Proof of Life

by MidnightRun42

A story in which three children adapt to the chaos and tragedy of their own lives by visiting chaos and tragedy on the lives of others. OR: How the Kokuyo Gang eventually became the Kokuyo Gang and what happened next. (Eventual 6927 & 4914)

4. Letters From the Underground

"I can see we're going to get along like a house on fire," said Miss Tick. "There may be no survivors."
— Terry Pratchett (The Wee Free Men)

THEN

ESTERNEO
NORTHERN ITALY
1996

They managed to get a dozen steps from the operating room before the sharp clang of metal hitting the floor alerted him to the fact something was wrong. He'd barely managed to turn towards the noise before Mukuro dropped like a rock. Ken knew he was fast, but he hadn't realized that Chikusa's reflexes made him faster. He was still just looking on in surprise when Chikusa was already catching the dark-haired boy with what seemed like the ease of long practice and asking for help in a strained voice as he struggled under the dead weight, trying not to drop their new friend on the bloody floor.

Ken stepped forward quickly, shoving his stolen gun into the back of his pants before grabbing one of Mukuro's pale arms and flinging it over his shoulder, holding it in place while Chikusa ducked under the other arm. Once Mukuro was balanced between them he stooped a little lower and grabbed the weapon Mukuro had dropped.

"What now?" Chikusa asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose awkwardly with his free hand.

"I don't know. I'm not feeling really great about staying out in the open like this. You?"

"No."

"Okay, then I guess we check these other rooms and see if there's like an office or, you know, just any room that isn't full of prisoners or dead people."

Chikusa nodded and together they staggered down the world's most awful hallway, dragging Mukuro between them and checking doors as they went. Everything stank of antiseptic and lemon cleaning solution and blood and shit and death. It made him want to tear his nose off. Instead he just kept on weaving unevenly down the hallway with Mukuro and Chikusa trying to find somewhere to hide for a little while. Because hiding seemed like a good idea right now as another gunshot echoed down the stupid white halls. He could tell it wasn't super close to them, but that didn't make him feel any better about it. Not when Mukuro was down and so he now had two people to protect instead of just one.

The first two doors they ran across were locked up tight. He could maybe have broken the door handles and gotten in if he tried, but he was too worried about someone having locked themselves in those rooms to bother when there were other options. Fortunately, the third door was unlocked and opened into a little office. They shuffled inside and settled Mukuro's limp form carefully in a corner against one of the file cabinets that were shoved up against the far wall.

They stood back and looked at each other and Ken couldn't help smiling. Maybe they weren't safe just yet and maybe they weren't out, but they were together and they'd found Mukuro who seemed pretty awesome so now they were three instead of two. That was better odds at least, assuming Mukuro woke up some time soon. He might not totally trust the dark-haired boy just yet, but things were definitely looking up.

"Think he's okay?" Chikusa asked and Ken shrugged his shoulders gamely. Mukuro's breathing and heartbeat sounded steady enough so he didn't think he was in any immediate danger, but… he didn't know enough about what they'd done to him and what he'd done to them to know for sure.

"Yeah. He's probably just tired. He killed like a billion people today or something, I'm tired after just knocking one out." Ken replied, smiling easily. He was a little worried, maybe, but there wasn't any reason to freak Chikusa out just yet. He liked Mukuro, Ken could tell that easily enough, so he'd keep his worries to himself for now. Chikusa looked rough enough as it was, still groggy from surgery and probably freaked out about what happened in their room.

Chikusa nodded tiredly, his attention shifting to the file cabinets. He opened one of the top drawers, shut it just as quickly and opened another and another before settling on one and flipping through the files inside. Eventually he pulled out a think file and plopped it down on top of the cabinets. He shoved the door closed and pulled open the next and the next and the next before pausing to flip through the files and yank one thick file out, flopping it down on top of the other folder he'd removed and then turning his attention to the other drawers.

Ken liked that about him. Liked how practical he could be even when he wasn't at his best. Hiding and hoarding food, marking the days, Chikusa always seemed to have a better handle on surviving than he did. "What are these?" He asked, stepping forward to touch the thick folders that were stuffed full of papers. There were names on the tabs. He recognized his own, tracing his fingers over the familiar letters. "These are about us?"

Chikusa nodded, pausing in his search to come over and stand next to him, lean against his shoulder a little. It was nice. Chikusa didn't smell like death or cleaning stuff, Chikusa reeked of that kid's blood, but he also smelled like home underneath it all and if Ken closed his eyes he could focus on that scent and it made him feel a little calmer, a little less anxious. He hoped Chikusa didn't notice, didn't think he was weird for it. "This is what they did to us," Chikusa murmured, the papers rustling as he flipped one of the folders open. "It's a record of all the tests, the experiments, some notes on what they were trying to do, I think."

"Anything in there about why? Because I'd really like to know why they took and kept us and made me… us… like this."

"Not that type of file. Don't think there was a reason except that they could," Chikusa grumbled, flipping the folder closed and turning back to the file drawer he'd left open. "Should help us figure out what we can do though. Better than nothing."

He continued to flip through the files in several more drawers while Ken opened his eyes and began to fidget and fiddle with the folders he'd already pulled out. Lining them up, then stacking them, tracing the lines of Chikusa's name and his own until Chikusa shut the last drawer and leaned back against the cabinet looking puzzled.

"What?" He asked, because he was pretty sure if he didn't ask questions Chikusa would get lost in his own head and never tell him anything.

"There's no Mukuro Rokudou," Chikusa murmured, casting a glance back at Ken. Ken shrugged his shoulders not really sure what that was supposed to mean.

"No, there wouldn't be," Mukuro commented, his voice soft, almost softer than Chikusa's. He blinked up at them with drowsy eyes, clearly having just woken up. "Mukuro Rokudou is what I am, not who I was." He chuckled softly, the rusty broken sound that was halfway between a laugh and a cough. "I don't know what his name was, the boy who they killed to create me, but I know he isn't who I am now."

Well, that explained it. He'd been wondering why Mukuro reeked of death. Not literally, he didn't smell like turned earth or decay or anything, but he did smell like he imagined cold and dark would. He smelt of danger and violence and home, of both predator and kin, so much so that it made Ken want to draw closer even as he fought the desire to just grab Chikusa and run. He didn't really get it, but he'd been able to tell even before they stepped into that room and saw him for the first time that Mukuro was like him. Was weird and different like them.

"You okay?" He asked finally, his fingers still dancing around the edges of the folders.

"I'll be fine. I just… overextended myself a little, I think." Mukuro commented, pushing himself up onto unsteady legs, leaning heavily against the cabinets. He glanced down at the folders. "These are yours?"

Chikusa nodded, "They took very detailed notes."

"Fuckers," Ken added, glaring down at how thick the folders were. Someone had probably spent a long time writing them, thinking about all the things they'd done to them so far, all the things they could do to them in the future to make them… better.

"Well, they were that. But this will be good for us at least," Mukuro replied. "Are these all patient records?"

"Looks like it."

"I'll go back to the operating suite. They should have had my file in there since they were actively working on me when I… decided I'd rather they didn't."

Ken snorted, rolling his eyes as he started poking around the office to see if he could find a bag or something to carry the big folders in. "That's a real nice way of saying you woke up and killed everybody you could get your hands on."

Mukuro laughed, it was a nicer sound then the usual chuckle, "I suppose it is. Honestly, I'm surprised you two weren't more afraid of me. I know… I know some of the things I did were…"

"Fuck them," Ken spat, opening the desk drawers one after another and coming up empty. "They hurt Chikusa and you and me. They were terrible and they were mean and they killed lots of other kids. I'm glad they're dead. I don't much care if you got a little crazy with it."

Chikusa nodded in wordless agreement, his fingers white where they gripped the top of the file cabinet.

"Ha! Found one!" Ken waved his prize, a cheap plastic bag he'd found crumpled in the trashcan under the desk, triumphantly as he stood up. "How'd you do it anyway? They forget to strap you down or something?"

"No," Mukuro replied softly, he gestured to the folders on top of the cabinet. "May I?"

Chikusa nodded and Ken shrugged, "Knock yourself out."

Mukuro flicked the top folder open, staring down at the pages, shifting them around, the papers rustling softly as he looked them over. He read quickly his mismatched gaze moving from line to line and page to page fast and faster still as Ken fidgeted beside him and Chikusa watched him with cautious eyes. When he'd finished with the first, he set it aside and moved on to the second, the thicker one with Ken's name on it.

At long last he glanced up to look into Ken's face than back to the page again, "This is what they did to you?" He murmured finally and Ken stepped closer to look down at the paper Mukuro was looking at. It just looked like nonsense to him, drawings and jumbles of letters that he knew were probably words, but they weren't words he knew. He did know a drawing of a body when he saw one though and maybe he recognized how some of the marked places on the drawing matched up with the control unit chips they'd inserted under his skin. Maybe.

"Yeah," Ken muttered finally, his hands tightening into fists as his sides. He wanted to rip those papers to pieces, but he knew that wouldn't help. Wouldn't make them less true, wouldn't make the things they'd done to him disappear. "Probably."

Mukuro nodded, glancing over at Chikusa, "You read these?"

"A little," Chikusa replied. "I didn't understand all the words. Do you?"

Mukuro nodded, "Most of them. We'll see if we can find a dictionary or something to take with us so we can look up the rest. They made you immune to a lot of poisons and you should be able to calculate angles and trajectories really quickly and accurately. It'll make your reflexes really good. I think they meant for you to be a sniper or something. You'll probably be good at close combat too as long as you're working with projectiles. Darts or something, I mean."

"What about me?" Ken asked, poking at his own folder again and flipping through the pages. None of it made much sense to him. There were a lot of pictures of animals.

"Cartridges. They made cartridges for you that you can load over your teeth that cause your body to change, take on aspects of different animals. So, some of them make you really fast or really strong or a little bit of both, things like that. We should be able to find the cartridges in one of the labs. We'll look for them."

"Okay," Ken nodded, risking a glance at Chikusa who seemed unperturbed by Mukuro's words. When he caught him looking, Chikusa gave him a little ghost of a smile, but it was enough to let him know that it was okay, that they were okay. He flipped his folder shut and pushed it back towards Mukuro. "So, what about you?"

"Me? I can mark and possess people, make them do what I want. I can also use illusions to hurt them, confuse them, kill them. I think… I think I can do other things too, but I don't know what. It's just… a feeling I have. If we can find my file, that would help."

"What's the eye about?"

"I don't know," Mukuro replied, touching the stitches and wincing. "I'm not sure why it's different or what the number is all about."

"We'll figure it out," Ken replied, clapping Mukuro on the shoulder. Mukuro blinked and tensed, surprised, but he didn't shrug the hand off. "Let's go see what we can find so we can get out of here. This place reeks and it's just gonna get worse."

Mukuro nodded, taking the bag from Ken and shoving the folders inside before handing it back. He bent to pick up his weapon from where he'd left it on the floor and when he stood back up he looked a little green around the edges as he steadied himself against the file cabinet again.

"Sick?" Chikusa asked, a note of wary concern in his voice.

"A little," Mukuro agreed, closing his eyes and swallowing hard. "It'll pass. Just… give me a minute. We'll need to be careful. I don't know if I got them all."

Chikusa frowned, casting a look at him over Mukuro's bent head. Ken nodded, realizing he was probably thinking about the man they'd left behind in the room, the kids too. "I knocked one out when we escaped the room earlier. He might still be alive."

Mukuro nodded weakly, still looking kind of sick. "You knocked him out?"

"Yeah, the asshole is probably still sleeping it off. I hit him really hard."

"Can you take me there?"

Ken frowned, scratching his head irritably as he thought about it. About wandering the halls and how everything had kind of looked and smelled the same after a while, "I don't know, maybe? These halls all kind of look the same, but I can try. But… what are you gonna do if he is? I mean, I know you killed all those other people, but… you kind of look like shit right now."

"Thanks for that. You're probably not wrong though. I can't do what I did to them again so soon," Mukuro replied, "but I should still be able to cast illusions and I'll be able to get close enough to kill him."

Chikusa's frown deepened, "Is that safe?"

Mukuro sighed, glancing over his shoulder towards the door. "Probably not. I killed everyone who was in the room with me and I think I managed to get most of the others to kill themselves or each other, but… I don't know. I don't know how many there were here or if they all actually died. We're not safe here, but we can't go until we have the things we need and it would be best if there were no witnesses to tell the Vindice what I did here."

"What the hell is a Vindice?"

"Mafia justice," Mukuro murmured, his gaze strangely distant all of a sudden, like he was looking at something very far away. "I murdered most of our Famiglia. They have a special place for people who do that."

"Bullshit," Ken growled, "No one's taking you anywhere. You saved us. Like hell we're gonna let some assholes lock you up for it."

"You can't stop them. No one can stop them, but we can run. We can run and we can hide and maybe they won't find us."

"Okay, then let's grab what we need to grab and kill whoever we need to kill and get out of here before they show up." Ken pulled the gun out of the back of his pants and took the safety off before grabbing Chikusa's hand and pulling him towards the door, the bag of files hanging awkwardly between them. "You think it'll be soon?"

"No? No, they're… there was an incident with the Vongola Famiglia. They'll have heard about it and will be tied up with that for a while. Trying to interfere in family business as if they have a place there." Mukuro shook his head hard, shuddering a little. "We probably have a day or two before they'll be free to investigate suspicious incidents anywhere else. Longer if no one alerts them to a problem."

"Okay. Where do you wanna go first?"

"We'll stop by the operating room first, it's close. Then we'll go to the room where they kept you, where you left that man." Mukuro replied, shoving away from the cabinet, his blade scraping across the top as he did. There was nothing about his expression or movements that indicated that anything had changed, but Ken tensed up and shifted so that he was standing a little in front of Chikusa. He liked Mukuro, but… it was hard to trust someone you just met. Hard to trust their temper when they could do the things Mukuro could do. Harder still when you had someone you wanted to protect above all others.

"Sure," Ken replied, trying to keep his tone light, easy. He knew he didn't succeed completely when Chikusa's grip on his hand tightened. "You should know, there were some other kids in the room. They weren't bad kids just…"

"Weak," Mukuro finished for him and Ken was pretty sure that wasn't the word he would have used, but he saw Chikusa nod in agreement out of the corner of his eye and he shrugged.

"I guess. You gonna want them to come with us?"

Mukuro shook his head quickly, easing the door open and peering out cautiously before opening it wide and stepping out into the hall. "No, let them make their own way if they can, but they'll only slow us down if we take them with us. You two are all I need."

Mukuro turned and kept moving down the hall back the way they'd come, disappearing from sight, presumably confident that they would follow.

"You okay?" Chikusa asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Ken nodded his head once, quick and sure, "Yeah, he's a little scary and he smells a little strange, but… I like him. He's kind of nice and I don't think he wants to hurt us. We can go with him. I think it'll be safe enough and I think it'll be good with just the three of us. Don't you?"

"Yeah. We should go, he'll be waiting."

-ooo-

They didn't find Mukuro's file in the surgery suite, but in the office beside it found something better.

And worse.

"They killed him to send him to Hell," Mukuro commented, his voice soft as his fingers traced across one of several x-rays that were pinned to the board alongside all those plans and charts. "For this. This was the goal. He had a natural aptitude for possession and strong gift when it came to the production of mist flames. They killed him again and again so that his soul could latch on to other souls and travel each path of rebirth in order to eventually create… me. So, that I would be able to use this bullet to it's fullest potential. To be able to use the power of others, to combine that skill with what I would gain by traveling each path. I would be unstoppable; I would be their greatest weapon." He laughed then, but it sounded almost like a scream or a sob. Ken wasn't sure what the hell to do. He didn't really understand what they'd done, but it sounded really bad. And Mukuro just stood there looking at the board, at all those awful plans done up in red, and laughed and laughed and laughed. That terrible raw, rusty, hissing sound that filled the room and echoed off the walls back at them.

Beside him, Chikusa looked like he was gonna cry, but he didn't look like he had any more idea what to do than Ken did. He hadn't had any friends before Chikusa, not really, not real friends, and he didn't know how to make someone feel better when they fell apart and that's what Mukuro looked like right now. He looked like he was teetering at the edge of some terribly high place about to fall off and be dashed to pieces across the unforgiving ground.

So… he went with what he knew. He grabbed Mukuro's sleeve, wrapped his fingers in it and pulled him back to them, away from that awful board and everything it represented. Reeled him in and towed him back across the room to where Chikusa lingered near the door. Mukuro's laughter had trailed off and had stopped completely by the time they reached the door. They stood together and Chikusa wound his fingers into Mukuro's other sleeve and maybe it helped or maybe it didn't, but either way Mukuro smiled a little, his gaze looking through them as he spoke, mostly to himself. "I woke up and I felt nothing. I wasn't angry, I wasn't sad or happy- I didn't even hate them. I felt nothing just… nothing. I was nothing. I didn't have a name or anything at all as I lay there. So I didn't do anything I just… laid there because there wasn't any reason to move. Then there was a man and he was wearing a surgical mask as peered down at me, but you could tell he was smiling. He told me I was going to make them great again. Then he left and I… I still just lay there while they took the restraints from my wrists and my legs. They asked me to sit up, so I did. There was no reason not to. And they began running tests. They were testing my hearing and my vision and my reaction to stimuli and my reflexes to see if all that time being dead had affected me physically. And the whole time I kept trying to remember who I was and where I was and what I was and why while they hit my knee with a little stupid hammer and shined a light in my eyes.

"When the memories came, they came slowly in pieces and parts, just a jumble that didn't make much sense at all. I could remember that I had been someone's son and then… I wasn't. I was someone's daughter, I was old and young and mean and empty and hateful and sad and filled with rage and so many other things and… then I wasn't. All of it was like sand falling through my fingers and I couldn't hold on to any of it for long. I could remember things from all those lives, but just a little and just for a few moments at a time, but what I could remember best was the hell of the paths in between those lives. The longer I sat there the more I remembered and the more I forgot. I was all of these people and none of them. I'm too many ideas and thoughts and desires shoved into a box built for one. And slowly as all those moments came and went I became myself. I was Mukuro Rokudou. I was only myself and I belonged only to myself and I would never be any of the things or people I once was, but I could be something different. Something better. And then they finished their tests and they put this in my hand." He raised his wrist, the blade held in his hand dangled limp and loose between his fingertips. "They put in my hand and told me that all I had to do was mark someone and I'd be able to control them. To tell them what to do, how to do it, to make them do what I wanted; whatever I wanted. They were so excited. So damn excited and that woman, who still had my blood splattered all over his clothes, told me that they had such plans for me. That she saw such potential in me. So, I stuck this blade in her eye and asked her to tell me again about all those plans they had for me."

"It's gonna be okay," Ken whispered and he wished he believed that.

Mukuro nodded quickly, swallowing hard and then he finally looked at them and there was an awful desperation to his face in that moment. "We go together. That's what we said and that's what I want. From now on, wherever we go, it'll be the three of us against the world, but… I… I need to know that you'll do what I ask. Even if you don't like it, even if it isn't what you want, I need to know I can count on you to do it. Even if I ask you to leave, to go and not look back."

"Okay, but…" Ken frowned, glancing at Chikusa and then back down at the blade dangling from Mukuro's fingertips. He wasn't great with words, never had been for all that he liked to talk. He reached down with his free hand and snagged the trident, tugging it gently from Mukuro's grip. "This is what you use right? To mark people so you can possess them, right?"

"Yes," Mukuro replied, his answer slow and careful as if he didn't quite trust why Ken was asking.

Ken nodded, flipped the weapon over and used the center tip to nick the back of the hand that was still holding onto Mukuro's sleeve. "We may never be able to trust each other completely, but I can trust you this much. I can trust you to use me when you need to and this way if you have to send us away, you can always call us back."

"I…"

And Chikusa was suddenly just there standing beside him, drawing his finger along that same pointed tip with a resolute look on his face. "This is our choice too. You aren't the only one who gets to set terms."

Mukuro just stared at them for a long moment, his mismatched eyes wide, breathing quick and almost panicked. He looked almost lost. Then the moment passed and he closed his eyes, took a long, steadying breath. When he opened his eyes again his expression was calm and placid once more. "You guys are so stupid," he repeated softly, his smirk wry and crooked.

"Damn right," Ken replied with a broad smile, offering the trident to Mukuro, who took it back with a nod.

"Okay," Mukuro murmured, shifting his glance back to the white board with its red diagrams and words. He climbed up on the slim table in front of the board, kicking pens and papers out of his way as he stood before the board. He swiped his pale hands across the surface, wiping away more and more of the ink with each broad sweep of his hands until nothing was left behind. "Let's get started."

-ooo-

This was definitely the room they'd been locked in for the last few months. That Other Tony's body was still sprawled out and mostly headless across the floor, he could see the bloody footprints Chikusa had left behind when he'd walked from the room (had seen them out in the hall too) and their few belongings had been strewn carelessly across the room as if someone had torn through them looking for something of value and tossing them away when they didn't find anything. But, other than that, there was nothing much to see. No man. No kids.

"How many kids were there?" Mukuro asked, tightening his grip on Ken's shoulder as he glanced back and forth down the hall.

"Three. An older girl, pigtails, cried a lot, she was new… well, newest. Two boys, younger than us maybe, they were here for a while. They stank of fear and piss. I don't know about the man or the girl, hard to smell anything subtle over all this, but the boys went that way." He gestured vaguely further down the hall away from the direction they'd come from. "You gonna kill them?"

"The children?" Mukuro inquired as if the man wasn't a question worth answering and Ken supposed he probably wasn't. "I haven't decided yet. Maybe. You left them behind for a reason."

Ken and Chikusa both nodded, but it was Ken who answered. "Yeah. I only cared about getting Chikusa out."

Mukuro nodded as if he'd expected nothing less and pushed away from the room, steadier than he'd been before, the pistol clutched tight in his hand.

They found the first boy almost as soon as they turned the next corner. He'd had his head caved in, giving it a horrible deflated, squishy look that was somehow grosser than Other Tony's gunshot head. Presumably by the wooden bat that was lying discarded on the floor beside him, covered in blood and thicker things.

"Nasty," Ken grumbled, wrinkling his nose at the sight and the smell.

"Yes," Mukuro murmured.

"This one of yours or did someone else do it?"

"I'm not sure," Mukuro replied, "I set illusions for the people I couldn't reach to possess. I kind of just hoped they'd kill themselves or each other to escape them and save me the trouble."

"So, basically, you have no idea how many people you've killed?"

"I'll admit, I didn't really have a solid plan when I got started."

"Yeah, well, I guess it could have been worse and the confusion is what let us get loose. Besides you'd just gotten done being dead, that's probably not great for planning. The powers were all new, right?"

"I assume so," Mukuro replied, shrugging as he stepped over the boy's body and continued down the hall. "I really don't have the faintest idea what he could do before beyond what was written on the board."

They continued down hall after hall, stepping over and around bodies and puddles of blood and gore when they found them. There was a body he recognized in one hall that he gave a resounding kick, earning him an odd look from Chikusa. Ken gestured to his face and Chikusa nodded, giving the body a kick himself as they continued on.

Eventually they reached a dead-end where they found the other boy as well as the body of the man. They'd both been shot, a relatively clean and surprisingly painless death, where they sat leaning together against the wall. Like they'd just decided to sit down and hang together against the wall out in the open where they could be easily found. Because obviously that made sense, Ken frowned down at them. It set his nerves on edge.

"Well, this is really fucking weird." Ken grumbled, glaring down at the pair of them. "Where the hell did they even think they were going all the way down here?"

Then he heard the door squeak and he forgot to care about the destination of dead people. He was turning, gun already aimed and fired before he'd even made the decision to do so. The bullet scraped against the girl's bare arm causing her to yelp and drop the gun she was carrying. She dived for it immediately while Ken stood there feeling vaguely embarrassed about the whole thing. "Sorry, I didn't realize it was you, I just…"

He felt a lot more justified in shooting her when she came back up with the gun aimed at them or, more specifically, at Chikusa. He hissed, shoving Chikusa out of the way as she fired and he felt fire and pain flare in his side as the bullet struck him. "Motherfucker!" He spat, dropping his own gun as he slapped a hand against his injured side. That hurt like a bitch, but he was so damn angry that it didn't seem to matter as much as it might have. He dropped to his knees, flailing for the gun with his free hand while he glared at the girl.

The girl's eyes widened in surprise. Like she'd just realized what she'd done or maybe she just didn't have enough bullets left to kill all of them. She hissed something at them in a language Ken didn't recognize, or maybe he did and he was just having problems focusing on anything except the fact that that some total asshole had just shot him, and then she was turning, running away with the gun still clutched in her small pale hand.

She didn't make it even halfway down the hall before Chikusa snagged the trident Mukuro still held in his hand and threw it. It tumbled end over end, striking her neatly in the neck. She crashed to the floor with a terrible gurgling sound, her pistol falling from her grip and spinning away down the corridor.

If Chikusa gave a shit that he'd just killed someone, it didn't show, because almost as soon as the trident hit he was already bent down beside Ken, fingers poking painfully at the wound in his side. "The bullet needs to come out or it'll heal in there. You heal too fast for anything else."

"Gross, you don't have to- ow! Ow! Dammit! That fucking hurts, you stupid jerk," Ken snarled, swatting at Chikusa's invading fingers even as he felt a cool presence settle over his shoulders. He shuddered and then suddenly he couldn't move an inch except to curse as Chikusa continued to dig around in his muscle and tissue in search for the bullet.

"Stay put," Mukuro ordered, as if he had another option.

Meanwhile, Chikusa had found the bullet and yanked it out, glaring at it for a long moment before throwing it back at him. "Stupid. Idiot. What were you thinking?"

"Don't call me stupid, I totally saved your ass."

"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Who asked you to? I could have dodged."

"A bullet? Seriously?"

"Maybe."

"Yeah, how about we test that theory when I'm the one aiming a gun at you?"

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"You both shut up or I'll make you shut up." Mukuro spat, giving them both a shove down the hall back the way they'd come. "There's no reason to stay here now. Let's find Ken's cartridges and get out of here."

-ooo-

He hated them more when they went upstairs. The house situated over the basement labs was way nicer and bigger than any place he'd ever been. Way nicer than the tiny house he'd lived before coming here. Nicer than most places he'd seen on TV even. And these assholes had kept them locked up in a single room in the basement. The room they'd emerged into looked like somebody's entryway, the ceiling was high and made of glass so that the sunlight outside filtered down into the room below making the room feel light and airy. Huge and open after all those tiny rooms and endless white halls.

"What a bunch of assholes," Ken snarled, his fingers tightening around the box he was carrying that held his cartridges. They'd found the little box in another small office that had probably belonged to the doctor that worked on him. He hoped that bastard was one of the many bodies littering the basement. And now there was this... giant fucking house. They'd been living in a box and up here everything was sunny and bright and it didn't stink and it made him want to break something, possibly everything.

"Yes," Chikusa agreed, his eyes narrowed in irritation.

"Be quiet, we don't know if there are people up here," Mukuro commented, scanning the room they'd arrived in. Ken sniffed the air, but while he could smell people, there were definitely people here or had been recently, he couldn't tell how many or where they were. His stomach grumbled painfully as he caught the scent of some sort of pasta sauce simmering, bread baking.

"There are and I'm gonna murder anyone that stands between me and that bread," Ken grumbled, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the fact that he hadn't eaten all day and his stomach was very aware of the fact.

"There's bread?" Chikusa asked looking around the room as if he expected it to appear out of thin air. Ken snorted and inclined his head towards the hall that led into what was probably the back of the house.

Mukuro, on the other hand, was too busy staring at the glistening tile floor of the entryway to be bothered with talk of food. There was a large, fancy engraving on the floor near the set of large doors opposite the hallway. Ken could tell just by looking at them that those doors led to the outside, to freedom and for a moment the urge to rush to them and fling them open was almost overwhelming. Ken closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of baking bread again.

"Esterneo." Mukuro murmured, his foot scuffing against the floor, his voice soft and deadly, like the sound of a snake sliding through grass. "They… this Famiglia… our Famiglia is Esterneo."

"What the hell is an Esterneo?" Ken asked, frowning, thoughts of freedom and bread forgotten for the moment as he opened his eyes and turned to look at the emblem emblazoned across the floor.

"It's a mafia Famiglia. They invented a bullet. The possession bullet, it's what they wanted me to be compatible with, but it wasn't created for me. They were trying to compete with Vongola and they abused the power that bullet gave them to kill people, a lot of people. The bullet was outlawed and they were shunned, persecuted, looked down upon as the brutal criminals they were."

"What the hell does that have to do with us?"

"I don't know," Mukuro lifted one shoulder, let it fall, and the curve of his smile when he glanced up at them was sharp and deadly. "Why don't we go see if we can find someone to ask?"

-ooo-

They found people to ask and Mukuro didn't ask nicely. So a lot more people died as Mukuro had apparently gotten enough rest while they were walking around the underground to able to use his powers again with ease. The problem they ran into was that most of the people in the house didn't actually know much about what went on underneath it. They were mostly the grunts, people who cooked and cleaned and took care of small errands and household crap. They knew that all the kids in the family had been taken down there and they knew whatever was being done with them was in the best interest of the Famiglia, but that was about it.

Mukuro marked each person they spoke to and once he was done questioning them, he had them walk out back where most of them either shot themselves or each other. By the time they'd gotten to the kitchen and questioned the chef who'd been cowering in the pantry there, they could see a pile of dead bodies out the low-slung kitchen windows. Ken watched the chef kill himself while they all sat at the table eating warm, crusty bread and pasta in a sweet red sauce and he'd never been happier.

After they finished eating, Ken flipped open the box of cartridges. "I'm gonna try one."

"Sure about this?" Chikusa asked softly, fingers dancing restlessly across the pistol resting against his bent knees.

"Yeah, this place is huge it would take us forever to search it on our own and we'd never be absolutely sure we actually found everybody. It'll be fine, I can do this." Ken patted Chikusa on the arm in what he hoped was a reassuring way before he shoved the cartridge that had been in the slot labeled 'wolf' into place over his own teeth. He did it quickly, before he could change his mind or think better of it and the click as it locked into place seemed to echo through his head.

He wasn't sure, but he thought he screamed then as his muscles tore and shifted and his fingers broke and reformed and everything hurt and hurt and hurt as it healed. Then the pain was gone and he could smell everything, but Chikusa most of all as the dark-haired boy was crouched next to him, his hand rubbing up and down the length of his spine. It was nice, comforting. Everything from the fingers against his back to the smell of home and even the less familiar scent of cold darkness that let him know that Mukuro was sitting beside him as well. Not touching, as if unsure of his welcome, but staying close nonetheless. He stretched his fingers, felt and heard his new claws clicking against the warm tiles of the kitchen floor. He rolled his shoulders and sat back, his spine and neck cracking as he did and it felt good. He felt good, even better than good maybe now that the pain was gone.

"Ken?" Chikusa asked, his hand still lingering, warm and welcome against his back.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Still me. Just… a little wolf too, I guess." He paused, laughed a little and the sound was somewhere between a growl and a purr. Weird. "Huh. So, that's what he meant."

"Who?"

"The asshole who beat the shit out of me when I tried to get to you," Ken replied, tapping one claw gently against Chikusa's bandaged forehead.

"Right," Chikusa murmured, frowning. "He's dead, right? He was the one in the hall?"

"Yeah. What an asshole. He kept calling me little wolf. He said a bunch of other shit too, I don't remember what. All sort of blurred into one big beating really. But he kept calling me little wolf like it meant something. I guess he knew. Anyway, that's enough about dead people, there's still one person alive in this house. She's upstairs. We should go see if she's more helpful than the others."

Mukuro nodded, "You okay to go?"

"Yeah, I feel good. I've got this," Ken grinned and it felt savage, right. He bounced to his feet and bounded towards the stairs, vaguely aware that Chikusa and Mukuro had to run to keep up. It felt amazing to stretch his legs, his arms, to leap and bound and run up the stairs and onto the third floor landing, skidding to a stop in front of a door near the top of the stairs. She smelled like green tea and some expensive, cloying floral perfume that made him want to gag. There was a dead body in the room with her and he could still smell the lingering scent of gunpowder and oil.

He felt as much as heard and smelled Mukuro and Chikusa arrive and he glanced back at them. "She's in here. There's someone else in there, but they're dead. She probably killed him and she's got a gun."

"Okay," Mukuro replied softly. "Let's get this over with."

Ken shoved open the door and prowled inside, his eyes narrowing immediately on the woman. She stood at the window, tall and straight-backed, gazing out over the green lawn or possibly the haphazard pile of bodies in the yard. Her hair was long and dark and straight and hung to the middle of her back, swinging as she turned to face them. Her white-gloved hands she held folded against his stomach the gun in them pointed down, her finger very purposefully not on the trigger. She was smiling like she'd been expecting them and Ken felt his hackles rise as he stepped in front of Chikusa, shielding him from this woman's gaze. Because it was Chikusa she was focused on, as if he and Mukuro didn't exist, weren't a threat or just didn't matter at all.

"Oh, you've grown so much," she whispered and her smile was delicate and fragile and Ken wanted to rip her throat out. "It's been so long, my darling boy!"

"Excuse me?!" Ken growled, nails lengthening as he advanced on the woman.

"Chikusa," the woman whispered and Ken could see the resemblance, she had the same straight dark hair as he did. The same blue, blue eyes, the same pale skin. "You wear glasses now. They said you did. "

"No, I…" Chikusa's voice was a mumble and Ken didn't have to see him to know this was bad. That this was going to be bad. He could hear Chikusa's heartbeat running fast and hard, smell the sweat and the fear.

He also didn't need to see Mukuro to feel the cool rage boiling on his skin. To feel his power rising around him like a dark storm, thunder and lightening on the horizon as he stepped forward into the room, pushing Chikusa back and out. "You will drop the illusion right now or I will rip you and it to pieces."

"Oh my, I hadn't thought you'd all be so close or that Nadia's boy would be the least of you. My, my, but this day is simply full of surprises," The woman chuckled and her features were suddenly less sharp, her hair more brown than black, her skin olive-toned instead of pale. "You must be Alonzo's boy. My, but you are strong, aren't you? I can't say I expected that particular experiment to pan out, but look at what fine work we've done with you."

"I'm no one's boy," Mukuro replied, his voice deceptively calm.

Ken stood at his friend's side, a slow warning growl rising in his throat and the woman glanced at him, her smile sliding into a smirk. "And you must be Lucia's mutt. You look just like her. How fitting they should give you such a gift. What a delight."

"Why?" Ken snarled, his claws clicking together at his sides as he tightened them into fists and shook them loose again and again, trying to stay calm. Trying to resist the urge to hurt this woman while they still needed her.

"Why what?" She asked, glancing at him in what seemed like genuine confusion.

"I believe what Ken is trying to discover is why you would do this? Why has this Famiglia been experimenting on their own children?"

"You were our hope, my darlings!" She smiled and it made her beautiful and terrible all at once. "You were our Famiglia's great hope. You were our children and we could make you into something more, something better, something that the rest of the mafia would fear and everything would be better! We would be respected again! No one would dare stand against us. You are our future. And look at you! You're splendid. Look at all you have done and you are just babies who barely understand what you're capable of." She gestured to the window, to all the dead members of her Famiglia laid out on the blood-splattered grass. "Imagine what you'll be capable of in a few years especially with someone to train you. Someone who understands your abilities, who believes in you and what magnificent heights you will be able to reach and will be able to guide you to reach those heights. In a decade you'll be strong enough to challenge Vongola and you will make Esterneo stronger than it ever was before."

She smiled at them and it was bright and sincere and adoring and Ken was leaping forward without thought, guided purely by instinct and rage. A quick swipe of claws and the blood was everywhere as she choked, her eyes wide with surprise as she clutched at her ruined throat. She fell to her knees, hands still scrambling uselessly at her neck, mist flames fizzling in the air as if she were trying to use whatever stupid power she had to the knit the torn skin, veins and muscles back together again.

Ken was still breathing hard, quick and labored, blood dripping from his fingers, when he noticed that Mukuro was staring at him intently. "Sorry," he commented and he knew how insincere he sounded, but in that moment he didn't care. "Were you not done with all that crazy? Because I was really, really done."

"Nope, I'm good." Mukuro replied, his smile dazzling and mean as he lashed out, kicking the woman's still bleeding body hard before strolling away towards the bedroom door. He patted Chikusa on the shoulder as he passed and Ken really wasn't sure if Mukuro was trying to comfort their friend. Or if Mukuro was just tagging Chikusa in to go deal with Ken and the mess he'd left on the carpet. Both seemed like equally likely options. "I suggest you both get cleaned up. We're going to need to leave here soon. If the Vindice come and catch us here, we're really not going to be able to explain all this."

"Sure," Chikusa murmured. He walked into the bedroom and brushed a hand across Ken's shoulders before drifting away towards the bathroom. "Thanks."

And just like that Mukuro was gone and the bathroom door was clicking shut behind Chikusa and he was alone.

Alone with the cooling body of the woman he'd killed and the man she'd killed before they'd come for her. He wondered why, wondered who the man was that she'd felt the need to kill him. Why she'd been so confident that they wouldn't kill her that she'd waited for them like that. This entire family was just totally nuts. Had the mafia made them this way? Or had they always been crazy and being condemned by the rest of the mafia had just let the crazy cat out of the crazy sack.

Ken curled up against the closed bathroom door and hoped what he'd done hadn't broken things between them. He didn't feel bad about what he'd done, not really, but he didn't want to lose Chikusa or Mukuro because of it. Maybe later he might even feel a little bad about having murdered that woman, but now he was just glad she was gone. She'd just made so mad. First with that illusion then with all that crazy talk about greatness and potential and being the best and mentioning his mom and just…

Whatever. He was glad they were all dead whatever the truth was and now that it was done and he was alone for the first time in months and months, he found he really didn't want to be. It was too quiet now, even with the super sensitive hearing the wolf cartridge had given him.

He reached up and pulled the cartridge out of his mouth and swallowed a sob as he felt his muscles shift and his fingers break again as things slipped back into their original shape. It didn't hurt as much going back. Or maybe he was just getting used to pain. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Chikusa muttering softly to himself as he turned on the shower. He was glad that he couldn't make out the words; it was nice just to listen to the murmur of Chikusa's voice disappearing beneath the sound of running water.

Ken woke up some time later to the sensation of falling and the feel of a warm palm against his face as his shoulder jarred painfully against the damp tile floor of the bathroom. "Sorry, wasn't fast enough," Chikusa murmured, his hair still wet and dripping as he hovered over him and helped him to his feet. "You fall asleep in weird places."

"Sorry," Ken muttered, rubbing a hand through his hair and yawning. He wasn't sure what he was apologizing for exactly, probably everything. He noticed there was a large stack of clothes beside him that hadn't been there when he fell asleep. Weird that he'd slept so heavily that he hadn't heard Mukuro come in and leave them.

"It's okay," Chikusa replied and he smiled, just a little and Ken realized it was. "You want to get a shower?"

And then it wasn't.

"No," Ken whispered, glancing at the big, fancy bathroom, still humid and thick with steam. And even though there were no guards anymore, even though Chikusa was beside him and this pretty, well-lit place was nothing like the basement shower room, the thought still filled him with dread. "No. Nah, I'm… I'm good."

Chikusa frowned, but nodded quickly, decisively, as if he'd expected that. "There's no bath, but there are a lot of towels. We could get them wet and we could wash your hair in the sink. It's better than nothing. I'll help you."

Ken found himself nodding just as quickly, a little nervous that Chikusa might change his mind, decide that it was weird that he didn't want to use the shower. Decide he was just being an idiot and walk away from him. "Yeah. Sure. Okay."

"Okay. " Chikusa replied, bending down to grab the stack of clothing and bandages off the floor before catching hold of his hand and ushering him into the bathroom. "Help me change my bandages?"

"Sure."

-ooo-

Ken didn't remember much about his parents. He'd been really young when they died so most of his knowledge came secondhand from his grandma. She hadn't talked about them often and he hadn't asked because every time she did talk about them she cried. Not a lot and she tried to hide it from him when she could, but he'd known. Their house had been warm and small and very little happened in one room that wasn't heard throughout the house.

They'd come to take him while she was at work that day. He liked to pretend she hadn't hugged him too long that morning, hadn't told him he should pack some clothes into a backpack because they were going to go on a trip that weekend. It was nicer to think that had just been an unfortunate coincidence. He didn't want to hate her. She'd done her best for him most of the time even though he picked fights with the other kids in the neighborhood and always came home scrapped and bruised and he skipped school more often than he went.

So they'd taken him and his backpack and they'd brought him to the room. They'd shut him up in there with the other kids and those kids had been quiet and beaten and it had been lonely.

And for the longest time they'd let him be while they took the other kids out of the room for testing or therapy or whatever and that had been worse.

Like he'd been brought there not because they'd needed him for something, but instead just to fill a space and it was an awfully lonely space. Then one they had come and they'd taken him and it was worse than he'd imagined it could be. They'd brought him back and he'd been dopey and still trying to shake off the drugs they'd given him and there had been… Chikusa.

It wasn't like he hadn't noticed Chikusa before that day. He hadn't heard him say a word the entire time he was there, but he'd noticed him just the same because he seemed to be listening. All the other kids had tried to ignore him for the most part. He'd talked to them and sometimes he'd gotten their names. This one was Alissa, that one was Tony, that one was also Tony and he started to think maybe they were just having fun with him because what were the chances of there being that many kids named Tony in this one little, bitty room. Mostly though, even if they'd talked to him a little in the beginning, they'd turned away or actively gone out of their way to avoid him after that. And that was okay. He understood the cold shoulder, his cousins had been like that whenever they came to visit Grandma's house. They'd ignore him and go play on the swing outside or play tag down by the lake or watch TV and he was never invited, never welcome, because he was 'that woman's son'. Whatever the hell that meant. So, he was used to it and it didn't matter so much. But….

Chikusa didn't do that. He hadn't known his name then, just thought of him as that small sick kid with the glasses, but he'd stick close to him sometimes especially after they took the kid for treatments and shoved him back into the room looking paler and sicker than usual. He'd stand or sit near him and he'd talk about whatever occurred to him and he thought, maybe, Chikusa didn't mind so much.

At first he'd talked just so he had some company, he'd done the same thing when he lived at Grandma's house. She'd often left him alone because she had to work, so he would talk to himself or the cats. She had two: Oscar, who was an cranky orange tabby cat, and Mister Sock, a nice black kitty who never seemed like she was really all that wild about socks despite her weird name. Usually he'd talk about the weather or the television programs or what they were gonna have for lunch (because he always made extra to feed to the kitties so they would always like him best). Sometimes Mister Sock would come and sit on his lap when it was cold and purr when he pet her and those were the best times.

He made sure not to talk about anything of consequence to the boy with the glasses. He didn't talk about Grandma or Mister Sock or the little house he'd lived in before this or about his parents or even about his cousins. Mainly because it seemed like this was the kind of place that killed the things you loved in front of you just for kicks. So instead he talked about the room and the food and the fact that he hadn't had a bath in what felt like months. His clothes smelled terrible and so did he, so did they all, but no seemed to really care much. He rotated his clothes every week or so because he'd only brought three changes of clothes and that seemed like the best way to keep them any more funky than usual.

One day, they'd hauled him out of the room and led him out to a shower room. The guard, a thin man with a tiny moustache and a scar on his cheek, had grinned as he'd cranked the shower on full blast and shoved him underneath. The water was freezing. Like the well water in the middle of winter when they had to chip off a layer of ice to even get to it. He'd made the mistake of drinking it once, straight out of the bucket and it had been so cold it burned all the way down. This was like that, only all over and he tried to scramble out of it, only to find himself shoved back under the cascading water again and again until his legs wouldn't hold him anymore and he just curled up and in on himself as the cold, cold water continued to pound over him. Eventually he couldn't feel the cold anymore and he couldn't tell he was crying at all.

Then the water burned and the guard laughed. He could hear the laughter even as he screamed and begged them to stop until his throat was sore and his skin was red and aching and he covered his face as much as he could and wasn't even surprised when the water turned to ice again.

He wasn't sure how long it went on, but eventually it stopped. Eventually the water was cut off and he was dragged to his feet and forced to walk, stiff and shaking, back to the room. His socks squelched against the tile floors and he almost slipped countless times and actually hit the ground twice. Everything hurt and he couldn't stop shivering as they shoved him back into the room. He wasn't sure how he managed to make it to the wall, but he did and he leaned there, shivering, until lights out. Once it was dark he changed out of his wet clothes and hung them up on the creepy bunk bed in the corner that no one ever slept on. It was tough to do in the dark, but he managed, though he was pretty sure he stepped on other Tony twice as he ferried those sopping wet clothes across the room.

But even if he did, that was fine by him. Other Tony was kind of a jerk anyway.

So, fuck that guy.

-ooo-

Mukuro was waiting for them when they finally emerged from the bathroom an hour later looking a little younger with his hair hanging damp and loose around his shoulders. He frowned at them, "Ken… you wasted like half a roll of gauze and he looks like a badly wrapped mummy."

Chikusa rolled his eyes, but there was really no denying that the bandages were already falling down around his ears. "He tries so hard."

"Shut up. It's harder than it looks and your hairs all… slippy, " Ken grumbled, his cheeks warm as he shoved the unused clothes from the pile Mukuro had left them into one of the backpacks now lying on the bed.

"Chikusa, sit," Mukuro gestured for him to take a seat on the bed and he climbed up onto his knees and began the work of unwrapping and rewrapping Chikusa's head. "We're going to head towards Lucca."

"You've decided what we're gonna do now?"

Mukuro nodded, pressing the long strip of bandage against the stitched wound that ran across Chikusa's head from above his ear around to the back of his skull. "We're going to destroy the mafia."

-ooo-

He'd started noticing that on days when the boy with the glasses came back to the room looking really pale or sick he'd lay down closer to him than usual. Not close enough to touch him or even close enough that the others might notice the difference, but he noticed because he was paying attention. Because it was almost like having a friend and it made everything a little less lonely and a little less awful. So, he'd talk and talk and talk about nothing and everything while the boy he'd eventually know as Chikusa lay on the cold floor and listened and it felt good to have someone pay attention even a little bit and it felt like he was helping.

Things went on like that for a while and it wasn't good, nothing about this place was ever good, but it was okay. He had someone who listened to him and he was starting to not notice how rank everyone was, not he thought that was because they actually smelled any better, of course, but instead because he'd been around it long enough that he was just noticing it less. So, for all that he didn't want to be here, it wasn't the worst thing in the world anymore. And for all he knew, maybe he'd smiled once or twice when he'd noticed the kid with the glasses had fallen asleep listening to him. Maybe they'd noticed and that's why they suddenly decided, out of the blue and after weeks of ignoring him, that it was finally his turn to be taken.

-ooo-

The night was dark, the stars high above and far away from where they lay in the grass on a hill overlooking their former home. Or at least the dark house that stood over their former home at any rate.

They'd made a little fire and eaten the rest of the pasta and bread they'd brought from the house around it before spreading out blankets to sleep on. Mukuro had already settled down on the far side of the fire and he laid on his back, his arms folded behind his head, looking relatively peaceful for the first time since they'd met that morning.

Chikusa caught Ken's wrist as he walked by to go lay out his own blanket and gave it a single gentle pull before drawing back. It was an invitation, a request, but not a demand. Ken grinned, happy to settle down on the ground beside his friend, to throw his blanket over the both of them and curl close.

He fell asleep almost immediately surrounded by the smell of damp earth and home.

-ooo-

He only remembered bits and pieces of it later. He wasn't sure if that was because they kept trying to knock him out or if that was some sort of survival reflex kicking in. After it was over, when they'd ushered him back to the room and the boy's fingers had closed over his sleeve, had reeled him in and taken him to his space. To the little space that boy had carved out for himself and… Ken's things were there. That kid, who didn't talk to him and who only listened and who always pretended he didn't, had gathered up his things- few and sad though they were- and kept them for him.

And something inside his chest felt like it was breaking wide open and he closed his eyes, turning his face into that boy's shoulder. He wanted to know him. Even if they used it against him, even if maybe he was misunderstanding and misreading things, because he was terrible at this kind of stuff and even if it only hurt him in the end. Ken wanted whatever this was, this awkward almost friendship, and he desperately wanted to know this kid. He at least needed to try. "I'm Ken. Ken Joshima," he murmured and it hurt to talk though he wasn't really sure why. "You're…?"

And it probably only took a moment, but it felt like an eternity hung between them as he waited to see if this boy would be just like all the rest.

"Chikusa."

And it was the most beautiful and best name he'd ever heard.

"…what did they do to you?" Chikusa asked and there was a note of concern in his voice and Ken wanted to hug him. To crush that skinny body to his own and keep him close and safe so no one could ever take him away or hurt him. This was all he'd ever, ever wanted. Someone who listened to him, someone who cared what happened to him and Chikusa… he said the name to himself, like a prayer, slowly wrapping his lips around the syllables to be sure he got them exactly right, because this was important, he was important.

In that moment, Chikusa was the most rare and amazing and the best thing ever.

And that's why he didn't want to tell Chikusa about the room. Didn't want him to know about all the places they'd cut him. About the chips and the wires and the programs. About how he'd screamed and cried and begged and how much it had hurt. How much it still hurt and how his body ached like he was having growing pains everywhere all at once.

He didn't want to tell him that he could smell everything now. That he could hear the sound of Chikusa's heart thumping in his chest and the fact that it had the tiniest little murmur to it, like a whisper of foreboding. That he could see him perfectly even in the dark, pale skin and dark hair and that strange tattoo on his cheek. The way he had frowned a little like he was confused.

Didn't want to tell his new friend, his very first real friend, that something was different inside him, like there was some terrible beast slumbering in his chest now and that he was terrified of what it might do when it woke up. No, he didn't want to tell Chikusa any of that. He didn't want to scare him away. Not now. Not ever. Maybe he could tell him everything some day, when he knew him better, when he knew it wouldn't be too much, but not now. Not when this all felt so new and so fragile. Not when he was so very, very tired.

So instead he told him the easier things, because those words didn't hurt to say and he didn't think they'd scare Chikusa away. "Dunno. There were animals, maybe? I don't know. Something about channels and animals and wolves and they did something to my teeth. It hurt, it just… it really hurt. I'm so fucking tired."

"That's a bad word. Sleep here, I'll wake you if they bring food."

He flopped down on the ground, curling around his spare clothes, which stank even worse than he remembered now that he could smell everything. He was still kind of foggy so it took him a minute to realize that Chikusa wasn't laying down, that he was just kind of hovering over him awkwardly and that wasn't what he wanted. "You too."

"Not tired," Chikusa grumbled, but he sat down beside him anyway and that made Ken feel warm all over. He decided to press his luck a little and snagged Chikusa's hand, smooth and warm if a little gritty with the grime of having not bathed to far too long.

"Stay," he whispered, because he wanted him to, because he wanted him close so he knew he was there. He tugged him in, tugged him down, brought him in close and clung to that warm hand until he was sure that Chikusa was going to stick around. He'd never slept close to anyone before, but he could get used to this. He wanted to get used to it.

He felt Chikusa shuffle around, trying to get comfortable at his back, finally shifting and pulling a blanket over them. Ken buried his face in the blanket and it smelled like dirt and Chikusa mostly. He could tell it had belonged to someone else once, a long time ago, but that scent was faint and just barely recognizable and easily ignored. He shivered a little, trying to focus on the warmth of Chikusa at his back and not on the fact that he could still feel all those tiny wounds knitting themselves back together. He thought about telling Chikusa that he smelled amazing that he wanted to stay close to him forever and ever, but that seemed like it might be a weird thing to say. He was still a little off from whatever they'd doped him up with so maybe he'd wait and tell him in the morning if he still wanted to.

Maybe.

-ooo-

They'd been three days walking in the woods after they left Esterneo when Ken realized that they were probably going to die in those stupid woods. That they'd done all they'd done and survived the room and the underground and killed all the people and the stupid house and they were going to die in the damn woods.

When they'd set out they'd been cheerful, exhausted from the long day, but happy enough with the wind on their face and the sun beating down on them from overhead. They'd still been pretty upbeat the next morning when they'd woken up from their first night of sleeping on the uneven ground to aching muscles as all those months of inactivity caught up with them, but things had started to go downhill fast after the first full day of walking. It was funny how fast the novelty wore off the adventure when your feet ached and you were rationing water and food because you weren't certain how long it would take you to get somewhere. Mukuro was having a really rough time, looking more tired and more worn down with each passing day, stumbling over roots and rocks as they struggled to find a path that didn't eventually become impossible to follow or lead nowhere. Chikusa wasn't having quite as bad a time of it, but he tired easily and had to lean against trees or Ken to catch his breath when they spent too long stumbling up this hill or that. Apparently he hadn't been the outdoors sort even before they'd been taken and shoved in a room for such a very long time.

The plan, what they had of one, had been to travel mostly by foot to Pistoia and from there they'd take a train. Which Ken had smiled and nodded about and said sounded great even though he had no damn idea if Pistoia was close or a hundred kilometers away. He didn't have a good head for distance and he'd never been much of anywhere except Como because Grandma's house had been near there. He'd probably lived somewhere else when his parents were alive, but he didn't remember much about them much less the place they'd lived. He thought it had been small and blue and messy and warm, but that didn't tell him anything important and might have just been something he thought up besides. So, Como was what he knew and when it came to where Como was in reference to where they'd been held… he didn't know that either. When they got to a town, if they got to a town, they should probably buy a map or something.

He'd asked Chikusa if he knew where they were when they lay huddled beneath the blankets at night, but Chikusa always just shrugged his eyes soft and blurry with exhaustion. Sometimes he wondered if he should use his channels to hunt for small animals or something, but then he realized that even if he managed to catch something they had no idea how to cook it. So they continued to ration what little food they'd been able to take with them from Esterneo and each day was a little worse, a little harder than the last.

After all, they'd been walking through the woods in stolen shoes for the better part of a week and, while Ken's feet and legs ached from the constant activity and the ill-fitting shoes, at least what they did to him helped a little. He didn't try out any of the channels, but his own natural abilities kept him up and moving and kept the blisters from getting too bad. Chikusa and Mukuro weren't so lucky and he used the first aid kit to patch them up each night (which he was getting better at though he still couldn't change the bandages around Chikusa's head worth a damn) and they began to rest more and more frequently to give themselves time to heal rather than just pushing on ahead. But while the extra rest seemed to be helping Chikusa and he seemed to be slowly adapting to their new routine, Mukuro still just looked worse and worse each day. It took Ken a while to figure out that the reason for that was that Mukuro didn't actually sleep so much as he just sort of occasionally passed out from exhaustion and woke up screaming himself hoarse. It's not like any of them were strangers to nightmares, he was pretty sure their screams and thrashing scared off all the predators they might have otherwise had problems with. But as bad as his and Chikusa's nightmares were, Mukuro's seemed way worse and far more consistent. Once Ken was watching and paying attention, he figured out that Mukuro only actually managed two hours of broken sleep a night, if that.

A week after they'd left Esterneo behind, he'd woken up in the middle of the night to find Mukuro pitching sticks into the fire, which crackled merrily under the constant attention. He knew it was late and Chikusa was still sound asleep beside him, so he slipped out of the nest of blankets they slept in and shuffled over to stand next to Mukuro.

"Ken?" He inquired, his voice soft. The shadows under his eyes were deep and darker still with each passing day, bags carrying luggage carrying steamer trunks.

"Can't sleep still?" And as opening gambits went, it probably wasn't the best, but Mukuro shrugged and answered him easily enough.

"You've seen what happens when I do." He'd have to have been blind, deaf and miles from camp to miss it, after all.

"Wanna talk about it?"

A shrug; another stick tossed to the hungry fire. "What's to talk about? Someone killed me while I was sleeping. It doesn't make me feel warm and fuzzy about it."

"You remember…?"

"No. It's more like muscle memory. It's hard to explain. It's like ever time I lie down and try to sleep I can't shake this feeling of dread, like if I go to sleep I won't wake up. Sometimes I have nightmares about the feel of big hands wrapped around my throat so tight I can't move, can't breathe, can only die." Mukuro chuckled, shaking his head and tossing another stick on the fire, causing it to flare briefly. "It makes me… anxious, I suppose. It's difficult to relax that way."

"It might be better if you don't lie down to sleep," Chikusa called, his voice soft and heavy with sleep. "Try to sleep sitting up? It's not as vulnerable a position."

Mukuro smiled, just a tiny twitch of his lips, but it was closest Ken had seen him get to a real, genuine smile since they'd met. "Maybe so. You should both get some rest, we still have a long way to go and we have much to do when we get there."

When they finally arrived in a town a week later, it was almost a surprise. They had something like half a package of crisps left between them and most of a single bottle of water and it had been raining nonstop for two days. They were wet, they were exhausted and they were just going through the motions of putting one foot in front of the other. Ken managed to take a dozen steps before he realized he was walking on pavement rather than tripping through dead leaves and over fallen tree limbs. He stopped dead and turned back to look at Chikusa and Mukuro who looked as shocked as he felt.

Mukuro quickly ushered them back to the edge of the forest. They were lucky it was early evening and they'd stumbled into a quiet part of the town. They probably looked like orphan refugees from a training camp for zombies. Especially with Chikusa's unevenly cut and shaved hair and hugely obvious scars on all of them. He wasn't sure Mukuro was up to casting illusions to cover all their rough appearances. He'd been sleeping a little better since he'd started leaning against trees when he napped, but he still looked like hell warmed over. "Stay here," Mukuro said, dropping his bag beside them. "I'll go find us something to eat and somewhere to stay the night."

They both nodded their consent tiredly. What else could they do?

So, they'd flopped down and leaned against each other, back to back, just within the forest. Too damn tired to care about the light drizzle that managed to still fall over them through the tree cover.

Ken hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until something hard hit him lightly in the chest and fell into his lap. He blinked sleepily and gazed down at the apple in his lap for a long moment before picking it up and glancing up to find Mukuro crouched in front of him smiling and taking a large bite out of his own apple. He could Chikusa already munching away on his own apple at his back. "Hurry up and eat. I found a place for us to stay. The owners are supposed to be out of town for a week and no one is watching the house while they're gone so we can stay there for a little while."

-ooo-

The house was nice. It was small and cozy and the water was hot and Chikusa stayed in the shower for the better part of an hour as Ken and Mukuro raided the closets for fresh clothes that might not be too big. Ken pulled a natty orange hat out of the back of a closet and waved it triumphantly.

"What the hell is that? Take it out back and light it on fire," Mukuro replied, glaring at the poorly knitted monstrosity.

Ken grinned, "No way! It's for Chikusa. That way he can hide the scar if he wants until his hair grows back out."

Mukuro snorted, shaking his head, "Good luck getting it on him."

"Shut up, it's totally awesome. He's gonna love it."

Unsurprisingly, Chikusa did not love it.

He hated it and tried to throw it out the window twice before Ken managed to wrestle it onto his head. "Just till you find one you like more, right?"

Chikusa glared at him and shoved his glasses further up on his nose. "You better find something soon," he grumbled, tugging the hat off and tucking it in with the clothes he'd set aside to wear tomorrow. "Jerk."

For the first time in months they could sleep on a bed. Something none of them ended up actually doing as the bed was too soft and Ken just tossed and turned and Chikusa finally kicked him hard enough to shove him right out of it and onto the carpeted floor below. He'd been all prepared to be mad, but before he had a chance to get up off the floor and start yelling, Chikusa was already following him down dragging the blankets and pillows with him.

Mukuro glared at them briefly from his position in a chair by the door, but he closed his eyes again as soon as it was obvious a fight wasn't going to break out after all. And that was how they passed their first night together in town. Mukuro fast asleep in a chair and the two of them sleeping on the plush carpet and it was a thousand times better than either the bed or the concrete floor of that room or the uneven ground. It was just the right mix of soft and firm and for the first time in far too long, Ken felt comfortable and safe. It was a nice feeling to be surrounded by family and safe even if it was only for a little while.

-ooo-

They were hurting him.

And all he could feel was rage and all he could hear were Chikusa's screams echoing down the halls because they'd given him perfect fuckinghearing. So there was no way he wouldn't hear it. No way he could miss it and they almost certainly knew that. The bastards. It felt good to curse. If he'd been back at his grandma's house, he'd have gotten the back of her hand for it, but he wasn't that kid anymore. That kid hadn't been able to hear shit. Hadn't hurt all over, hadn't been a freak like he was now, hadn't had a friend who needed him. Needed him to help him. To get through this stupid fucking door and kill whoever was hurting him.

Because he wanted to kill them, wanted to rip them apart, and that was weird and new and probably should have made him feel bad or at least worried or maybe guilty, but it didn't. He didn't have room for bad or for worried or even for guilty. Not when he was this angry. The other kids watched him with wide eyes and panicked breathing and they whimpered like he was totally nuts and they'd just realized they were locked in a room with him. So maybe they couldn't hear Chikusa screaming at all, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter they thought of him, they didn't matter. What mattered was getting out of this room, what mattered was that they were hurting him.

He beat at the door, kicked at the hinges, smashed his fists and broke his knuckles open again and again against the handles. Most of the scraps and cuts healed up almost immediately, but that didn't mean they didn't hurt. He just didn't care enough to stop because he couldn't hear those sobbing terrible screams and not try to get to him, try to help. Even when Chikusa finally fell silent, he kept trying because he knew that they were doing bad things to him even if he wasn't awake to feel them anymore. So, he kept working at the door even though the best he'd managed was a couple dents until finally, finally the lock clicked and someone pushed the door open.

The guard who stood in the doorway shoved him hard, sending him tumbling back across the hard concrete floor. He hit the old bunk bed hard and growled, a low warning rumble in the back of his throat, as he climbed back to his feet and turned back to face the man who stood between him and Chikusa. This guard was a little different than the others he'd seen. He was taller for one thing, broader, his skin was paler and his hair was lighter than even Ken's own. When he grinned, and he did grin, it was wide and mean and Ken couldn't help but notice that some of his teeth were gold and they glistened in the bright lights of the room. He grinned at him like Ken was the funniest thing he'd seen in a while and when he spoke his Italian was strange and broken, his accent weird. "You wanna go, boy? Think you're tough because our Famiglia give you claws? Made you a little fast, a little strong? Huh, little wolf? You come. Leo will show you the difference between men and little wolves."

What could he do but charge the guard? Chikusa was still out there and he was stuck in here with one giant jerk of a guard between them. So, he ran at the man and got a fist in the gut for his trouble and he felt sick as pain surged through his belly. Then a second blow hit him in the eye hard and his world blackened around the edges. The pain in his stomach was a pale echo of the agony surging through his head as a third blow caught him in the nose and he heard the wet crunch of it breaking. He started laughing as he hit the floor because it hurt so much. It hurt more than anything and he was still climbing back to his feet, stumbling and weaving and there was blood gushing from his nose. He wiped at it absently, laughing harder at the flash of pain when his hand brushed against his broken, shattered nose.

He lunged at the man again, because any stupid thing that was worth doing once was worth doing twice. A booted foot lashed out, catching him in the cheek and snapping his head to the side hard and sending him back to the floor again, his already bruised and broken arms and hand and legs and feet scrapping against the rough concrete as he fell. The guard stepped into the room chuckling and when Ken lifted his head to glare at him with, his sight blurring and unfocused, he thought he was grinning again. Maybe he'd just never stopped.

"I like your spirit, little wolf. Be glad you are important to our Famiglia, otherwise Leo kill you now to keep other stupid boys from getting ideas. Your little friend will be back soon enough, eh? That is promise. You hear him cry, you hear him scream and you worry. He's in pain, you worry, terrible pain and you are right, but it is necessary. Pain is price of progress, price of becoming. Your boy is important to Famiglia just like you, just like other, just like rest. You gonna make us strong again, make us great. You should feel blessed for chance we give you."

Ken spat out blood and bits of broken teeth and wondered what the fuck kind of family did this to their kids and called it a blessing.

Assholes.

He hadn't realized he'd said that last bit aloud until Leo the guard's foot crashed into his chin and darkness swallowed him. Then he didn't wonder anything at all for a good long while. When he woke at last, jaw aching and face sore- his eyes already so swollen and bruised it was difficult to do more than squint- it was to the sound of the door swinging open and hitting the wall. Leo had been there, framed in the doorway that seemed smaller with him standing in it. He was grinning again as he hauled Chikusa's limp form up and tossed him into the room. Ken managed to shove his body up and dive forward fast enough to catch him before he slammed into the concrete floor bandaged head first, but only just. Only just and Leo laughed, a belly-deep roar of a sound that shook his large form and made Ken's already aching head scream for mercy. "See, little wolf, your Famiglia keeps promises."

Then the door was slamming shut and Ken choked back a sob as his body continued to knit itself back together. With Leo gone, he curled around Chikusa's unconscious form protectively though every movement made his whole body ache and scream. "Sorry," he whispered as the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, even though Chikusa couldn't hear him. "Sorry."

-ooo-

Ken woke with a start, reaching out automatically for Chikusa. For the warmth and safety of his friend even though he didn't need to touch him to know he was okay. He thought if he tried he could hear his heart beat, hear the whisper of his steady breath from miles. Which was a nice thought even if it probably wasn't true. Chikusa mumbled something in his sleep that sounded a lot like 'troublesome idiot' and Ken smiled. He buried his face against Chikusa's thin shoulder, curling his fingers in his sleeve as he drifted back to sleep.

They weren't there anymore. No more terrible basement rooms or scared kids. They were out and they were free and though they still smelled a bit like blood and death, he could live with that, because the smell of home and wet earth and damp grass and the lingering scent of rain was everywhere around him. He liked these times the best. When they were between goals and all together like this. These were the best times. They'd attacked the Volpe Famiglia last week and he'd killed seven people. Chikusa had killed nine and Mukuro had killed a lot more. He thought sometimes, during these times between, that he should maybe feel bad about that. About what they were doing, but then he remembered that room and those people and it felt like what they were doing was necessary, vital. The mafia had created them as surely as Esterneo had and the mafia had to pay for that. Had to pay for monsters and dead children and, mostly, just for existing. Maybe they were crazy, as crazy as the Esterneo had been, and maybe someday someone would stop them, but until then they'd keep on moving. Keep on doing what was necessary for them.

They'd wiped out the Volpe Famiglia and all the other little Famiglia in the region in one fell swoop and now they were moving on. To Lucca, to start the long game as Mukuro had told them he had a plan now. Knew what he needed to do and they would help, would support him, in any way they could. It wouldn't be easy, but they'd manage together as they always did.

They weren't safe, not really, and things weren't perfect, but they were okay. They were good enough. He had Chikusa and they had Mukuro and that was enough. And for right now they were between jobs and the world was quiet and Chikusa was warm beside him and Mukuro was close by. He could hear the crackle of the fire that was Mukuro counting the hours till dawn, he still didn't sleep all that much but he seemed to have made his peace with that and often stayed up late to keep an eye out for trouble. Ken kind of liked that, liked the feeling of knowing that Mukuro was looking out for them.

It was just nice to have someone watch over them for once.

-ooo-

Mukuro tossed the sack of apples down on the ground between them, causing Ken to curse and scuttle backwards like a crab before tripping over his tangled limbs and crushing in a heap several feet away. "Motherfucker bastard son of a bitch!" He hadn't even heard him coming, hadn't smelled him either. Mukuro was getting scary good with his powers. He just wished he would stop fucking using them to sneak up on him for kicks.

"Fraidy cat," Chikusa murmured, a smile on his lips as he glanced away from the pile of unfortunate that was Ken, to the bag of apples. "For us?"

"You're hungry, right?" Mukuro replied, crouching down beside them as Ken inched his way back over.

"Yeah sure, where'd you get all these?"

"I was going to steal them, but my new employer bought them for me instead. Apparently he's a bit of a soft touch for tough street kids," Mukuro replied, his smile big and broad and triumphant. "Eat up."

---

NOTES:

The Vongola incident referred to by Mukuro mid-chapter is the Cradle Incident, in case anyone is curious. It lined up pretty well on the timeline so I rolled with it.

NEXT CHAPTER: Prison! Otherwise known as the chapter where the past attempts to catch up with the present, fails miserably and settles for covering 2001-2002. Will also mark the first chapter that is told from the perspective of several different characters. Shiny.