Ludwig stood in multiple doorways for a long while as the two others prepared for a journey to the String. Lovino could feel the tall blond's stare on the back of his neck as Gilbert ran tests in the medical wing to make sure his introduction to the ground hadn't caused any fractures or internal bleeding. Thankfully for Lovino, the worst injury was a bruised rib that traveled to the surface, making the skin under his arm and around to his back look like a spotted rash. Gilbert gave him a salve and pill, and Lovino was going to run the pill by Ludwig to make sure it was actually what the albino claimed it to be, but when he turned to confront the stare blue eyes darted away in something Lovino recognized as a glare. So, he took the pill.

This team would be great antagonists for a high school soap opera. Fucking handing out pills and peer pressuring without saying a word.

For the first time since Lovino had arrived at the Renegade, he had the opportunity to properly shave. They had been provided wonderful service at the base, all essentials given as if they were guests (or, rather, live-in prisoners), but here such luxuries were not given. He used a loose straight razor Gilbert had found in the kitchen area that would have been used for cleaning. Surprisingly he didn't knick himself, though the stubble was rather wimpy (which was the ultimate decider in the question of whether he should keep it. Change things up.) He sighed when he came out of the room with the shower. He and Gilbert were decked out in clothing that they had found around, so neither of them exactly fit any article. Lovino's shirt was too long for his torso with arms that reached past his hands and required him to roll them to the nook of his elbow, while the pants were too short and looked like he was awaiting a god damn flood. Gilbert was almost comically in the white shirt that could have played black against his skin tone and black pants that looked like they were apart of some weirdly styled sweat suit. With every move Gilbert's pants practically whistled.

Though, of course, Lovino had never really given much thought to clothing. To the clothing the base had administered to him, to what he wore to work or around Kansas on his little adventures. But when the clothing was being pulled off of corpses and the smell (no matter how many washes they went through—though, the scent was perhaps simply burned into the brunet's nose) was an apparent reminder of their origin, Lovino found himself considering every seam carefully.

He rubbed a strange solution on his feet, given to him by Gilbert who practically cheered upon finding it in the rubble, that would help with the forming callouses and bruises that were result of trekking along the Neverworld for so long (thankfully his boots were water resistant and they were fixing a much drearier aliment).

It seemed that no matter what he was doing, if he was in the public eye he was in the path of Ludwig's scrutinizing stare. At one point he even turned to demand what the fuck he wanted, but he cut himself short. He didn't need to be causing problems, he realized. It was a bitter sweet thought. One that reminded him that he had something to work towards, but also one that simmered in a burning curiosity that only grew as he brushed it aside.

Gilbert did one last round of tests to make sure Lovino was in travelling condition before the three were finally ready to move. "If you die on us now," Gilbert had said, a sinister sort of honest humor in his eyes, "then you're no use to us or to anyone."

He had pressed a large, unlabeled bottle of pills in his hand. "Er—String time, Lud. How many?"

"What are they?"

"Synxthian."

"One every four hours or four every hour if you want to try and kill yourself."

Lovino could feel a glare forming after the blond's tone. Sure, Ludwig might not like him, and sure, Lovino might one day try to make amends (likely not, though; he had a schedule and Ludwig could fuck off it for all he cared), but if he was going to play the snide-comments game then he was going to find himself the loser real fucking quick. It was Gilbert's curious glance that kept Lovino's comment on his tongue (though bleach was harmless in simple conversations, wasn't it?). Ludwig didn't say anything more, his watch visible and then in use before being washed out and relocated to the similar setting of the Land Without Time.

"What's happened?" Lovino asked, his anger snuffed. His feet crunched against the embers that still managed to smoke passionately. The trees that had once surrounded the area had taken to black ash with packs of flames that took advantage of the windless reality.

"No idea," Ludwig admitted. "It was like this when I came to get you guys."

"Well, let's get out of here before we find out," Gilbert muttered, pulling out the keychain clock. Before Lovino could properly tear away his attention from the burning forest they were standing on pavement.

Suddenly the pain that had ravished Lovino's body, and that had been stifled by the medication, was alive. Though, it seemed that it wasn't the same. The pain ravished Lovino's skull and twisted his vision, causing his eyes to feel cross and his sight to blur and darken. He fell backward and hit the ground with a desperate cry.

"Hey, Lovino!" Gilbert called over him. Lovino shook his head with his hands pressed tightly against his eyes. He felt like his head was ready to explode. Even breathing past the forming tears seemed like an impossible mission.

He didn't know what he was feeling, what had caused all this, but he knew that something was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, the word traced fire along his cracking skull; along the scars that pulsed and burned along his arms and over his chest.

Not only that, but his body automatically took the incentive that he was being attacked. The pain bristled and bloomed, and soon enough Lovino could hear Gilbert and Ludwig both telling him that him using his powers was a bad idea around general public. "I—I—can't help—" he had cried out intelligibly, feeling the oils fall around his skin and harden.

"Lovino, calm down, you need to get a hold of yourself."

Lovino opened his eyes, initially hoping that his message would pass over without him having to speak, but everything was even worse upon that decision. Gilbert was close, his eyes stern and concerned, and Ludwig stood behind him, perhaps even almost worried himself, but that those two things, the people, were the only thing that Lovino could focus on. Everything else, the ground, the building behind them, the structures around them, a car rattling away, everything else lurched and changed countless times every second. They spent more time as white and blue lines that whirred and strung together than the monotonous pictures Lovino knew that they were supposed to be. It was as if he had found himself in one big computer glitch that switched between two totally different scenes again and again.

And then it all stopped. Everything settled and the great pounding in his skull was but a whisper in comparison to the screeches before it.

When he finally caught his breath and his tongue, all he could choke out was a pathetic: "Somethings not right."

"What do you mean?"

Lovino closed his eyes gently, both hating and relishing in the feeling of tears that came from the simple action. "I—I think—" he started, but he didn't know what to think. How to explain it. Not to mention, he was in fear that it would happen again and that he should take this moment to rest and ready himself for it.

Gilbert and Ludwig helped him to his feet, but he found that he could walk just fine and soon left their aid. The three of them found themselves in the small yet crowded yard of a house Lovino could only imagine would be on the show Hoarders in a few years. Junked cars and tractors and the like lined the dead grass and foot-tall wired fence that did nothing aside from separate the junk from the sidewalk. A single tree grew near the house, but its branches had already shed its leaves for the year and simply whined against the chilled wind and overcasted sky.

The slim path leading to the front door's step and manila porchlight was concrete but overcrowded with weeds in the cracks that led all the way to the step. Ludwig led the way, stepping up onto the small porch and opening the storm door that wailed at the contact. When he opened the actual door he had to practically slam his shoulder into the wood to get it to budge.

The three of them walked in. Everything was dark, but it smelt of heavy spices. Ludwig flicked on the light and moved onto the rest of the house, calling out for Feliciano.

Lovino closed the door, using his weight until it groaned into its place, as he took in the scene. They had walked into a living area that was as hoarded as outside, except this time with paperwork and random items either in or atop of bags with large black letters. A couch sat facing the door with a bulky TV and even bulkier box with VCRs stacked around it that sat underneath the window that looked out to the porch.

The room fed into a large archway that stared directly into the kitchen. Without even moving Lovino could see the sink, small counter, and across from them a rummaging fridge and oven. Just past that was more clutter and a dining room table pressed against the wall with a single chair hovering around it.

Lovino finally moved from his place at the door as Gilbert and Ludwig turned past the dining area and into a staircase blocked off by a door, but a sudden sound from outside caught his attention. A sudden rap upon the door acted into the air.

"Open the door! My hands are full!"

Lovino couldn't help his heart to speed at the sound of his friend's voice. With great effort he pulled the door open.

Feliciano was bent over a large box that he was in the process of putting down, as if he were readying himself to open the door himself, but with a coo filled his arms again and stood. "Thank y—" he cut himself off when he saw Lovino.

Suddenly the box was crashing to the ground and Lovino was trapped in the boy's vice grip around his neck. "Lovino!" the boy cried. Lovino caught the flying force, stumbling back with a grunt as sudden aches and pains started up from the contact.

"Hey, idiot," he grumbled back.

Feliciano stepped back, his toes hitting the box that had fallen between them. His smile was impossible. "Lovino, where'd you come from? Are you—are you-?" his voice seemed to fall into a secretive, almost guarded whisper, wide eyes imploring what his words failed to. Lovino had to look away because he couldn't put past the relief that the honesty in those honey orbs help thrummed down his spine. It were almost as if Lovino had never expected to see the kid again. As if he would forever be stuck killing manipulated illusions of him.

But here he stood.

"I—ahem—Ludwig brought us, didn't he tell you?"

"Lud—oh he did mention something about where he was going earlier. I didn't hear him because I was working. Oh my gosh, Lovino you're here! I missed you." He leaned in a bit, the box rattling, "you have no idea how annoying these people are."

Lovino couldn't help it, he laughed.

"Feli!" Gilbert called from behind them.

Feliciano perked up, another huge grin plastered onto his features. "Gil!" he yelled back, jumping up but quickly stopping himself. "Oh shit," he muttered under his breath, quickly picking up his things. "I hope nothing broke."

Lovino glanced over the contents of the open box. Colorful glass objects blinked at him over the cardboard lip, and Feliciano gingerly picked through them in his inspection. "What are those?"

Feliciano sent him a small smile. "Christmas decorations. There was a big auction at the church this morning and I got a few things. Gotta be careful, though, I'm pretty sure some of these are made with mercury-based paints." Lovino let him move past him and put the box in front of the couch. "Hey, Luddy, can you help me get the tree?"

Ludwig sighed, something of annoyance sitting behind it. "You got a tree."

"Yeah, I did," Feliciano said matter-of-factly.

"We're supposed to—"

"Be working on the case. I know. You know, I've done a lot more of this stuff then you have, and I know that sitting in one spot for hours on end won't do any good; gotta get up and around, okay?"

Gilbert and Lovino shared a quick awkward glance.

"I'm just saying—"

"So, if you're not a god, then what are you now?" Feliciano asked quickly, which caused Gilbert to chuckle into his palm.

Deciding that immensely enjoying this wasn't a proper response, Lovino settled on a: "I guess I'm whatever I was before."

"It seems that we're going to have to absorb all four Neverborns before the stone will activate," Gilbert continued. "Three down, one to go."

Feliciano nodded and did something of a bounce, but his "great job!" wasn't as bubbly as it could have been. Ludwig had shrugged his coat on and was making his way to the door.

Gilbert shook his head and chuckled after him, muttering to Lovino as he passed "glad we're not an old married couple."

Feliciano started picking through the box, picking out ornaments as he talked aimlessly. "I'm going to have to pick up some lights for the tree tomorrow, but I guess I have some ornaments for it. I have to get an angel, too, but worse comes to worse and we go without one."

Lovino moved to help him unpack. Feliciano was pulling out a heavy ceramic set of a barn and a handful of biblical figurines. He was going on about how the barn had a place for a candle when Lovino interrupted him. "How's the investigation going? The one for that girl."

Feliciano was carefully placing the set in the corner on an already cluttered bookshelf. He sighed. "She's missing," he admitted, "and we've had to put her case on the backburner for now."

"Because of the new killer?"

"Ludwig told you about that?"

"It's the reason he brought us back. Said you guys changed the String."

"Yeah, I guess we did." Lovino frowned as he watched the kid move to unpack a newspaper wrapped horse. Turning it over he found a key and twisted it. A similar yet namely evasive Christmas tune clicked into the air abrasively. Feliciano blew up his cheeks, staring down at it. "It's kind've stressful, you know? I expected to come back here and have all the information and be able to solve a case that had gone cold. Wy Jenson, missing in '87, never found. I was hoping to change that. Not come back, lose the girl, and also discover a new serial killer." He found a place for the horse with a bitter chuckle. "They're calling him the Christmas Collar Bomber, and it's really bumming me out." When Feliciano turned back he scrubbed a weary hand down his cheek. "I just don't know what to do about it."

Lovino found a ceramic bell that rang when he picked it up. He handed it to the kid with a tick of a smile. "I think the answer to that is pretty obvious. Figure it out."

Feliciano sent him a sarcastic smirk. "I'm so glad you're back, Sherlock."

Lovino just clicked his tongue. "Just stop being an idiot, Watson."

"This is a part of a set; can you get me the other ones?"

The two only had a third of the box unpacked when the blonds were stomping up the porch, the tree a shared inconveniences between them. Feliciano was quick to direct, and Lovino took taking the base of the tree when the awkward turn threatened to pin Gilbert to the door. It was a rather short tree, but its top still whispered along the ceiling in its corner next to the TV. Feliciano secured the screws in the tree's stand before standing.

He sent Ludwig a warm smile and a nod, as if apologizing. "Thank you."

"Where's Alfred?"

"He should still be at the precinct. I think they have him on stake-out duty tonight. There was an anonymous tip that they're following up on."

"Hopefully it comes to something," Ludwig sighed.

Feliciano hummed his agreeance.

"So, how can we help?" Gilbert asked with a loud clap.

"I was hoping that you could go over one of the bombs," Ludwig said, walking into the kitchen and dining area and grabbing a bag. In it was, as the name of the killer would suggest, a collar. However, it was incomplete and scorched back. Gilbert took the sill closed bag into his hands.

"Looks detonated," he observed.

"Kelly Erickson," Feliciano shared, crossing his arms over his chest. "That was the woman it killed when it went off."

"Which is terribly sad," Gilbert drew, "but I can't do much with it as it is. You don't happen to have one that isn't blown up?"

"No, we don't."

"Just do what you can with it," Ludwig said, moving to head back to the dining room. "Feliciano, where did you put Benita's file?"

"Oh, I took it down stairs. It should be under the lamp."

Ludwig took to the stairs again. Feliciano started on the ornaments on the tree. "Jacob Benita is who the cops were suspecting did it, but it seems that his hand writing doesn't match those of the notes."

Lovino hummed. "Can you really count on calligraphy to count out a guy for murder?"

Feliciano shook his head. "No, you can't. But without the notes, and with no forensic data, that would leave all evidence against him purely circumstantial. Can't arrest someone just for being in the wrong place or for being a creep."

"Who is Jacob Benita?"

Feliciano paused, a hanging orb twisting in the air as it awaited its place on the tree. "He's in his mid-forties, works at the high school as a shop teacher, and has been noted by his co-workers to be a bit of a recluse."

"Have you guys looked to see if any of the materials used to make the bombs were offered at the school."

Feliciano nodded. "Yeah. It was inconclusive, though."

"His home?'

"There was a workshop there, too, but the weird thing was that there was nothing mechanical being built. It was a woodshop—benches and podiums, but nothing like the bombs."

"It's sounding like he's not it, then. Who else do you have?"

Feliciano frowned. "Not much else. We looked over a few people, but all of them seemed even less likely than Benita."

"Alright, then look at the victims, I guess. What did they all have in common?"

"All of the victims so far have been pregnant woman."

Lovino shook his head. "That's pretty fucked up."

"Tell me about it."

"You said there were notes?" Gilbert asked, coming back in from the dining area he had gone into to check out the other bomb ruminates.

"Yeah, they should be downstairs. Bring them up, please," Feliciano said, turning around and offering the albino a kind smile.

Gilbert nodded before running down the steps. He returned before Feliciano had time to place another object. "Luddy said he'd be up in a few."

"Kay."

Lovino reached out for one of the clear bags Gilbert held. "They just let you keep all this stuff?" Lovino asked dubiously.

"Alfred is the main detective on the case. His partner didn't care too much to keep these."

"They only have two people on the case?"

Feliciano frowned at him. "This isn't like TV, Lov. They don't have all the staff in the world, and the FBI hasn't deemed it to be a terrorist act so they're not looking for jurisdiction."

"Oh, so as long as it's not some foreign fucker the FBI don't care?" Lovino groaned.

"It's not like that. Just—Just it's our case right now, so let's focus on that instead of focusing on whatever you have against the government."

"I don't have anything against the government."

"Just read the notes, Lovino."

The writing was regular. The lettering was a little messy, moreso towards the end, but otherwise large and legible. It took on a more cursive body, but Lovino couldn't be surprised. He read aloud so that Gilbert could hear as well. "You can keep looking, but I will never leave a witness. I am working for one that will never grow to see. The time of giving is fraudulent and cruel and it will always take more than it gives. With my device I will set the stage for reality and allow death to watch my play. It will no longer have control over me, and I refuse to let you and your men to have control over me. SHBM."

"We haven't figured out what the initials at the end mean," Feliciano said. "They're at the end of all the letters. It might be a diversion, or it could mean that we're looking for more than one culprit, which is likely seeing how well the hostage situation is set up. The notes are always found on the bodies, and the bodies are always killed somewhere that the public can easily see. One even died in the parking lot of a bank, Sarah McCaffry."

"How many deaths have there been?"

"Four so far."

"There's five notes," Gilbert pointed out.

Feliciano nodded. "One was sent directly to the police station. It was after the first police sketch, based on witness testimonies of a loitering man that seems to have showed up during two of the murders, was published. All it is is mocking the police and the press." He cursed lowly when he found his box empty, sliding it off the cluttered coffee table and onto the floor. He sat on the couch, his head in his hands, fingers in his hair. "I just don't get it. It seems that every time we're comfortable with a conclusion that we're wrong. The letters are written by someone who obviously feels that them murdering these woman is in their right, and not one word sheds any light on feeling guilty! But at the same time, nothing sounds like they're being overly cocky like some serial killers in the past. Well, except for the one about the sketch being all wrong, but what conclusion do we draw from that? That they take their looks into great account or that they're bitter about the press covering something that wasn't factual? What is their end goal?"

Lovino sat down next to him, re-reading his note with a shake of his head. Really, he didn't know enough about the situation or the suspects to draw any conclusions. "They're going after pregnant woman? Well, maybe he lost a child, based on what it says in the note."

Feliciano sighed, sitting back with a frown ruining his features. "We've looked over that. It's another thing that sets Benita out of the light. He's never even been married. He works at a school, but aside from that there is nothing linking him to children."

"Well, did he ever lose a sibling when he was young or something?"

"Only child. His mother is still alive, sounds like he's been pulled back since his childhood, but no siblings or weird happenings. Just an introvert that likes carving wood."

There was a long, pensive silence. Gilbert and Lovino shuffled through the notes, and Lovino found himself more and more confused as he read. Feliciano stared into the ceiling, every once and a while muttering something that was on his mind, but he would shake his head and stile a groan with his hand.

"Lovino, you might want to stay ahead of the pain," Gilbert warned coming back from the kitchen with a couple glasses of water.

"Right, thanks," Lovino said, fishing out the bottle of pills and shuffling one into his hand.

"What're those for?" Feliciano asked, taking the bottle as Lovino thanked Gilbert for the water.

"Pain," Lovino said, the pill on his tongue, before swallowing it away. "All this fighting really fucking hurts."

"How'd your," Feliciano motioned to his chest, "heal up?"

"Pretty bad scar, but it's alright. This fucker," he shot Gilbert a glare. Red eyes only twinkled humorously back at him, "decided to roofie me until it stopped bleeding."

"Oh?" Feliciano chuckled.

"Don't laugh!"

"Well, I mean, it's kind've funny," Feliciano said. Gilbert chuckled with a throw away "see, this is why I like him more than you."

"No, it's not. It's fucked up."

Feliciano made his way over to the TV and flicked it on. "Yeah, but sometimes things can be fucked up and funny. You being roofied is totally one of those things."

"In my defense it wasn't roofies." Gilbert plugged.

Feliciano just laughed again, busying himself with the VCRs. "Alright, you guys. We have a choice of The Man in the Santa Suit, A Hobo's Christmas, and—uh—no, this one looks like a scary one."

"'87, a year before Die Hard," Gilbert groaned.

"You know, for someone from the forties, you really know your twentieth century media."

Gilbert met Lovino's grumble with a grin. "Of course. It's the best time—classics. My day and age can't get over the fact that CGI keeps getting better. It's all explosions and very little plot. Not to mention the music. Acoustic or synthetic, very little in between."

"I'm going to choose if you two don't!"

"Uh, Dude in the Suit," Lovino offered quickly, turning back to his conversation with Gilbert. "So, what, you're one of those better on vinyl hipsters, then?"

"Do you have something against hipsters?"

Feliciano giggled, sitting back on the couch as the TV came to with its blotched film. "You should see him in his reading glasses. Looks just like one." The boy pressed into Lovino's side. Lovino could only frown. The connection was familiar. Movies and popcorn with coffee. A regular night; only for some reason his whole body responded to the simple action drastically differently. He feared his heart would give him away and that the urge to wrap an arm around the boy may win out over his silent curses. Quickly he kicked his feet up on the coffee table in front of him, taking in the old-school Pepsi commercial.

"Then that makes you a hypocrite."

"Just because I have glasses that make me look one way doesn't mean that I am that thing," Lovino groaned in defense. "Are you a ghost, Gilbert?"

"Oh, jeez, you've figured me out." Lovino rolled his eyes. "Hey, Lud! We're watching a movie, come join us," Gilbert offered as the taller blond made his way through the kitchen.

Feliciano perked up, looking over the couch. "Yeah, come on."

"I'm going to bed," Ludwig said. "I'll see you guys in the morning."

"Hey, Ludwig," Feliciano called.

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

The tall blond sighed, but his tone was softer when he responded. "Yeah. Goodnight, Feliciano."

Feliciano settled down, pressing into Lovino's side a bit more as he got comfortable. "You guys get in a fight?" Lovino asked.

Feliciano shook his head. "It's a long story."

Lovino just nodded and let it pass, but he could feel Gilbert's stare suddenly catching him. When he rose to meet it Gilbert didn't look away. The albino motioned for Lovino to follow, getting up from the couch and walking towards the kitchen.

"Are you going to tell him?" Gilbert asked in a hush.

Lovino furrowed a brow. "Tell him what?"

"Your grand suicide scheme." Lovino didn't respond right away and Gilbert sensed the hesitation. "I told you, he's smart. And you really don't need to continue keeping secrets."

Lovino just sighed, shaking his head. "Yeah, but, no, not this. He'd bitch me out for sure."

"Then maybe your plan is dumb."

"Do you have a better one? Didn't think so. Just, leave it be."

Gilbert frowned after him as he left the kitchen. "What was that all about?" Feliciano asked as he returned.

"Long story," Lovino said teasingly, hoping the boy wouldn't keep up his questioning.

Feliciano pouted, punching him in the arm. "Butt," he muttered.

Lovino just laughed softly. The boy settled back in, his head pressing against Lovino's shoulder and arm as he stretched out his feet to dig into Gilbert's side.

"You take up a lot of space," Lovino groaned, putting his arm on the back of the couch as the kid's pinned cranium had caused the tingling sensation of a sleeping limb to spread.

Feliciano took it as an opportunity to cuddle in closer responding with a happy, "I missed you."

Lovino rolled his eyes despite the kid watching the TV and not him. The movie was pretty boring. Weird old man that Lovino was pretty sure played every old man in the movie, grandparents that acted less like grandparents and more like some Christmas acid rendition of the grandparents from Spy Kids, some math guy that could just pop the question (despite not even dating the chick. What was her name? Ah, who cared, she was essentially a less annoying Audrey from Little Shop of Horrors)—oh, and of course, the phrase the Christmas spirit was strewn in ten million times. The dull plot mixed with Feliciano's warmth and long string of happenings to create something stronger than Gilbert's sleep serum.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Okay, so because I'm wanting to fit all the Christmas shit in three chapters, they're gonna be longer than the other chapters, because there is a lot to cover with the new killer and all.

COMMENT! Who is your favorite serial killer? Mine is personally Ted Cruz.