Chapter 8 – Hell is Other People

Squirrel shirt, thought Mikoto. Squirrel shirt or a poncy uniform. Those were his choices. He was going to have to save the day looking like a dweeb, because Awashima's angry bosoms stood between his dignity and her precious captain's closet, which might or might not contain more sensible attire. What had he done to deserve this?

"Get dressed now," the tundra woman told him. "Or I'll make you wear them both. At the same time."

Squirrel shirt and cargo pants, Mikoto decided. The lesser of two evils. An opportunity to gain a tactical advantage by making his adversary laugh so hard they died.

Speaking of tactical advantage, as adamant as Awashima had been about keeping him out of Munakata's room, she was amenable to keeping their upcoming visit to Izumo's bar friendly. Apparently, despite their lack of any progress in unraveling the initial Munakata crisis, she and the barkeep had made plenty of progress unraveling each other's clothes, which had made them more willing to view each other as allies rather than perpetrators in the current Munakata emergency.

Mikoto was less sure of it himself. Certainly, HOMRA as a whole hadn't conspired to do Reisi harm, but Anna openly resented him and Anna was a child. A child who had first been traumatized, then spoiled, and now a King. A King who was suspiciously flickering on and off Mikoto's mental radar ever since he'd woken up.

"Something feels off," said Fushimi, whom they had left in charge of the Blues again. "I mean besides the obvious. I feel... tired?"

That's just it, thought Mikoto. He had slept away the afternoon, but he too felt... tired. As if he'd caught a cold or spent a week strung out on MDMA. Something was definitely off. It wasn't even all that late when he and Awashima had arrived at the HOMRA bar, which ought to have been hopping, but was dark and closed instead – a sure sign they had failed to show up ahead of whatever disaster they were courting.

"Mikoto," Anna crooned as he followed Awashima into the bar. "You came. Just like she said you would."

The Red King was seated at the window, consuming what was clearly her fifth ice-cream sundae, the empty glasses lined up in front of her like a little barricade.

"As who said?" Awashima demanded. It was clear that she hadn't the first idea of how to talk to kids, so most likely Izumo wasn't going to be blessed with progeny any time soon.

"Dunno who said what," Mikoto grinned, ruffling Anna's hair. "But I did tell you that I'd visit, didn't I?"

Anna frowned up at him, her eyes strangely flat. She felt feverish to his touch. Ice-cream was melting before it even touched her lips. "She told me you would stay," she said.

"Oh? Did you make a new friend?"

"Nevermind that," interjected Awashima. "Where are all your old friends?"

"Sleeping," said Anna. "Tired."

They found Izumo on the floor behind the bar. And Misaki upstairs with Rikio. All three unconscious. All three burning up with fever.

"Whatever's draining her," surmised Awashima, "is draining them worse."

"You must have done a lot today," said Mikoto, returning to the bar and crouching down to Anna's level, "to get this hungry."

"Tea with Alisa," said Anna. "We played a wishing game. I saw black dog."

He knew even before she answered. Because it's not like they were going to get hit in the teeth with an entirely different, unrelated calamity. That rosy midget Strain from hell was not even trying to disguise her evil pawn shop. If anything, she was advertising it.

"How does she know the dog was black?" said Awashima unexpectedly.

Oh hell. Yeah, he had almost missed that. She had a point; Anna wasn't talking about any old animal. Did this mean Adolf also got his royal ass shafted by this Alisa? That couldn't be good. Who even was left to... not that it mattered, not like he'd ever relied on anyone.

"Listen, commander, ma'am," he told Awashima. "You stay here—"

"What?! No!"

"Yes. Someone has to look out for Izumo and the others." He knew it was a low blow, but it was also true. HOMRA were in a bad way and someone had to stay behind to stand guard while he was out there setting shit on fire. "It's not because you are a lady," he clarified. "But of the only two still functional adults around here, I'm the one with at least some firsthand experience with this thing. Please, Seri, help a brother out. I swear, you can punch the next problem in the face. I'll just hang back and watch."

"You have until the sun comes up to bring our King back or you'll lose your balls," she promised. But the important thing was that she stayed to keep his family safe. And when Izumo woke up, he'd have Mikoto's blessing to make as many blond and bossy babies with her as she let him.

It took less than an hour to get to where his house used to be. And when he got there, he found a fop wearing a stupid little ascot pacing the perimeter of the empty lot. Silver hair and nineteenth century Austrian gentleman cosplay suggested that this was either Adolf K. Weismann or a vampire. He had never actually met the Silver King in his proper flesh, but a tiny white cat with mismatched eyes was sitting on his shoulder, so it was probably not a vampire.

"Hey there, Nazi granddad," Mikoto greeted him. "You lose something too?"

"I... yes," the man responded, barely sparing him a glance. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression that Suoh Mikoto had died."

"I got better," said Mikoto, igniting his hand to prove it. The flame guttered a bit, but still burned an unmistakable blood red. "Way better," he added, zapping the ground under the Silver King's feet with a blue bolt.

This time Weismann halted in his tracks and granted him a longer look. "Interesting," he drawled in a soft, dreamy voice. "I would have never thought of using the Slate this way. Whoever did must either love or hate you very much. Would you mind lending me some assistance, young man?"

Classy. The "young man" in particular was a nice touch from somebody who looked like he had never met a shaving razor, but hey, this young man had certainly matured enough to pass on taking offense at such a low-hanging umbrage fruit.

"Does it involve explosions?" he inquired serenely.

Weismann laughed at that. "Not exactly," he said, carefully skirting the edge of the lot. "I cannot go in there, you see. It is a trap that would snatch at my wish. To let it go would bring down my Sword, which would be needlessly destructive, but to have it granted I am afraid might prove even worse. You, however, are no longer a King, so... to be frank, I suspect that no matter what you choose, it won't be catastrophic."

Mikoto thought that it would still be pretty bad. Perhaps not globally, but for himself and those he cared about, even if he was too poor to trade for anything too devastating. On the other hand, there were always more choices than anybody gave you upfront, so there was no call for being so melodramatic.

"Thanks, your royalness," he said. "So glad to hear how little you think of me."

The Silver King did not rise to the bait. "I do have something that might help," he said, reaching inside his coat and producing a blade that was too long to be considered a knife but too short to be called a sword. "I was given it during the war. Useless to a scientist, but the military expected us to carry any honors it conferred, preferably on our bodies. My power was born of a terrible loss. From a wish to protect and preserve. It makes it so I am reborn from one breath to the next. The Slate renews me every moment of my life. This thing has been a part of me since the day I was made King, so it can cut through anything, and anything it cuts will remain cut, beyond even the Dresden Slate's power to restore it. Ironic, is it not? A means of sure destruction forged from perseverance."

"Very," said Mikoto, rolling his eyes. It's like he was a magnet for pretentious blokes. It's times like these that he missed Tatara's down-to-earth encouragements.

Weismann offered him the blade. "May you choose to use words instead," he said.

"Because I'm such a paragon of restraint."

He did take the weapon though. Hopefully the sheath was also inviolate or he was bound to slice off his own leg or worse. Blades really weren't his thing. He still felt sore deep in his chest from the last time he'd encountered one.

"You are a delight, Suoh Mikoto," said Weismann without a trace of sarcasm. "I do hope you don't die this time."

"If I do, try to be less useless," said Mikoto, putting both feet into the trap. If he let Adolf keep talking, they'd still be there when the cows went back out to pasture.

He had expected to be transported directly to his old house like before, but found himself at a literal crossroads instead, in the middle of what was normally the busiest intersection in the city, which was now inexplicably devoid of traffic, facing a small green-eyed child.

"Hello, Suoh Mikoto," said this aberration, "whom I once gave the power to destroy, and who chose to destroy himself. Do you come to destroy me now?"

Who the fuck are you?! – was what Mikoto really wanted to shout. But he didn't want to shame his dead mother by cursing at a little kid, no matter how weird – he? she? it? – was being, so he tried to reason it out. His powers were given to him by the Slate, which was a magic lump of rock with poorly researched semi-sentient tendencies, so... was this it? It was kind of cute if so.

"I do not have to look like this," said the little goblin. "But the most heartfelt, impossible wishes are those of children, so it would be my truest form were I a human being. Also it is a form I knew you'd be least likely to harm."

Right. Okay, yeah. He'd feel like crap punching this waif. He hadn't given much thought to how he was going to deal with the Strain either. It looked like a little girl. He couldn't picture himself clobbering her. Weismann had said to use words, but he was not too well equipped in that department. His fists had done a lot of talking for him in the past.

"The right words can be very powerful," said the kid who was probably less of a kid than an old, arcane boulder. "If they are all you have to offer."

Oh, thought Mikoto, an unwanted realization dawning in his mind. And then he thought a lot of other words his mother wouldn't have approved of.

"It was only a suggestion," said the Dresden Slate that was pretending to be a boy so that Mikoto wouldn't hit it. "Would you like to go to where your friend is now?"

It didn't wait for an answer before shunting him off to his enemy's lair, but he supposed it had to be adept by now at reading people's wishes.

He landed as before, right on the scales, but this time he was not a ghost so his feet stuck. Also, this time there were decidedly more people in attendance. Besides the flouncy pink Strain, there was a willowy man in a bucket hat, an angry kid with a ponytail, Munakata's unconscious body floating in the air like a birthday balloon, and... Tatara?

Mikoto didn't think there was such a constraint as time here, but if there was, right then it should have stopped. The Blue King and his problems weren't going anywhere, so what was the harm? He needed a moment to remember how Tatara's shaggy hair always got in his eyes and how his shirt was always coming unbuttoned and how his smile made shy, secret promises.

"Oh wow," the object of his scrutiny said, his carefree words prodding time along despite Mikoto's best efforts. "You were right, Miwa-san. You really can see the future."

"Not at all," the bucket hat protested, even as the ponytail bobbed up and down in fervent approval. "It was a happy guess."

Miwa Ichigen, thought Mikoto. Which would make the kid his Black Dog. Which would explain why Weismann had been so solicitous. He really should've asked about it before, but he'd been too busy getting annoyed at the man's attitude. And what did it matter now. Tatara was here, looking at him as he had always done, as if Mikoto made him warm, as if there was nobody else to look at.

"Hello again, Suoh Mikoto," said the Strain, completely failing to conceal her glee at his stupefaction. "I wonder which of them you'll reach for in your heart."

Was that even a choice? Well, maybe. He wanted Tatara of course, but Tatara was dead, while Reisi was alive and Mikoto did owe him. It'd be unconscionably selfish to trade in a living man for a dead one, not to mention that he would be screwing over both of their clans and possibly everyone else in the long run. Gah! No! What was he even thinking?! He wasn't going to make either of those choices. That wasn't the plan. But it was so hard to commit to the plan with Tatara so close, and he had to commit to it with all he had or the plan wouldn't work.

"I'm sorry, Tatara," he said, wishing he could explain. Or confess. Or do something other than just stand there in existential pain. What could he say? I should have never met you? Never made you a target? Never left you alone?

"It's okay, Mikoto," said Tatara. "It wasn't your fault. Please do not look so sad."

The kid was dead and Mikoto was still upsetting him, still looking for consolation. Reisi was right. He was trash. There wasn't a single person who would not be better off if they had never heard of Suoh Mikoto. Even Fushimi, and he was a bitter little git. So this was right. It was what he truly wanted. For everyone he loved, living or dead, to be happier.

"I wish," he said, trying to think of nothing else but his wish and the Strain choking on it before it took hold, "that everyone forget they ever knew me. Take all their memories of me for payment. It cannot be more fair than that."

The scales glowed in acceptance and had Mikoto looked he could have seen the Strain go from smug to startled, but if he was only going to get one look before his life went tits up, he preferred to keep his eyes on Tatara. Until the memory that held them broke.

It didn't hurt. Except in his heart where it was supposed to. And his backside. Cause he'd landed rather awkwardly back in the real world. And then Munakata and the Black Dog fell on him, followed by Alisa, topping them off like a bad cherry. Though even that was nothing compared to the weight of the long black Sword now hovering in the dark skies over his head. The Dresden Slate had come through on his wish, as promised. He looked for any red or blue sparks in himself, but there was nothing. Only darkness.

"I see," said Weismann's voice somewhere beyond the pile of limbs obscuring his vision. "You took advantage of the vacancy."

"Hn," said Mikoto, then paused, considering. "Oh, right," he said. "You're like rebooted constantly, so it makes sense you'd not lose information." The Slate probably didn't count as a person, so any updates it provided wouldn't omit his existence. He lucked out there. As imprecise as he'd been with his wording, it was a miracle he still remembered who he was. He wondered if databases did too. It'd be nice to still have access to his money.

"What information?" asked the Silver King, dragging the Black Dog off him and slapping him awake.

"Don't worry about it. And you can have your long knife back. I didn't need it."

Between the two of them they managed to get the kid and the girl coherent, and it turned out that Alisa had been possessed by the Fox, which he had killed once already so they'd foolishly believed it dead; a fact they really should've reconsidered given what they now knew about how the Slate worked. It still wasn't quite dead probably, but at least it could no longer harm anyone now that a new Colorless King had been crowned.

"You think so?" said Weismann.

"I know so," said Mikoto. "I could not set a match on fire after Anna became King. The only reason I had any aura was because Munakata had wanted me as close to the original as possible and then gave me a share of his. Miwa Ichigen also said that he wasn't seeing the future anymore, just making guesses."

"You lie," said the Black Dog, whose proper name Mikoto learned was Yatogami Kurou. "Who are you again?"

"This is Suoh Mikoto, the Colorless King," said Weismann patiently. It was his third time reminding Kurou of that fact. He seemed to forget all about Mikoto if he looked away for too long. So did Alisa. They couldn't be sure about Munakata, because the Blue King had yet to wake up. "You'll get used to it," Weismann said. "I was the same way for a while – out of sight, out of mind. Neko could only keep my identity fixed in people's heads while they saw me. It is a pretty useful power if you think about it. And your aura bends light!"

That part was pretty cool. He could turn himself invisible. Or make others unable to see. The Slate hadn't screwed him over completely. Mikoto wondered what would happen if he bonded any clansmen. Would they be able to form long term memories of him? Alisa might be willing to test this theory. The poor kid needed someone to look after her, and he needed a girl in his clan as per regulations. He tried to figure out what trope hadn't yet been attempted by any of the other clans. Maybe he'd buck the trend and have her join as a normal person who liked tea and wore jeans instead of that pervy pink atrocity Fox had stuffed her into. They could be sensible together. And with that red hair she could easily pass for his little sister. He had always wanted a sibling. But maybe he was getting ahead of himself; surely she had someplace else to be, it's not like she had come from nowhere.

"Alisa," he said, startling her again. "Do you have a family? A home to go back to?"

"Not really," she said. "I got kicked out. They said I was the Devil's child."

"Because of your powers?"

"No. My eyes. They're red, see?"

"I do," said Mikoto. "But I think that if the Devil won't look out for his children, then it's his own damn fault if they grow up to be upstanding citizens. If you like, you can come with me." His parenting skills were not that great, judging by Anna's recent behavior, but he was still a better choice than a pair of zealots who had kicked their own daughter out.

"Where?"

He wasn't actually sure. And his newfound amnesia-inducing powers might make renting difficult. Shit! He hadn't thought it through that far.

"Could I be of assistance?" suggested Weismann, seeing his difficulty.

"I don't know. Could you?" Mikoto didn't really want to be an ass, but he'd had a fucking long day and was not in the mood for any sort of royal mincing.

"Yes," said Weismann. "I could get Miss Alisa set up in an apartment. Near the Scepter 4 headquarters if you like." Because of course the Silver King was loaded. Immortal people tended to make bank.

"Not sure I can afford that."

"Your contribution to my research would be invaluable."

Ah. Naturally the freakish German wanted to study him. Them. Ugh. And being beggars, they could not be choosers. Though, in all fairness, it was not the worst idea.

"I suppose," he said. "Alisa?"

This time she didn't flinch, but that was probably because she'd still been looking at him. She nodded so eagerly that he felt like an ungrateful jerk for even hypothetically putting his resentments ahead of her needs.

"I guess that's settled then," he said. "I just have to get Munakata back to his people first. Text me the address once you have it." And he gave Weismann his new number.

Then, the Silver King took his menagerie to better pastures after summoning a cab to take Mikoto and the sleeping Blue King back to Awashima.

Mikoto didn't bother her with useless explanations that she wouldn't be able to remember anyhow. He just deposited Munakata into her waiting arms and made himself scarce and then invisible. Because he didn't want to have to keep explaining himself to the people he loved, but he did want to make sure they were alright. Which they were, apart from some totally understandable confusion.

After a bit of fussing, Awashima caught a ride back to HQ. Erasure made it hard for him to do the same. He'd had to use public transit. But once he got to Scepter 4, sneaking into the building was child's play. Sneaking into Munakata's quarters even easier. Justifying it to himself was the hardest part. But it was okay to worry for the stupid bastard, wasn't it? At least until morning. Awashima knew that her captain wasn't in a normal coma, even if she didn't know how she knew. She'd try to handle it in-house, as soon as she could get a team together to look into Munakata's head. In the meantime, he could try his luck. It was at least in part his fault that Munakata had ended up this way. He'd screwed the dude, and not in a good way, in his first life. The least he could do now is try making amends. In all the stories, sleeping beauties always woke up if you kissed them. Not that snogging Reisi was necessarily the way to go, but he could maybe hold his hand and talk to him. It could not hurt, right? Might help him too. Just for tonight. To feel like he was still connected to someone, even if it was an illusion. He could get used to being alone tomorrow.