Disclaimer: D. Gray Man is the property of Hoshino Katsura-sama.

They first meet him when they were just barely into their teens. Already they had been living on the streets for more than just a handful of years and he had been a passing noble dropping into Jasdero's bowl a handful of coins.

"Not enough, old man." He had said.

But instead of expected anger, the answer was calm.

"How much more, then?"

Offguard at such a reply and not knowing better, he settled for insisting the other give him an amount equal to his brother, at the very least.

"Very well, child."

He sulks and protests they weren't - or at least he wasn't - but the faint smile on the old man's lips says such words were futile.

But then day by the day, the old man would always round that corner and he would always stop to place an equal amount of coin in their bowls. The old man would always be his solemn, quiet self and he... He doesn't know what brings him to speak of his brother's illness. But he does and the other listens - of even their bastard parents' coordinated abandonment - and like thus an arrangement came to be.

"Why us, old man?" He asked, one day.

He was certain there were plenty of other children starving on the London streets and his brother's condition, though rare, was an unfortunate reality also elsewhere...

But that doesn't mean he was going to leave behind the only relative he has, mind half-there or not.

(He'll just have to be the half that was always there, won't he?)

The old man smiles.

(That usual small, sad smile...)

And to this, he feels the faint stirring of irritation.

"Because it's something like salvation."

A thought passes at this answer - that this man probably lost children before, too.

And the next time the old man calls them children, he finds he cannot form the words of protest.

It wasn't until the stigmata comes that he understands a bit better.

"Welcome back."

That suit before them was ever-smiling, but he thinks instead of a distant, solemn smile...

(A little part of him whispers those words were not meant for them either, at least not truly.)

But he had his brother, so should he really care?

There was something about becoming a Noah that made Jasdero incredibly happy. More so than the food and shelter or fine clothes... The words that usually did not come to his brother easily began flowing out, even if they were mostly barely comprehensible babblings.

The Eldest nods and pretends pretty understanding. On occasion, she condescends to play with Jasdero.

(He supposes that if his brother was truly happy then he too was content.)

The old man - no, the Earl - doesn't stop to listen to them anymore.

(And maybe...just a little, he wishes time could turn back to the streets of the Capital and a cool autumn afternoon.)

Perhaps it was petty of him, to break things for attention (encouraging Jasdero to follow his lead had been simple enough) but each time the Earl finally directs his attention to the both of them it certainly felt something like a victory.

However... Playing House with the suit was a lot easier than when the old man was truly himself.

(And for some reason, even as they took to frequently staying in that other form, the knowledge makes him almost a little angry.)

He wasn't the first to notice when the Earl's tired features begin to hold gentleness.

But when that gentleness made even that distant gaze tender...

He could not help but wonder what would make the other this happy.

It was a part of the mansion they never ventured to.

(This maisonette was the Earl's personal quarters, after all.)

It was hard enough to find a good time with the man's erratic schedule. But the protections placed on the apartment's door only made him all the more determined to find what was hidden beyond it.

(After all, he wasn't like the Eldest, content to just leave things be.)

He quickly learns alone, his ability was not enough. But with Jasdero's support...

"Adam, are you back already?"

Coppery-red hair and silver eyes. A child greets their sight on the other side of the door.

The eerie boy did not flinch even as they drew their weapons.

The boy cocked his head lightly to the side -

And a firm hand settles on his shoulder from behind.

Beside him, Jasdero squeals - an alarming sound - and he slowly shifts his own head to meet the face of the Earl.

The Master was not smiling.

Those golden eyes - that entire visage - beheld only complete outrage.

Their pistols drop, clattering upon the marble.

"Who are they?" The boy's soft voice disturbs what would've been an uncomfortable standstill.

Those fingers placed pressure - a furious tremble. To him, the terror now clearly outweighed the threat of pain - and,

"...ne, Adam?"

He's holding his breath (he knows Jasdero is too) but the Master releases them finally...passing them by in silence.

But they know better that lingering promise of punishment, of a lined crossed -

The Earl draws the child into his arms.

The frosty words that followed chilled their blood.

"No one."

The little boy smiles, a snow-like smile. (As if that softened the blow by any measure.)

But like a balm, that did seem to soothe the Master's anger...

"Adam?" Says the child, tone sweet. "Maybe no one want a bedtime story, too...?"

A small smile touches the Earl's face.

"Perhaps, sweet..."

Cradling the child, the Master meets their eyes. A calculating, foreign gaze.

Numbly, he pulls his brother out into the hall.

(A silent dismissal was far better than a dangerous one.)

But, still...

"Debbit?" His brother's hand fumbles on his sleeve, tone pleading.

As strong as the bond was between he and his brother -

(No, the Earl's with that child eclipsed by far...)

"Tch."

- it was still hard not to feel a little resentful.

"Adults are such bastards, really."