Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Skull never lifted his eyes around Reborn.

Nobody knew why.

Not many people noticed, but the ones that did notice assumed it was out of deference, fear maybe.

But the ones that did notice were wrong .

They were wrong.

They were all wrong.

Like usual.

Oh yeah, Skull totally wore that makeup and shit for aesthetic purposes only.

Not like not being able to die would generate scars or anything, of course not.

Not like he had had lines of scars across his neck and arms and legs and everywhere, really, from trying to jump off of numerous cliffs and die already, or hanging himself only to wake up a few hours later confused and disoriented and not knowing what the f uck was going on-

Not like he wore his gloves because they quite nicely covered the thick hand full of scars across all of the important veins in his wrists. He never bothered to learn the names of them.

What’s the point of that when you already know what they do?

Names were bullshit. Everyone should just pick their own goddamn names.

So was gender and the idea that you could make fun of someone and kick them and hurt them and—

And... do stuff to them, because they had a certain skin colour, a certain gender, a certain name, a certain way they styled their hair, a certain way they acted b ecause they didn’t know how else to—

Skull flopped over and screamed into his pillow.

It was purple.

Everything in his goddamn room was goddamn purple.

He didn’t even like purple.

He didn’t even like the name Skull.

He didn’t even choose it.

He knew Oodako was concerned about him. He was past caring at this point.

Everything was the same, everything was the same and nothing would ever be alright because—

He caught himself on the edge of tears, whimpering, and wanted to slap himself. He settled for a wet laugh. Made sense he’d feel this way when his body was at physical age of seven years old.

He was with him at that point, and, well

Reborn reminded Skull a bit to much of him , sometimes.

It was reasonable Skull would feel this way right after Reborn shot at him. And left him to bleed out on the floor.

Not that he had ever realized the shot had hit a lethal area.

Tch. They never believed him whenever he claimed that he was “Hated by even Death Itself!”

But that was okay.

It was okay.

It would always be okay.

He was okay.

Chapter Text

Skull knew he was off his game when even  another former Arcobaleno noticed.

Or maybe he wasn’t quite, considering it was Yuni and Yuni was a seer and shit.

“Skull? Are— are you alright?” She spoke softly, gently, as though afraid of hurting him.

He wanted to snarl at her, y O u a R E N o T m Y sKY —

But she was just a kid.

Breathe in, breathe out, count to ten, breathe in, breathe out—

“Of course I am! Why would the Great Skull-Sama ever not be fine?” He have an over-exaggerated, cheesy wink. One of the fakest grins he had ever had the displeasure of creating.

She bought it anyways, letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

He suppressed an eyebrow twitch. If she was trying the concerned, I-only-want-you-to-be-happy role with him, she was failing miserably.

“Of course— I was just being silly!”

Yuni banished the vision— the nightmare of Skull hanging himself from her mind. It was obviously just a nightmare— why would Skull ever want to take his own life?

He gave another large, fake grin.

It hurt his cheeks.

“We-ell, the Great Skull-Sama must be off! Errands to run, things to do, noble duties to fulfill!”

Yuni giggled as Skull mentally translated what he had said into the truth:

My pathetic self who can’t even die properly has to go now. Gotta go find a nice new rope (my old one isn’t cutting it), set up my lovely little spot down by the river, and hang myself again.

Quite a noble duty.

Pity it only ever works for a short while.

If when he woke back up from death again, torn from it’s grip against his will, if there were tear stains on his cheeks, well, who was there to witness it?

And when he stumbled down from his noose down by the river, shaking, and fell, and something deep down inside him, broken and old and damaged cracked just a little bit more, well—

If you’ve fallen in a forest, and there’s nobody around, do you ever really crash or even make a sound?

When he was younger, less— less damaged , less broken and cracked and twisted into something he was not meant to be , a mere shadow— a mere mockery of himself, he would’ve vehemently stated that someone out there would’ve heard.

Present-day Skull disagreed.

Once again, vehemently.

So when Skull picked himself back up (because he didn’t have a choice, he never had a choice— ), when he slowly, on shaking legs, staggered forwards, across and out of the clearing...

Well.

He had already tried the method of laying on the ground feeling like shit until he died of hypothermia or thirst (hunger had only claimed him once while he was trying that method— and that was because he was right beside a river and couldn’t resist the water. He hated thirst) multiple times.

It would be unsightly to try it again. Besides, the other former-Arcobaleno would find him.

His clearing.

His countless trees surrounding it littered with old, bloodstained nooses.

His rushing river that ran beside it, drowning out his sobs and screams and—

He shouldn’t think about that.

Doesn’t stop him from doing it though.

So as he staggered out of that clearing, slowly finding his way to the mansion of his fellow Strongest...

He resolutely ignored the fact he didn’t have makeup.

That blood was staining his clothing.

That there was ere very visible tear tracks on his face.

That when he stepped inside, there was a tiny, tiny, minuscule grain of disappointment that there was no one there to see him, to maybe think, Maybe Skull isn’t quite alright—

Skull shattered, just a little bit, again.

Just a little bit.

(Just one more scar to his myriads.)

Chapter Text

Skull wasn’t around much, anymore.

He was at fourteen now.

He was usually drinking.

Didn’t matter what. If it was alcoholic, he’d drink it.

Then again, when he was fourteen for real he had been drinking. Drinking to get away from reality. Drinking to get away from his dead face, blank eyes staring accusingly screaming that he did it, that he did it and now he was going to be punished aGAIN—

Just to simplify it, he drank a lot.

Even had a hip flask.

This time, it was the other former-Arcobaleno instead of Yuni, who confronted him and called him out on his bullshit.

“Lackey!” Reborn yelled at him. Like usual. Practically routine at this point.

“S-senpai!” Skull pretended to scramble. Again. He let out a fake ( fakefakefakefakefake ) strained sounding laugh, cranking up his obnoxiousness to full-blast. “What are you doing here? Can’t you see the Great and Amazing Skull-Sama is working—“

A shot rang out, and Skull jumped to the side. Clumsily of course, because of course ‘ Skull ’ was clumsy.

Why wouldn’t he be?

Letting out a shriek that grated on even his own ears, he whined, “Senpai! ”

God, he hated that title. Senpai.

“Lackey, what has been up with you the past few weeks?” Reborn practically demanded— wait, no, it was a fucking demand.

Fucking pretentious asshole.

He scratched the back of his head in faux-nervousness as his fingers itched for his bottle and his throat itched for the burn of the alcohol. He was currently favoring whiskey.

“What do you mean by that, Senpai?” Skull chewed the side of his mouth. “I mean, a few days ago I went swimming with Oodako, a few days before that I was having a rather nice time with a gentleman—“

Reborn suddenly stilled. The room was filled with killing intent.

Oh.

Wait.

Fuck.

He was in his fourteen year old body.

What he said probably sounded like he got kinky with a pedophile goddammit.

And he was worried about them finding and destroying his alcohol stash.

God.

Fucking.

Damn.

It.

Reborn was nearly silent as he spoke. Skull silently giggled, slightly shaking in place, almost vibrating. His usual reaction to panic. “Lackey. Someone took advantage of you...”

His words were basically breaths. It had possessive undertones.

And not the kinky kind.

The kind that made Skull want to vomit, because it was such a close mimickry of him, with the quiet and furious words, the possessive undertones that screamed ‘ THIS IS MY TOY, YOU CAN’T TOUCH IT-‘

Lackey giggled.

It was full of panic.

But he was Lackey—

“I’m sorry, sorry, sorry sorry sorry sorry it won’t happen again I promise I promise I promise I promise I would never leave you you’re so kind I won’t disobey you again please don’t leave me don’t leave me I’ll be good please don’t punish me don’t don’t don’t don’t—“

Next thing he was aware of was that he was on the floor, shards of glass around him. His hair was plastered against his scalp and all he could smell was blood and the sharp tang of whiskey. He was rocking back and forth, blood dripping into his eye. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’msorryI’msorryI’m sorry— “

He let out a big, gut-wrenching sob. A shaky breath. A whimper. His gloves were off. There was cuts all over him, wherever his clothing wasn’t leather or it was open skin.

He kept on breathing.

His sobs were big, big, sobs. Pathetic ones. The ones that were big breaths and sudden breaks, cracks.

He tried scrubbing at his eyes, but started crying even harder and had to clutch his knees again. He kept rocking back and forth.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry— “

His voice broke.

“I’ll promise I’ll be good.”

Lackey— Saar — Skull knew he wasn’t there anymore. He wasn’t with him. But...

He just couldn’t compute that.

And so he just kept rocking back and forth, muttering broken apologies under his breath as he bled and hurt and cried.

He kept doing it even as the silence was broken and the door slammed open.

Kept doing it even as yells rang out, people asking what was going on, a shocked response, people trying to smack his face, pull him up, he didn’t register anything. Not the harsh whisper not to kick him, not the attempts to pull his arms from his legs (which they failed at. Miserably), not them giving up and carrying him someplace.

Just as he was passing out, someone holding him and running up stairs, a soft smile graced his face and his last thought before oblivion took him was;

I... I am safe here.

And so he snuggled up closer, not caring of their stiffening—

And oblivion took him.

Chapter Text

When Saar woke up, he was a tad confused.

Sure, he was confused a lot when he woke up (trying to kill himself every night by alcohol poisoning was a thing by now), and he always had a headache, but that was from hangovers.

This... wasn’t a hangover headache.

He wasn’t in his own bed either; though that wasn’t new. He could usually make himself look a couple years older, old enough for some other teenagers ( nevereveradults ) wanting a good time to consider him and not find him wanting.

Although, it was new that the room was covered in p urple—

Suddenly, he bolted up. Purplepurplepurplepurplepurplepurple— nononono, no— it cant be, I killed him, he can’t drag me back there he can’t he can’t—

Breathe in, breathe out, count to ten, breathe in, breathe out—

He was fine. He was dead and Saar was free.

He was fine.

And so he slowly climbed out of the bed— or, well, tried, until he realized he was covered in bandages. He slowly touched his wrists.

What the fuck...?

He always kept his gloves on. Always. Always made it too dark, never slept with someone unless they were aware that touching his neck or taking off the gloves was a big no-no.

His gloves were off.

And an IV and heart monitor thing was beside his bed.

Hissing in slight pain (bruises never healed as quickly as any other injuries) as he moved anyways, he decided: whatever cult shit was going on, he wanted out of it and he was getting the fuck outta dodge.

Saar grabbed the IV, harshly tugging it out of his arm— ahh, fucking shit— and got sprayed in the face by some blood. Lovely. He took out the clamp for the heart monitor next, before staggering out of the bed. His eyes watered from the pain.

Slowly he hobbled over to the closet in the corner— there was a window that he leaned on and accidentally opened a bit, but like fuck he was climbing down the two stories he saw— and tucked himself in with a quiet groan. He got as far into the corner as he could, buried in purple items of clothing. And leather. Whoever owned this room must be either a kinky piece of shit or—

Breathe in, breathe out, count to ten, breathe in, breathe out.

He heard a door slam open, and two male voices call out,

“Skull! Skull— what the fuck kora. He shouldn’t be capable of movement right now—“

“Lacke— Skull , wouldn’t be able to move on his own.”

A female voice was next. Her voice was hard. “Skull must’ve been kidnapped. The window is still slightly opened.”

Saar was confused as hell at this point. Who the fuck was Skull? Did... someone kidnap him and replace him with this Skull?

He was slowly peeking out of the pile of clothing as he thought on... ‘Skull’.

Why does that name sound so damn familiar anyways—

His thought was interrupted as he finally caught sight of them and inhaled sharply, holy shit , he hadn’t gone through an episode of this magnitude since before he was an Arcobaleno— not to mention his earlier show with the glass and stupid panic attack. And— wait, shit, did he snuggle with one of them?!

Unfortunately, his sharp inhale alerted the other former-Arcobaleno to his hiding spot.

“Mou. Skull is in the closet. That will be fifty euros.”

Skull muttered, “aw shit,” and rolled out of his hiding place along the floor. He stopped in the middle of the floor and stared up.

He blinked up at them. “Hello.”

Reborn’s face made very interesting expressions, changing rapidly before settling down into...

Actually, he couldn’t really describe that emotion.

Because remorse? Reborn did not do remorse. Skull doubted it was in his vocabulary. Well, then again, he looked kind of mad. Probably at Skull.

Again.

“L— Skull. Skull— what the fuck happened to you—“

And then Yuni came charging through the crowd of Arcobaleno, and jumped on him.

The Arcobaleno yelled, Skull wheezed, and Yuni sobbed.

“Skull, Skull I’m so sorry I’m so so sorry I had a vision of you ha—“ her voice broke there “ hanging yourself and I ignored it as a nightmare but-but-b ut— “

Skull blinked. Oh. Ohhhh. So that was what was going on.

Pity.

A scowl slightly twisted his lips, as he thought, well, like fuck I’m staying here after this. No one cares about me, I’m aware, so there is no point to this pity-fest.

Too damn little, too damn late.

He ignored the relief he felt at them finally knowing, maybe they would finally understand and stop h urting him—

Because quite honestly?

By this point, he hated them all.

Just a little bit.

Just enough.

Fon had always seemed to kind, so patient. At first, Skull had thought they might have gotten along, until he noticed the irritation in the man’s eyes. The distaste every time they interacted. The way his nose wrinkled slightly whenever his eyes drifted to Skull’s numerous piercings. The way, when everything got so bad, he wouldn’t even stand there and watch. He’d sit down and casually sip at his tea, reading a book or some shit. Didn’t even have the decency to acknowledge his suffering.

He’d never really liked Luce. The way her Harmony swirled around the other Arcobaleno, practically molesting their Flames and no one really cared. The way everyone acted like little puppies, desperate for her attention and making a fool of themselves around her (hypocrites). The way she had always favored Reborn (he went by Renato, back then—) and only half-heartedly swatted him on the back of his head whenever he insulted or hit Skull. Scolded him with a voice full of laughter.

Aria... Aria was alright, kind of. She had never interacted much with them. Always neutral with them. Never really liked them too much, he thought. Probably because ‘they’ took up so much of the time she had left with her mother before she died.

Yuni— Yuni was, well, unique. Reborn took her under his wing. He was her ‘Uncle Reborn!’. Her favorite. She had always treated him kindly, but... she never acknowledged any of his strengths (none of them ever did). She ignored him a lot, although he was unsure if she just forgot him sometimes instead of decided to ignore him. She was heavily influenced by the other’s thoughts of him. Thought him ‘silly Skull’, and never really thought to find who he truly was, not who he appeared to be.

Reborn. Well, Reborn. Reborn he truly, truly hated. More than any other of the bunch. All of the abuse, the hatred, the snide, insulting, dismissive comments. The orders and the violence. The manhandling. The kicking and whacking and slapping and shooting. He had lost count of how many times the Sun had unknowingly killed him.  Just for being obnoxious. Just for annoying him. Just for being a goddamn civilian. And Skull was fed up with the coffee-addict’s bullshit.

Verde. Always uninterested in him, uninterested in everything— Skull was just a bit envious of him for that. But every time he saw the scientist, all he could remember was the way he had drugged Skull, strapped him down, taken blood and hair and generally DNA samples and so much more— and it was so fucking invasive. So fucking terrifying. So fucking similar to—... half the time Skull was there he couldn’t even tell reality from the past. It was horrifying. Skull didn’t really like Verde much after that.

Colonello. Oh, god. Basically Reborn’s partner in crime at times— especially when those times were when Reborn was hurting Skull. Colonello tended to be milder at points, and, well, majorly less like... him than Reborn, but still— couldn’t he— no, couldn’t they see it hurt? The kicks and the shots and the punches and... and he just wanted fucking acceptance, or even just them not noticing him half the time ( he wouldn’t be able to handle being forgotten, he would’ve  make himself noticed and then they’d hate him all over again— ), but he just— he just wanted—

But what he wanted had never mattered, so he ignored those thoughts for now.

Lal. To her... well, he was just the Civilian. Colonello and Reborn’s Lackey. Someone to send on errands, hit when she was angry sometimes, shit like that because he was already... broken in. She didn’t like him, disdained to even think of him because she had worked so hard, hard enough to become acknowledged as one of the Seven Strongest, and even after it became Eight and a Curse, she still curled her lip at the thought of him, a ‘ civilian ’, stumbling his way to that title without any work or effort at all.

And Viper... if Skull was forced to choose a favourite our of them, it would be the Scrooge of a Mist. They treated him neutrally, no disgust, no frustration or irritation with him just for existing, no pain . They treated him with disdain, sure, but that was how the other purple-haired Arcobaleno treated everyone— unless they could pay, of course. The only way they treated him differently from how they the others was how they exhorted more money and favours out of him than the others, but that was just common sense. But... whenever he was being—... hurt, Viper just... didn’t do anything. That— he guessed that would’ve been fine. Not as bad as Fon with disgust and disdain practically oozing from every pour. But... they weren’t indifferent. They seemed fucking guilty . So the question was: if they felt guilty why the fuck would they just stand and watch? If they were emotionally invested enough in him to be guilty, why would they not do anything.

But.

He supposed with all of it, it was his fault. He had tried standing up for himself a few times, but...

It was better to just take it. To act so fake, build so many false walls around himself that they couldn’t hurt the real him.

Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

But he sure as hell tried.

So Skull sat there, just sat there, and let Yuni’s tears and apologies go through one ear and out the other. He was a piece of shit already, might as well keep on ignoring the sobbing child.

And when she eventually stood up, avoiding his eyes, tear stains on her cheeks, Skull bolted . They didn’t need him, he didn’t need them, and there was a conveniently open window.

So ignoring the shouts, he vaulted out of the window, rolled as he landed on Reborn’s car and probably dented the roof of it ( he felt smug as that, even as a part of him he liked to keep locked deep, deep inside himself was screaming to go back, to not leave them— ), and ran to his motorbike. Opened the little hidden bit beside the gas tank, grabbed the spare keys, pushed them in and went full speed as screams rang out behind him.

He was in pain but— he always was in pain. Just... a bit more this time.

(He ignored the bonds to his fellow former Arcobaleno being ripped to shreds, raw ends dangling in the air. He ignored the screams of pain behind him and the pain he himself felt. He ignored the tears running down his face.)

He was free.

And he was finally alone once more.

Chapter Text

When Saar woke up in an unfamiliar place, he wasn’t too concerned for the first half-second.

Then he realized that he was laying on a couch, it hurt to even inch his head to the side, and whoever owned this room had a horrible sense of fashion.

From what he could see, the room had a puce rug, a wooden coffee table with a bunch of cracks in on top of the rug, a couch that matched the hideous colour of the rug (he was laying on a loveseat that was short enough that his lanky legs were spilling off the end) that he was currently sprawled across, some faded purple floral wallpaper that was peeling rather severely in some spots, a boxy TV across from him and the couch with a doorway in the corner to the right of the TV. There was also some random knickknacks on the floor, nearly all of them purple.

Saar cringed at the pure amount of purple, even though he was dead. Although, the pure ugliness and untidiness of the room, while kind of so-astonishingly-ugly-it’s-cool-to-see for Saar, would probably ensure that’s even if he was somehow still alive, he wouldn’t come within a hundred meters of it, might he spontaneously combust from even laying eyes upon something so ‘undignified’, although he would never state it that way.

Suddenly panic kicked the hazel-haired boy right in the groin.

He was in an unfamiliar place, on a couch, he couldn’t move his neck—

When he came back to himself there was a beefy man in front of him with green eyes and curly purple hair. Laugh lines decorated the corners of his eyes and mouth, and he looked like someone who smiled frequently. The man was counting out numbers to him, and Saar realized he was muttering the numbers along with the man and stopped instantly.

“Where the fuck am I and who aware you?” Saar flinched ducked away from the unfamiliar person as he said that, before cringing when he realized he was vulnerable, that the man could—

Saar quickly averted his eyes, focusing on not thinking about that, breathe in, breathe out, count to ten, breathe in, breathe out—

When Saar lifted his eyes from his shoes to the purple-haired man, the man was watching him with a slight smile.

“My name is Cherep. You don’t need to tell me yours if you don’t want to. And to answer your question, you’re in my living room on my couch. I found you seemingly dead in a dumpster, and as I was about to call the police, something amazing happened. Do you know what that amazing thing is?”

Saar shook his head slightly, watching Cherep intently. Panic was in the back of his mind, but at the front it was just quiet.

“Suddenly, you burst into purple Flames and started breathing again.” Cherep gave him a soft smile, with bitter and sharp edges to it. “The Mafia sure is shitty, ain’t it?”

xxx

Saar— no, no he was now Samuel woke up with a start, throat feeling like sandpaper had replaced the skin. He quickly leaned over the side of the bed and vomited on the floor, eyes watering. “ Shit ,” he slurred to himself. He rolled back towards the middle of the bed and buried in his face in the scratchy motel pillow. His head hurt like hell, but he quickly passed out fell back to sleep.

xxx

Saar softly smiled as he opened the door to the bar. It was his favourite bar, not because of the drinks or the regulars. It was because of the owner.

Although, as the brown haired boy walked over to the bar counter and his usual seat at it, he made sure to avoid the regular who was there more than not, muttering in the corner about clams and parallel universes and cursed rainbow babies and threes. She was batshit, that was something everyone knew.

As he flopped down on his usual bar stool, Saar gave a shy small wave, before resting his elbows against the counter supporting his chin with the palm of his hand. “What’s up, Cherep?”

Cherep gave Saar a wide grin, remarking, “Nothing much. Business as usual— except for your visiting out of the blue!” Cherep sounded glad about that. He gave a big, cheesy wink to the green-eyed boy. “So, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing really,” he muttered, feeling a bit self-conscious. He was so boring , he had even stopped the one night stands and he basically either was at the bar, lounged about in his hotel room, and worked at various retail jobs. He was a freak too, just look at him—

Why the fuck did Cherep even like him again?

Irritation flared when Cherep just smiled at him, before saying, “Did you know that loneliness has bad affects on the human brain?”

Previous thoughts gone, it was just irritation now, because “No shit,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

Cherep just gave another smile, before his expression darkened a bit into something... less Cherep.

“No, no, listen, it... it really does. It’s a terrible thing. Worms it’s way inside the mind and whispers dark and unhappy thoughts and plants dark and unhappy feelings, with no one there to keep it away.”

Saar... just sat there, and listened.

Cherep kept talking. “It’s not healthy, it’s not good, and no one deserves to be lonely.” He gently and slowly put his hand under Saar’s chin, projecting his movement as he pulled it up so Saar was looking him in the eye.

Saar let him.

“So you know what that means?” A twinkle resurfaced in Cherep’s eye as he whispered and gave a small, secretive smile.

Saar raised an eyebrow at the abrupt mood switch, before muttering a negative.

Suddenly the purple-haired man took his hand out from under Saar’s chin and gave a big, booming laugh, his entire expression brightening even more.

It relieved Saar.

“That just means you have to spend more time with me, no?” A wicked grin, shining with the happiness of just existing. “‘Else you’ll spontaneously combust, of course!” Another big, booming laugh, before he waddled off to greet a new customer, Saar smiling in his wake. The green-eyed boy wondered if... if that was what it was like to have a dad. He only had memories as faint as dreams, barely memories with how they were barely even emotions and sensations.

Later that night though, as he watched the man drunkenly do some absolutely crazy shit, before loudly asking if anyone wanted to see some awesome stunts by the Amazing Cherep, Saar amended his thoughts. Probably more like a crazy uncle than anything.

And he was just fine with that.

xxx

Saar... Samuel felt so fucking hot . It was too hot. He let out a little whimper as he rolled over, weakly trying to push the blankets off. He was drenched in sweat, and the thick, sour smell of vomit pierced his nose.

He had to swallow back the urge to retch again.

His foggy mind tried to ignore the dream from before, the disappointment that he had woken up from it, and the fact that—

A headache pierced his brain and he gave another whimper, feeling like he was burning yet so cold he was half convinced his sweat would freeze on his skin.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he hugged the scratchy motel pillow and pretended that it was a person, Oodako or something.

He had been so fucking stupid, leaving Oodako behind. Such a fucking idiot.

He just wanted her or Cherep to hug him again.

He ended up passing out pretending that he wasn’t so, so alone.

xxx

There was fire, everywhere. Nothing but fire and screaming and destruction and the bar was so fucked destroyed, ruined, brought to the ground and where was Cherep no no no no where was Cherep—

Saar ran like the fucking the wind was chasing him, a piece of cloth tied over his mouth and nose and uncaring of the fire singing his clothing and his skin, his hair that was dyed a gaudy purple as a prank when Cherep put the dye in his shampoo—

But where the fuck was Cherep?!

He tried to ignore the insidious thoughts creeping around his skull, connecting how Cherep hated the Mafia, the screams mixed in with the ones of pain declaring who it was (“It’s the Mafia!” “Mafia scum!” “No no no— don’t take my baby you can’t, you can’t you fucking Mafia shit!” “Run, hide! It’s the Mafia!”), the fact that out of all of the places in the small village that was burning burning burning, it was Cherep’s bar that had the most flames, the fact that if it was an attack targeting Cherep with this level of destruction, his chances of survival would be—

The heat stung his face as he raggedly breathed in smoke, choking and coughing, stumbling over something in the flaming ruins of the bar. He was so fucking hot but he couldn’t focus on that, couldn’t focus on that as his blurry eyes found and identified what— no, who he had stumbled over, the painfully familiar sickly sweet smell of burnt flesh, the sight of purple —

Saar screamed and screamed and screamed, his screams only mixing in with those around him. He fell to his knees, frantically looking over the charred corpse, so warm yet dead and he knew in that moment that he’d never forget this moment. He knew that as he recognized the fact that the corpse was so charred that so many distinguishing features would be warped, wrecked beyond recognition, this might not be Cherep yet he started crying in the earnest as he thought abruptly, no way this isn’t him, no fucking person in this village, sane or not, would be crazy enough to die their hair this shade of bright purple.

He was probably in shock but he screamed and he cried and he clenched Cherep’s hand and recoiled when he felt skin flake off, mostly Cherep’s but some his. Suddenly noticed he was laying in a pile of smoking blood, some it Cherep’s and some of it his.

He realized that he was dying. Burning to death maybe.

Maybe he’d die of smoke inhalation sooner, though.

But he was alright with that.

He’d be with Cherep again.

And just before he closed his eyes, he saw a symbol carved into Cherep’s head.

A crudely carved smiley face, to be more precise.

And so Saar let out what was not quite his last breath knowing that he’d been found, knowing that it was his fault Cherep had died and he was just a fucking piece of shit who deserved to go to Hell for what he had done—

But Saar just wanted Cherep to hug him again and crack a goofy joke.

He wanted Cherep to open his eyes and say it wasn’t his fault.

But that wasn’t going to happen, and finally, his burning eyes drifted shut.

xxx

When he wakes up screaming, tears on his face, he abruptly cut it off.

It had happened so long ago— no fucking reason to be a crybaby over it.

He was fine.

Cherep was dead, and it was his fault, and he tried to die too, but then he woke up again.

He woke up again and he hadn’t stayed dead yet.

He wasn’t dead, so he was fine.

He killed Cherep, but it was fine now. He made sure no one wanted to get close to him ever again, so that meant that there would be no more dead friends.

No more dead Chereps.

( A bitter little voice in his head noted the fact that he had named and shaped himself into a shitty imitation of Cherep, and half the time he was alive was spent thinking up creative ways to kill himself, so technically there was more dead Chereps. He ignored it. )

Saar Skull Samuel steered his mind onto another path and noted that at least what he assumed was a fever was gone.

He shrugged a tattered gray hoodie on before opening the window and crawling down the wall. He had only been two stories up, anyways, so it didn’t really matter that he fell the last couple of meters.

As he walked away with his hood pulled up, rid of for the first time in years his dye and contact lenses, he watched a beetle crawl on his arm before gently depositing it on the ground, wondering about the quality of the motel.

But, he thought with a wry grin, at least it wasn’t worse.

(“Shit kid, the best thing I can tell you is at least you aren’t dead.”)

Yeah. At least.

Chapter Text

Sebastian, as he was going by at that moment, awkwardly looked down, about to shove his hands into his hoodie pocket before realizing that would be a bad idea and put them straight against his sides.

He grimaced as he lightly kicked the body and wondered if they were dead. He didn’t  mean to kill them, but...

His eyes flicked to the gun they had, part of it painted a gaudy shade of green (who even does that?). PTSD’s a bitch.

His eyes flicked back down to the ground— oh, the body moved a bit, a small groan of pain coming from it. Good, he wasn’t dead.

... actually, was that a good thing? What about leaving a trail?

The currently blonde haired man in the body of a boy thought about it for a moment, before kicking the groaning body’s head again.

One man wouldn’t hurt— besides, Sebastian bet he had a concussion, which would make his memories blurry. Slowly, he looked up and down the body, covered in cuts and bruises, and a few fingers Sebastian had stepped on— probably broken, honestly.

He deserved it, honestly.

Maybe.

... he tried to mug Sebastian, that counted for something, right? ... not really, but he had probably mugged others and maybe even killed them, which was... wrong.

Yeah, wrong. Sebastian forced a small smile looking down at the slightly twitching body. It hurt his face, but smiling was supposed to make people happy. It didn’t really work, but still.

He glanced back down at himself, and grimaced at his hands covered in quickly drying blood, his hoodie, the ankles of his jeans and his boots covered in it.

Slowly, he kind of... nudged, the guy, to the corner of the alley to lay there among with the empty syringes and trash. He made sure a hand was sticking out, so the guy had a chance for the ambulance before death.

The currently blue-eyed person wondered if he should invest in some gloves. Maybe then it wouldn’t be so hard trying not to leave fingerprints behind for the other Arcobaleno— last he heard, they were still searching. Probably to give him the worst beating of his life before attempting to kill him (which he honestly deserved, just look at what he did to that man—), but at the very least, it gave meaning to his life.

It... distracted him.

At a few points he had tried to burn his fingerprints off of his fingers, but they grew back the next day. It hurt like a bitch, anyways. He... deserved the pain, he acknowledged that, but.

Burns were bad.

Burns meant he was in trouble, he’d learned that from a young age, they meant him they meant—

Burns just were bad.

Burns also, hurt like a bitch.

Anyways, though, going back to his current problem, he was probably going to have to snatch from a charity bin—

Or...

He eyed the man’s pockets. There might be a wallet in there... slowly, he ripped off the cuffs of his hoodie and wrapped them around his hands, before patting the man down and finding only a roll of string, a ripped piece of paper, a gum wrapper— and a couple twenty dollar bills.

Bingo.

Swiftly, he tucked them into his right jean pocket, before realizing how bloody his clothes were... he glanced back at the man’s shoes. They were reasonably not-covered-in-blood— well, as much as one could expect, and a lot less noticeable than Sebastian’s own. So, quietly mourning the parting of his favourite shoes, he grabbed the mugger’s feet and tugged the sneakers off, before taking off his own boots and throwing them to the side. He was still wearing his make-shift gloves, so he doubted they’d get anything identifiable from them. All of the blood was the mugger’s, of course.

Slowly he put the sneakers on, tying them up, thankful they were black and hid the bloodstains well, before tucking the ends of his jeans into them. They were thankfully high tops, so they covered most of the blood on his jeans. If asked, he could probably give them his ‘dead-fish stare’ and they’d back off. It worked strangely well for intimidation, and people usually avoided him when he was using it. Not to mention it was so far from his old... persona, it was almost not even funny.

Almost.

He proceeded to shrug his sweater off and cringe at the cold, wiping his hands off as well as possible on his old hoodie before walking back out of the alley. He was very, very aware of the dried blood in his hair.

He just hoped people assumed it was dye—

Which was naive of him, he let himself realize as he sat in a holding cell of the town’s police station.

At least they hadn’t found the mugger yet.

Staring at the ceiling, Sebastian just felt the strongest urge in years to get high as hell.

Or drunk.

But high was better. Everything seemed so much simpler .

Slowly, he shook his head. He probably shouldn’t be thinking of getting high in a holding cell of the police station.

Besides he had gotten clean... which apparent his sixteen year old body did not understand.

He steadfastly chanted the reason he had gone clean in his mind.

Stunts, stunts, stunts. Fuck not stealing, soon as I get the chance I’m grabbing that asshole cop’s bike and getting the hell outta dodge.

He laid down on his back, before submitting to his impulses and rolling back and forth across the filthy cell. An old habit, and the police watching the security cameras probably thought he was high, but still. Probably better than attempting to run up walls. He wondered what the other ex-Arcobaleno were doing at that moment. He hoped they were in pain.

Or just as bored as he was.

And then, to the sight of Sebastian rolling back and forth on an absolutely filthy concrete floor, contemplating life, blonde with blue eyes and dried blood in his hair was what Viper opened the door to.

Lovely.

Chapter Text

When Arden was six years old, they already knew they were different.

When Arden was eight years old, they pulled their parents and older brother and sister aside and begged them to understand.

They didn’t understand.

But they all tried, and that was enough to get a small, tentative smile out of Arden.

It was washed off their face quickly enough, and then they went back to trying to scam their classmates with glee in their dark blue eyes.

But it was seen.

xxx

At age nine, a rough winter happened.

Their family lived on a farm and made their livelihood from it.

They all grew poor from there.

xxx

When Arden was eleven, they had learned budgeting.

They had learned bargaining, and learned what it was like to be so cold you started to stop shivering.

They had learned the sensation of being so hungry it felt as though your stomach was trying to eat itself.

They had learned that money was the most important thing.

You had money, you had food.

You had money, you had prestige.

You had money, you had shelter.

Anything in the world it seemed you could get with money—

And Arden had learned another, special thing.

Humans may have grown out of trading, but there was one, reliable constant in trading that would never fade away.

Trading information for money.

Except it was funny, because you kept the information afterwards.

That was one of the ways Arden had to get money. To help provide.

The richer were always hesitant and haughty, as they stated at the promised informant. A little, genderless child. Dirt smudged on their cheeks and a dark hood over their head.

But with goading, they would accept. They wanted to know whether their significant other was cheating, after all. They wanted to know if their precious daughter was in a relationship with the scuffed up neighbor boy. They wanted to know... who would be the best hitman for a hit they were planning on their son.

... that was how Arden, going by the name of Viper, hesitantly entered the Mafia at the age of twelve years old.

xxx

When Arden was thirteen and three quarters, their house burnt down.

It was called a ‘tragic accident’.

... they knew it wasn’t an accident.

Staring down at the ashes and crumbling remains of their painfully wooden former house, Arden’s nose picked up on the sickeningly sweet undertone of burnt flesh.

What had been saving their family killed them in the end.

It was done by their former client... their first Mafia one. The Amarcani. Arden recognized the style.

Apparently they got pissy at Arden doing a job for a Famiglia they were at War with.

How symbolic.

Arden ignored the burning tears pressed up against the back of their eyes. Their first Mafia client being their last... they kicked at a pebble, feeling rather numb. That was, if they stopped.

Their lip wobbled, and they bit down on it. They might’ve tasted blood. It was fine, though, they— they would keep taking Mafia clients, keep surviving, keep— keep being alright.

Because they were alright. They bit choked on a whimper and brought their hands to their head, sinking to the ground.

Arden— no, Viper, Viper was alright.

These things happened everyday in the Mafia, and they would get revenge, and Viper would be alright.

This was fine.

This was fine.

This was fine.

xxx

By the time Viper was sixteen they had both absolutely ruined Amarcani Famiglia and had vast information networks strung up everywhere, even in places one would’ve thought impossible. An armada of people in their debt in some way or another.

Sure, there were always rotten ones, ones willing to sell Viper out (what rotten, traitorous fiends, ones with no loyalty, ones so cowardly they couldn’t even keep their mouths shut— Viper snapped down on that line of thinking fast with a bitter smile, because Viper was many things, but most certainly not loyal. Not brave), but Viper always had someone deal with them.

Viper had knowledge upon knowledge stacked up in their brain, bookshelf upon bookshelf of information that would be impossible to find anywhere other than their head. They were valuable , for that.

And that gave those who wanted Vioer’s information two options: pay... or kidnap them.

Within the first five months, Viper got nine... ‘clients’.

Only two decided to do it the official way, with cash and information being shoved across the table.

The rest... ( screams begs for mercy nonononono indigo fire casting the room in a strange hue a grim set to a face that hid the utter turmoil— )

Well.

They were taken care of.

The rest learned quickly after that.

Sighing, Viper flicked through a wad of bills, counting out the money and reveling in the comfort of the small weight. The thickness and the familiar texture— perfect .

( They ignored the lack of people around them, people didn’t matter they didn’t need people all they needed was money and themself and maybe strawberries that was it they weren’t lonely— )

Slowly, they grabbed a strawberry and popped into into their mouth. ( They ignored the intense nostalgia, the way they could nearly see their brother in front of them as they picked wild strawberries together like they did every year, the way they could nearly see him turn around and laugh at their strawberry-stained face— )

They...

It wasn’t enough.

They were fairly secure, but that would end soon. They were running out of things to sell, their clientele slowly disappearing .

And... Viper had found out the hard way that when you didn’t guarantee something yourself, it could be wrong.

Viper couldn’t afford to be wrong.

Swinging their legs off of the desk they were in front of, muttering under their breath about incompetent minions, they slowly walked out the door.

Time to plan.

xxx

The first time Viper met a Sky, Viper was seventeen years old, it was at a Mafia party created to establish connections, and his name was Lorenzo.

As Viper sat in the corner, keeping an eye on everyone for blackmail purposes and sipping on a strawberry milkshake after confirming no, it was not poisonous, a man with hazel eyes so beguiling it had to be a hazard, and a charming, wide smile stretched across his face, walked up to them.

Started what might be considered a conversation, although it was mostly him saying things and Viper answering in monosyllabic words, with the occasional ‘mou’.

He laughed at them and called their verbal tic ‘cute’, and Viper glared and decided to be thankful they had their hood pulled down rather far, because he didn’t need to see, them blush for fuck’s sake.

Viper ended up chuckling a few times, and actually gave a small smile once.

They... actually liked him.

They met up again a few days later, and he kept smiling, kept startling small laughs out of Viper.

A few more days went by and he said their laugh was beautiful.

They... they actually felt happy with him. Not as lonely. He... made Viper actually feel good about themself.

The first person Viper ever romantically loved was a man named Lorenzo who made them feel good about themself.

Fives months went by, with little touches and chaste kisses starting at the third.

It was fast, and wonderful and a whirlwind of emotions and reassurances that Viper was beautiful, and no, silly goose, your gender doesn’t make a difference to me.

(Viper’s network was nervous. Boss was never, ever happy— was- was the world ending?)

On the fifth month though, he decided he wanted more than that. More than Viper could give him. He refused to believe Viper couldn’t give it to him— he.

They were courting each other’s Flames, partially bonded, and he—

He tried to force the rest of the bond when Viper told him no.

He tried

and he tried

and didn’t listen

so viper and the pretty indigo flames said

“ N O . ”

xxx

When Viper was nineteen years old  they had finally settled in their skin.

They weren’t referred to as the wrong gender anymore.

Any Flame courting attempts were instantly beaten away.

They had a running information network.

They were filthy rich.

They had figured out their Flames, knew how to use them just the right way to make people do what they wanted.

They had... so much.

But, they thought, as they stared down at the crisp letter that announced Viper as the World’s Strongest Mist...

They could have so much more.

Chapter Text

“What the fuck.”

“... I agree. I thought I sent enough of a message that I wanted to be left alone by jumping out of a window to get away and oh, I dunno, breaking a fucking Flame Bond? No— wait, let me clear that up: multiple Flame Bonds.” At that, he gave a sharp grin, staring up at the Mist.

His grin only widened when Viper flinched, just the tiniest bit. He grinned and he pretended that he didn’t care that Viper was in pain.

It was their turn.

They deserved it.

They deserved it.

Viper seemed to be fighting for something to say... or were they Mammon, now?

It didn’t matter anyways.

( Greed, how fitting for someone who would take and take and take and take and just stand there and watch when he was screaming and drowning and crying out but they would just stand there and watch and count their money and pity would streak across their face but why pity why couldn’t they just help him for once in their fucking life- )

Every time he met their eyes, hot-white pain flashed behind his eyes. From the small flinches he could see, and the way Viper avoided his eyes, he’d guess it was the same for them.

(The leftover remnants of a half-formed bond.)

“M-mou. The others are still searching. I had to call in favors to find you—“

Samuel Sebastian Skull Saar scoffed at them, interrupting them mid sentence. “I suppose that’ll cost me?”

There was bite in his grin, a sharp look in his eyes.

( Viper was abruptly reminded of a raccoon they found once, hissing, teeth bared against a larger one in an alley. “A cornered animal is always the most dangerous kind, Ardy! Never forget that!” )

“... take me with you.”

Saar choked .

“Excuse me, what the fuck?”

“Mou. I believe I said it clearly.” Viper just... stared him in the eye. There was a steady pain that turned into a low throb the longer they stared.

The artificial blonde stared right back.

“No. Just- no.” Saar sounded rather incredulous... which definitely mirrored his emotions.

“... Mou. I’ll pay you.”

“What the fuck.”

He sat up properly, looking down as he rubbed his temples. Then he looked back up at the purple-haired Mist, slowly standing up.

“What the actual fuck do you want with me, Viper?”

The brown-eyed man-boy with blue contacts sitting firmly on his eyes stared at Viper. There was a stubborn set to his face, an ugly look in his eyes.

He really didn’t expect what happened next.

“... I don’t know! I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know— it just hurts! ” They yanked their hood back as Saar stared with wide eyes. Shockingly blue eyes stared out of a pale face, deep bags sitting beneath them. “It hurts and I don’t know how to fix it! It hurts to be in the same fucking room as you but it’s not as bad as being on the other side of the goddamn world! The others are going mad trying to find you and I’m not entirely sure I haven’t already, you fool! You severed the bonds completely wrong you uneducated civilian idiota ! I want to puke just looking at you, and I can’t tell if it’s because of your idiocy or the mangled Bond!”

Saar had never seen Viper so... emotional, before.

While Saar was staring both blankly and uncomprehendingly at the sudden information dump, Viper seemed to be getting even more upset.

“ It’s all your fucking fault! ”

Distantly, Saar wondered if the police got to listen into their wonderful conversation.

( Pain flashed across his brain, questions clawing at his skull— did he really fuck up that bad? Did he mess up so fucking badly he removed any possible chance of being left alone until he found some way to actually, finally fucking die ? )

Slowly, he went and gently poked Viper’s nose.

He distantly wondered when Viper had gotten so close to him.

The purple-haired Mist proceeded to melt against him— before puking on the floor.

Slowly, he blinked, before withdrawing his hand, thoughts sluggish.

When he touched them, it almost felt as though his hand was falling asleep, static dancing across his fingers. His thoughts slowed.

The pale man-boy let out a small, bitter laugh, staring at Viper’s faintly twitching body.

He had fucked up, hadn’t he?

He had fucked up so bad if wasn’t even funny.

He hadn’t fucked up this bad since he picked up the letter, delivered by the Man in the Iron Hat.

His laughter turned to tears soon enough. A grin was stuck to his face as he stared at the weakly twitching body of Viper.

He had fucked up and now he had to pay the price.