6
Of foxes and ghosts
It starts as it typically does. On a Sunday, in a parking lot as Roland ushers them into the family minivan, asking them how the children's service had gone, but Astolfo has no attention to spare for his questions. The service had been boring, per usual, but even if it had been delightfully enlightening, all his attention is occupied by the casual nonsense that his demonic gremlin of a foster brother has let slip. "The best anime adaptation of Okita Souji is obviously Gintama's," Vanitas had claimed earlier, and Astolfo had very nearly blown his top. Even now, just thinking about it has him seething as he straps his seatbelt and loosens the stranglehold his tie has around his throat.
"You're wrong, you know," he says abruptly, cutting off whatever nonsense Roland had been spewing. Whatever it was is obviously not of great consequence, as his father – foster father – he reminds himself sternly, doesn't scold him for it. Although, he does arch a questioning eyebrow.
"Vanitas is wrong," Astolfo clarifies swiftly and then adds impishly, "but you're just wrong in general." He grins to take away any sting his words might have had, trying to ignore how his heart trills happily when Roland chuckles.
"I'm wrong?" Vanitas questions, twisting around in the front seat to smirk back at him. "As if, what on earth could I possibly be wrong about?" His default smirk is firmly in place, but through the months of their enforced cohabitation, Astolfo has begun to get a read on him, and he can see the confusion clearly in his eyes. The knowledge that he's confusing the expert confounder fills him with no small amount of glee.
"You claimed that the best Okita is Gintama's version when obviously the only acceptable answer is Hakuouki's Okita," he says primly, feeling a smug look grow on his face and doing little to stop it. "Because he's not a whiny little bitch who goes around stabbing people, for starters, and secondly –"
"You mean like your namesake?" Vanitas interrupts, and Astolfo instinctively tries to smack him, growling in frustration when the seatbelt prevents him from lurching too far forwards.
"Fuck you! I've told you a million times that I'm not named after that Astolfo," he snarls, throwing him the double bird when all he does is cackle. "Shut up, at least I didn't name myself after a stupid poem!"
"Language, Tolfo," Roland speaks up then, his tone faintly censorious.
"Yeah, language, Toffee," Vanitas adds, only to retreat with a squawk as Roland's hand strikes quick as a flash, ruffling his hair mercilessly.
"And you, don't torment your brother," their driver says sternly. "The both of you have perfectly lovely names; take pride in them."
"Unlike Roland," Vanitas tosses back, hands protectively shielding his head from any more love. "How generic and boring can you get with that?"
"Sorry, Roland," Astolfo agrees immediately. "You can't even make a nickname out of it. I would rate it a three out of ten."
"A three? I would have gone with a one."
"No, a three," Astolfo replies firmly. "He gets a point for historical origins. One point for ease of pronunciation." He wriggles two fingers in the air as he thinks. "And one point because it's his name, and he deserves a point for simply existing." The moment the words leave his mouth, he regrets them as Roland immediately coos happily, and Astolfo knows that if he'd been in the front seat, he'd have been treated to a hair ruffle.
"Suck-up," Vanitas grumbles, "you shouldn't tell him stuff like that. He'll get an ego." Despite his words, the pout on his face tells a different story, and Astolfo mentally tallies that into a point in his favor.
"Your face will get stuck like that if you keep that up," he says cheerfully, repeating the words that his father had always told him. "Not that that would be a great loss, considering how visually unappealing you are." He feels particularly smug about that insult, delighting in his wordplays.
"I'd rather be ugly and have good taste in anime than pretty and zero brain cells," Vanitas answers without batting an eye. Astolfo's insult seemingly has rolled straight off his shoulders to the latter's dismay. "Then again, it's utterly unsurprising that you would gravitate towards the show about pseudo-vampires, considering how much you salivated over that Cullen brat during your Twilight phase."
Astolfo feels his cheeks turn red within seconds, his hands tightening on the seatbelt, but there's little he can do to deny those words. Not when he'd begged Vanitas just last month to teach him how to download the movies so he could watch them again. "It – It has a good plot," he mutters, cringing slightly when Vanitas scoffs loudly. "It does! And the stage plays are phenomenal, the singing is top tier and the visuals? There are so many good things about that show; the vampirism plot is just…." He trails off, trying desperately to come up with a positive way to describe it.
"Oh!" Roland says suddenly, his voice akin to someone who has had an epiphany. "That's the show where everyone dies, isn't it? Didn't it get a prequel series recently?"
Astolfo meets his eyes in the rear-view mirror, cringing slightly when he sees that they are filled with honest excitement. "Yes, sort of," he offers, "It wasn't very good. Not my favorite storyline or plot points." Roland hums sympathetically, but Astolfo can tell that he's only half paying attention. They're almost home anyway, so he lets the topic drop.
Minutes later, Roland is parking the minivan in their driveway, and Astolfo leaps out of it with great verve, impatient to change out of his suit. Letting himself into the house, he hears the familiar sound of a piano drifting through the halls. Olivier, he thinks and is proceeding towards the staircase when a discordant note suddenly rings out. Astolfo freezes, more so out of shock than anything else, confused as to why his perfectionist of a father would ever make such an ugly sound. Unbidden, his feet carry him to the living room, and he peeks through the door, eyes widening in surprise when he sees who it is that's sitting on the piano bench. Mikhail. A young boy of only 8 years and the newest addition to their family. Astolfo takes a step forwards, intending to warn him away from the piano. Olivier, he knows, dislikes it when others utilize his musical instruments. Has been on the receiving end of several a tirade about personal property and keeping things clean.
"Mischa," he starts, but the words die in his throat when he spots Olivier stepping over. Can only watch in shocked awe as the man bends down, his voice too soft to hear, and whispers something in Mikhail's ear. And, Mikhail, who cringes away from loud noises or sudden contact, in response leans his head towards him as if drinking up his words. He sets his hands on the piano keys once more, and Astolfo realizes then the source of the discordant notes as the boy struggles to maneuver his prosthetic from key to key. Quietly, he backs away, not desiring to interrupt what can only be described as bonding time, and retreats to his room upstairs.
The disagreement restarts that evening, caused by Mikhail's oblivious announcement that he had never seen an anime before. Naturally, Astolfo desiring only the best for the boy had suggested he start with Naruto. One of the great classics, he'd thought it quite the safe bet, but Vanitas had snorted disparagingly and called him a boring low-level nerd. Those had been undeniably fighting words, ones that had sent Astolfo flying up the stairs and digging through his closet until he found his Uchiha hoodie. By the time he'd returned, however, Vanitas was sitting on the couch, an oversized Gotei Thirteen Leatherman jacket hanging off his shoulders. Astolfo bristles at him, still struggling to regulate his breathing after having sprinted up and down the stairs. Vanitas smirks back, unfairly unbothered. Huffing, Astolfo drops down onto the other couch before he speaks. "Now that we've all returned, it's time to watch Naruto."
"We'd agreed on Bleach," Vanitas replies without batting an eye. "Isn't that right, Mikhail?" The younger boy, seated on the ground between the two couches, looks back and forth at them and wisely keeps his mouth shut. Robot – his emotional support animal that is composed more of fur than anything else – woofs quietly and sprawls over, demanding belly rubs. Seeing Mikhail immediately devote himself to the task of providing them is a cute sight, Astolfo thinks. Almost enough to distract him from the wicked liar he has the displeasure of calling a foster brother.
"The judge has spoken," Astolfo says when it becomes clear that Mikhail has no intentions of speaking at all, "in accordance, we're going to watch Nart."
"Bleach," Vanitas snaps, "is so far above Naruto that the mere concept of you thinking otherwise is a stain on your good name. It's his first anime; he needs to watch something of quality." He shakes his head as if disappointed in Astolfo's whole existence, which is frankly unfair the latter decides considering what Vanitas watches in his free time.
"Nar-Naru," for a moment, Astolfo can hardly speak through the rage simmering in his stomach, his mouth opening and closing like a fish's. "Have you lost all your marbles?!" He eventually settles on screeching, hands flailing in exasperation. "Naruto is a thousand – nay, a million-time betters than Bleach could ever dream of being." He turns to Mikhail with an angry huff. "Don't listen to that fool; he's just jealous that Naruto got a sequel and Bleach didn't."
Mikhail blinks up at him in evident confusion and wraps his arms a little more around his dog, resting his chin on its fluffy head. "I don't think Vano's a fool," he says quietly.
"Thank you, Mischa," Vanitas says, smugness practically oozing from his voice. "Have I ever led you wrong before?" He continues before the youngest member of their group can speak, somehow managing to sprawl out even more on the couch than he'd been previously. "As the eldest and thus the one with most experience when it comes to anime, I declare that we should watch Bleach first."
"No!" Astolfo snaps at him, desperately grasping at straws as he struggles to come up with a decent counterargument. "Naruto is shorter anyway; wouldn't that be more beneficial for Mischa's attention span?" He spins back towards the boy and kneels down in front of him, "Listen, Mischa," he starts as calmly as he can. "Naruto is closer to your – waagh!" the sudden introduction of a wet tongue to his face has him reeling back in shock, flailing. "Get off, Robot!"
Mikhail giggles, hand pressed to his mouth as if to muffle the sounds. Astolfo hates the fact that he still feels the need to be quiet in this house, despite the constant reassurance from Vanitas and even his own assurances. Mikhail is new, though, he reminds himself, he's only been with them for a few weeks. It's nothing compared to the year that he has spent in the loving company of Roland and Olivier. He can admit that now, he realizes when his heart twinges. His foster fathers love him; they aren't going to abandon him without warning or forget about his existence in favor of a younger, more angelic child. He had feared that when he first came into the home, fresh from a traumatizing experience with a church foster family that had left him questioning his sanity and his gender, that they would find him to be too much trouble. Not worth the meager paycheck that the government provided. They hadn't. Roland had welcomed him with open arms, had spoken words that somehow soothed the broken and bleeding parts of Astolfo's heart. His smile that Astolfo had thought was fake had remained no matter how often or how easily Astolfo lost his temper, and slowly he came to learn that everything his foster father said was truthful. That he could be trusted.
The turning point, however, had not been Roland's warm smile but Olivier. It had taken Astolfo months to grow comfortable around him, off-put by his chilly exterior and harsh words. And yet, it was to Olivier that he first admitted the secrets lurking inside his heart, his hopes for a future where he didn't have to hide, and his fears that he would be excommunicated from the church if they were ever to find out. Olivier had listened to his murmurings patiently and silently seated on the ground next to his bed, as Astolfo told him all the things that he'd kept hidden inside. And when Astolfo had worked up the courage to lift his head, tears staining his cheeks, he had seen a smile grace Olivier's face. Small but no less comforting as the man had quietly promised him the world. To some, it might not have been much, but to Astolfo, who had been disregarded and discarded ever since his parents perished, it was everything. The next day Olivier had taken him shopping. "I won't have a son of mine dressing like he found his clothes in the clearance rack of Hot Topic," he said and been courteous enough to not mention it when Astolfo had needed a moment to wipe his eyes.
Mikhail's continued giggling drags him from his thoughts, and he shakes his head, disgruntledly pushing Robot off his chest and sitting up. Still, he finds that he feels a little proud that the boy is comfortable laughing around him. When he'd first arrived, he'd spent all his time clinging to Vanitas and occasionally sobbing into Roland's chest. Astolfo hopes that those tearful days are far behind him; he's never been at ease around crying children, some part of their pained noises stirring deeply buried memories of his own. He has no intention of losing this particular debate, however, and he waves a hand to get the boy's attention. "Listen, Mischa, not only is Naruto shorter, but its anime is actually complete –"
"Bleach is fourteen chapters shorter," Vanitas interrupts, and Astolfo can see his victory dissipating like sand in the breeze. "Or were you referring to fox boy's lack of height," Vanitas continues. "It's not good to make fun of people's shortcomings, Toffee; you of all people have no right to judge."
"I'm not short!" Astolfo replies immediately, caring little that he's yelling, cares even less that his screeching might awaken their foster fathers, not when the devil himself has spawned into his house.
"That's what a short person would say," Vanitas says and wags his finger like he's scolding him. "You shouldn't tell lies, little Toffee; you're being a bad role model for Mischa."
His words draw another screech of contemptuous fury from Astolfo's throat, his mouth opening and closing as he tries desperately not to stain Mikhail's innocent ears with his cursing. It's difficult, though, when the smirk that graces Vanitas' face is more infuriating than anything else the boy has said. It's as if he knows just what nonsense he's spewing and taking great glee in doing so as well. Deep down, Astolfo knows that he shouldn't rise to the bait. That Vanitas is intentionally trying to rile him up, Marco had suggested as much in the past, and Astolfo knows this – he's twelve, not an idiot – and yet he can't help the fury rising up in his belly. "You're – you're just jealous that Naruto got a sequel," he settles on saying and crosses his arms with a huff.
Vanitas' eyebrow arches, and Astolfo tries not to squirm at the judgment he sees written plainly across his face. "If you're proud of that, then perhaps I evaluated your taste in quality anime too highly," he says snidely.
Astolfo's hand twitches towards the nearest pillow, fingers digging into it as he prepares to throw it. "Still superior to Bleach," he pauses to allow time for his words to sink inappropriately. "Which didn't even finish the manga, if I recall correctly. So much for better, hmm?" To his immense gratification, Vanitas' lips part as he squawks in outrage and then glowers. Irritation is a good look on him, Astolfo decides.
"The art is prettier, especially at the end," he grouses, "and it's getting an anime continuation. Just you wait; the resurgence of Bleach is right around the corner." Even he has to know that his counter is weak. However, because he slumps over onto his side, a moment later and sulkily cuddles the Pikachu plushie. "At least Bleach doesn't glorify child soldiers."
Astolfo turns back to him immediately, a million rebukes on his tongue, a hundred arguments coming to the front of his mind, but what emerges instead is, "Toshiro Hitsugaya."
"Your crush doesn't count; he's basically a ghost," Vanitas responds and has the gall to roll his eyes.
"He's – ew no!" Astolfo hollers and flings the pillow at him. It lands with a satisfying impact against Vanitas's head before plopping to the ground with a disappointing thud. "He's not my crush," Astolfo insists angrily, holding up another pillow threateningly. "You take that back, mister Ciel Phantomhive did nothing wrong."
"He didn't!" Vanitas protests predictably, "it's hardly his fault that he was turned into a zombie and kept alive against his will. Frankly, I'm surprised he hasn't gone off the deep end yet, considering that everyone seems determined to drag him through the mud. Bad enough that he was brutally murdered, but then not only does his own little brother steal his girl, home, and his name, he has the audacity to act surprised when Ciel isn't pleased."
Astolfo tunes the rest of his rambling out, turning back instead to Mikhail, who has been watching their dramatics with wide eyes. "Right then, now that the loser has been distracted, it's time to watch the ninjas, alright?" He smiles reassuringly, hoping that Mikhail will take him up on his invitation. "We don't really need to listen to him ramble about the Phantomhive family drama, do we?" Glances down at Robot – who blinks back oblivious, a giant mass of fluff with zero brain cells hidden inside – and inspiration strikes. "Naruto, that is the MC has a loyal furry friend." He gestures to Robot, grinning, "just as fluffy as your dog, and he gets a hand like yours."
Mikhail hesitates, twisting a lock of hair nervously between his fingers, as his eyes flicker every which way. The hand not in his hair sits in his lap, metallic fingers flexing unconsciously. "I want to watch the fox show," he says eventually and offers up a smile that warms Astolfo's heart. "Maybe by the time we finish it, the Blean anime will be complete, and we can watch that next."
Astolfo doesn't need to glance over his shoulder to know that Vanitas is seething, can feel the weight of his glare burning into his back, but victory is before him, and it has never tasted sweeter. "Attaboy," he says kindly, "We'll make an Uchiha out of you yet."
Mikhail's answering smile warms him to his very core, and Astolfo finds himself returning it without a second thought.
