I own nothing, per usual.

Chama: I hope he's okay, too. Well, Archer's tough so he'll get through this! ...Hopefully. He has someone looking out for him, after all, and you'll find out who in this chapter!


"Sleepless nights at the black and white keys; I'll let my fingers say it for me. Sometimes my spirit's still so scared. Once I put it in a melody, it means so much more to me. Fate sealed, I guess this is how I feel; sometimes I swear the lyrics write me.

The lyrics write me."

~Rock and Roll Thugs by Icon For Hire


For the following three days, Setanta "Cú" Chulainn couldn't stop seeing his face at night.

Archer's look of disbelief and, worse, of grim resolution.

The door swinging shut on their faces, mocking them.

The screams.

And he left him there.

I need to go back. Back to Himuro Mansion.

After all he's done for Diarmuid, for him, he couldn't just leave him like that. He knows Diarmuid is equally as distraught as he is, wanting to head back as soon as possible. However, Lancer isn't about to let his little brother dive head first into danger again without a way to counteract it. As if hearing his thoughts the glint of the moonlight catches on the Polaroid which rests heavy on the blue-haired male's desktop, seeming to mock him for his inaction.

He's dying in there, and I can't do anything about it.

Growling in frustration, Lancer sits up in his bed at 1:00 am, tired eyes landing on the Camera Obscura. His fingers twitch, as if wanting to grasp the camera once more; he doesn't know if it is because of his own desire to take apart the camera to inspect it or if it's some outside force urging him to take up arms again with haste. With a great effort he turns away from it, dragging his tired body out of bed to grab a late night (early morning, he corrects himself) snack. Once he makes it downstairs to the kitchen he begins to fix himself a cup of tea, even if he isn't a huge fan of the drink; it is too early for coffee, and water wouldn't help him in this situation. While he loves beer, he just can't bring himself to drink it right now.

I wonder if Archer would like tea… The thought of the white-haired male brought unwanted memories to the surface and he growls lowly, grasping his cup a little tighter.

"Ah, so this is what you do on restless nights."

The lowered voice makes Lancer look up in surprise to see Gilgamesh standing in the doorway, arms crossed as his ruby orbs shone in exhaustion and irritation. Placing his cup down on the countertop the blue-haired male stares at him wearily.

"What do you want, Gil?" The blonde usually isn't one to approach him in a scenario like this; he actually expected Rider to find him but, as it seems, Fate doesn't play fair.

"Coffee." The male worms his way past Lancer to grab a cup out of the cupboard, turning on their coffee dispenser as he prepares himself a cup of pure caffeine. After he makes himself a cup he adds in three spoonfuls of sugar, mixing it and taking a sip. Once he deems it edible he leans against the counter, meeting Lancer's gaze.

"...That's it?" Honestly, the self-proclaimed "king" never ceases to amaze him. Or, rather, he hopes that the beverage was Gil's only intention.

"No." The blonde admits, shocking both himself and his roommate. "You seem to be lacking in your gung-ho personality, dog; it has reached the notice of one such as myself." He turns his gaze out the window that's located adjacent from their position against the countertop, seeming to be at war with himself before his usual condescending smirk crosses his features. "Feel privileged to receive my attention, mongrel."

Instead of laughing like he usually would, Lancer sighs heavily. "I already told you about the phone call I got from Diarmuid, remember?"

"Indeed. However, something still plagues your thoughts." Gil is a better friend than he let on. Lancer knew that this is his way of showing concern for him and he appreciated it…

...to some extent, because come on; this is Gilgamesh.

That alone warrants some caution.

"We...met someone there. Archer." Gilgamesh raises an eyebrow at the new information but doesn't interrupt, instead drinking some more of his coffee as his senses become sharper.

"We managed to make it to the front door, and we were so happy to get out of that hellhole...I think he still has a concussion." Lancer looks at his bandaged arm, seeing red seep through. His eyes glaze over at the memory, of the false hope they were given before reality snatched it all away. "The two of us supported him as we stumbled towards the door. Then, we were outside." He pauses, grip on his cup tightening as it shakes ever so slightly. "Dia was so happy. I felt...triumphant, because I accomplished exactly what I said I would. Then, we noticed that we were missing someone.

He was stuck in the doorway by some...boundary, I don't know. The look he gave me, Gil, it was…" Running a hand through his hair he lets out a frustrated huff, taking a sip of his herbal tea. "I can't stop seeing it. Everytime I close my eyelids, it's there. And I left him there."

Gil sets down his own mug of coffee on the countertop. Taking three strides over to Lancer, he punches him in the face.

"OW! What the hell, G-" Lancer pauses as he sees Gil's expression of disdain, fighting to keep the tea from spilling over his cup.

"You truly are a mangy mutt, aren't you? Stop licking your scabbed wounds." The blonde's ruby orbs shone with dissatisfaction. "You are a hound, one of which does not give up the fight so easily. That is one quality I, unfortunately, acknowledge about your existence. If there's one thing I have garnered from you and your coworkers, it's that you are not the type of mongrels to turn your backs on another." Picking back up his cup of coffee, Gilgamesh walks past him towards the stairs. "So, do what a lowly cur such as yourself does best." The man pauses, turning back to him. "Rider and I finished the cinnamon rolls a couple of days ago, but you never tried one. Luckily, there's extras in the fridge so do try one and be amazed by my expertise. And, be quiet from now on mongrel; I have work today." And with that, he ascended the stairs and went back to his room.

"..." To be honest, Lancer was speechless. Leave it to Gil to give words of encouragement while insulting you left and right...

However, he was right.

He's at his strongest when helping others, one quality he shares with his fellow photographers based on their experiences outside of their jobs. It is an impulse he acts upon, as if he was born to aid others. Sighing once more, but this time with a smile, Lancer takes a sip of his tea.

He knows exactly what to do.


Arturia Pendragon lets her eyes flit over the words on the page at five in the morning, scanning Diarmuid's report of Himuro Mansion. She furrows her eyebrows at some of the details described, putting the papers in a manilla envelope and pushing it across her desk before reaching for the pictures he provided her with. He seemed a little bit shaken as he handed them to her and she dismisses it as mere nerves due to the rumors surrounding the place. The exterior of the building was beautiful, in a sense; something about a building standing tall despite wearing down with age appeals to her.

Those are only the exterior, Arturia; Diarmuid has significantly fewer interior photos, though. Despite the lighting, the man knows how to capture the emotion in a picture. She scans them quickly, as if hoping for a sign of life in there. Please...give me a hint, Shirou.

"Ma'am," Her right hand secretary and best friend, Jeanne D' Arc, says as she inspects her monitor. "Cú Chulainn wishes to see you."

"Send him in." Jeanne nods and presses a button, leading the double doors to open and for the blue-haired man to storm in. He slams his hands down onto Arturia's desk, crimson orbs flashing with barely concealed fury.

"Saber, what the fuck." Arturia raises an eyebrow, setting aside the snapshots and folding her hands together as she rests them against the desk.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Chulainn?"

"You sent Diarmuid on my job." Arturia blinks, Jeanne sending a curious glance their way. "Remember? You gave the assignment to me, so what the hell was my little brother doing at that place at six am?"

"With all due respect, Lancer," Arturia replies cooly as she meets his gaze head on, "He requested to take the assignment off of your hands." The man seems taken aback, a sign that the younger Chulainn didn't tell him. Probably as to not stress him. That sounds so much like Diarmuid it hurts.

"He did what? Oh, he's gonna hear it from me when-"

"Lancer." Arturia cuts him off, making him return his attention to her. "If this is all you have to tell me, then may I ask that you take your leave quietly."

"No, that's not just it." Lancer growls, hands curling into fists on her table. He has balls, storming in and accusing her like this. Most men would run with their tail between their legs, but then again Lancer wouldn't be her friend if he didn't see past all of that.

"Oh, is that so?" Her eyebrow raises in curiosity, her petite form leaning forwards ever so slightly.

"Yeah. Today, I'm heading back." Jeanne's eyes widen, attention solely on their conversation.

"That implies that you have been there before. However, I'm interested in why you of all people want to go there."

"I just...want to get to the bottom of a mystery." Lancer admits, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze lowers to the desk. "For the next couple of months, can you let me go?"

"Lancer, I would only do so for a few weeks. You know it's not in my power to let you stay in one spot for a "couple of months", as you've put it." If he raised his eyes, he would have seen something flicker in his friend's green orbs before descending once more.

"...Ah, I see." Okay then, that was a bust. He could always just sneak in and find Archer, defeating whatever came their way-

"However," Arturia cuts off his train of thought with a small smile on her lips, "Consider yourself lucky that the journal agency we're collaborating with is interested in the place. We arranged a meeting two days prior and we discussed a couple of topics before reaching a conclusion: we provide them with pictures, they write down the details. I was considering it, but this only solidifies my option."

"Wait...you don't mean…" Lancer was gaping at her, eyes wide as she continued with her smile clearly visible.

"Yes, Lancer; I'm choosing you to begin research on Himuro Mansion. I do hope you bring us good news and take even better shots of the place. The journal agency will send someone over in a few days, so until then you're on your own." Lancer broke out into a grin, taking Arturia's hands into his own and shaking them. She notices how the sleeve of one arm hitches upwards, revealing gauze underneath. What happened to him on his day off?

"Thanks, Saber!" He lets go of her hands and turns to leave when she calls out to him.

"Oh, and Lancer," She looks somewhat apologetic, which surprises him. "I apologize for sending Dia ahead of time."

Lancer blinks in astonishment before waving her off. "Nah, it's cool Saber. I'm just gonna have a quick chat with him."

"Do not reprimand him too much." Lancer chuckles, to her confusion. "What's so funny, Lancer?"

"I really wish my brother could see how much you love him; sorry that he's so oblivious, Saber." The blonde's face ignites into a fiery red and she stutters a retort, halfway through it once Lancer makes his exit. Her best friend laughs at her facial expression, a hand covering her mouth to stifle her laughter.

Oh, Lancer was going to pay for that.

Saber will make sure of it.


The mansion is taunting him.

Archer breathes heavily as he rests his back against the wall farthest from the door, trying to will his nausea away. He isn't stupid; he knows that he has a concussion but it wasn't as if he could just leave this wretched place to get himself looked at. Following the concussion were the lacerations across his back and over his abdomen: his punishment for trying to escape.

He's been here for decades...Would they even allow him into a hospital without an ID, anyways?

I was a fool to think that I could escape. Seeing Cú's-that's what Diarmuid called him, no?-face light up at the prospect of all three of them leaving together had brought a long-suppressed feeling back into Archer: hope.

After thirty five years, he thought that he could escape.

Despair just had to rear it's ugly head once more as he was prohibited from exiting.

This house toyed with him, giving him false freedom.

Will anyone come for him?

The last thought surprises Archer, making his steel orbs widen as he stares at nothing. Why, why does he still have that foolhardy wish? No one has thought of him for years, so why still long for freedom? Blue hair and red eyes full of life enter his thoughts once more and he scoffs. That man probably won't come for him now that his younger brother is safe and sound.

But, he had the Camera Obscura.

In a way, he's bound to Himuro Mansion just as he is.

I'll keep him away; that's the only way he'll stay safe.

But you want to leave, right?

Archer gasps, startled as the familiar voice echoes throughout his mind, making him groan in pain as he reaches a hand upwards to grasp his head. It felt as if a thousand jackhammers were pounding ceaselessly into his brain, making it throb and protest at the damage. He snaps his gaze around the room, waiting for the man to show himself. Show yourself.

Impatient as always. A form materializes to Archer's left and he tenses, the room still spinning despite his best efforts. He has chestnut brown hair, brown to the point of being mistaken for black eyes piercing his very core. Dark tattoos litter his tan-skinned body, spiraling up his arms and appearing on his cheeks. A red cloth serves as a headband of sorts, loose ends twirling in the air as he moves closer to Archer. His clothes are worse for wear, decaying, yet he still wears them nonetheless. I'm curious as to who you're talking about.

"You already know." Archer retorts out loud, watching as the other man-who, really, looks to be in his late teens and early twenties-chuckles.

Aww, I wanted to hear it from you. The boy inches closer and inspects Archer, whistling at the damage. Damn; that demon really roughed you up, didn't it?

"Of course. While spiritual entities may have no effect on me, a solid door is a different matter."

I know. The boy giggles, remembering the moment. I wonder if that man's a keeper…

"Don't." Archer says with more force than he meant, surprising himself and the other male. "You've already involved him too much in this."

But, you miss him. I do, too, even if I'm eternally with him from now on. A sly look is sent Archer's way but he ignores it, favoring his head instead.

"Then make yourself useful and grab an ice pack for me."

...You're joking, right? The boy's unamused stare as he crosses his arms makes Archer want to chuckle, leading him to wonder how hard he hit his head on the floor. I can't grab anything, much less tangible objects outside of a certain radius.

"Unfortunate." The other male pouts, sitting down next to him with a sigh.

Do you think he can lift the curse on us?

"...I don't know," The white-haired man admits, wanting to sleep for an eternity. His concussion must be bad if he of all people is getting that urge, and the concrete is slowly starting to turn red underneath him. "He does bear an uncanny resemblance to that man."

Yeah he does, doesn't he? I wonder if I'll be able to show myself to him soon; it took all of my power to make you visible to him, you know. The boy begins to chuckle, eyes alight with dry mirth. We're a sorry bunch, you and I. A cursed human and a cursed wraith.

"Mm." It was only a quick rest to restore his reserves…yes, that's all. Steel orbs begin to dull as Archer's eyelids grow heavy, his body relaxing it's muscles involuntarily.

Don't fall asleep with that concussion of yours. Even if you're stuck at this age for eternity, you can still die like a normal human being, and I still have stuff to tease you about. Hey...HEY! The boy is shaking him to no avail; Archer nods off, eyes shut as his breathing slows.

...Shit! The things I do for you, Shirou… Clicking his tongue, the brown-haired male stands up in a hurry as he scans Archer's form once more, dematerializing.

It's time to bring him back to the mansion.


"Okay! Water bottle, check. Grapes and Trail Mix, check. Rubbing alcohol, check. Gauze for my arm, check. Ice pack for Archer as well as medical supplies to treat his concussion, check. Flashlight, check. Phone, check. Weird camera that can beat demons? Hell yeah!" Lancer pumps his left fist in the air with a grin on his face, ramped up for his trip. The sun was creeping down behind the line of buildings, signalling that evening has arrived.

"You sound as if you're going camping, Lancer." Rider passes his room with a fond shake of her head, violet hair billowing behind her as she walks.

"In a way, I am. I'll be back either later tonight or tomorrow morning."

"Then, take some of these brownies. Gil and I baked them while you were out." She hands him a Ziploc bag full of brownies, the heavenly smell reaching the blue-haired man's nose.

"You guys are the best, you know." He thanks her and places it into his black canvas sling bag. He knows that his phone's at full power and checks the bottles of water inside the bag, content.

"We know. Also, Gil says that his baking is better than yours."

"Ha! He wishes." Rider then gives him a look of concern, which makes his laughter die down. "Maddie?"

"Your arm." She gestures to it, the bandage hidden underneath a storm grey hoodie that's a little too big on him. (It was the only size they had left at the store and he loves it, no matter how loose it fit.) "Are you sure you're healed enough for this?"

Truth be told, his arm hasn't healed up any which worries him. It still bleeds constantly, and the purple engravings only increase his own concern. "You know me; I heal pretty fast. In a couple of days, it'll be good as new!" Rider looks skeptical but nods, patting his shoulder before continuing onto her own room.

"I'll take your word for it."

As soon as she left, the grin on Lancer's face is replaced with a frown. He glances at his right arm as it begins to burn, making him hiss quietly.

"Ah…!" Now it really, really burned. Rolling up the sleeve he's shocked to see a purple glow from underneath the gauze, small letters floating up and flying towards the wall where they enlarged so he could see it properly.

Hurry. He needs you.

For some reason, Lancer has a feeling that he knew what the message is about and rushes to throw the bag over his shoulder. He slung the Camera Obscura around his neck, feeling the metal reside over his heart once more. Running down the stairs, he pulls on his boots and bolts out the door, grabbing Gaé Bolg and hopping on it once he gains enough speed.

For a brief second there's a flicker as the space next to Lancer seems to warp, depicting the outline of a boy with a red headband and tan skin with multiple winding tattoos running next to him.


"Archer?" Lancer sets his beloved skateboard to the side once more as he arrives at Himuro Mansion, crimson orbs shining with worry. He doesn't try to find anything to prop open the door; once he opens it he shuts it behind him, murmuring a "Sorry for the intrusion" quickly on instinct before fishing his flashlight out of his backpack. He clicks it on, searching for the man as his right arm throbs.

"Archer!" Can't the man give him a sign or something? Lancer still doesn't know his way around the place, and what little he should was spent trying to run from a demon. Damnit!

He sweeps the light around the room, taking in the overturned furniture. He then spots a corridor to the right and decides to follow it; for some reason the hallway to his left gave off an ominous aura, as if it's tainted. Exhaling slowly as to steel his nerves, the blue-haired male traverses the winding hallway while checking each room he comes across. He doesn't know how long he's been going at it, but once he makes a left down the corridor and reaches the fourth door down he opens it with haste.

"Archer?" He calls out, the beam of light illuminating the room as his eyes sweep from the right to the left. It falls on an unmoving form, making him jump but inspect it against his better judgement. It could be another demon…

A shock of white hair and tan skin gets his attention and he runs over, shaking the man's shoulder. His gaze travels downwards to where a dark spot stains Archer's clothes, letting the flashlight settle on it. His eyes widen as he sees the blood, shaking Archer's shoulder more roughly.

"Wake up! You have a concussion, so don't fall asleep you...you Bowman!" To his relief, Archer stirs and cracks open an eye. Silence ensues as a frown makes its way onto the white-haired male's features.

"...Surely you jest." Archer groans as Lancer tries to lift his shirt, the blood from his wounds sticking to the fabric and making it painful to take off.

"Nope; I'm here, and I did just call you that." The blue-haired male sets down his flashlight and takes off his backpack, pulling out some rubbing alcohol and the gauze he originally put inside for himself. Once he sets those down he has Archer lean forward as he takes off the man's shirt, grimacing at how bloody it's become.

"This'll sting." He says as he unscrews the cap, pouring it over Archer's wounds. The man keeps quiet, although his muscles tense once the liquid hits his skin. After taking out a rag the Irishman cleans the other's body, finishing with gauze. A minute passes, and Lancer hands him an ice pack.

"For your head." He clarifies, Archer's bewildered stare piercing him as he takes the cold pack and presses it to his head slowly. While the bandaging was somewhat sloppy, it's better than bleeding out with a concussion.

Honestly, he didn't think that the blue-haired male would come back for him.

"You have my gratitude." Lancer chuckles, remembering their first meeting.

"I never really told you my name, huh?" His crimson orbs dance in the darkness as their gazes meet. "I'm Setanta Chulainn, though my friends usually call me Lancer." He then pauses, as if considering something. "My brother sometimes calls me Cú, though. I have no idea why."

"I shall refer to you as Lancer, then." Archer sighs with content, welcoming the cold kiss of the ice pack. It does wonders for his throbbing head, the pain dulling to the point where he can be conscious for hours on end without it bothering him.

"Huh. You sound a lot like my friend, you know."

"Hoh?" Archer stares at the darkness in front of him while Lancer looks up at the ceiling, noting the decaying support beams.

"Her name's Arturia, but I call her Saber. You both speak in this formal tone, and sometimes I can't tell when she's being serious or joking around with me."

Arturia…

"Though, she can be a sore loser sometimes. I remember beating her in a race and she challenged me to a sword duel. She knows I do best with spears and the like. Jeez!"

Saber…

"Oh, she also eats a lot of food without gaining any weight. Her metabolism's crazy, to be hones-Archer?"

The King of Knights.

Pain makes it's presence known once again, searing across his mental landscape and Archer hisses in agony.

That name...if only he had a face to match it…

Nevermind that; why does it sound so...familiar?

"Archer?"

"It's nothing." He says through gritted teeth. Was she in his past life, somehow? If he could meet her...

"Like hell it's nothing!" Blue and red fills his view and he blinks, seeing Lancer scrutinize him. "Tell me. We're both in this hellhole, so we may as well not keep any secrets that are important. Is it your concussion?"

"No; rather, that name sounds...familiar. Arturia, is it?" Archer closes his eyes as the name leaves his lips, a feeling of nostalgia washing over him.

"Oh, I forgot you have amnesia…" Lancer muses, leaning back to get out of Archer's personal space. "Anyways, yes; that's her name. I'll bring a photo next time. You know, to jog your memory."

"That would be appreciated." Lancer puts his back to the wall beside him, pulling out a bottle of water and tossing it to him.

"Here." Archer takes it, grateful as he takes a sip. His companion sighs and closes his eyes, one knee drawn up to his chest as the other is stretched out lazily.

"As payment, you can keep watch."

"You're staying?"

"Well, yeah!" Archer's incredulous stare makes him grin, forcing his muscles to relax as sleep starts to overcome him. "I can't just leave you here like this, Archer. I'm going to get you out because that's what I do best: helping others."

"Are you insa-" Looking over, Archer sees that Lancer has fallen asleep, giving away how tired he must be. With a snort of amusement he cradles the bottle in his right hand, taking a swig. On that same side, the air shimmers as a boy sits down next to him.

That was nice of him to come back.

Only because you made him, I suppose. Archer lets his mental link do the talking, not wanting to wake up his companion. The boy grins somewhat sheepishly before staring into the abyss, seeing out of the corner of his eye Archer turning off the flashlight.

Actually, he was gearing up to come here for you before I gave him a message.

And that message was?

To hurry the fuck up because my only source of entertainment was dying on me.

Ah, so the truth reveals itself. Archer knows that the boy was joking, whether he knows it himself or not.

Yeah, 'cause then I'd be bored. You're the only one who can see me so far, after all.

How long until Lancer can?

Four more days, max. The boy looks smug as he folds his arms, a smirk on his face. I know; I'm amazing like that.

As you wish.

Says the guy whose name is Archer. Archer's ghostly companion pouts at the hidden insult, changing the subject which surprises him.

Well, at least you're a step closer to remembering something.

Arturia...just who is she? He has too many questions, yet so few answers.

I don't know. The boy shrugs, standing up. I'll keep watch; get your rest.

Someone is being suspiciously competent.

Put a sock in it. The wraith of a boy says in exasperation, flipping him the bird. I'm just ensuring that I get to stay here for a little longer by his side, even if he's not that man. If you have anything even remotely funny to tell me, I'm all ears: just tap the lens twice. By then, I'll certainly have enough to torture you with.

Just leave already. Archer huffs with a small grin on his face, watching the boy dematerialize as he walks off. With a grimace due to his wounds, he closes his eyes and tries to rest.


The wraith stares at the two sleeping forms with barely concealed melancholy, directing his mocha orbs to look down the corridor. Half of him-the one that's in control-hopes that Archer regains his lost memories of who he was thirty five years ago. He sincerely believes that Lancer can help him out, having faith in the man who resembles him.

The other half wishes to see him suffer.

It wishes to bring pain down onto the duo, to tear their throats out and to watch them bleed out because it'll bring him just another step closer to becoming human. It wants to destroy, to mutilate, to crush anything and everything.

We can't; that's what It wants.

With a sigh of annoyance, he walks down the corridor to battle his inner demons.


So, Gil gives Cú a pep talk, Archer still has his concussion although it's not as bad now that Lancer showed up, and a couple of new characters make their appearance! Arturia was fun to write, as well as Jeanne (even if she isn't really mentioned here).

Anyone care to guess who the wraith is? I might have made him too obvious…review if you think you know!

Anyways, thanks for sticking with this story and I'll see you guys in Chapter Three! (Comment your thoughts on this story if you want to, as well!)

~VampChippzRisesAgain