Chapter Text
Mono's neck burns. It's raw and red, and he can't breathe. He can't see a thing, either; suffocating darkness encases the cramped space. The air smells of nicotine and ash, and panic rises in his chest, mind drawing back farther and farther. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath shallow, and he—
Mono awakes to a sharp gasp, clutching the fabric of his shirt.
Letting out wheezing gasps, he scrambles out of bed, splashes his face with water, and checks the time.
It's… four in the morning.
Clumsily rubbing his eyes to shake off the last wisps of nightmares he can scarcely remember, Mono stares at his reflection. It's slightly warped, a few cracks on the edges and wallpaper and still reeking of cigarette smoke. He tries to take a deep breath, but the ashy smell clings to his lungs and he ends up coughing raspily into the sink.
It's early. Way too early. He should probably go to back to bed. Right. To bed.
But then saliva floods his mouth, and he finds himself retching and spewing clear liquid into the bowl of the sink.
Okay, then. Not sleeping.
Hunching over the sink once again and wiping his lips, he slowly waits for the retching to recede before simply rinsing with mouthwash running out of the bathroom, as fast as he can.
He needs air. Fresh air, that doesn't reek of cigarettes and ash.
Numbly cramming his usual books and stationary — even the hatchet, although he knows it'll be useless, now — into his bag and snatching his wallet on the way out, Mono shoves the furniture blocking the door out of the way and stumbles down the stairs. He only pauses to shrug on his trench coat just before leaving.
All things considering, it wasn't exactly smart to wander around the Pale City at four o'clock in the morning; it's never been considered at 'safe' city, even more dangerous than the counties, but he'd rather face it all than stay in that apartment for a moment longer.
The lights in the lobby are off, and it looks like receptionist has long gone to bed. Heaving a little sigh, Mono pushes the dusty glass door open and heads out to the cracked footpath, the cool concrete chilling his bare feet.
Right. His bare feet. He didn't put shoes on.
Oh well. Too late to go back now. Well, not really; he could go back whenever, but, ugh, it doesn't matter. Whatever. Whatever.
Running through the cold night breeze, he can feel flecks of sleet beginning to flutter down from the stormy clouds above. There's a good amount of streetlights in this corner of the city, and their glow illuminates the sleet's glittering surface as he races past them. As much as he tries to keep up the pace, though, fatigue eventually overtakes the adrenaline at some point, and he finds himself slowing as he slowly plods on the pebbled track to the lake.
Trekking numbly to the rotting jetty, Mono treks to the end and plops down at the edge of the wooden boards. With a huff of frustration, he snatches a stray rock lying on the edge of the dock and hurls it towards the murky depths of the lake, not even bothering to try and skip it.
Landing with a loud splash, it simply tumbles into the murky depths. Well. That was expected.
Grabbing another, he takes a little breath and deeply inhales the fresh air, making another half-hearted attempt to skip it.
It sinks on the second bounce. Not too bad, all things considered.
He reaches for another, but his hand wavers only for a second before falling back into his lap. Shifting uncomfortably in place, he casts his eyes up to the horizon.
The sun has just began to peek over the skyline, peeking over the rim to bathe the ripples of the lake in a pale, watery yellow spotlight. It's pretty. And much nicer than the view from his apartment.
Right. His apartment. The one he'll be leaving tonight.
It's not like it's his first time staying in the Signal Tower, where his Father lives. Mono had to spend a night there once, when Father was organizing a new apartment for him to stay at. It's just… living there just makes his skin crawl. Even if he can't really pinpoint a reason why, other than the iron truth that he simply doesn't want to leave his friends. The climate there technically suits his taste, too. In the Pale City Central, it's never hot. It's unheard of. But it's also always wet, and raining, or something.
Maybe it was the idea of living with Father, permanently. Just a few days ago, he would've been all too willing to, but now the thought icks him. Doesn't living away from someone makes you romanticize the idea of being with them more? He hadn't talked to him in almost a year, so he guesses it's natural. But even just hearing his voice on the digital phone grated his ears now. Huh. Funny how things change so quick.
Living a comfortable life here made Mono too accustomed to a simple life like this. God, he was so ungrateful. He wanted everything! His friends. His Father. A peaceful life. And now he's paying for it.
Well, he's learned his lesson now. He doesn't want his Father anymore. He doesn't need him, either! None of them did! All their adults, with their stuck-up ideals, and their jobs and their expectations. He hates them, hates them, hate, hate-
A rough hand pats his shoulder.
Immediately throwing it off and leaping to his feet, he comes eye to eye with a hunched-over woman with messy bob cut, crouching down to match his height. A stained trench coat — much lighter than his — is wrapped tightly around her, shielding the woman's form as sleet continues to fall. There are gaunt shadows under her eyes.
"Hey," she simply says. "I'm Myra. Looks like you beat me to my spot, huh?"
Mono glares at her. "This is my spot, actually. Me and Six's."
"And who's 'me'?"
"None of your business. And how can this be your spot? I come here loads, and I've never seen you in my life. Liar."
The woman — Myra — barks out a tired laugh. "Good eye. Or ear, I guess. I come from the Counties. Although, as a child, I used to visit the Pale City a bit. And then it was my spot."
Mono's eyes narrow. "Why are you trying to start a conversation with me?"
Myra straightens and rubs the back of her neck as she glances behind her. Mono can see the dull sheen of a taser in a coat pocket, and the ink of a tattooed eye on her nape. Not particularly good signs. He weighs his chances if he drops into the lake and starts to swim.
…They're not high. He's never been good at swimming. That's always been RK's thing.
"Do you want the real reason?" She asks, eyebrow raised. "Or the sugar-coated, fluffy, fake one? Something about you tells me you don't want that one."
Mono takes a subtle step back, and notes how Myra's eyes flare with something as she notices. He hopes he doesn't say the wrong answer. Either way, it sounds like bait. "The real one."
"Alright, then," Myra sighs, brushing down her coat. "I'm investigating your father."
Huh?
"Huh?"
"Well, sort of. It's not the reason I approached you at this specific time, but it's more or less the reason I'm—"
"He's not my Father," Mono interrupts. "Don't say that."
Myra carefully scans his form. "I'm a detective. Knowing these things is kind of my job. Unless you mean in the metaphorical sense?"
"What?"
"As in, you don't see him as your Father. Anymore."
Mono squints, clenching the straps of his backpack. "It doesn't matter."
"That's fine," she hums, plunging her hands into her pockets. "Well, anyway, 'The Broadcaster' I suppose, as most people know him as — you've seen his show, right? — is under investigation. Which is why I'm here."
"The County police sent you all the way here?" Mono glowers. "Why go through the effort? I don't believe you. Where's your badge?"
Myra digs in her pocket and shows him a battered police badge. As worn as it looks, it seems official. Hm.
Satisfied with his reaction, she stows it back into her trench coat, Mono's eyes tracing the movement.
Whatever. He'll bite. He's curious, anyway.
"What did he do?" Mono queries.
"Can't say," Myra answers, brushing a few straw hairs out of her face. "It's classified. But if anything ever comes out, I'll let you know. And I came here of my own accord, not because the department told me to."
Mono looks up at the woman. The sun is a little higher now, some faint beams breaking through the clouds. It's still desperately chilly.
"…I don't know anything."
"I wasn't planning to ask you anything."
That sets off a couple of alarm bells. Why else would she be here?
Mono carefully takes a step back.
"Don't do that," Myra quickly says. "You might fall in, and I don't know if you can swim."
"Why are you here?" Mono squints. "Here, here. The lake, I mean. It's, like, four."
"It's five, actually," Myra corrects, "and I came to the lake because I couldn't sleep. I used to come here once a while as a child. So. I went here," she simply answers. "
"Then why didn't you leave when you saw me?"
Myra hesitates for a moment, scanning Mono up and down. He feels like one of those frogs at school, being dissected and prodded to get all the information out.
"I recognized you," she murmurs finally, "from both The Broadcaster case, yes, but also a runaway case from a year and a half back."
Something in Mono's brain flickers on at that sentence, and he quashes it as fast as he can.
"I'm not a runaway," Mono sharply snaps, staring at the cattails by the bank. "I've never run away before."
"And," she adds, "no one living in the Pale City in their right mind — especially a child — runs outside, unaccompanied and unarmed, this early in the morning. Barefoot."
Right. He was barefoot. Right. Right.
"I forgot," Mono mumbles lamely. "My shoes. That's it."
"Right."
"And," he mimics, "I am armed, actually."
"Are you, now?"
"Yes."
Myra stares at him for a moment, then nods.
"Well." She inclines her head. "Are you heading back home?"
"No," Mono retorts, pushing past Myra to head back up the jetty. She doesn't exactly stop him, but she does follow. He shoots her a dirty look.
"It's too early to go to school," Myra reasons. "You should probably get something to eat."
Eating. Food. When was the last time he ate?
Tottering across the pebbled path, he turns to Myra, who carefully trails his steps.
"What time is it?"
"I don't have a watch," she admits, stepping around a patch of reeds, "but I'm guessing it's nearly six."
Six. Six.
Marching up the cobbled path, he speed-walks to the food stalls dotting the grassy hill just above the lake. Blinking blearily at the sight, he scans the selection of bright umbrellas and carts until he finally spots one that's opened. He lightly jogs over to it, and Myra follows.
Mono taps on the glass, and an aproned man takes one glance at him, in all his barefooted glory, and glowers.
"Kid, I'm not a charity. I don't care if you're homeless, I'm not—"
Mono digs his wallet out of his bag and slides over a couple of notes. The man stares, and Myra rolls her eyes.
"Could I have two fish and chips, please?" Mono asks, trying to ignore them both. "One large. And both takeaway."
As the man slides him his change and begins to fry the food, Myra slinks to his side.
"I'm assuming that extra one isn't for me?"
"No."
They stare in silence at the food slowly fries in the vat of oil, bubbling as flecks fly up from the surface. One of them hits the man, and he curses.
Taking his bag of food from the vendor, Mono lifts it up to show Myra.
"I've got my food now," he brazenly says. "You can go."
Myra stuffs her hands into her pockets. "You've got about an hour and a half before school. You gonna spend the whole time just eating? Or you got somewhere else to be?"
"Somewhere else."
She hums, eyes slightly glazed as they stare into the horizon. "Do you have any guardians waiting for you?"
"Yes," he lies. He's pretty sure she sees through it, but if she does, Myra doesn't bring it up.
"Are you going back home?"
"No," Mono answers. That's the truth, at least.
"You gonna put on any shoes?"
"Nope." Self-explanatory.
Myra barks out laugh. It's one of few.
"I'll leave you alone, then. Hey, if you need help… just call me, alright?"
Myra hands him a card. 'Detective Wan' is printed on it with faded ink, along with a photo of her in uniform. She looks… happier. Happier than now, at least. There's a phone number, too. Mono takes it to satiate her more than anything else.
"If you ask the police, they might direct you to me. So give it a shot if you can't call."
"I don't trust the police."
Myra sighs. "Fair enough, knowing our lot. Just… stay safe, kid. Don't do anything stupid."
"I will," Mono says. It feels like a lie, but she doesn't catch it this time.
Trudging through the dense undergrowth, Mono has to admit the fatigue is somewhat catching up to him now. The woods seemed to push back against him, and rocks stab his feet, but he ploughs on anyways. After all, he doesn't want Six to have her food cold.
Finally stumbling into the clearing, Mono makes a beeline to Six's window and gazes up.
Sure enough, like Six had mentioned yesterday, hefty iron bars block the entrance to her room. But, thankfully, the gaps between them were large enough to slip things in between. So he takes the large box of fish and chips and sets in on the grass before standing on his toes to rap against the glass, past the bars.
From within the room, he hears a little gasp as Six awakens and plods to the window. Sliding it open, he can see her dark eyes squint back at him.
"Mono," she grumbles. "Dude. It's, like…" a rustle as she turns to check the time. "Like, seven. You're an hour early." She rubs her eyes.
"When's your Mother letting you out?"
"'Round eight. Like the usual, when I'm not in trouble. Why?"
"Got you food. Hold on, just a sec. I need to slide it past the bars… could you open the window a little more?"
Six readily complies, and there's a quiet squeaking noise as she shoves it to the side. Thank goodness the Lady didn't glue it shut too, or else he'd have no idea what to do.
Perching up on his toes, Mono carefully rotates the box to its side and slides it through as Six hastily snatches it up.
"Thanks," she whispers, eyes glittering through the faint light. The sleet is coming down a little lighter now, shimmering with the morning dew, and Six begins to eat. "I didn't have dinner yesterday."
Mono crouches back down to dig in his pockets before poising back in front of the window, sticking his arm between the metal rods the drop a handful of sweets into her outstretched hand.
"…I'll eat with you," he says finally, sitting down on the dead grass and leaning back against the faded wood of the manor. He unpacks his own box and slowly begins to prod at the contents within. His stomach churns at the sight.
The rain and sleet — despite slowing — still hasn't stopped. His clothes feel wet and miserable against his skin, but he really doesn't want to go back to the apartment. So he supposes he'd better get used to it.
Mono finally finds it in within himself to begin nibbling on a fish fillet just as Six polishes off the last chips in her box. She frowns at him from her window.
"Hey, Mono," she calls. "When was the last time you ate?"
Mono blinks, looking up from his soggy fish and chips. "Today?"
Six rolls her eyes. "Other than today."
Mono's pretty sure he didn't eat at all yesterday. Uh oh. But something prickles uncomfortable at the thought of lying to her, so he tells Six anyway.
"Um. The day before yesterday? Maybe. Probably."
Her eyes grow wide with alarm. "Why're you giving this to me then? Eat it yourself, idiot!"
"I have food!" Mono yelps back. "I'm eating it now! See—" he crams a handful of chips in his mouth. "See! I just ate some right now!"
"Good!" She snaps."Keep it that way! If you die, I'll lose my food source. So you'd better stay alive and not starve to death. Idiot."
Mono snorts, chewing on the chips he'd just unceremoniously stuffed in his mouth.
"Also, what's up with your shoes?"
"Oh. I forgot them."
"Figures."
Mono rolls his eyes.
The trek to school comes in a hazy blur, Six's hand intertwined with his.
As they come to a stop at the rusty metal gate, Mono looks at the plaque boasting the school's founding, and wonders if he'll ever step through these gates again.
A light drizzle has overtaken the sleet now, but dark clouds still loom in the sky. He really should've brought his umbrella. Or shoes.
Stepping into the school comes with a heavy sense of thick unease; with just a foot into the school grounds, he can sense eyes tracing his every movement, lingering around the air as they cling to his from. Were they the same bullies from yesterday?
He really doesn't want to find out.
Mono's bare feet patter across the concrete as he pulls Six along, ducking behind a concrete pillar near the entrance to school halls.
"Um," he begins, flapping his arms about. "Right. So. There might of been something I forgot to tell you."
Six glowers at him. "I swear, if you 'forgot' again to tell me how you were nearly murdered or something—"
"No!" Mono squeaks. "No one tried to kill me. I think?"
"Mono—"
"I'm serious! It's just, when I walked back home from school yesterday—"
"Mono. I'm going to strangle you."
"Please don't."
"I'm serious."
"Me too! Look. It's just— y'know that girl with the lipstick and the dress and the—"
Six's gaze turns even steelier. "Yes."
"She followed me home with a bunch of bullies, and started talking about my Father and 'consequences', but—"
"You can't just say "but" after that! She's crazy! You're gonna get yourself killed—"
"It's fine! I got away! I'm just worried about what they might do at school, but they won't bother me once I move, ha ha… so just… avoid them?"
"Avoid them. Right."
"Something like that."
Six stares at him like he just swallowed a brick. He shifts awkwardly under her gaze.
"If you didn't get those fish and chips for me," she grumbles, "I so would've murdered you. Right here. Right now."
"Thank you. Should I tell RK and Raine? I don't want to worry—"
"Obviously, you idiot!"
The Teacher looks like she wants to slam her face into her desk.
"Mono," she snaps. She barely takes a glance at him before motioning him over. "Get over here. Right. Now."
Mono shuffles over to her. Six's face indecisively borders on laughing and crying, and Raine looks downright appalled. RK sends him a mournful look.
"What. Is. This."
Mono looks down at his uniform. On top of sleeping in it, waltzing around the city during the rain and sleet had not done wonders to his appearance. Along with the dripping trench coat, he's not exactly a pretty sight.
"Uh. My uniform?"
"Don't even get me started on your uniform. But that's just one of many, many problems with your appearance."
"Um."
"Mono," the Teacher growls. "Where. Are. Your. Shoes."
Mono is really starting to get really sick and tired of that question.
Grumbling, Mono drags himself to his chair, sulking as RK tilts his head curiously towards him.
"She made you swap seats?"
"Yeah."
Resting his head on his arms, Mono stared at the chalkboard with glazed eyes, barely processing the information. She's prattling on about equations, or something. Her bulbous eyes dart around in her skull as she surveys her work, barking out questions every so often. Ugh. Creepy. Just as Mono begins to drift off, a gentle bandaged hand brushes his shoulder, and RK looks worryingly into his eyes.
"As much as I hate to admit it," he muses, "The Teacher has a point."
"Does she, now?"
"She does, as a matter of fact. Although she's a bit harsh about it."
Mono looks away. "Just spit it out."
RK's hand draws back, and he picks at the stained cloth encasing his arms. "You're not okay."
"Yeah, I am."
"Liar. Look at yourself."
Mono sighs. He wants to sink into the floorboards, and preferably never emerge again. Maybe become a floorboard. That would be nice. Being a floorboard.
"Look," RK murmurs, "I'm sorry there isn't anything more I can do. But… I have something for you. You said you can't call us from wherever you're going, right? Because your Father records all the logs, and stuff?"
"Mhm," mumbles Mono, picking at the buttons on his coat. "Pretty much."
With a brisk nod, RK begins to dig in his bag, jostling books and paper around as he searches. Eying him curiously, Mono leans over just as RK suddenly pulls a pair of cheap brick phones out of his bag, placing them in his hand.
"I think there's about sixty minutes on each of these," he says with flourish. "But we'll top it up if you need. Give one to Six. And don't use it unless you have to. Raine's using her pocket money to pay for them, and her parents only give so much, so…"
A little part of him resents RK for bursting his little bubble. His pocket of peace. But he supposes it was going to happen anyway, and he's eternally grateful for the phones; it's a connection to them. A way out.
"Thank you," he whispers breathlessly. "Thank you so, so much."
RK flushes a little. "Raine's the one paying for them, not me. But… you're welcome."
Mono turns the dark blue phone around in his hands. It's worn, with a couple of scratches on the plastic, but it couldn't look more beautiful.
"I thought they didn't have signal out in the sea?"
"They don't. But The Maw has some sort of personal mast— I'm not sure how it works, but it's for the guests. Six should be able to use it there, though."
"I'll give one to her at lunch," he murmurs. "Thank you, RK. Really."
RK turns even redder. "Don't thank me!" He flushes, waving his hands around. "I barely did anything! I'm not even paying for it!"
"RYOSUKE!" Shrieks the Teacher. "MONO! SILENCE!"
Their jaws clack shut.
The bell for lunch comes sooner rather than later.
Mono immediately makes a beeline for Six as soon he can, running up to her desk as slowly gets up. RK follows, and Raine sidles up as well as they all flock around her. Six gives them all a wary look.
"Oh no," she mutters, looking up at their beaming faces. "What's with that look?"
Mono crams a phone into her hand, and Six curiously eyes it, tracing the buttons and flipping it back and forth. She looks up.
"A phone?"
"Yup!" Raine cheerfully grins. "RK came up with it last night when he was cleaning his Granny's room. Phones!"
"I didn't really do anything—"
Six clears her throat, the three sets of inquisitive eyes heading her direction.
"I've never had a phone before," she points out. "So, um… could one of you show me how to use it?"
"Right!" Raine yelps. "Right. So, you just power it on with that red button— see, that one there?"
"I'm not blind," Six grumbles, running her finger over the brightly colored button. "I have eyes."
"Then you put in the phone number of the person you want to call—"
Raine digs in her pocket, pulling out two slips of paper. "Here's mine, RK's, and the phone Mono will use. You can keep the paper, if you want!"
"Nah," Six murmurs, dark eyes darting as she scans the numbers. "I'll get in trouble if Mother finds out. I'll remember them just fine."
She turns to give Mono a deadpan stare. "I don't know about Mono, though. I think you'll have to give him backups for his backups."
He splutters. "I— my memory isn't that bad!"
"You forgot to put on your shoes this morning."
"I was in a hurry! And stop bringing it up!"
"Anyway," Raine juts in, "just click that green button when you're finished. And then you're done! The call should go through!"
Six hums, carefully stowing it in her bag and clicking the fold back in place.
"Thanks," she suddenly blurts. Her hands bunch up folds of her raincoat in her fists. "I don't know what I would've done if you didn't give me this."
Raine's mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish, and RK stares. Mono looks down at his feet.
Just as they're about to say something most likely sentimental and sloppy and probably embarrassing, a sharp, whip-like noise shocks them out of the trance. The group dart their heads to the fuming Teacher, who has a cracked ruler gripped tightly in her fist.
"The classrooms are closed during lunch," she snaps. "Now get out."
Bowing their heads and mumbling apologies, they file out of the door, gathering their bags and belongings.
Shifting the straps of his bag as they slowly make their way down the hallway and into the courtyard, Mono anxiously chews on his lips. RK is the first to break the silence.
"So," he delicately says, "where should we sit? Considering today is…"
Right. His last day having lunch with the three of them.
"You should pick," chips in Raine. There's a resigned sort of sadness deep within her eyes she fails to conceal. "It's your day."
Your day. What a funny way to put it.
"I don't know," he mutters, "maybe by the swings? The grass there is nice. Or—"
Suddenly, there's a chorus of stomping feet and obnoxious cackles, and a pompous girl accompanied by a gaggle of Bullies storm their way into the clearing.
"You're not going anywhere!" She trills, cutting dramatically through the sullen air.
Mono whips his head around. It's… it's…
Oh my god. I can't catch a break.
"Are you serious?" Mono laughs. "Are you serious? Really? Now?"
He turns to Raine to apologize and explain to her this whole ludicrous situation, but if anything, she looks even more furious.
"What are you doing here?" She snaps at the girl. "Go away! I don't know what you want, and I don't care! Get. Out."
RK pales, like he's about to have an asthma attack from the sheer stress. Mono doesn't blame him.
In front of them, the girl huffs and twirls a pale curl of hair between her fingers. "Why do you even associate with these… mongrels, Raine? Really, you can do so much better with—"
Six glowers. "Don't call us that, pint."
The girl glowers right back. "That's not my name, doll. And it's Mistress to you."
Six rolls her eyes as dramatically as she can, and grabs Mono's wrist. He lets her.
"Don't know, don't care," she growls, tugging him away. Mono appreciates the effort, but he's pretty sure it's going to be fruitless. "We're leaving."
The girl — pint, as Six so eloquently put it — rushes to step in front of them, pallid green dress flapping in the cold breeze. Sleet starts to patter down upon the two of them, and the other Bullies silently step forward. It's a threat.
"You're not going anywhere," she repeats, "until he knows his place."
She points at Mono. Him?
Me?
"Me?" He gestures at his chest. "What did I do?"
"What your Father did."
Mono resists the urge to roll his eyes as strongly as Six had done mere seconds ago. Hot fury flares up in his chest.
"He's. Not. My. Father."
"Yes he is," she snarls, stepping uncomfortable close to him. She jabs her finger roughly at his chest. "Everyone knows, now. And you know what he did."
Mono let out a frenzied laugh. "No, I don't. I haven't even see him in a year! What are you talking about?"
"And," she scoffs, "dragging Raine along to deal with you… you wretched vermin—"
Six hurriedly tugs on his sleeve. "We're leaving."
Mono's eyes are wet and hot and blazing. He can't deal with any of this right now. He's actually going to punch something.
He tries to back away with Six, but a Bully suddenly grabs her hair, and she yelps.
"And you, Rokka!" The girl sneers, eyes narrowing. "You— you filth—"
"Stop that!" Raine yells, attempting to storm over even as a Bully holds her and RK back. Mono notices with contempt how much more gentle they are with her.
"Don't call her that!" Lashes RK, thrashing against the hold of another Bully.
Mono feels the sensation of hands restraining his arms, even one grasping his hair, but he barely feels it.
"You filth!" The girl continues, ranting and seething. She seizes the cuff of Six's raincoat in a tight grip, and Six scowls, glaring daggers into her eyes. "I haven't forgotten that time you… you…"
She dramatically lifts the corner of her pale bangs to reveal a small scar, marring the perfect porcelain of her forehead. The Bullies around her gasp in fake sympathy. It would be almost comical if the situation wasn't so dire.
Where's the Teacher when we actually need her, dang it?
Six turns her nose up at the sight. "I'd do it again. It was just a rock, anyway! And you started it!"
At this, the girl lets out a shriek of fury, shaking Six back and forth.
"Good thing they're shipping you off to that… to that stinking boat," she snarls, raising her fist. "After what I'll do to you, no one will want to see your hideous face! So you can hide behind a mask forever!"
What happens next is a blur, but Mono is pretty certain that the Bully isn't the one who lands the first punch.
Mono stares blankly at the paneled ceiling.
His chest hurts and makes an odd wheezing noise whenever he breathes, and there's small bruises dotting his arms and legs, so he was a little concerned at first. But the Doctor just made an odd grunting noise through his puffy lips after cleaning his small scratches and scabs, leaving him to the devices of the other nurses. So he supposes he isn't too bad off, judging by his reaction.
He can't talk for the other Bullies, though. Mono is distantly aware he probably broke a couple bones, but he can't really find it within himself to care. After all, they started it.
Kind of. He might of thrown the first punch, but they were going to if he didn't. So it wasn't his fault.
From a couple of wards down the hall, he can hear the wailing and crying of several Bullies down the hall, and Mono can't help but be a little proud of how well he and Six managed to hold their own against such a big crowd. He's not too sure about Raine, but he's pretty certain Raine managed to wriggle out without hurting anyone and call a teacher — probably the reason why no one has an eye gouged out, bless her — but RK did land a swing before ducking out. So he might get in trouble too, if the Teacher finds out.
Not that he'll rat him out. Nor Six. He'd rather die, to be honest.
This school isn't really a stranger to fights; they hear — or witness — several a week, and before he became friends with Raine and RK, he had to actively avoid them too. Maybe that's why he became so caught up in this one so easily. He's gotten soft.
Gingerly sitting himself up to glance out the door, he tries to snag a glimpse of Six, wherever she is. But the endless, sterile halls of cold tiles never seem to end, and the only sign of life is the occasional passing nurse or the faint cries of an injured child. No matter how hard he squints, there's no sign of bright yellow in the sea of clinical white.
Sighing, Mono flumps back on his pillow, fiddling with his the edge of his blanket.
He hasn't been to the hospital in a long time. Or maybe he has, and he's forgotten along the way. It wouldn't have been the first time. Either way, the unfamiliarity unsettles him. He just wants to leave. Mono's injuries aren't that bad. If he sneaks out, he should be able to make it home by five.
Wait.
Mono shoots up, bunching the thin bedsheets in his hand. Right. Today was his last day, moving day. A distinct feeling of nausea and what must be bile rises in his throat. Father was going to pick him up today. To move. Permanently. And if he wasn't home…
He'll be in trouble. Big trouble. Father would think he'd tried to run away, and then he'll…
Mono slams the 'call nurse' button beside his bed. In a few agonizing seconds, a yawning nurse shuffles over and eyes him with contempt.
"Well?" She asks, raising an eyebrow. "What do you want?"
"I—" Mono coughs, clutching his chest, "you— you haven't called my um… emergency contact, right?"
"What's your name?"
"Mono."
The nurse yawns once more, and unhurriedly pulls out the patient logbook from a pocket, languidly flipping through the pages. Mono feels like ripping his hair out.
"We have, actually," she drawls, and the words make his heart drop. "About twenty minutes ago, when you were first admitted."
Oh god, oh god. He needs to get home right now.
"I need to go," Mono blurts, wriggling out of the sheets. "I've gotta go home."
"No, you aren't," the nurse snaps, forcefully pushing him back into the mattress. "You're staying right here."
"I have to go home," Mono chokes, and he weakly pushes back against her hands. "He's expecting me to be home by a certain time, and if I'm not there—"
"Kid," the nurse irritably snaps. "You've got it wrong."
"Huh?"
"You're not going there," she testily says. "He's coming here."
Mono returns to staring at the ceiling, trying to calm down.
He's coming here. His Father. Here?
That doesn't makes sense. That doesn't make sense at all. Father would rather die than skip a program, and he should be on right now; it's around five. It's the most important thing in the world to him. He didn't even come when he nearly got murdered, let alone some shallow little school fight. No, it doesn't make sense. Maybe it's security coming to pick him up. Right, he would never come in person. Unless… unless…
Unless he was 'ruining his reputation'. Crap. Starting a school fight probably counted.
He's going to be in trouble. So much trouble. He needs to hide, to run, something other than lying down here and doing nothing like a sitting duck, just waiting for the chair to be kicked from under his feet—
The bell rings.
Mono's heart pulses in his chest, like some sort of traitorous gong, and he bolts up, chest be dammed. Breathing shallowly, he watches with trepidation as the door creaks open.
He looks the same as ever.
Face creased in wrinkles, a prim fedora perched upon his head and an expensive suit wrapped firmly around his towering form, Mono's Father ducks into the room, politely ducking his hat in the nurse's direction.
"Hello!" He smiles jovially, a thin crease of fury under his eye that only Mono can see. "I'm here to pick up Mono."
The nurse gasps, dropping her pen, and Mono tries his best not to hyperventilate.
"It really is you! Oh, Sir, it's such an honor to meet you…"
"Oh, please! I'm happy to meet any fan of mine…"
"My husband and I love your shows… I'm so sorry to bother you at a time like this, but could you please sign…"
Mono blinks once, then twice, and then he's suddenly out in the hospital halls, blearily blinking as a grip tight enough to bruise drags him along the corridor.
His eyes drag across the endless rooms, tongue like lead and limbs weighted with fear that feels uncomfortably familiar. He doesn't utter a word as Father hauls him away; at least, until a raspy voice calls to him from a room, accompanied by a vibrant flash of lemon yellow that seems to illuminate the dreary passageways.
"Mono!" Six screams, stumbling forward. Hovering over her, a lofty, porcelain form draped in brown robes restrains her as she tries to make her way towards him, hissing in furious tones he can scarcely understand. Mono can hear the terror in Six's voice as she calls out, laced with aching agitation.
The sight sobers him out of his daze — at least, temporarily.
"Six!" He cries back, tugging against Father's iron grip, and he forcefully yanks him back.
"Don't make a scene," he smiles, all faux pleasantry. Father drags him along.
Trying to rip his wrist free proves impossible. "Wait, wait, please—"
Father suddenly whips around to glare at him, his grasp on Mono's wrist tightening. His eyes narrow.
"Don't test me." It's a threat. "Haven't you done enough today?"
Biting his lip, Mono bows his head, staring at his bare feet as Father drags him out of the hospital and into the car. Faintly behind him, Six continues to yell and shout, but the sound is muffled, like his ears are underwater. Mono's eyes lid, and he casts them away.
He doesn't have the strength to call back.
Mono's head loll on the car door, limp as he stares at the barren roads. There isn't much traffic at this hour; everyone's already home.
He begins to open his mouth, perhaps to salvage his situation with an apology, but it closes before anything makes its way out. The desperate panic from before had long receded into a void, replaced with some other nameless feeling. Was it acceptance? Mono didn't think so.
The sleet from this afternoon has transformed into snow. Probably a part of the cold snap his Father talked on the news before. It wasn't the soft, lulling kind he liked, though. It's mixed with fat drops of rain, and the slurry pounds against the windscreen, buffeted by the gale.
"Do you know what you just did?"
Mono doesn't know how to answer that one without getting in trouble. It's a fight he can't win.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't start with that nonsense."
The thick air in the car shivers to a chilly silence. Mono chews on his bruised lips until they start to bleed, hands trembling violently in his lap.
Pulling over to the side of the street, Father wordlessly drags him out of the car and into the apartment block, storming into the lobby. The receptionist stares at the pair as they come to a stop in front of the elevator.
"What's this?" Father mutters irritably.
"It's broken!" The receptions calls. Her eyes squint, as though she's trying to put a name to the face lugging Mono along. "It's been broken since last year, I think. You're gonna have to take the stairs."
Father curses, anger spilling from the cracks of his respectable persona. He storms up the stairs, clenching Mono's bruised wrist. Mono nearly trips a couple of times, limply allowing his miniature form be hauled along.
As they reach the door of their apartment — practically Mono's apartment by now —Father jams his key roughly into the keyhole, shoving it open and yanking Mono inside.
He slams the door shut behind him. It feels like a death sentence.
Father surveys the room, eyeing the knocked over chairs and tables, the thick layer of dust covering most of the house.
"What's this?" He utters, kicking a stray chair lying limply on the floor.
"Chair," Mono mumbles. He gripes at his coat. "Used it to block the door."
"Why?"
"People keep following me home."
"And who's fault is that?"
Yours, snarls a furious, foreign voice from within some shrunken void in his head.
"Mine."
Father strides around the living room, tilting his head as he takes the sight in.
"It looks like a rats nest here. Have you even cleaned up the place before?"
Mono swallows thickly. "Yes. It's just… this morning, I was in a rush."
Father raises his eyebrows. "What, and you forgot your shoes too? You lost them in that little squabble of yours?"
Mono's heart pulses in his chest, like a rotten lump of flesh attached to his chest for everyone to see. He hates it. He wishes he could hide it.
He forgot how much he hated this. He got… soft.
"No," he croaks, "I—"
Father slaps him.
Mono reels back, hand gingerly touching his burning cheek. It's red and already beginning to swell, and he can feel the blood rushing to it, like little maggots wriggling beneath his skin. His breath quickens, anticipating something he doesn't even remember.
Or does he? The way he stumbles back and falls to the ground seems too choreographed. Like a muscle memory. Like it's already happened hundreds of times before. Thousands. Millions.
Father drags him by the hair to the stairs, and some faint ember of resistance flares within him out of sheer panic when he realizes what's going to happen, scratching at his Father's hands and pleading some muddled-up apology he can't even understand himself.
He just slaps Mono again.
Throwing him against the hard doors of the cupboard, Father sighs, pinching his temple. Mono tries his best to stand, to claim some shred of dignity, but his arms and legs are shaking too bad to obey.
"Do you know," Father repeats, whispering, "what you did?"
"I—" Mono coughs, lungs rattling. His ribs feel like they're shredding the flesh of his chest. "I don't—"
"Do you know how hard I tried to keep you hidden? Safe?"
"I— I do!"
"Liar." He tilts his head. "You don't know at all, do you?"
Mono seizes the fabric of his trench coat, clutching at his chest in some warped attempt to halt the hyperventilation of his treacherous lungs. He doesn't say a word.
"I gave you one rule," Father snarls, towering over Mono's form. He tries to scramble back, but his back just hits unforgiving wood instead. No running. "And what do you do? Break it. Flaunt it."
Mono opens his mouth to protest, or beg, or something, but Father suddenly wrenches him up, holding him aloft by the collar. It makes a ripping noise, but holds. Mono scrabbles at his neck, making small choking noises.
"You know what this will do?!" Father roars, shoving him against the wooden walls. Mono hears something crack, and a stabbing pain echoes dully through his backbone.
"You know how this will damage my reputation?!" He continues, ranting wildly. "Hurt the Viewers? Associating with the daughter of that viper, running that ghastly ship?! Making me a… a suspect?! Soon the whole world will know what a bratty little son I have, and—"
He breathes heavily, grip loosening. "I'm disappointed in you. You're grown up. I thought you'd know better, act proper—"
"I'm fourteen."
Father pauses. "What did you just say?"
"I'm fourteen," rasps Mono. He barely even registers the words as the tumble messily out of his mouth. "I'm not grown up. Not that… not that you'd even know that."
Father's piercing eyes glare into his own. He's deadly silent.
"I know why you're so worried about the public's opinion on you," Mono whispers quietly. "It's the investigation, isn't it?"
Father's grip slackens. Mono glowers back into his eyes.
"And I'd rather be with 'the daughter of a viper' than be with you. I… I hate you!"
Father stares quietly at Mono compact from, twitching in his grip and breathing heavily. He pauses.
And then his hands move up from Mono's collar to his throat.
Mono doesn't even have a chance to react, gagging and gasping as his Father's thin, bony fingers choke his neck. He scratches and digs his chipped fingernails into his skin, but Father doesn't even react.
"We're leaving tomorrow," Father says calmly, paying no mind as Mono thrashes and gasps. "Change of plans. And I'll be destroying that phone your little friends gave to you. I saw it in the pocket of your bag."
He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. Is he going to die?
Father reaches into the pouch on the side of Mono's backpack — which he's faintly aware of, hanging off his shoulders — and Mono's legs kick wildly, vainly attempting to defend himself in some feral bid for freedom. He even tries to bite him, to no avail. The phone is taken.
"You will never contact anyone other than me, unless you must. Can't trust you anymore, can I?"
Mono's legs weaken, slowing. There's fat tears in his eyes now, dripping onto the floor. He's crying. Like a baby.
"You will never speak of this ever again."
Mono's vision blurs, thick ink eating up the corners of his eyes. His arms fall limply to his sides.
"And," Father snarls venomously, "you will obey me, dammit."
Abruptly, the hands release him, dropping Mono to floor. But it's too late. Mono feels a sharp stab of pain striking its way through his head, flooding onyx into his sight, and oxygen fails to reach his lungs quick enough.
The last thing he remembers is the stink of cigarettes on his Father's breath, the stale smell of soot and ash.
Mono awakes with a sharp gasp. He clutches his chest, coughing raggedly.
Breathing shallowly, he blinks, trying to focus on his surroundings. It's no use, though; no matter how much he rubs his eyes, the pitch darkness surrounding him remains the same. As he tries to sit up, the top of his head sharply comes into contact with the hard wooden ceiling, and he lowers it with a wince. The air is musty, and smells of old fire and embers.
It's his worst nightmare come to life.
Is he dead? Was this some sort of purgatory? He doesn't think so. He can feel the gunk around his eyes, the throbbing of his head, the burning of his throat. He can still feel. So he still has something going for him, he guesses.
Mono shuffles in the dark, wheezing as his lungs remember how to work. His head is killing him. And all he can feel is…
Nothing?
He doesn't really feel anything, anymore. Like a black hole had grown in his chest and ate everything inside. Mono can still feel the little crystals bunched up in the corners of his eyes from when he was crying, and his chest still occasionally makes little hiccuping noises, but he doesn't really feel a recognizable, tangible emotion.
He chalks it up to acceptance.
Letting out a quiet little sigh, Mono rests his head back on the floorboards before taking a deep breath — a mistake, all he can smell is soot — and carefully crouches up, ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the ceiling again.
So. Baseline. Where was he?
He's already pretty sure. He remembers. The cupboard.
Mono traces his hands along the walls, feeling the rough surface. His hands come off ashy, and he brushes them against his pants.
He wants to get out. Needs to get out. The very thought of staying here for even a minute longer makes his heart hammer out of sheer stress. But even if he could get out — which, let's face it, is looking more and more unlikely by the second — Father would just lock him in again. Or get him in even more trouble. He might… he might actually kill him. Not on purpose, but…
Mono shakily lets out a quiet breath. He needs to get out. Maybe try run away again or something, despite the odds. Say a proper goodbye to his friends. Something, other than just forgetting again, in a new city, and going along with whatever Father wants him to.
Six… he didn't even get to hug her. Say goodbye. Wish her well. She was already terrified enough of having to go to the Maw, let alone seeing him get dragged away. What a terrible last impression. And he didn't get to even see RK or Raine. They probably wouldn't even know what happened to him until Six told them. And then she would be by herself. Alone in the ocean. In a mere two days time.
Something stirs in his gut. Something definite, something real, although he can't put a name to it. So. Out it was. No matter the consequences. Really, he's reached the lowest of the low, so there's… there's nowhere to go but up, right?
Six had everything to lose. What more could he lose? If Mono stays here, he would resign himself to a mindless… thing, forgetting and being dragged along by adults for the rest of his measly life.
So he crawls along the wooden boards, leather bag weighing him down. As Mono feels his way to the door and brushes against the cold lock, just where he remembered it to be, he digs in his pockets.
He had a paperclip or something, didn't he? To pick the lock?
Rummaging frantically, he pulls out a trove of objects: a couple of sweets, a pencil, even that detective's card — useless, now that Father had taken the phone — but no paperclip.
Drat. His luck is truly terrible. Did Father take it? Decidedly not. He would've taken Myra's card too. And probably would've woken him up to actually strangle him this time. The most likely answer? He probably forgot it in another coat. Which was stupid, and shallow, and most definitely his fault, going off the fact that this exact situation was the reason why he kept it in the first place. But whatever.
So. Stuck, then. Unless he can break the door down? But he's not that strong, and doesn't have—
Wait. His bag. His bag was still on his back. And it was just as heavy as ever, meaning…
Hurriedly ripping it off and scouring the insides, his fingers grazes a familiar, wooden handle.
Mono almost wants to cry again. Only in relief, this time.
Dragging his hatchet out of his bag, he feels the cold, rusty metal, the splinter-ridden wood, and he feels aching relief.
He'll just… break himself out. Like he breaks Six out. Simple.
But then what? If Father was awake, he'd just catch him again.
Well, he's quick. He knows the building layout better than him. He can run. Maybe… maybe, if he swings at him with the hatchet, he'll stay back. Right? Like the stalker from before.
But then what? He knows Father is worried about the County police. Well… at least a certain faction of them. But now knowing Pale City — including the police — was practically completely under his control, what does he do? He can't come to any of them for help. Not that he wants to. But then he'll have so many people hunting him down… or would he even bother? Would he just kill him? Sell him off, like he did to the—
Well. No time to think about that. It was late afternoon when he was knocked out and assuming — assuming — it had been a couple hours, it was night now. Meaning he didn't have that much time to get out while everyone was still asleep.
Quietly zipping up his bag and hunching into a crouch, Mono strains his ears. He doesn't hear anything particularly worrying. Not even a phone call. In fact… he… doesn't hear anything at all.
Well. He can't think about that right now. Mono grasps the hatchet in his hands, reveling in its familiar weight, and lands a practiced swing at the door.
It takes three hits to make a sizable hole big enough for him to squeeze through.
Lunging out as fast as he can and jumping to his feet, Mono readies himself to swing, to yell 'back off!' or something silly like that, to run, eyes squinting as they adjust to to the dim light drifting through the hallway.
But no one comes.
He stands there for a moment, breathing heavily as his hands clench the hatchet, waiting for a daunting figure to duck out from a corner, to squeeze the life out of him once more. But no one comes, and he slowly lowers the axe.
Something uneasy stirs in his stomach. All the lights are off; the only way he can even see anything is through a faint, bluish glow emanating from the living room. Mono hears something quietly babbling in the distance, some sort of… talk show.
His Father's voice. But not his real voice.
If curiosity killed the cat, Mono supposed, it should've killed him by now. So he slinks into the living room, poised to run.
He doesn't have to. Mono sees his Father, sitting on the couch to face the television, but his head lolls limply to the side, and stray empty bottles and glasses sit in front of him. One has already rolled off the coffee table, shards astray on the floor.
Father is drunk. Blackout drunk, on his own ego. Watching his own damn show.
Mono laughs. He laughs, a high pitched, crazy little thing, and steps around the couch to face him, sleeping and snoring on the couch without a care in the world.
He must be so proud of himself. Even after all the mess his bratty little son has caused, things are still in order. Smooth sailing. How… how nice.
Mono's back aches as he staggers forward, the glass shards cutting his feet. He doesn't even notice.
He's just lying there. Getting drunk. Sleeping. Snoozing away. While Mono fears for his life, for Six, for RK, for Raine, for all the lives he now knows Father has ruined, he gets drunk. He can't believe he felt any affection for this… thing. This animal. This monster. He missed him. Missed him!
Mono clenches the handle of his hatchet, nails digging into the wood.
And tomorrow, he'll just get up. Get up like nothing ever happened, lock Mono alone in some other big, empty apartment to rot, or god forbid, stay with him. Ruining his life just because he can. He'll isolate him like it means nothing, casually go on television shows like he isn't trafficking children, and people, and who knows what else? King of the Pale City. All authority in the palm of his hand. Beloved by everyone.
The cycle will begin again. Mono will forget. Again.
Mono's eyes bore into the man's lanky figure. He knows the feeling swelling in his gut, now. It's acrid, burning his stomach, his lungs, his chest, his bruised throat. Hate. Hate. Hate.
No father of mine.
Mono rises the axe. With years of repressed fury, frustration and a practiced swing, he slams the rusty blade down on the man's throat.
Blood bubbles out of his neck, like some particularly gruesome geyser. The Broadcaster's lidded eyes stutter awake in shock, but Mono doesn't give him the chance to protest, to fight back. His hand reaches out, and Mono strikes him again and again. Neck, chest, heart—
It takes three hits for him to stop moving. Surprisingly quick. Well, at least Mono thinks it's quick.
He's never killed someone before.
Lowering the hatchet, crimson dripping from the soiled blade, Mono stares at the bloodied body that used to be his Father. He doesn't really feel anything anymore, the bubbling fury in his gut simmering to a stop. Should he feel bad? Perhaps. But he doesn't.
Scarlet begins to ink its way across the man's blazer, fanning out to seep into his socks, then his leather shoes. Right. He should probably clean this up before someone finds out.
In trance, Mono stiffly walks to the kitchen, pulling out a garbage bag out from some cupboard. He half expects a vengeful corpse to arise from the couch and enact some sort of revenge, but the body remains as still as ever, and Mono safely makes his way back to the couch.
He drags it from the sofa and shovels it into the bag. It's messy, and unpleasant, and certainly not neat at all, but it does the job.
Mono ties the bag with a tight knot.
There's still some blood on the floor. Some is coming from his feet. Right. He should probably clean that up.
After soaking up the mess with a hefty amount of paper towels, Mono heads to the bathroom to bandage his feet. It stings a little. Not enough for it to be painful, but enough for him to be wary about the infection it might give him if he doesn't.
Mono gazes at his form in the mirror. He doesn't like what he sees.
Crouching on the floor and wrapping his feet is quick enough, and he returns to the living room to stare at the bag.
He doesn't know where to put it.
Mono definitely doesn't want to store it inside the house. It'll rot, and smell, and someone would probably find out.
So. Outside? Probably his only option. It's just past midnight, so the city is dead quiet. Not a soul around. Mono should be able to make his way around pretty much undisturbed.
However. Dragging the bag down the stairs and through the apartment lobby seems a bit stupid. There aren't many security cameras around, but he doesn't want to risk it. Perhaps he'll drop it out the window and pick it up as he comes down? And his face. His face…
Mono heads back to the kitchen, and rummages around in the cupboards until he finds a paper bag, shaking out the contents.
Mono traces circles around its surface. This would do, right?
A calm breeze glides through reeds. Snow drifts idly down from the sky, chilling the sand and pebbles beneath Mono's feet.
Crouching by the lake, Mono opens the bag once more, peering into the depths.
A pair of glazed eyes stare back at him, face marred with blood. He looks… sad.
Mono gently shuts the lids of the eyes and grabs a handful of rocks to cover them, tying the plastic bag back up.
Dragging it across the jetty, Mono hauls it over to the edge and gazes into the water. He can't really throw the bag, but he doesn't need to. The jetty goes out pretty far, and the rocks should weigh it down.
Mono takes one more look at the bag and numbly kicks it over the edge.
It sinks almost immediately, and the lake readily swallows it up as the bag sinks down into the abyss.
Sitting down and swinging his feet over ledge, Mono stares at the rippling currents. His vision isn't exactly clear with the bag on, but it feels secure, safe. The view is pretty, even if he can't see much. The air here is nice, and—
Mono lets out a shaky breath, clenching at the collar of his trench coat. Brown stains dot his pants, and his shirt, and red is already seeping from the bandages on his feet. He feels sick. Like he's about to throw up.
But… he doesn't feel guilty. And that causes him more guilt than anything else.
Choking out wheezing coughs, Mono gingerly feels his neck. He can't quite see how bad the damage is, but he can feel it throbbing and swelling.
He doesn't want to go back home. But he can't stay on the jetty.
Mono staggers up and limps back to the apartment, hunched with the weight of a thousand sins as flakes of snow gently caress his hunched form.