Brothers Through The Storm

by N0rthwind

Summary:

Verlaine's plans had been simple upon hearing of Japan's "King of the Sheep", a teen allegedly capable of controlling gravity.
Go to Yokohama. Scout out the situation. Leave or investigate further depending on the situation.
He did not calculate familiar faces, mafia heirs and idiotic children.

~

"This may sound stupid... but do I know you?"

Yes, he wanted to scream, yes you know me you idot. We betrayed each other six years ago!

Instead he smiled politely. "We've met" he said, and regretted it at the hope in Arthur's eyes.

"Ah, splendid- could we talk over coffee, soon? I have to find my boss' kid, small thing, covered in bandages? But truly you have no idea-"

If God existed, he was not merciful.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Out of everything, it wasn't losing his designation as "Black No. 12" that changed his life. It wasn't Arthur Rimbaud teaching him about humanity, insisting that he too was human no matter the circumstances of his birth. 

(And wasn't that laughable? A being such as him, a clone, a bunch of lines of code, created as a adult, created by human hands rather than God's, a human? Oh, Arthur never understood, no matter what he said.)

No, it wasn't becoming Paul Verlaine. It wasn't being a Transcendent. It wasn't Pan's death. It wasn't working for the French Government. It wasn't Arthur, as heavy as his heart felt with that knowledge. 

No, it was their last mission together. 

It was finding that tank, placing a hand against cold glass. Watching a child float inside a tank, pale, held alive by an oxygen mask and various tubes. The only living experiment they'd come across. "Project Arahabaki", Arthur had said from where he was flipping through files, voice echoing in the quiet room, "a singularity like yours- they found Pan's work!" 

And Paul? Paul had stared at the face of the sleeping child, too distracted to feel much of anything at the mention of his creator. Hand firmly pressed against the glass, eyes fixated on the living, breathing, being in front of him. "Inhumane" he had whispered, and had watched as tiny, thin fingers twitched in the water, small hand raising towards the glass. 

A hand on his shoulder had broken the spell and his hand slid down an inch or two. The small clone's dropped entirely. Or was he a human? No, no the child couldn't be human. Not if it held a singularity. A human wouldn't be able to withstand that. Much less a child. So it was a clone. 

(He couldn't bring himself to call it- him anything but a child-)

Yet he couldn't help but wonder... what would happen, if he brought the child back to France? Nothing good. They'd likely want to study him. Train and educate him.

He didn't want that for the small child. 

 "Paul, Paul- the glass. You're breaking it" Arthur's voice shook him out of his trance and he blinked. Spiderweb-like cracks ran across the glass, originating from where his fingertips rested against cold glass. "I'll open the tank to get it out in a minute, get ready for-" 

The fissures spread with a small crack, deepening until water seeped from in between them. Ability flaring up at the use of 'it' for the child. "No need, I have him" he heard himself say as if through cotton. The glass shattered, shards held up by a faint blue glow. 

Water spilled around their feet, the shards shooting up and embedding themselves into the ceiling. Arthur sighed beside him, while Verlaine carefully picked up the child. He was light, and he wondered, idly, if that was normal or just him being physically stronger by nature. 

"Let's get it out of here and get back to France"

It was at that moment that Paul realized, ever so slowly, that they likely wouldn't find common ground.

It, Arthur called the child. He could see where he was coming from. The child was a clone. Had to be. But... an It? An It when Arthur refused to call Paul an It?

He hadn't referred to the boy as inhumane. No. He'd meant this facility.

(In hindsight, pulling gun on Arthur was both the hardest and easiest thing he'd ever done.

He just lamented that his first true act of selfishness ended in an explosion...

Literally.)

Notes:

Welcome to yet another Bungo Stray Dogs fanfiction!
The title sucks and I have currently no idea for a better one, so yay to improvised titles

I should probably have reread Stormbringer before starting this, but oh well.

(I have zero idea what I'm doing but we'll see where this goes)

Chapter 2: I Don't Take Contracts on Children

A street vendor shouted, waving his fist after a trio of gangly kids, righting his cart that had almost tipped over when one of the three had stumbled into it. The children, however, ran and giggled and didn't look back. They ducked through narrow alleys between ramshackle buildings, beneath cloth lines and leapt over pipes that had been build for plumbing and then forgotten by whoever had wanted to restore Suribachi.

They ran and ran until they reached a shabby hut in one of the outer rings, and ran right into a ginger boy. The fastest of the three crashed into his legs with a yelp, the other two skidding to a halt barely in time.

"Riku, Ichiro, Hana..."

Blue-brown eyes glanced between the three. The boy addressing them crossed his arms. Despite his frame being a hint thinner than even these three, despite being clearly not much older and being far from taller, he held an authority that left the three shaking.

"Ah, Chuuya-kun..." Riku stammered, the boy who'd crashed into him, and hid a bottle of sake behind his back, "it's not what it looks like..."

The only slightly taller boy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Really? 'cause it looks like ya stole from Old Genji again. And Ichiro, is that cigarettes I'm seeing?"

The three ducked their heads in unison.

"Look, I ain't mad, but ya need to quit gettin' in trouble with Old Genji. The old man has the patience of a saint, but he ain't one" had his voice not been so serious, the words could've almost been taken as a light-hearted joke.

Hana smiled, though it was clear she was just as nervous as her brothers. "But Shi said..." she started, and the redhead scoffed. "He put ya up to this?"

With a frown, the redhead snatched the alcohol and cigarettes from the younger kids when Hana nodded. "Ya ain't old enough for this shit"

His best friend, technically, wasn't either. But these kids were far younger and he didn't want them to slip down the same hill the older ones of them had fallen down.

"If he tries gettin' ya to steal this shit again, tell him I forbid ya"

He sighed, and marched off. Silently praying to whatever God that listened that the kids would actually listen to him.

In his years with the Sheep, one thing was a constant: The older members, such as Yuan, Shirase and him, tried to keep the newbies from making shitty decisions.

Of course, in a street gang that held kids with addictions from day one, many of the newbies sooner or later also slipped down the slope of alcohol and, in bad cases, drugs.

Chuuya couldn't claim to be better than Shirase. He drank, occasionally, despite being only thirteen. Shirase was fourteen, and the older boy not only drank but also smoked. Usually just whatever cigarettes he could get his hands on, but he'd heard Yuan scold him for trying other shit.

He sighed, massaging his temple with his free hand. Clutching the bottle of sake with the other. The cigarettes weighted a ton in his pocket.

He glanced down at the label of the bottle and narrowed his eyes. This wasn't the stuff Old Genji usually drank. No, this stuff had Mori Corp. written on it. The Port Mafia, of all things.

"Shirase, what the fuck were you thinking?!" Chuuya asked, narrowing his eyes at the slightly taller boy. With a lighthearted scoff, Shirase grabbed the Sake from him- tried to, at least. The redhead proved himself to be faster.

Brown-and-blue eyes never left dark grey ones as the shorter boy flung the bottle against the wall of a nearby building. It shattered upon impact, the smell of alcohol tainting the air, the cracking of glass alerting some birds that had been resting on the roofs.

Shirase scrunched up his nose. "Seriously?" he sighed, voice lined with resignation rather than anger. "I'm sure those kids went through such a hassle to get that for me... sent them to the new warehouse too..."

"Are you mad? We don't need more trouble with the Port Mafia with winter right around the corner!" Chuuya shouted. Anyone else would've likely backed off. Gone quiet in the face of the redhead's anger.

Not Shirase.

He laughed, and put an arm around Chuuya's shoulder. "Calm down, man. They're no threat for us! As long as we got you, obviously" the grey-haired boy shrugged. The ginger only huffed. "Ya say that, but just last week you stole guns from one of the other gangs" he pointed out dryly.

If it hadn't been for Chuuya, the Sheep probably would've gotten killed for that.

In response, however, Shirase could only shrug. With ease he nabbed the cigarettes from the shorter boy's pocket and flipped them open to look them over. "Well, duh. We need protection" he said, looking at Chuuya with an exasperate glance.

Scoffing, the redhead rolled his mismatching eyes skywards. "We just agreed that I'm here for protection" he said, and Shirase huffed, shaking his head. All the gel he'd slapped into his hair, stolen like most of the things they had, left his hair so stiff that it didn't even bounce with the motion.

It left Chuuya exasperate, because it meant Shirase had left Suribachi. Without him, and thus vulnerable. Again. Because the ginger boy refused to count 'having a knife' as actually safe. They'd lost four of the Sheep sharing that mindset just three and seven weeks ago.

"What if you get sick?" Shirase questioned and to that, Chuuya had no immediate counter. What if he did get sick? He'd gotten sick plenty, early on when he was younger. Well, younger than he was now. His immune system had been odd. Weaker than the others for the first two years of life he can remember, then a lot better than that of the other kids.

"Exactly," his best friend barreled on, "no answer. Chuu, you're strong, no doubt, but ya don't have much going on up there" vaguely, Shirase gestured to his head with a grin.

Chuuya bristled slightly in response, fuming silently. "Hey now, no need for that kind of face!" his friend patted him on the shoulder, tone light-hearted and reassuring. "Intelligence isn't everything, but look- ya know how to survive around here, so you aren't a fool!"

He sighed, shoulders dropping. He took that too personal, didn't he? "Mhm..." he frowned, and walked off. Refraining from looking at his best friend any longer. "Please quit goin' without someone to watch your back"

"Yea, yea... hey- wait! Where are you goin'?" Shirase jogged after him, and he could hear his confusion. "We're about to eat dinner!"

The thought of dinner made Chuuya's stomach rumble. "I ate earlier" he said, shrugging. Shoving his hands into his pockets. "Ya can give my share to the triplets- I gotta fix the mess ya caused by sending 'em"

Shirase didn't argue further, and Chuuya tilted his head from side to side until he heard a satisfying crack. It was time to make sure the Sheep's territory was safe... hell knew what the crazy old bastard would do once he heard about someone stealing from one of the warehouses. 

 ~

"A child? You must be joking, mon ami" 

The blond man shook his head, pushing the file away without bothering to even open it. He took a sip of his wine, eyes never leaving the man in front of him. 

Nervous, the other pushed the file back to him. "I said we assume him to be a child. We aren't sure yet. Most people who got close enough and survived said he's short, and reports say that the entire group consists of children... aaaand some people claimed it might be a wielder of gravity we're dealing with"

"Hm"

The blond sipped his wine, eyes falling onto the file. Under normal circumstances he would've gotten up and left. But with the information that they were potentially dealing with a gravity manipulator... He flipped the file open with a sigh, dark eyes scanning over the limited information.

 

》King of the Sheep《

Name: Unkown

Age: Unkown, presumably younger than sixteen

Physical description: Short, ginger, presumably male

Ability: Exact ability unkown, highly dangerous

Further notes: Has killed both regular humans and ability users before; resides in Suribachi City

 

He did a double take upon seeing the bounty. "That much for a child?" He asked, doubtful. It was almost laughable. Almost. Paul Verlaine had always had a soft spot for children. Especially ever since that night.

 

"A child feuding with the Port Mafia"

 

Verlaine hummed dismissively. He didn't know much about the Port Mafia, his only visit to Yokohama having been years ago. He hadn't investigated into the Mafia beyond checking who was in charge. The Tsushima family.

 

"I decline" he found himself saying, and earned a baffled stare. "But the bounty-" the contract giver tried to argue, but the blond shook his head.

 

"I don't take contracts on children"

 

Stalk out the situation, however, he would.

Notes:

I have a feeling like none of the chapter titles will be very creative

Chapter 3: The Smell Of Dead Fish

Seagulls screeched overhead when Verlaine stepped out of the small, run-down hotel he'd taken up near the coast close to Suribachi. It was a sketchy, cheap place. But that was what he preferred- after all, places like that asked less questions.

His steps carried him into the direction of Suribachi City, then he paused in his tracks when a short child almost ran into him. The only things he could make out where a flurry of bandages and brunet hair.

With a sigh, his hand shot down and grasped a thin, bandaged wrist. "Don't bother" he said, and watched as a large, dark eye peered up at him innocently. "I can tell when someone tries to pickpocket me"

The boy, a child who couldn't be much older than twelve or thirteen, huffed. "You caught me, Hat-san" he said, then smiled disarmingly. Something about it struck Verlaine as off. Perhaps it was that one eye was covered in bandages. Perhaps it was that the smile didn't quite reach his visible eye.

He let go, and started to walk. Steps trailed after him just seconds later. The odd child following along. "Where are you going, Hat-san?" He asked, and Verlaine stifled a sigh. It seemed he had a new... 'friend'.

"Work" he said, vaguely, and earned yet another huff. "I'm Dazai!" The boy said, with a child-like innocence that didn't quite ring true. It was childish, yes, but innocent? No, it felt off.

Verlaine didn't deign that with an answer. Instead he kept walking. Silent for a good while. Hoping the boy would lose interested.

"... and what do you want?" He asked with a sigh, when the child refused to stop following him like a shadow even half an hour later. Trailing after him and staring at him unabashedly.

The boy, Dazai, hummed. "To die" he said so cheerfully that Verlaine questioned whether he heard right. He refrained from commenting on it, though.

Absentmindedly he nodded. "You won't find death with me" well, not in the way the boy wanted. And he was not about to let the child watch him commit a murder. Not only because he was a child, but also because he did not need a witness.

So he continued walking. "Pity" Dazai sighed, and Verlaine hummed in agreement, if only to get the child off his  case.

However, much to his annoyance, the kid refused to leave him alone. "Your parents will probably worry" he said, and glanced to the sky. Shouldn't the boy be in school right about now? School on Saturday was a thing, right?

"Nah" the bandaged kid shrugged and that was that, as Verlaine did not know how to respond.

 

A while later, shortly before he reached Suribachi, the kid suddenly took off without a word at the sight of a few men in black suits, wearing sunglasses.

It was, in all honesty, odd.

Was he affiliated with the Port Mafia? On the run from them? It mattered little. He wasn't about to get involved in... whatever the boy had gotten caught up in. 

Instead the assassin made his way to Suribachi.

He surveyed the area, watched the people and their lives. Watched small children and took note of small patches messily sewn and patterns stitched onto their clothes- ram skulls. Those must be the Sheep.

Verlaine could've easily followed them from the shadows. Scouted out their base and king. He refrained from doing so.

Instead he wandered throughout the crater that had filled with new life. Scouted out the area, the streets and alleys. Hiding places and vantage points.

 

After a good while he found himself walking along the piers, outside the crater. The smell of dead fish filled his nose.

Looking at those that fell out of the nets and to the ground, he huffed and shook his head. Their dead eyes stared at him not unlike the eye of a small who'd peered up at him not too long ago.

He leaned against a ship that was being repaired, eyes on the fishermen working on repairing it.

"You," he said and tilted his head at a younger man who hammered nails into wood that would surely rot in a year or two, "yes you"

The man paused in his work and tilted his head at him. He was shorter than him, brunet with a boring face. A forgettable person, really.

"What do you know of the Sheep?" He asked, and watched the man tense. A nervous laugh escaped the fisherman. How interesting...

"The Sheep? Well... they're a bunch of children, really"

Verlaine hummed in acknowledgement, tilting his head. "So you say, but the rumors make them out to be quite... interesting" he pointed out.

"Ah... yes... well... they are the only thing that keeps the Port Mafia outside our lives. Or their leader, at least" the fisherman admitted a hint more easily.

"Do they, now?" He raised a brow, feigning curiosity. "But you said they are but children. How would children feud with a dangerous organization such as the Port Mafia?"

The fisherman grimaced. "Ah, well... their leader, you see? You don't want to start shit with that one. We don't know how old he is, but people say the kid killed grown men twice to thrice his height for a few years now"

That was impressive, and did align with what he'd previously found out. "A child capable of such feats? Truly? He must be an extraordinary child" he commented idly and watched the man tense.

"Look, if you're one of those idiots trying to pick a fight with the Sheep, drop it. You can't win" the fisherman assured him, glancing around warily as if someone might listen in on their conversation.

There was no one. Verlaine would've noticed.

"Are you saying that because they keep the Mafia away, I wonder?" his words left the man with a frown, and he watched the brunet shake his head frantically.

The fisherman cleared his throat, grimacing. "No, no. I'm serious. You can't win. Even other ability users aren't a match for that kid. Whenever someone comes for his or the Sheep's head, he comes out victorious. No matter what"

"You don't happen to know his ability, do you?" The blond found himself asking, the curiosity in his voice less fake than he made it seem. He earned a shrug in return.

Verlaine nodded slowly, and pushed off the ship. "I see" he said, and walked away. The fisherman hollered after him, but the assassin payed him no mind.

It was time to scout out the Sheep and, hopefully, catch a glimpse of their so-called King.

~

"Shuuji! Oh, Shuuji, there you are!"

Randou fretted over him just as Shuuji, a small, thin boy veiled in bandages, has predicted.

The boy smiled innocently, though his visible eye was dull and dead all the same. "Apologies, Randou-san! I didn't mean to leave your sight"

He had, of course, absolutely meant to slip away from the Sub-Executive's sight. If his father, absent as he may be, heard that he had lost track of him? Oh, he'd be furious. 

And that alone was reason enough for the bandaged boy to mess around and scare Randou a little. If he was burdened with a 'bodyguard', he may as well have some fun, after all.

The blond foreigner had been quite interesting, but his ultimate goal still had been messing with the man assigned to keep him alive.

Yet he couldn't help but think that he'd see the odd stranger again...

"Y'know, I met someone who shares your accent today, Randou-san!" He said, earning a brief but curious look from the mafioso. Then the man shook his head.

"That's nice... but let's please go back, yes? It's so cold out here..."

Notes:

No real note for this chapter-

Chapter 4: Stakeouts, The Boring Part Of The Job

Paul Verlaine was nothing if not patient. Being a spy, an assassin, required never-ending patience. Sometimes it took days until a target was in the right spot, and alone. 

So yes, he was a patient man... but stakeouts were still horribly boring, especially alone. He didn't mind it, of course, but it was the dullest part of his job. 

Silent he leaned against the side of a building- upside down, gravity tethering him to the wall. He was right above a window, able to listen in on a very much private conversation between the two kids... teens? inside. 

It hadn't been his plan, in all honesty. He'd wanted to get a glimpse at this 'Sheep King', but failed. There were multiple kids with red hair among the Sheep, and none seemed to possess any ability. Or simply didn't use it. Or, perhaps, this 'King' didn't use his ability outside of combat. 

Whatever the matter, he'd find him sooner or later. He always found his targets. 

The conversation he was listening in on, however, was also very intriguing... 

"Who does he think he is?!" one voice complained, loud and clear for him to hear. "Criticizing my decisions? Sure, people call him our King, but he's not even part of the council!" 

Oh? That was truly interesting. 

"But... isn't he your best friend?" the second voice, a boy just like the first teen, chimed in. Mildly hesitant and confused. 

"... of course he is, but he's also not my boss. And it's not like I'm the one who started shit with the Port Mafia- they started it when they tried getting into Suribachi!" 

So the Sheep did indeed feud with the Port Mafia...

"Yea, but he's kinda right. We don't need an even bigger mess... we already lost so many ever since this started, and the mafia won't quit-" 

"That's my point, Yuji! They'll keep killing Sheep either way! Do you have any idea how hard it is to convince our so-called 'King' that offense is the best defense? He's fucking brutal when he fights, but somehow he doesn't attack unless explicitly told" 

"Pff- you need to train our attack dog better"

Verlaine scoffed. No matter who the Sheep King was, he almost felt sorry for the child. These were his friends? How pitiful. How disdainful.

"Oh, come now. Attack dog?"

"It's fitting, though, isn't it? He's as aggressive as one"

"In fights, maybe. You have no idea how stubborn he is about not attacking unless it's to defend us or Suribachi. Offense is the best defense but he's hard as hell to convince of that"

"But he took down an entire warehouse without prompting back when some of the other kids were killed"

"Yea, but that was revenge. I'm talking walking in and fucking the Mafia up before they can attack us again"

"Hm... hate to say it, but unless more people die he'll probably stay hard to convince. And I'd prefer if no more Sheep die"

"Obviously I'd prefer that too, but let's face it. More will die so long as the Port Mafia doesn't leave Suribachi alone"

This was... truly interesting. He'd assumed this King was an active aggressor in the feud, but from the sounds of it he was, at least currently, merely a protector.

Then again, if this feud continued and these kids were correct, it wouldn't be long until the King of the Sheep changed strategies and attacked first.

"I mean, you stealing from them didn't help"

"Oh, shut it! At least I'm keeping up morale"

"Pff- yea. You're keeping up morale by causing constant arguments with your best friend. Good job, Shirase"

"It's not my fault that he's such a hypocrite- he acts like he's sooo much better, but he drinks just like I do"

"Don't think it's about the booze, but where and how you're getting the booze"

"Well, not like it matters now"

Verlaine wrinkled his nose. These were children, they should not have alcohol in the first place.

He slowly walked up the side of the building, deciding that he's heard enough.

Gravity bowed to his will, letting him move as if he were walking on ground just as any regular person would.

Once he reached the top of the building, he lowered his gravity and leapt from one building to the next, easily moving across the roofs of Suribachi.

Away from the Sheep's base, back towards the run-down hotel he'd taken up residence in.

In all honesty, he almost pitied this Sheep King. From the gathered intel was a child just as these ones were, yet his so-called friends talked about him like this?

Truly, they reminded him of just why he disliked humans. If this King truly was who he assumed, then he wouldn't hesitate to strike the loudmouth and his friend down first.

What were their names? Shirase and Yuji?

Hm... he wouldn't forget their names any time soon.

(Inside the building, both teens shivered, shaken despite not knowing just why they suddenly felt so unsettled.)

Idly, Verlaine wondered if the Sheep King knew how people talked about him behind his back. Likely not.

Either he was unaware, kept in the dark by some stroke of misfortune, or too human to comprehend.

It mattered little for now. In the end, he'd first have to watch the child's ability in action before making any true decisions.

There was no point in staying around if the child wasn't who he thought. Well, he wasn't truly planning on staying around even if the child's identity was correct.

He just didn't plan on leaving him here, if he ended up finding his little brother in this shabby place.

After all, what brother would he be, if he left his little brother in such a place?

Then again, he'd first have to find him. Which proved harder than expected. The King of the Sheep, for as important he seemed to this group of children, was surprisingly hard to spot.

Perhaps he needed to adjust his approach, just a little... and he knew just how to lure him into the open.

First he only needed to visit the port of Yokohama.

Notes:

To anyone wondering why Chuuya isn't in the offense as much as he is in Fifteen (given that it literally started with him attacking the Port Mafia), it's because, as shown in the conversation between Shirase and his friend, that he's not there yet.
He will be though, if the Sheep continue losing people, and as you can guess, I'm assuming the Sheep had quite a few losses by the time Fifteen happens.

Chapter 5: Tomorrow At Five

He stepped foot into the port with the sole intention to find some fools to use as bait. There was little need for skills, he only needed someone exceptionally stupid.

Finding someone stupid, of course, was easier said than done. Mainly because the port seemed void of life, not a single person showing their face.

His heels clicked against the asphalt, blue eyes scanning over the piers in the distance.

Somehow, the weather here seemed gloomier than in Suribachi. How fitting. It could've almost been described as poetic.

Along his way of finding bait, however, he was promptly distracted by a small boy clad in black. The child was not only wearing dark clothes, on a second glance he was also wrapped like a mummy.

It seemed the boy truly was affiliated with the mafia. How intriguing.

This time, however, Dazai was not alone. Instead a tall person, perhaps just as tall as Verlaine himself, hurried after him. Though slow enough that he likely hadn't seen where Dazai had ducked behind some crates.

It was truly an odd sight. A small child, scrawny and wrapped in bandages, likely still with the eye of a passed away fish.

The other a tall figure with long hair, dressed as if winter had long since started. The brunet looked almost exactly like...

"Shuuji!" called a voice, and despite the years that had passed, the familiarity of it struck a cord in Verlaine, "Shuuji please, your father will have my head! Where are you?"

In any other situation, with any other voice calling after the boy, he may have took a moment to question the name being called.

This, of course, was not any other situation.

Dazai (Shuuji?), glanced over his shoulder, eyes catching on the blond assassin when he did. He didn't approach him, this time, but held a finger to his lips, dodged between containers and disappeared.

Verlaine, in all honesty, should've pulled out a gun. Gone into a more combat ready stance. Should've done anything but stand there like an idiot. Not because of the child, of course, but because of-

"Putain- où est ce petit-?"

"Ah" Verlaine blinked dumbly at the sight of his former partner's stressed face. Arthur, to his credit, barely seemed to notice him.

And then he did.

Verlaine expected many things. Rage. Hateful words. Violence. A punch to the face. A bullet to the chest. Anything.

Instead the ghost of his partner pushed long brunet strands out of his face. Because that was what he had to be, a ghost.

A ghost who's gaze suddenly caught his own, blue meeting gold, and now they both stood like deer in headlights.

There was no anger, nor relief for that matter. Only silence.

"... Arthur" he found himself murming, quiet and cautious. Half-expecting that his greeting would trigger a fight.

Arthur tilted his head, utterly silent. Looking him over once, twice... and then Verlaine realized just why there was no reaction.

Arthur's eyes held no recognition. He didn't recognize him. Didn't remember him.

"This may sound stupid... but do I know you?"

Yes, he wanted to scream, yes you know me you idot. You betrayed me six years ago!

Instead he smiled politely. "We've met" he said, and regretted it at the hope in Arthur's eyes.

"Ah, splendid- could we talk over coffee, soon? I have to find my boss' kid, small thing, covered in bandages? But truly you have no idea-"

If God existed, he was not merciful.

"I- ... désolé, quoi?" He asked, cutting Arthur off in the process, and even if he'd forever deny it, he found himself utterly stumped. Stumped enough that he slipped back into French without actually meaning to.

Arthur, the man he'd shot in the back years ago, wanted to drink coffee with him? He wanted to talk over coffee like old friends? Had he been hit by an that let him see things?

This was not a turn of event he'd anticipated.  He hadn't anticipated Arthur at all.

After all, Arthur Rimbaud was, by all means, supposed to be dead. Was supposed to have died in the explosion six years ago.

How, why would Arthur have deserted? Well, the answer was obvious, given the lack of recognition, but still. 

Golden eyes peered at him curiously. "... ah. You're French as well..." his former partner noted.

A confirmation would've been a logical response.

It would've been the correct answer. He was French, he spoke French. Yet...

"Are you a ghost?"

It was quite possibly the dumbest thing he could've said, but it wasn't like there was a possibility to change it now.

And Arthur blinked, slow and confused. "A ghost? Of course not" he shook his head, long hair swaying with the motion. Verlaine, in all honesty, could've slapped himself for asking such a stupid question.

"I see... I assumed you'd died..." Verlaine slowly answered. Cautious. Arthur seemed genuine, but then again, he was a trained spy and assassin. It could just as easily be a ploy to make him lower his guard. It could be a trick.

But Arthur only nodded in understanding. "Ah... that explains why no one seems to have come looking for me" he noted. "About a talk over coffee-"

"Tomorrow," the blond found himself saying before he could stop himself, "five p.m. near the backery that has our homeland's flag in the window?"

It wasn't like he wanted to run right into a trap... but it had been years, since he last talked to Arthur. And maybe had hated the man's pretending to understand, but he had missed his presence nonetheless.

And maybe, just maybe, he had found himself lonely these past few years.

Golden eyes blinked slowly at him. Almost a hint surprised. "Oh, yes. I know the one you mean" his former partner smiled, just a hint. Any other person likely wouldn't even have noticed.

"Ah, I forgot-" Arthur frowned, looking around. "If you'll excuse me, I have a child to find... and you really shouldn't be here, Monsieur. This is no place for regular civilians"

Had his mind not been reeling, maybe Verlaine would've pointed out that he wasn't a regular civilian. 

~

"Look, all I'm saying is we should hit them first!"

Chuuya scowled, wringing out the rag in his hands, before scrubbing it over his face. It came back stained red. At least it wasn't his own blood.

"Why don't you get it, Shirase?" He asked, and scrubbed harder. His skin itched uncomfortably. "We can't"

Shirase huffed, crossing his arms. The silver-haired boy leaned against the wall behind him. Chuuya could see him through the shattered mirror.

He could also see the blood still staining his face, and he scrubbed over another spot with a scowl.

"We can't, no, but you can"

"I told ya, I can't! My ability is strong, sure, but even I ain't got a chance against all of 'em at once! Not on unfamiliar terrain" he glared at the other through the mirror, before turning to face him.

His best friend, smart as he may be, remained unimpressed. "That's because you aren't trying enough" Shirase told him sharply.

The redhead paused, almost recoiling at his friend's harsh words. "The fuck are ya on about?" He asked, louder, angry.

Shirase matched his glare with ease. "You heard me. You don't try hard enough. All of the Sheep who died? It's your fault"

With a shout, Chuuya turned his back to the silver-haired boy. Fist hitting the mirror. It cracked, and broke.

His own face was almost unrecognizable, whereas Shirase somehow remained in a spot that hadn't shattered.

Chuuya's eyes traced the crack splitting them in the mirror. Then dropped to his aching fist. "Out" he said, low and sharp.

Shirase, wisely, left. Door shutting behind him with a creak. Had there been a lock, Chuuya would've used it.

As it was, he could only slide down the wall and pray that people would leave him alone.

Notes:

Who would've expected for Verlaine to meet Rimbaud before he met Chuuya?

Chapter 6: The King Of The Sheep

Day two of the stakeout was proving to be a lot more interesting than day one, perhaps solely due to the fact that Verlaine had managed to seek out a two mafiosi and a mercenary stupid enough to fall for some simple lies. 

 

Two of them were regular humans, the third an ability user. 

 

The regular humans went into Suribachi first, finding their way easily to where he'd wanted them- close to the Sheep's territory. 

 

It took ten minutes at most before a small redhead launched himself off of a building with a shout. Despite the petit size, the ground all but shattered under his feet. 

 

Verlaine, who had taken up a place on a different building's roof, watched with interest. This was the King of the Sheep? Chuuya Nakahara? He was... tiny, in all honesty. A lot smaller than he expected.

 

Did he eat enough? 

 

"Get outta this place, ya hear me?!" the small king shouted, and Verlaine huffed in amusement. Small, but a hot-head, from the looks of it. 

 

Predictably, he chose the right fools. The two mafioso opened fire. Bullets zipped through the air, the sound of gunfire filling the evening. 

 

The Sheep King remained standing where he was, body glowing a deep red. This was it. The moment he'd waited for. 

 

Fascinated, Verlaine watched as the bullets began to float. Watched as the boy leapt and spun, leg lashing out with a harsh kick that sent the bullets flying back the way they'd come. 

 

"Incredible..." he murmured at the sight of something he didn't believe he'd ever see. Gravity manipulation, no doubt. This boy was indeed the same small child from the lab. The same small child housing the singularity- the same clone. 

 

The two men went down in an instant, fragile bodies unable to withstand the hail of bullets. 

 

Once the two grunts were down came the more interesting part. 

 

He could've simply sent regular grunts and see whether the boy would use his ability, but given the lacking certainty of what kind of ability he was dealing with, Verlaine had wisely chosen to hire a random mercenary as well in case the child lacked a need for using his ability. 

 

Whereas an ability user affiliated with the Port Mafia may cause issues in the future if he ended up dead, a mercenary who had no genuine affiliation was by far less of an issue if he wound up dead. 

 

He didn't have to wait long until Murakami, the owner of the ability "A Wild Sheep Chase", appeared... and promptly pulled out a large hammer from behind his back. Where he'd gotten that from? Verlaine wasn't quite sure, but he leaned forward in anticipation nonetheless. 

 

The second the hammer made contact with the Sheep King, a red glow overtook it. He could spot the almost feral grin all the way from atop the building and watched as the hammer dropped to the ground, shattering the asphalt under the weight. 

 

Murakami had barely a second to react when his much shorter opponent leapt and kicked him into the closest wall. Interested, Verlaine watched as the building's wall didn't crack nor break. Instead, the ability user pushed himself off the wall... flat as a pancake. 

 

Putting his thumb into his mouth, the mercenary blew himself up as if he were a balloon, and grinned brightly. "That all you got?!" he shouted over to the small boy, and dodged the incoming fist. 

 

Perhaps Verlaine had made a small miscalculation. While defeating this kind of opponent wouldn't be impossible for him, merely very annoying, someone lacking his kind of experience certainly would be in quite a lot of trouble.

 

Still he watched, taking note of the boy's fighting style and behavior, the way he made use of his ability in both offense and defense. He seemed to pick up on Murakami's fighting style quite quickly, adapting his own in ways that left Murakami flying into walls more and more often. 

 

The issue was that the mercenary simply wouldn't stay down, his own ability seeming to make him an even match for the child in terms of combat prowess. 

 

He watched for a good while, before deciding to simply settle this himself. They wouldn't get anywhere otherwise. The building cracked once he activated his ability, and he hurled quite a large chunk of it down at Murakami. 

 

It didn't kill him, as he'd already expected, so the second the man tried pulling himself out from under the debris, flat as a pancake yet again, he grabbed him by the neck. Blue enveloped him, and before either the child behind him or the mercenary could react, he threw him with the use of his ability. 

 

A second later, he couldn't even see Murakami anymore. Partly because the man had gone flying at the speed of a bullet. Partly because gravity knocked into him and was sent flying into a wall. 

 

He wiped a hand over his mouth, glancing down at the red staining his pristine white gloves. "Hm..." he muttered, lips twitching up in faint amusement, "been a while since I've last seen my own blood" 

 

A foot landed heavily on his chest. Gravity pressing him into the ground. "Who the hell are you?!" the small king asked, outright snarled. Mismatching eyes burning with fury. 

 

Verlaine merely hummed. "You're small. Do you eat enough?" He received a kick to the face for his efforts, but easily caught the other's ankle perhaps an inch before the hit connected. 

 

"Now now," he tutted, his own gravity pushing the boy back and to the ground. "I'm merely expressing concern. Though I must say, I'm also proud. You had that handled surprisingly well for someone your age. A pity that you're lacking experience"

 

The boy glared at him in response, and Verlaine looked him over properly, now that the fight was over. Now that he was staying in one place and not fighting. 

 

Dirty clothes that barely hid how thin he was. Unruly hair that was in dire need of a hairbrush. Scratches across his face, likely from when he'd been sent flying earlier. 

 

On first glance, a completely unassuming street rat. To think this is the child he wanted but failed to save all those years ago... 

 

"I apologize" he said, in the face of his biggest failure. If he hadn't messed up, this same boy would have grown up on the countryside, not on the streets of Suribachi. 

 

"Quit your fuckin' theatrics, who the hell are you?!" 

 

With a sigh the blond got to his feet, brushing dust and debris off his clothes. "Impatient," he commented with a shake of his head, "but I assume it's only fair" 

 

He offered a bow in greeting, in the same way he'd learned years ago. 

 

"Allow me to introduce myself... as your older brother" 

 

The punch to the face was, in all honesty, entirely unexpected after watching the boy only ever use kicks while fighting.

Notes:

They have met!
Verlaine, please work on your introductions.

I haven't written a fight scene in ages, maybe I'll come back and rewrite it at some point-

(Ao3 please stop auto-setting the date to the fourth, it's the fourteenth today)

Chapter 7: Talks, Talks, Talks

Silent, Verlaine rubbed his aching jaw. Despite being genuinely proud of his little brother for landing a hit, he couldn't deny that it hurt. 

 

"You know, I would've assumed you'd have a happier reaction" he mentioned dryly, glancing to the redhead percing on the edge of the roof near him. Some blood was smeared across his face from when Verlaine had lashed out in kind on pure instinct. 

 

Huffing, said redhead scowled at him. A drop of blood rolling down down down... only to drop to the roof. "You try having a random foreigner appear out of nowhere, get involved in shit that doesn't concern him and get told 'oh by the way I'm your brother!' as if that makes any sense, then complain again?" 

 

Verlaine blinked. Silent for a long moment. "What does me being a foreigner have to do with anything?" He finally asked, though not offended. 

 

"Are ya stupid?" The child asked, voice deadpan. He looked at the other as if he'd just been told that sugar isn't sweet. 

 

The blond shook his head, after taking a moment to think and rack his memories. "Stupid I haven't been called yet, no" he answered smoothly. 

 

"Well, ya are. You're a foreigner. You're blond. We can't be brothers"

 

Verlaine sighed, as if Chuuya was the crazy one here. "Well, not by blood, no. But we share the same origins, are cut from the same stone..." 

 

The ginger snorted, then burst into laughter. "We? Alike? In your dreams, you fuckin' lunatic" he scoffed and stood up. 

 

The blond touched the boy's wrist, a single light tap, and immediately blue enveloped the younger male, forcing him back to the ground. 

 

"Fuck you" Chuuya spat, annoyed. Verlaine hummed in response. "I know we might have gotten off the wrong foot given the test earlier..." 

 

He frowned when a wave of gravity fought against his own. "YOU SENT THOSE BASTARDS?!" Chuuya shouted, furious. Verlaine wasn't quite sure whether it was a question or statement. 

 

"As a test. I needed to see if it was really you"

 

Chuuya scoffed in response. "If I'm who?" He asked, narrowing his eyes. "Chuuya Nakahara? The King Of The Sheep? You aren't the first assassin sent after me" 

 

"No. I needed to see if you are the boy from seven years ago" Verlaine answered, calm as a breeze, and watched as confusion spread across the boy's face. 

 

Silent, Chuuya stared up at him. Frowning to himself. "... seven years ago?" He asked, narrowing his eyes. 

 

The blond nodded. "Seven years ago my former partner and I came to Japan on a mission- and we found you, inside a lab. However, we came to a disagreement and fought..." he trailed off, searching for the best way to explain. 

 

"And ya lost me" 

 

"... yes. I barely got away with my life when he managed to unleash Arahabaki" he admitted with a sigh. It wasn't wrong to call it 'losing' the child. 

 

"Arahabaki...? So you were there when the crater was..." Chuuya grew quiet, for once, gaze dropping to the ground. Hundreds of thoughts swirling through his head. 

 

Verlaine nodded, and watched as the boy thought. "So you're like me. You're a vessel..." Chuuya murmured, and Verlaine nodded yet again. 

 

He opened his mouth, ready to explain that they were nothing but lines of code, when Chuuya already talked over him: "Why the hell are you here?"

 

With a sigh, Verlaine crossed one leg elegantly over the other. Folded his hands and glanced down at the boy- at his little brother. 

 

"I was under the assumption that unleashing Arahabaki had killed you" the blond explained. 

 

The redhead scoffed. "And you never thought to double check?" He asked, voice flat and disbelieving. 

 

"... well, no" Verlaine admitted slowly, a little more hesitant. He hadn't thought to double check- the giant crater had been a good indicator of what could've only been a certain demise. 

 

Or so he'd thought. 

 

Chuuya stared at him, tilting his head. "What did ya say your name was?" He questioned, after a good few moments of silence that even Verlaine could only call awkward. 

 

"Paul. Paul Verlaine" he introduced himself and watched as the redhead squinted in thought. Finally, he huffed and shook his head. 

 

"I'm not sure if I believe the whole- look, I gotta check in with my friends, ya lunatic. Let's talk in... ugh, two days? That fine with ya?"

 

Verlaine blinked. Was... was his little brother sending him away? No, wait, he wasn't. He was asking to meet up. He nodded, despite disliking the reasoning. 

 

Those so called friends were nothing but people seeing his little brother as a pawn- and the short redhead seemed too blind to see. 

 

Perhaps he ought to- 

 

"Great, thanks. See ya later" the boy didn't smile, but he seemed... a hint less angry, launching himself off the building with no further warning. If it hadn't been for the knowledge of the other's ability, he likely would've had an heart attack. 

 

Well... perhaps he ought to wait two days.

 

~ 

 

"You could tie your hair up!"

 

Randou sighed at the boy's insistent smile. "Why would I do that?" He asked, countering the smile with a mild frown. 

 

"Because it looks neater, duh" Shuuji swung his legs. His dull brown eye peered up at the taller man. "Don't you want to look nice?" his voice was overly cheerful, despite how disinterested he looked.

 

Randou, one of the few people unimpressed by the Tsushima heir, though if only because the boss assigned him as a personal guard, huffed. "Did you see him? I'll look underdressed either way if that's how he dresses when taking a walk at the pier" the sub-executive shook his head.

 

Shuji grinned. "That means he'll be over- dress for a coffee-date!" He almost fell off the chair when Randou tossed a stray scarf in his face.

 

"It's not a date, Shuji" he chided wich a weary sigh. Shaking his head at the bandaged kid's over-enthusiastic behavior.

 

"Boooringgg" the boy pouted, rolling his visible eye. 

 

Randou sighed deeply, shaking his head. "You're staying with someone else today, by the way" he announced, earning a miserable huff. 

 

"Fiiine... you just want a break from fishing me out of rivers, don't you?"

 

"... it's appreciated, the water is cold this time of year" 

Notes:

This chapter took a while because life is exhausting- but here it is!

Also does anyone know how to get ao3 to stop making me correct the date of posting this? It keeps showing "the 4th of October" as the day of creation for all chapters until I correct it to the actual date-

Chapter 8: The French Drink Coffee

The smell of fresh coffee greeted Paul when he stepped into the small, French coffee shop within Yokohama. The small bell atop the door announcing his entry. 

 

Nobody batted an eye, thankfully. 

 

He couldn't spot Arthur anywhere, and there were generally only few people at the cafe. Nine in total, excluding himself and the two waiters. 

 

Either the man was late, or this was an ambush. Guivre hummed beneath his skin. He'll hurt us, he'll attack us, he'll betray us- whispered, hateful words filled his mind. 

 

Shut up, he thought, scowling to himself. Predictably, the singularity did not quit it's assault on his mind, and he ignored the splitting headache it was causing him. 

 

The waiter looked mildly frightened by his forced smile, likely seeing the urge to smash his head into a wall in his eyes. "One glass of your finest wine, mademoiselle" He requested, earning a nervous squeak. 

 

"... this is a cafe?" 

 

Verlaine very nearly facepalmed. How embarrassing... he cleared his throat, switching to the most charming smile he could muster with Guivre screeching bloody murder in his head. "Anything will do, then"

 

The frightened young lady nodded and rushed to the back, and Verlaine, after a moment or two, settled for taking a seat near the back from where he could overlook the cafe. 

 

Verlaine sat and waited for only a total of fifteen minutes before Arthur entered the coffee shop and joined him, quietly ordering a drink. 

 

Once they finally sat opposite of each other, they simply stared at one another. Arthur... looked good. His hair longer than it used to be, his thick winter coat and earmuffs new. The only thing that had remained of the old Arthur were his golden eyes, his shivering frame and the wine red scarf he'd worn ever since he'd known him. 

 

Whereas Paul may have been considered overdressed in his suit, Arthur could only be seen as underdressed in his heavy winter gear. The blond found his lips quirking up ever so slightly at the familiarity. 

 

They sat opposite of each other for a long moment, utterly silent. "How are you faring?" Paul finally uttered, and felt relieved when Arthur offered a soft smile. "Quite well, and yourself?"

 

For a good half an hour they enjoyed their coffee and some pastries that, by far, weren't as good as the ones from France. Chatting about their recent lives. Paul lied, here and there, since he could hardly tell an amnesiac that he was an assassin. 

 

Arthur, he could tell, also withheld information. 

 

At some point their conversation drifted off, with Arthur complaining about the kid he was supposed to watch. Paul listened, a hint of sympathy filling his chest. 

 

"I believe my brother hates me" he admitted, after taking a sip of his coffee. It was starting to grow cold, and briefly, he considered a new one. 

 

Arthur shook his head, smile gentle and reassuring. "I'm sure he doesn't-" the golden-eyed man started, but Paul buried his face in his hands, not wanting to hear it: "I didn't look for him for seven years, Arthur!" 

 

"Oh dear..." 

 

Paul let out a distressed noise. "And now he's... he's calling these kids his friends!" He complained, letting his woes out just as Arthur had done about the Tsushima-boy. 

 

"At least he isn't lonely...?" His former coworker started, but Paul didn't even hear him, dropping his hands to glare at the table with resolve. 

 

"I'll cut his strings. Maybe that way I can set him free and show him the truth of this world..." he muttered, more to himself than to his current companion. 

 

Arthur, meanwhile, looked a hint concerned despite his occupation as a sub-executive for a literal mafia. "Cut his strings?" He asked, dumbfounded. 

 

"Get rid of the kids he calls his friends. Truly, they are the furthest thing from friends-" Paul explained, without really listening to the way Arthur's voice had shifted from reassuring to worried. 

 

"Paul..."

 

The blond shook his head, balling his hands to fists. His knuckles turned white. "- you should hear how they talk about him it's-" 

 

"Paul" 

 

"- truly outrageous how-" the assassin continued on, unhearing. Too caught up in his own world, his own head. Slowly glowing a hint blue, ability leaving the cups on the table to float. 

 

"PAUL!" 

 

At the shout, the cups fell back onto the table, glow vanishing without a trace. Paul blinked owlishly at his oldest friend. "... quoi?" 

 

"Are you even hearing yourself?" Arthur asked, exasperate, and Paul felt like he was fresh out of the lab again, messing up the easiest of orders because they weren't quite orders. 

 

Still, the ability-derived lifeform sniffed, raising his chin. "Yes, quite clearly. My hearing is perfect" he responded evenly, unperturbed. 

 

"Then are you thinking at all...? If you hurt his friends, you'll only lose him" Arthur pointed out, far too patiently. He was an adult, he didn't need kid-gloves, for God's sake. 

 

With a shake of his head he reached for his cup. "Don't be ridiculous, Arthur. It will help" he huffed, taking a sip. Ignoring the small stains on the table pointedly. 

 

"I'm not. You aren't thinking about this properly, mon ami" Arthur sighed deeply, almost tired. "If you hurt someone he holds dear, he will only resent you" 

 

"Or he will come to realize-" Arthur did not hesitate to cut the blond off, eyes sharp and scolding: "No. No, he will not"

 

Paul hesitated. Seeing the brunet annoyed was a rarity. "We aren't human, Arthur. Things like us shouldn't have... friends" he murmured, without thinking about the fact that Arthur didn't remember. 

 

For a very long moment, Arthur remained silent. Staring at him, tilting his head. Long hair falling over his face, before he brushed the strand behind his ear. Paul found himself tense. Half-expecting an attack yet again, and Guivre howled in his head. 

 

"... whether you are or not, do you not think cutting his strings will do more harm than good? He isn't you, Paul" Arthur finally told him, reaching for his hand. 

 

Paul, who had yearned to see his old friend again no matter if he hated the faked understanding or not, let him. Hate and peacefulness fought in his head. 

 

Guivre screeched, but it's vessel relaxed, and the beast could do nothing but shut up for the foreseeable future. 

 

"... then what do I do?" Paul asked, helpless. In another life, he perhaps wouldn't have gotten the opportunity to ask such a thing. Perhaps a life where Arthur never forgot. Perhaps a life where he genuinely had died. 

 

"Get to know him like any other person would?" His old coworker's lips quirked into an amused little smile, shaking his head. 

 

Paul frowned, shaking his own head. "We aren't regular people, Arthur" he countered, on edge. He was an ability-derived lifeform. Why would he do such a thing? 

 

"Does he seem to hold the same sentiment as you do?" Arthur asked, raising a brow at the blond, clearly unimpressed. 

 

And as much as the assassin loathed to admit it, he had to murmur a quiet, annoyed: "... no, he doesn't believe me"

 

Arthur smiled softly. "Then there you have your reasoning" the man andwered, before hesitating for a long moment. "And... for what's it worth, you are my friend" 

 

Paul's brain short-circuited at the casual declaration of friendship. He had not expected that, especially not from the man he himself had shot. 

 

"... ah" he uttered, oh so eloquently. Internally panicking, so he simply settled for trying to change the topic. "I... well... enough about my troubles, how have you been-"

 

Arthur took pity on him, despite the question being one they'd already talked about. They chatted idly, enjoying the calmness of the cafe. Each of them ordered another, at some point. 

 

"How did we used to know each other?" Arthur asked, clearly curious, and tilted his head, taking a sip of his coffee. 

 

Paul hummed, offering a soft little laugh. More at ease than he had been in years. "Oh, we were partners" he said. 

 

Arthur promptly choked on his coffee, uttering a startled "Pardon-?", and the assassin waved his hands hastily. 

 

"Work partners, work partners-"

 

 

Neither of the former spies noticed the boy listening in on their conversation, smiling to himself. This called for an adventure, in the boy's eyes. 

 

~

 

The redhead sat on a low wall near Suribachi, absentmindedly staring at the horizon. Trying to figure out his thoughts and feelings on the matters that his self-proclaimed brother had spouted. 

 

He? Having a brother from France? What utter bullshit. Yet who even could prove that? No one, that's who. So he told himself that he didn't care. He didn't want to know. He was perfectly fine with just the Sheep. Who cared about estranged, weird, French siblings? 

 

Yet at the same time, he couldn't help but feel sick to his stomach. Because what if this lunatic wasn't a lunatic? What if he was speaking the truth? His ability was the same, he knew about Arahabaki, about seven years ago and he even claimed to be a vessel for a god himself...

 

Chuuya didn't know what having a sibling was like, but he wanted to know. At least a small part of him did. Yuan had talked about her sisters, back when they first formed the Sheep. Gradually, she stopped. He didn't know why. He never met her sisters. 

 

He was torn out of his thoughts by the most obnoxious voice he'd ever heard. 

 

"You must be Nakahara Chuuya!"

 

Notes:

I MANAGED A CHAPTER BEFORE CHRISTMAS!

I... actually have nothing to note, really. Except my grievances with ao3 for still trying to tell me this chapter is being published on the 4th of October until I manually change it.

No idea when the next chapter will come out, so Merry Christmas and a happy new year in advance!