a/n: this is longer than usual, but not long enough to be a standalone, so i'm dumping it here, lol. i'm sorry if there are any mistakes or if it seems rushed, i don't have my glasses, my eyes hurt too much to edit, and I can't see very well even though my face is like, six inches from my computer screen and the font is big. Reviews are greatly appreciated. ❤️

Rin was kind of good at hiding. He liked to hide behind a cheeky smile, behind determination and stubbornness, behind the desperate hope that as long as he stood to protect people, to keep people from getting hurt, then he was doing something right.

Except people got hurt. All the time. Because of him. Which meant he was doing things absolutely, terribly, irreversibly wrong.

This was proven on the trip to Kyoto. This was proven when he'd fought Amaimon. It was proven time and time again, because it seemed like Rin was born to mess up, to fail, to find wonderful things like friends, like family, and slowly learn to how to love them only to have them stripped from him so painfully soon.

And that, well, that left him back where he started.

Alone.

Alone with this history of mistakes, of fuck ups, of friendships gained and lost, of words which echoed loudly in his mind:

Demon child, demon spawn, he would never fit in, he would never be cared for, he couldn't feel love because how could he possibly feel that? He was a demon, for fuck's sake and demons existed to take, to destroy, and he had flames which could burn absolutely everything—

Rin expelled a colorful string of curse words when the cutting board suddenly tipped. He was sinking deep into a dark place where his thoughts wandered without his control, so when the knife and board clattered on the floor, and he couldn't even save the cabbage, Rin couldn't help it.

He rapidly descended into the familiar territory of rage, where everything went red and his body acted on its own. He spun around, hands pushing dishes, pupils dilated. The world faded and when it came back, every object within his reach was on the ground and he couldn't find a reason to care.

He slammed his knuckles down on the counter, so hard that the skin on his fingers split and he heard multiple sickening cracks. He was panting, each breath coming out quick and shaky. He was so preoccupied by the sound that he barely heard the slap of frantic footsteps on the staircase.

"Nii-san, what hap—Nii-san. Nii-san, stop. Stop."

Rin glanced up but didn't really see Yukio walking toward him. He just saw his brother's fingers resting on his gun as if preparing to draw it. Rin stumbled back, releasing a low, primal growl, oddly reminiscent of a feral cat.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he was the only one with such a heavy burden, that he was the only who always messed up, that his friends only saw his demonic identity, that even his own brother seemed ready to fight him in this moment of uncontrollable anger.

Except... Rin wasn't mad, not really. He was just lonely, and he was scared, and he was hurt. He felt like an animal being cornered, hissing and scooting farther in the corner of the kitchen as if it offered protection.

"Nii-san," Yukio repeated in a low, calm voice, now realizing where his hand had drifted and raising them in the air to prove he meant no harm. "Let's talk about this, ok? Tell me what happened."

Rin couldn't find his voice. All that came out was another instinctive growl, rumbling deep in his throat. It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair—

"Rin?"

That was Kuro's voice, uncertain and concerned. Rin's wild gaze wandered rapidly to where his familiar stood in the doorway, yellow-green eyes wide.

Then Kuro was pressed against his ankle, both tails coiling around his calf like pieces of string. Because he could hear Rin's thoughts, understood this awful episode of rage.

And human hands touched his shoulders. Without thinking Rin shoved them off and moved farther away. Yukio followed him, trying again.

"Nii-san, it's ok."

It wasn't. It really, really wasn't ok. His friends hated him and the Vatican was ready to execute him and the only person who could possibly bring Rin down from this all-consuming, intoxicating anger had been dead for months.

Because what stood in front of Yukio now was a demon on a rampage, a monster that should be terminated before it hurt somebody. And Yukio's first instinct was to put his hand on his gun to do just that.

But what Shiro always saw was a confused, lost, lonely boy who just needed somebody to understand how badly he was hurting. And Shiro's first instinct was to show him that he did understand.

"It's ok, Rin," Kuro echoed. "We're here."

Rin didn't even realize he was crying. Not until Kuro said those words, until Yukio coaxed him to the floor and Kuro climbed into his lap. Rin felt several pops in his hands. His demon blood was healing broken knuckles, forming new layers of clean flesh.

Yukio couldn't replace Shiro, couldn't calm him down the way Shiro could. They both knew that. But... he was trying. Rin could see that finally, when the red tint in his vision began to fade and actually felt his twin's hands on his shoulders.

"Sorry," he croaked out breathlessly.

Yukio said nothing. Until: "...me, too, Nii-san."