TW! TRIGGER WARNING

Mentions of suicide, harsh language, profanity, unabashed sexual nature, LGBTQ+ themes, obsessive/possessive nature, cruelty, violence (other will be tagged as the story progresses, if any new TWs happen I shall note them in the chapters )

I will not apologise for my work, I have given all a warning and if you are not comfortable with reading my work please leave, do not continue then get offended when there is something I have warned you about shown.

To be reborn into life with memories of your past living is hell. Maybe not to those who died peacefully or ones who left the land of the living unwillingly, but to someone who had foregone the world only to be denied the eternal arms of death it is cruel. Life is not for everyone, those who treasure it and revel in its existence are lucky as for some it's not so fortunate. To Ailill life was a monotonous drawl of long awaiting pain, it was energy not needed to be spent on such frivolous endeavors. It was tiring and just all around not something he wished to be part of. So he took matters into his own hands and freed himself from the chains of life only to be fucked back into existence as a child no less with the memories of a twenty-four-year-old veteran war-torn and worn out.

Wool's Orphanage, London, November 19th, 1926

The all-powerful hands of fate must have hated him as they plucked his ratted soul from the sea of dead and thrust him into the late-stage developing baby. Whoever had the notion that reincarnation was a time full of rainbows and fresh starts were bullshitters. No one ever speaks about the slow-driven descent into madness as you're confined to the holding of a womb, they don't talk about how it feels like you're defiling the poor woman who pushes the body of a babe out. The rushing of the liquid you become accustomed to draining away, the suction on your life force straining, the agony retching of birth canal walls as they expel the fragile body from the holder. No, there is a reason we are born into life with little cognitive awareness and no memories.

As he's taken from the woman who birthed him he could hear muffled panicked shouts. The hearing of a babe is unreliable and poor just like motor functions and eyesight. His small body was put into the arms of a young woman who cradled him softly as she made her way to a small pan of water and started to wash the newborn carefully. After bathing the child was bundled up in secondhand but warm clothes. He was never in the hand of the woman who birthed him from what Ailill can remember and so believed she had either died or was not to be his mother. His life for the next two months was boring and repetitive. As he grew his body became a bit more inclined to follow his orders such as rolling around and his mind started to adjust a bit more to the world he's in. The matron of the orphanage he found out he was staying in, has seen many children and knew what to look out for with certain inconsistencies in their behaviour. She could see the undercurrent of awareness in the child's eyes, the one whose mother came in, gave birth but ended up dying not moments later. The child did not cause any trouble for the matron, but the knowing gleam in his eyes left her sort of unnerved. He was a picture-perfect child, he slept through the night, he did not cry unless his needs were to be sated, and overall he was the child any worker within the orphanage wished to be assigned to.

Wool's Orphanage, London, December 31st, 1926

Ailill was bored of life but that did not mean he invited disruptions to come his way, it seems life didn't get the memo. At two months old he was lying on his back in his cot happy out to just stare at the ceiling away in the land of maladaptive daydreaming, he noticed earlier all the matrons and workers within the orphanage was starting to flounder around, he could not see clearly with his blurry eyesight and short stature but from what his selective hearing could pick up there was a woman waiting to give birth within the orphanage just like his had. Time passes slowly and with not enough hands to look after the other children they are sent to the rooms with little to entertain them but enough fear to know they were not allowed out unless they risk punishment. The babies within the orphanage were looked after by the older children as they waited for the adults to be free once more to do their jobs. After hours the screams of a woman in pain halted and were replaced by the start-up of hushed whispers of adults. A murmur of confusion circled at the silent child, the one just born yet they did not fill his lungs with air from screaming, instead, he laid calmly, softly breathing with eyes that were similar to that of a child born not two months ago.

A boy named Tom Riddle was born.

Tom was placed in the same room as Ailill, the two babes put together. Ailill was not enthused to have a child so close to him but could stick the newborn as he didn't whine or scream for no reason, in fact, the only time little Tom Riddle ever made such sounds was when he was separated from Ailill. The child had formed a pretty...strong attachment to the other boy much to his chagrin. Tiny Riddle fingers would grasp the baby clothes of Ailill and he'd take the older boys' arms hostage refusing to part with him. Ailill put up with this believing he'd grow out of it as time went on but damn was that wishful thinking, if anything the child became clingier completely abhorrent to the thought of being away from Ailill. A lot of the staff thought it was cute the way the younger clung to the older boy. They dismissed the possessive attitude and the obsessive nature of the child believing it was hero fixation or child-like awe that led him to never part with the other. How wrong they were.

Wool's Orphanage. London, June 5th, 1928

At nearly two years old Ailill was less watched over in favour of the younger children. This suited him grand, the only problem was the tag-along he seemed to always have, the shadow that constantly followed him even when pushed away harshly. Tom Riddle seems to never give up his attraction for the older boy, constantly at his side no matter how vindictive the other gets at trying to push him away. The boy was weird even by Ailill's standards, he would just stare at him for hours on end if left his own devices. Strange outbursts happened around him if he didn't get his way, missing objects, broken windows, and even children getting strange rashes or injuries that could be gone the next day if they provoked him enough, the only person as the exception to these occurrences was Ailill.

Ailill was very analytical, his mind sharpened from the years during the war he fought, he cut a glance at a newspaper one day and nearly went into shock when you saw the date displayed May 19th, 1928. He himself was from the year 1996 so to have come to the past was a bit mind boggling. He had been a special forces member in his past life, seeing horrors one could only wish to erase. At night he was plagued with memories of old so used to them though that there was no need for him to wake shaking and crying only a snap of his eyes and he was up. More often than not Ailill would wake to find Tom in his bed sleeping away as he burrowed into the other boy's side. Ailill doesn't know when he gave up pushing the other away in favour of holding him close and caring for him as a brother might do, but his attitude changed; now if he was walking about he would hold the younger's hand or if he was eating he offer the other some or help him eat himself. All these actions resulted in Tom becoming stickier but having a small smile on his face at receiving Ailill's attention.

Ailill wasn't so dense to not notice his own inconsistencies with the way nature reacted around him. Much like Tom strange things happened when he let his emotions go and if he focused very carefully he could purposefully make certain things happen, like the levitation of a book, the flicker of a flame, or even when extremely upset a downpour from the heavens. He wasn't so blind to not notice this was all as some would call it 'magic' the kind he used to read about in fairy tales. His actions of individuality like Tom's left the boy to be extremely pleased over this as he grew up believing once more that he and Ailill are tied to each other.

Tom did not like the other children and in turn, they did not like Tom. He didn't like the way they could steal Ailill's attention if he wasn't careful nor did he like Ailill looking away from him. The children with the orphanage didn't like the dark feeling they got around Tom Riddle and they most certainly didn't like the horrible things that happened to them and their stuff if they somehow angered or annoyed the boy. Just in general most within the Orphanage feared Tom even as a young child. They feared Ailill as well but could somehow drown out those feelings when the boy put his attention on them, it was like a drug being under the eyes of the boy, the deep satisfaction being interesting enough for hollow whiskey eyes to deem you worthy of a little attention. Not that it lasted long before you lose that privilege or Tom Riddle comes along and causes enough trouble to stir Ailill into stopping him.

As life went on Ailill became more and more detached from life, disassociating frequently much to the frustration of Tom who found it distasteful to find dazed eyes and unresponsive reactions. He tended to grow frantic in his attempts to keep the boy engaged with the land of the living, whether that be by forcing him into conversation or just annoyingly sticking close, he did anything. The thought of not having Ailill with him caused Tom to grow cold and his breathing became stilted, his eyes would well up tears and he'd become intolerable to all but Ailill. The veteran never understood the young child's attachment to him but for some reason could not help but care for the small thing, completely contradicting his cold nature to everyone else. To be quite honest Ailill hated that he for some reason is unable to bring himself to rid himself of the boy, the child was more work than it's worth.

London, September 4th, 1935

Ailill was enjoying his own little walk around the city for once without his little shadow following him having snuck out before the other was awake. He knew once the menace awoke without him near the poor orphanage would be in for a world of chaos but seeing the bustle of people and the chatter of the birds kept him from caring too much. Ailill's apathetic nature left him to walk around with a high head not caring for the sad looks shot to the 'poor, sad little orphan boy' truly he couldn't care less and in fact, such gossip could land him in conversation with a person of wealth who would feel the festering of guilt upon seeing his tattered clothes and falling apart shoes and offer small charity to feel better about themselves. He would exploit that nature if it landed him with some coins or a trinket he could pass along to Tom later to curb his tantrum.

It seemed he grew lucky today as that's exactly what happened, a middle-aged lady was being harassed along the side of the street by a group of young men. She was trying desperately to catch the eye of someone who would then feel obligated to step in and help but no such look came about as people religiously avoided eye contact not wanting to get caught up in whatever she got herself into. Ailill could see while the woman did not dress lavishly a few items she did carry with her were of high quality, the kind of high quality that is unassuming and would not be noticed to the untrained eye, but Ailill is through if nothing else about picking out his victims of the day. He knew there was a 50/50 chance that if he saved this woman he could either get rewarded decently or he would only get a thanks due to making a mistake upon the status of her wealth. Seeing the finely crafted gloves she was wearing, he decided to take the chance. He wasn't doing much else for the morning as he whittled away time before he had to return the Tom.

As the five men started to herd the woman into the back of an alley and people continued to ignore her growingly desperate cries for help. Ailill started to dawdle his way towards them, taking his time to not draw attention to himself and alert the gang of his presence; that would be a sloppy move. He had a bit of a...reputation I guess you could call it among the trouble makers of London. Many knew not to mess with the immediate area near the orphanage lest they ask for damage beyond repair as many had happened to them. He is unassuming in nature with a slight build hidden behind ill-fitting clothes and a sweet face, the kind many young women love to fawn over, quietly envious that their children didn't turn out as beautiful as an orphan. The men started to become rough with the lady, yanking on her clothes and brutishly shoving her. As they descended further down the alley and away from the public eye Ailill decided it was time to step in, he wasn't so heartless to cause the woman more trauma.

His steps were silent as they trailed behind the degenerates, keeping to the shadows and avoiding puddles of water, not wanting to ruin his already falling apart shoes or create noise. Once the women back hit the damp wall, no doubt ruining her well-made coat with mildew and moss, the grating voices of the deviants became bolder in their way of speaking; making lewd remarks and threatening promises. Having heard enough and growing bored of hearing sub-par threats Ailill stepped out into the little light that somehow made its way into the desolate alley.

"Y'know, ye kinda suck at makin' threats."

Ever the intelligent ones, the men started to pick fights with each other thinking they were slagged by their own. Ailill blanched at the display of idiocy, truly natural selection should be implemented forcibly. He made eye contact with the woman whose eyes pleaded with him to turn around more than likely worried for the well-being of the child, how sweet of her. Ailill gave her a sweet smile that quickly turned into a devious smirk as he lifted a leg and brought it down brutally on the back of one of the men's knees. He crumpled to the ground like wet paper with a howl as his knee caps made a sicking crack against the uneven pavement. Seeing the fallen figure of their companion the men finally gathered some brain cells and turned around to see Ailill standing there with his hand in his pocket sporting a relaxed posture.

"Finally used that brain, yeah? Or what's left of it. Now, how about ye head on home and leave the nice lady alone." Ailill smiled in a dangerous manner. "Wouldn't want ye to get hurt."

The one in the front straightened his back and spit on the floor next to Ailill, missing him by centimeters. "How 'bout you scarper on back to the whore house and leave us to half-inch this bitch, eh dilly boy?" (Scarper = go, or run away, Half inch - pinch (steal), dilly boy - a teenage male prostitute)

Annoyed with the men trying to pick a fight, Ailill dusted some residue from the leaky pipes off his shirt and took a step closer.

"Last chance shicer, I won't offer again." (shicer - a lowlife, good-for-nothing)

Not even bothering to reply the man took quick steps towards Ailill ignoring the woman's pleas to 'leave the child alone'. He reached a hand out and took a handful of Ailill's shirt bunching it up under his grip. Ailill only scrunched up his nose at the smell of the man's breath, rancid and gross.

"Wha' you call me? You little-"

He didn't even get to finish his sentence before Ailill shot the heel of his palm right into the man's face, effectively getting the grimy hands to let go of his clothes. Not giving him time to recollect himself, Ailill hooked his ankle around the other's and yanked leaving him to fall to the fool with a smack. From the combined effort Ailill managed to knock the fucker out, he now laid on the floor surrounded by his henchmen who looked baffled at what just happened. They didn't wait too long and descended onto Ailill altogether, the young boy picked up a piece of broken shingle and brandished it as a hulking figure came at him. Flipping it till a pointy bit was facing away from him, Ailill thrust it into his temple getting a roar of pain in response as the man tried to stumble away but once his back was turned Ailill just shot his leg up and let it come down like a hammer kick to the back of the man's head leaving him to fall face-first onto the floor. As two others came at him from either side, Ailill leaned forward into a punch he delivered then extended his leg behind him giving a forceful kick to the gut of the man behind. Both crumpled to the floor not expecting such strength from such a frail-looking thing. The last of the crew didn't even try an attempt and just upped and ran, limping from the earlier kick, making his way out of the alley leaving behind his four companions on the floor. Not sparing the runaway a glance Ailill approached the woman being mindful that she just saw him pulverise men three times his size. He extended an arm to her, the picture-perfect looking poster child. Hesitantly she grabbed his arm and allowed him to escort her out of the alley and into the street once more.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" Ailill asked. "They didn't hurt you too badly, did they?"

"Uh," the woman stuttered. "No...thank you, for helping me."

"That's quite alright, couldn't let people be going around and hurting nice ladies now can I?"

"No," she said. "I suppose not."

The lady stood there for a moment just looking at Ailill, scrutinising him.

"How did you do that?" she asked him. "Take down those men, I mean."

"Ah," Ailill feigned bashfulness. "I'm an orphan so a lot of the time people ain't so kind to the likes of me. I had to make sure I could keep my little brother safe."

Ailill knew that by bringing up the fact that he learned how to fight for the sake of looking after a little brother would tug on the woman's heartstrings it would not only make him seem noble in her eyes but also a knocked down kid with little to his name left to resort to violence to survive in this world.

From the crease that appeared between her eyebrows Ailill knew she had taken the bait and gobbled up all the bullshit he spewed.

"Well," she simpered. "I must thank you somehow for saving me, is there anything I could do or get you to help make things a bit easier on you and your brother."

"Oh please, miss." Ailill waved away. "I couldn't abuse your kindness like that."

"Please," she insisted. "Anything I can do."

"Honestly ma'am," He countered. "It's okay."

"Young man," She said. "I shall find it extremely rude of you to deny my offer, so I am asking once more, what can I do to help?"

"Miss is truly too kind," Ailill spoke with a silver tongue, making his eyes damp to really hit home. "I suppose I could get a few things for Tom if that's no problem?"

"Of course, love." Her eyes softened. "Now how about some clothes?" A quick flicker to his shoes made her add. "And possibly some shoes?"

Ailill considers this a morning well spent.