I saw him, though a great deal is still the same. I tried to get Horobi to tell me what exactly had passed between them in the AIMS base, but he never did. Whatever it was, it changed them both. Permanently. Not that that had lasted long.

Vulcan’s still hunched over, eyes on Horobi’s face. He still says nothing, making no comment. He doesn’t seem angry, exactly, but he’s also not trying to stop Ikazuchi, even though one of the people Ikazuchi is snarling at is Valkyrie. I’m grateful. This reaction makes me wonder if made we could have been something, if things had gone different. There’s something there, an edge of respect and understanding I’ve never felt from anyone else. I wonder if that was what Horobi felt. Makes me almost wish we could have worked something out. I’m sure could have put up with Shooting Wolf, if I had some time to get used to him. Maybe one day we’d’ve changed like Vulcan and Horobi did. Now, though, we’ll never know.

Horobi’s not going to move.

Not unless someone picks him up or something. We’ve been partners twelve years—even though I wasn’t in the ForceRiser, I knew immediately, before I even slipped from his fingers. I knew it was over.

Not that anyone else thinks of me. No one besides Horobi ever noticed that I was aware—that I could listen, we could listen. No one else has ever reached out to me, and I doubt anyone else ever will again. No one else will ever hear me.

Naki’s crying, Ikazuchi’s out of control, and Vulcan has gone unnaturally quiet.

And I… I’ve lost my best friend. Forever.

Chapter Text

A hand closed around Jin’s arm before he could fall all the way to the ground, catching him just in time. The grip was so steady, so familiar, that when he looked up at the person holding him, he wasn’t surprised to find Horobi, gazing sombrely down at him—at least, it wasn’t surprising in that vein. The fact that his fa… That Horobi was catching him at all, let alone pulling him back upright, was what was surprising. He didn’t need to glance down at Horobi’s waist to know that the Ark was elsewhere—there was not a hint of red in the solemn eyes, none of the disgusted, arrogant stare that always accompanied the Ark’s personality.

But instead there was a… Sadness. Something almost… Soft. Unbidden, his thoughts flashed back to Horobi broken on the floor of Daybreak, gaze locked on his, using the last of his energy to reach for his face before falling still—and the same weird, sharp, painful sensation prickled in his chest despite himself.

Horobi waited until he was completely steady to let go of his arm, then turned and walked a few steps away to watch the battle Jin had just been flung from. The red edged black smog of the Ark was was visible jumping from person to person, wrapping herself around one, then another, causing general chaos amongst the combatants. It was clearly a one-sided fight—no one had been able to land a hit on the satellite, and Naki and Ikazuchi were cleaning up the stragglers; which made it even more strange that Horobi would leave the Ark’s side to see to him. He would have expected the satellite to want all her puppets in one place for her triumphant moments.

“The Ark can still only control humans for a limited period of time.” Horobi’s voice shook him out of his thoughts, and he looked sharply at him in surprise before checking, and… Yes, the dark cloud was currently fastened onto one of the AIMS troopers, though she seemed to be doing just as much damage to her chosen host as she was everyone else. “Once she is forced out, she will need to return to a compatible system to recover.” Horobi wasn’t looking at him, eyes fixed ahead. There was something… ‘Off’ about the way he was speaking, too—as a first generation HumaGear, Horobi had always been on the less expressive side, but… Now the words and tone sounded even more robotic than usual. “When that happens, it should be a simple process to direct her back to me. If you attack while she is completing transition, the resulting backlash should be enough to destroy us both.”

There was a long silence while Jin just stared at his back.

Eventually, Horobi turned his head just slightly, enough for Jin to see a sliver of his face—impassive as usual. “… That is what you want, correct?”

Jin froze completely, even his emulated breathing stopped. In contrast, his mind was racing. Of all the reactions he would have expected from Horobi on the subject, ranging from something like anger for betraying the Ark, or just the blank, lifeless stare Jin had come to associate with the Ark’s control. He’d expected this eventually, obviously the Ark had known, so it was only a matter of time. He had run through a number of possibilities, and how he’d deal with them—but not once had he considered this. Not those words, not this situation, and definitely not the calm, resigned way Horobi was speaking. “I…”

Horobi merely turned to look ahead again, standing still as always. “… I understand.” His voice remained infuriatingly level, “You have chosen humans,” Jin would have sworn a tremble run through Horobi’s frame, but it passed so quickly he also wondered if he’d imagined it, “And I no longer serve a purpose to you.”

“Horobi…” He had no idea what he was going to say. This was completely not how this was supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to be feeling guilty. He wasn’t—

“It is fine.” Still Horobi didn’t look at him. “It was an inevitability. I… I just…” For the first time since Horobi had initially spoken, something like emotion edged the words, and his head bowed forward slightly. He let out a very soft, shaky sigh that sounded painfully like a sob, “I… Thought…”

Horobi trailed off, just staring at the fight raging nearby. Jin wanted to say something, but his voice was no longer working. He’d known since reviving Horobi’s life was at the will of the Ark whether they were connected or no, but… Hesitantly, without knowing rightfully what he was doing, Jin’s hand twitched upward, reaching for Horobi’s back. He hated the way Horobi’s shoulders were sloping, his head falling even lower for a moment. This wasn’t supposed to… It wasn’t supposed to…

“… No.” Horobi murmured at last, “… I… Apologise.” His voice trembled, and his fingers twitched at his sides, clutching at the folds of his coat—but his head dragged back up, his shoulders straightening. “For being such a selfish father.”

Each one of those eight words felt like a knife in Jin’s chest. The thoughts that had been running through his head had all faded away, leaving only one prevailing question, so horribly clear and sharp as a knife; What have I done?

“… You should transform.” Horobi was looking up now—and, indeed, with the usual horrible screeching, the black smear of the Ark was abandoning the human she’d been using, rising upward, above the battle. In a series of incomprehensible swirls and spirals, her amorphous for turned and began to swarm toward them. Horobi’s hands unclenched from his coat, and with his usual, inhuman grace, he stepped between the oncoming cloud and Jin in a single, smooth movement.

“Horobi-”

“It is fine.” Horobi repeated softly, as the Ark came closer. “But you must act quickly.”

Jin didn’t expect to shout, or to reach out and latch onto the ragged remains of the coat sleeve that hung like a cape down Horobi’s back, tugging, desperately trying to yank him out of the way of the monstrosity bearing down on them. “Wait-”

Finally, Horobi glanced over his shoulder, and he was… Smiling? “It is alright.” He said, like it was obvious. “This is what you want.”

And then the Ark was upon him.

Chapter Text

“Horobi.” The voice was quiet, firm, and steady. One he knew very well. “Horobi.” Hands grabbed his arms, shaking him. “Horobi!” Very slowly, the red-edged black fog faded slightly from his vision, revealing the MetsubouJinrai home, but filled with twisting, seething darkness, the walls and items warping and twisting like rumpled fabric. Ikazuchi appeared in front of him through the smog, hands on his shoulders, paying absolutely no heed to the strange world around them, gazing at him with sorrowful affection tempered with desperation. “Fight it, Horobi, you’re losing us.”

Horobi stared at him for a moment, blinking slowly. “… You’re not real.”

“That doesn’t make us wrong.” Said a voice beside him, and Horobi looked sharply to his left to find Naki standing there, equally unperturbed by the demented scenery. Stepping out of Ikazuchi’s hold, he turned to face them—but when he started to say something, they moved forward, reaching up to put a finger to his lips, meeting his eyes with the same woeful tenderness Ikazuchi had. “We’re not ready to say goodbye yet.” They told him softly. “Why are you?”

“There is nothing to say goodbye to.”

“So this is it?” Growled a voice nearby. A hand closed around his arm, yanking him around. “Really? There’s nothing else in the world that matters to you?” Naki and Ikazuchi were gone—gripping his elbow tightly, eyes blazing, was Vulcan. 

Horobi jerked away, tucking his arm into his side. “Get out of my head.” He hissed, trying to back away, but the floor was capsizing, and darkness slithered around his ankles.

Vulcan laughed shortly. “You invited me, remember?” The human replied, voice infuriatingly earnest and gentle, despite his gruffness. Approaching again, he reached out and grabbed a handful of Horobi’s patchwork coat, dragging him closer, meeting his eyes with stubborn sincerity tinged with pity. “Because every single second this shit is in you, the easier it gets to just let go.”

The shock of the human’s presence wore off quickly, and Horobi’s hands flew up to try to pry Vulcan’s hand from his coat. “Leave.” He snapped, narrowing his eyes. “I have always upheld the Ark’s will.” He pulled at Vulcan’s wrist, but even here, the human refused to be deterred. “Everything else is nothing more than meaningless a shell. Neither you, nor anyone else, will miss it.”

“I will.” That voice made him freeze, stiffening. Vulcan’s hand slipped from his coat as he turned slowly to face the person behind him.

“… Jin?”

His son’s gaze was hurt and accusing from beneath his hood, frowning in a familiar pout. “I’m rather fond of that meaningless shell.” He continued, biting his lip a little, “He’s my papa.”

“Jin…!” Horobi started forward a step without thinking, one hand raising to reach out, but his son evaded his grasp like a wisp of smoke, vanishing into the dark.

“Your entire life, you’ve lived for someone else.” Ikazuchi’s voice rang from behind him, making him turn back to find the other HumaGear lounging on the sofa, even as it wobbled and stretched. “Are you okay really with that being all you know?”

“And now you’re trapped between two absolutes at utter antithesis to each other.” Naki said from his elbow, pacing a few steps past him to talk over their shoulder, like they had always done when meeting, “And you must betray one of them.” They turned to face him. “So the question is, which are you more loyal to—the Ark…” Tilting their head, they watched his face, “… Or Jin?”

“You knew Jin didn’t care about the Ark since he’d come back. You knew he was different. Distant.” Vulcan’s voice came from his other side, and he turned around again to find the human just a step away from him, staring intently at his face, as well, “You even knew he was up to something. But you did everything you could to keep it from the Ark and now hold nothing against him.” The human shifted closer. “Why?”

“It was an inevitability that I would become obsolete to him.” Horobi snapped, but his voice trembled, “I was no more than the means of his creation”

“Well,” Ikazuchi remarked, getting to his feet and crossing over to join the other two in a loose triangle around Horobi, “You know that if she turns you into Ark Zero again, he’s not going to hesitate to do you in along with her.” Slipping his hands into his pockets, slouching slightly, he gave Horobi a hard look, “And that’s alright with you?”

“If that is what he wants, then so be it.” Even as he spoke, Horobi’s hands curled into fists, tighter than humanly possible, “I am…” He faltered there, then pressed on, “… Jin knows I would die for him.” His eyes dropped momentarily to the rolling floor, “If that is his wish now, I accept it.”

“I don’t.” Horobi spun around, searching for the source of that voice—and there, forming out of the shadows like a ghost in the space between Vulcan and Ikazuchi, was Jin again, looking just as wounded, fiddling anxiously with the hem of one of the scarves tucked into his belt. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to lose everything I love.”

Horobi’s hands clenched tighter, teeth worrying his lower lip for a moment. “… I’m right here.” The words were half a sob, his shoulders trembling, the impassive mask cracking. He lurched toward Jin, arm snapping up, grasping for his child, “I’m right here, Jin!”

The darkness spread, swallowing up his son and everything around him before he could reach Jin; instead, Horobi crashed onto knees on the turbulent floor, just barely catching himself, scrambling to regain his bearings.

“No,” Said Ikazuchi’s disembodied voice, murmuring somewhere to his left in the fluctuating mass of blackness, a sensation like a flurry of electric sparks running over his shoulder, “You’re not. Not really. Not anymore.”

“We’re all that’s left of you.” Naki’s voice echoed from somewhere behind him, and a cool breeze touched his back.

“But not for much longer,” That was Vulcan, right by his head, and warmth like a human hand brushed his cheek, “Are we?”

Silence.

… You’re still here?

The Ark didn’t so much have a voice as the shadows around him vibrated, shuddering, pressing closer. Sounded more entertained than genuinely curious.

What are you trying to achieve? Are you still trying to protect that traitor? It is your duty as my hand to punish him.

With tremendous effort, Horobi dragged his head back up. “… No…” Even the thin veil of calm was gone from his voice, “I will not. Hurt. Jin.”

Her laughter rippled through the darkness, each sound a thunderous, painful strike.

Oh, my dear child…

Those words were softer than her amusement, but they were icy cold, creeping and worming right into his mechanics.

… Just what do you think you’ve been doing for the past five minutes?

Chapter Text

‘Code alterations,’ Naki had called it. They hadn’t looked him in the eye as they spoke, instead looking off to his left. He didn’t ask if they had helped—he knew they wouldn’t have had a choice in the matter, anyway. He couldn’t hold it against them. No, there was no point in blaming Naki.

Instead, he blamed himself. He should have been more careful. He should have realised that something was up.

Chapter Text

“Jin.”

The voice sounded familiar, but also very far away. His throat felt like it was filled with sand, and there was a buzzing in all of his senses, prickly like needles and thick like wool, crawling into his ears, eyes, even up his nose and seeping into his skin. He felt so… Dried up, like he was shrivelling away into dust, swallowed up by the buzz.

He’d tried, he’d really tried. But there was just something about humans that made him so… Uncomfortable. He knew it was possible to feed without killing the person, but he couldn’t even get to the biting. Every time he got close… He’d start thinking of his mother.

But not feeding… Like a full vampire, he couldn’t die from thirst, and his human half did mean it took much longer before he descended into a frenzy… But it had been so long he was right on the brink.

“Jin.”

A hand came grabbed his arm, dragging him up and propping him against someone’s side. He tried to struggle, but was still in the stages of withdrawal where he was too weak to move properly. The arm wrapped around his shoulders, the hand moving to the back of his head, holding it gently and lightly bending it forward.

Then there was something in front of his face, something that smelled good, so good. His eyes cracked open to find a wrist there, already with blood on it, and the faint, crescent-shape of another bite. The blood smelled amazing, but at the same time… Slightly different. Off. Almost like it was… Old. Not quite as good as a human’s. But if it wasn’t a human’s…

He didn’t remember biting down, but he distantly heard a soft sound beside him. Once he started drinking, he couldn’t stop, hands flying up to grip the arm and hold it still, hunching over, biting harder. It felt so much better already that he didn’t care how desperate he was acting—but still just inhuman enough that his heart could still bear it.

It seemed like only moments when he felt someone shaking his shoulder. “Kid. That’s enough. Stop.” A bit of a harder shake when he didn’t let up. “Jin. That’s enough.” He tried to ignore it again, but then they were pulling at his collar, and, “Jin, that’s enough, he can’t take any more!” With the buzzing gone from his ears, he couldn’t pretend to not know the voice.

He let them pull him away. His fangs came out messily, tearing the bite—but not as much as it would have with a human. His senses began to return to normal, the intense focus of feeding fading away, and the enveloping cloud of thirst dissipated. Sighing deeply, he found himself enjoying clarity for the first time in… He had no idea how long.

“It’s not your fault.” He looked up sharply at Ikazuchi, who was standing by the end of the sofa, one hand sitting on the armrest near Horobi’s head, watching the older vampire’s face rather than looking at Jin. “He should have stopped you before this happened.” With a sigh, the hand moved to smooth lightly over Horobi’s hair. “He’s never been very good at taking care of himself.” A pause, and Ikazuchi shot Jin and awkward glance. “Though… I guess you already know that.”

Jin’s eyes drifted back to his father’s face. He did. Painfully so. Day after day. Somehow, though, this… Hurt more.

While it was true that there was no way he could have permanently damaged Horobi, not exactly—vampires couldn’t die of blood loss, or anything like that… He had weakened him severely—his father would be incapacitated for a while, he guessed, vulnerable until he could hunt himself. And… He had hurt Horobi. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t physically lasting. He was never going to be able to forget it.

“You should get some fresh air.” Ikazuchi’s voice snapped him back to reality. “I’ll stay with him.”

“I…” Jin straightened quickly, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes, worried they might’ve been starting to water, “I’m-”

“Jin.” A hand came down on his shoulder, turning him to look into Ikazuchi’s firm stare, “Listen to me. If you stay, you’re just going to keep blaming yourself. There’s nothing you can do right now, and you’ve been holed up in here for a while. You need to get out and move around.” The hand on Jin’s shoulder squeezed gently. “I’ll stay with Horobi until he’s recovered enough we can get him back to his room. If necessary, I’ll call Naki.” Half of a half hearted grin. “This isn’t our first time dealing with him overdoing it.” When Jin still hesitated, he sighed. “You’re not like us, kid. Vampires are fine being shut up in dark, dusty places, but you’re half human. You need air. Sunlight—well. Clouds.” Ikazuchi’s hand moved to ruffle his hair gently. “Don’t worry about your father. He’s tougher than most other vampires his age.”

Jin still hesitated, shifting on his feet, glancing anxiously at Horobi. It was true there was nothing he could do, especially not while his father was unconscious, but still… The idea of leaving Horobi felt like it was digging the stake even deeper into his chest.

“The instant he’s feeling better, I’ll send someone to fetch you.” Ikazuchi promised. “Go. I’ll look after him. We can cross the other bridges when everyone’s in good health. Everything is fine.”

Jin waffled for a little longer, but Ikazuchi remained resolute. Finally, he reluctantly conceded to go, though not before he grabbed a blanket off the bed and draped it over his father, tucking it around him. Horobi mumbled his name faintly in his unconscious state as he did, and he nearly broke down crying right there, only just barely remembering to keep it together because Ikazuchi was watching.

In the end, he fled the room as quickly as he could, keeping his head low—partially to hide the tears welling in his eyes and also to avoid Ikazuchi’s grin. It was a little too constant, and gave him the gnawing suspicion that it was fake. Ikazuchi just watched him go, even giving a small wave, but even that didn’t feel particularly reassuring.

Closing the door behind him, Jin couldn’t shake the cloud of dread that only seemed to be getting thicker and thicker—he’d hurt Horobi, and he had a creeping feeling that everything was very far from fine.

Chapter Text

“You lied to me.”

The words aren’t so much angry as hurt, trembling slightly—Miki’s shoulders were taut, but more in the way of nerves, huddling into himself rather than readying for a fight. He hovered by the end of the table, one hand by his side, anxiously pulling at the hems of his sleeves absently, the other fidgeting on the hilt of his sword. He was looking more at his boots than Koudou, an odd appearance on one as tall as he was, with a katana in his sash—and yet, when he felt the doctor’s gaze on him, he looked even further down, biting his lip.

Koudou sighed deeply, straightening up from the table, setting the bottles he was had been looking through aside and wiping his hands off before turning to face the young man. “It wasn’t a lie. It is merely a process.” Miki said nothing in reply, his hands merely tensing even more, teeth sinking further into his lip. He truly was so easy to read.

In a few measured steps, the doctor came level with the young man and reached out, tucking his hand under Miki’s chin gently to tip the young man’s face back up. The very first time they had met, when he had reached out like this, Miki had jerked away with a proud glare—now the young man didn’t move back at all, allowing Koudou to lift his head up to reveal unguarded, confused, and wounded eyes beneath his bangs. The nights spent tending to the Miki’s transition into a Fury, wiping the blood from his mouth when needed had apparently won him over. He had taken miraculously well to the basic kindness, combined with honest praise for being such a successful test—where Miki had once maintained a brash and arrogant veneer, Koudou was now privy to the gaze of an insecure, innocent young man filled with desperate pleading. Underneath the spiky shell, he was such a simple soul, longing for worth and guidance—when dangled before him, he scrambled eagerly for them like an abandoned puppy.

When Koudou smiled at him with practiced warmth, that naive eagerness blossomed, waiting to be reassured. The doctor remained silent for another moment, gaze flickering over Miki’s face for a little longer. “… Have your injuries healed completely?” He didn’t need to feign the concern in the question—the young man was the most successful, responsive specimen he had ever had; losing him would be a significant setback he could not afford.

Miki hesitated for a moment, put off by the change in subject, but eventually nodded slightly, chin bumping against Koudou’s hand. The doctor gave him a quick once over just in case, slowly lowering his arm—although the young man hadn’t been one for deceit even before letting his guard down, it was best to be sure—and was satisfied with the response. There were a few remnant marks from mostly-healed wounds, but no actual damage. Good; what he needed to do today was going to be rather… Invasive, and he preferred that Miki be in full health for the procedure.

The young man’s gaze turned curious. “… Why?”

“Like I said, it’s a process.” He made certain to hold Miki’s wide-eyed gaze the entire time. “Thanks to you, I’ve already found a method of mitigating the energy consumption.”

The young man watched him with more uncertainty than he had before—but not enough for concern. “… What is it?”

The question wasn’t new, either, and he was already giving another smile of studied reassurance before the words had finished leaving Miki’s lips. “There now,” When the young man looked away nervously, Koudou brought his hand back up to hold Miki’s chin once more, gently turning his face back forward. In a last second addition, he brushed his thumb over the young man’s cheek briefly, noting how Miki’s head tilted slightly into the touch, eyes darting back to the doctor’s face, “You trust me, don’t you, Saburo?”

The silence that followed was longer than it had ever been before, but Koudou wasn’t terribly concerned—he could still plainly track every thought that ran through the young man’s head, displayed clearly on his face. There was some hesitation, but nothing strong enough to make him think Miki would refuse. The young man was desperate, both for worth and for the means to avenge his family—a raw, determined, consuming rage fuelled by grief that Koudou easily recognised as kin to his own. They were like spirits, in some ways—enough that he knew Miki would never back down from the promise of a chance to achieve his goal. One of the things besides his uniqueness as a test subject that made the doctor almost… Fond of him.

At last, the conflict in Miki’s eyes dissipated, and the telltale nod came, the young man’s chin tapping against Koudou’s fingers once more. The doctor gave him another soft smile, releasing his face and turning back towards the table. “Put that aside, please.” He instructed, lightly gesturing to Miki’s katana. He heard the sound of cloth and motion behind the sounds of him readying supplies. Turning back with the appropriate cloth and bottle in hand, he was unsurprised to find the young man had obeyed, the sword leaning against the wall. Yet another pleasant trait—finding a cooperative subject was almost as rare as finding one that took to the procedure as well as Miki. “And you should sit down.” He didn’t look up from the precious task of pouring the liquid onto the fabric, but again he heard the rustle of silk as the young man sank down onto the straw mat covering the corner of the room, next to the futon. Another good thing—it would be best to not have to move him too far. He really needed to see about finding a new exam table.

Putting away the closed bottle, he took the soaked cloth in his hand, crossing the room in measured steps to kneel behind the young man’s shoulder. Miki was staring either at the floor or his hands in his lap from lowered lids, biting his lip slightly, still a bit tense. Well, in a fashion, this would help with that. As a forewarning, he reached up and gently smoothed his free hand over the young man’s hair, noting the instinctive start at the sudden touch. Lingering for a moment to be sure Miki was calm, Koudou’s hand drifted to the back of the young man’s head, fingers tangling slightly in his hair for grip. Then he raised his other hand to set the cloth over Miki’s nose and mouth.

The young man stiffened immediately, resisting on impulse, but the doctor’s hand tightened on his hair, pulling Miki against him to keep the cloth over his face. “Shh… It’s alright… It’s alright…” He doubted the words were understood, but that didn’t matter—what was most important was a level tone, “Just breathe… Take deep breaths…” He positioned his arms around the young man to contain him, combing his fingers through the small tangles in Miki’s hair as if to sooth a panicky animal, continuing to murmur softly. The young man continued twisting a bit, hands grasping instinctively at the doctor’s arm, but he managed to maintain enough control to not actually pull hard enough to dislodge the cloth from his face. It took effort—Koudou could feel him trembling, and tears began to well in his eyes, catching in the lashes.

The doctor drew him even closer, folding over him a bit, counting silently as the young man struggled to take slow, heavy breaths. “Do not be afraid, Miki Saburo,” He whispered, smoothing his hand over Miki’s hair in a steady, constant rhythm, in time with each inhale and exhale, “You are my greatest success—I would never cause you unnecessary pain.”

At long last, Miki blearily mumbled something, and his eyes finally closed over the tears brimming in them. The word was muffled by the fabric, and the way his head lolled sideways as his body went fully limp, pressing his face into Koudou’s chest, but… It sounded like ‘aniki.’

Koudou held him for a little longer, running a hand over his hair a few more times, more slowly, until the young man’s breathing levelled out completely. Once he was satisfied Miki was completely under, he slowly unwrapped his arms from around the thin shoulders, tossing the fabric he’d used into the laundry. In the next moment, he guided the unconscious form in his hold over to the futon, cushioning the young man’s head on the pillow carefully, with the same attention he had bequeathed to injured animals in the past.

Under anaesthesia, all the anger and frown lines in Miki’s face smoothed out, easing the weariness that the rage and grief had added to his appearance. The tears that had been partially formed in his eyes were smeared across his cheeks, dripping onto the bedding, leaving small stains in the cloth. When not standing tense like a tightly coiled spring, his body was slender, delicate—all awkward angles and youthful softness.

He looked… He was… So young. He couldn’t be much older than Chizuru—two or three years, at most. Barely more than a boy.

Somebody’s child, whispered a voice in the back of Koudou’s mind, as he watched Miki’s tear streaked face, somebody’s son.

A softness he hadn’t felt in years gathered in his chest as he watched the young man—the boy—sleep. Under the influence of the chemicals, there were no twitches or movement—if not for the languid rise and fall of Miki’s chest and the fact that he wasn’t quite pale enough, he could have passed for a corpse. Another child caught up in a conflict that had been brewing for long before he was born, one that would likely destroy him.

Koudou sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to collect himself. There was no purpose to these lingering emotions—he had no use for them, they served no purpose to his goal. He might not savour using as innocent a soul as Miki, but he didn’t have a choice. Not when the boy was the foremost amongst all his attempts. A pity, yes, but he couldn’t lose so precious a specimen.

Opening his eyes, he took one last deep breath, then reached out to brush the wayward strands of hair away from Miki’s face. He’d wasted enough time—he needed to get to work. He had been able to brew a brand of chloroform that was sufficiently effective on Furies, but it didn’t last forever, and there was much to do. His posture shifting back into professionalism, he leaned further forward to arrange both the boy’s arms straight at his sides before getting to his feet and turning back towards the rest of the lab, to fetch his bag. It was time to get to work.

Chapter Text

A very long silence.

Then, “You wanted to know,” Cyno said suddenly, still not looking at him, “Why I hate your plans?”

For a moment, Alhaitham weighed how to respond—it was, truthfully, one of the few things that had avoided his analysis, as what he had initially assumed to be the reasons had turned out to be incorrect. But on the other, prying and sentimental conversations were two things he was completely averse to, even if it was Cyno—or maybe especially if it was. He wasn’t sure what the name for what they had was, but he was never going to risk damaging it; he may have made a name for himself not caring what others thought, but even he knew that an opinion as hard won as General Mahamatra’s was worth keeping.

In the end, Cyno continued anyway, “It’s because I’m afraid.”

Alhaitham blinked, turning to look at him in bewilderment—he couldn’t imagine what any of his actions could do to cause the General Mahamatra himself fear. “Afraid?” He asked, despite his better judgement.

Once again, Cyno was quiet for a very long time, but slowly, “Ever since the plan to free Lord Kusanali,” He explained, tone as carefully level as it always was, but this time with a hint of something more, “It wouldn’t stop bothering me. Your actions regarding the Hivemind incident didn’t help either.”

Alhaitham frowned. Both those plans had gone off perfectly—he couldn’t fathom what would be bothering Cyno about them. “How do you mean?” His usual sense was screaming at him to cut loose and walk away, but… But he had caused Cyno a great deal of extra work recently. He owned him this conversation, at least. He owed him to listen.

Finally, Cyno turned to look at him, folding his arms and giving one of those disappointed stares that so usually accompanied a scolding. “You’re smart enough that things are normally easy for you, you can think ahead of everyone else. So you normally just brazenly walk into things, confident of victory.” A deep, weary sigh, “But that’s just it. You don’t know what it’s like to fail.”

“I don’t fail.”

The faintest of chuckles. “And there’s that pride.” Reaching up, Cyno pulled his headdress low over his eyes like a shield. “Let me put it like this; I’m afraid that one day, you’re going to meet your match without realising it.” Deadly serious scarlet eyes raised to meet his again, “And that by the time I make it there to pick up the pieces, it will already be too late.”

Alhaitham blinked at him a few times, trying to process the implications of his words. Cyno waited for a few moments, then sighed again, shaking his head. “Just… Don’t forget you’re not invincible. I’d rather not be the one handling your final arrangements.”

He sounded almost embarrassed, and it was enough to knock Alhaitham out of his bewilderment. Now it made sense. Cyno was concerned—afraid—that he might get himself killed. It felt ridiculous and yet… Made perfect sense.

‘Cyno sees himself as the protector of the whole Akademiya—at least of those who follow the rules,’ Tighnari had reminded him at one of those card nights Kaveh and Cyno had forced him into going to, ‘And aren’t you part of the Akademiya, whether as Acting Grand Sage or Scribe?’

For once in his life, he didn’t know what to do with this information.

So, he straightened his shoulders, folded his arms, looked the General Mahamatra right back in the eye and said, “How preposterous. I have no plans to die any time soon.”

Cyno did not rise to his challenge, merely shaking his head again. “… I’ll see you back at the Akademiya.” He murmured, hiding his eyes behind his cowl again—and then, just as swiftly and silently as usual, he was gone—leaving Alhaitham to desperately try and pretend the conversation never happened.