Author's Note: As always, I must apologize for this late update and thank all the wonderful people who have supported me in writing this. Seriously, I kinda live for feedback, so your reviews, faves and follows make me so happy. Thank you!

As thanks, here's an extra long chapter~

This is kinda an info dump, because two reviewers (iGracias por tus comentarios, daliapvperez! Thank you for the review, Gumokoa!) asked for how the rest of the CCG is reacting and I couldn't resist bringing them into the fray. I usually break up my world-building, but this time I got carried away, so sorry in advance. I promise that there will be more action next time~

Warning: References to past child abuse and unhealthy coping mechanisms. More passing mentions of suicidal thoughts. Arima's and Kaneki's relationship continues to be unhealthy, so please be careful.


...Months before Haise's Homecoming...

As a father himself, Yoshitoki understood Arima's feelings to some extent. He knew that the Reaper would do anything to keep his child, anything to "protect" him. Even if it meant leaving the CCG that had bred and kept him all these years. As the Bureau Director of the CCG, he couldn't allow their most valuable asset to simply leave. No, the Reaper had to stay and that meant sacrificing one of their other valuable assets.

"It is a shame what has become of Investigator Sasaki," he began, because truly it was a pity. The half-ghoul had been so promising and now he had been rendered useless. Well, mostly useless. If he couldn't serve as their new reaper, he could at least serve as a chain to bind the old one. Besides, the investment in him was not completely lost. The legacy he had left behind in the Quinx was sure to be bountiful in the future. With all that in mind, he decided, "In honor of his prolific work, Sasaki Haise will be allowed to live out the rest of his life peacefully. I trust that I can leave him in your hands again, Kishou?"

At his boss's proclamation, the called upon man relaxed, any thoughts of escaping with his son vanishing. There would be no need for that it seems. "It would be my honor, Bureau Director."

"Good, good. We can go over his arrangements at a later date." The Washuu waved dismissively. Arima bowed, turning to leave. However, before he could reach the door, the Washuu's voice rang out with one more command. "Ah, but I can't help but to worry that the CCG's effectiveness will suffer from Sasaki's loss."

Understanding his superior's true meaning instantly, he promised, "I will take responsibility and pick up the slack."

The Bureau Director smiled in satisfaction. "I'm counting on you then, Kishou."


...Present Day...

Due to his increased workload and duties as a single father, Arima hardly loitered around the office these days. Killing was his forte, not paperwork after all. He actually preferred avoiding the office these days, since there was always a horde of Haise's old friends waiting to bombard him with questions.

While the higher uppers knew what had become of Haise, the others were under the belief that Haise would be returning to them after he had been "reset". During the first few months, Arima had been approached by concerned coworkers who asked after their missing friend. It vaguely reminded Arima of neighborhood kids knocking on the door to see if their sick friend could come out to play. But the situation was not so light-hearted.

Itou, for once not smiling with that fox face of his, had solemnly asked, "Is Haise...you know?"

"He's not himself yet," Arima answered as truthfully as possible.

He'd given the same answer to Juuzou when he asked to visit his friend. Whereas Itou had given a shaky smile and wished for Haise's quick return, Juuzou merely pouted. "Ehhh, but it's boring without him here. I don't really care if he's Kaneki Ken or Sasaki Haise right now. I just want to see my friend again."

As much as he appreciated Juuzou's sentiments for Haise, he found himself tensing up. Juuzou would look at their situation and he wouldn't understand. And because of his misunderstanding, he might try to "free" his friend. Though he was confident in his strength, Arima wouldn't risk that. So he lied. "He wouldn't want you to see him like this."

Though the man had hummed in acceptance, Arima spotted a rebellious glint in his eye. He'd have to keep a close watch on that one.

The Quinx - his grandchildren he remembered calling them in a happier time - were a handful to ward off. To various degrees, they all missed their mentor. Even the sullen Urie Kuki had asked after Haise a few times. But drowning in his new responsibilities and his depression from losing two teammates, he accepted Arima's less-than-pleasing answers. He, too, had been one of the ones left to pick up the slack left behind by Haise.

The other two were the ones who gave him trouble. Yonebayashi Saiko was a mess of emotions that Arima had no idea how to handle. With constantly leaking eyes and pathetic sniffles, she would beg to see "her Maman". With no regard to propriety, she would latch onto him and vow to not let go until she had seen Haise. While such behavior would hardly be tolerated from anyone else, Arima couldn't scold the girl. He found her endearing, her childish nature reminding him of the tantrums Haise threw both in the past and now. Even if not by blood, she was undeniably Haise's child.

So he dealt with her as softly as a killing machine could. He'd comfort her with lies, telling her that Haise was sure to get better soon and return to them. That he didn't remember them at all, but that he surely would. But it wasn't a lie when he told her that he was taking excellent care of her Maman.

The sincerity of the last promise was usually enough to quell her meltdowns enough for her squad to peel her off him. As troublesome as it was to deal with her, she did not raise the hairs on back of his neck like Haise's youngest student did.

At a glance, the boy was reminiscent of the Kaneki Ken he had seen in past photos. Shy, bookish, but polite. But a fretful Arima had thoroughly researched Haise's students before he became their mentor. And this one was the one that had most alarmed him.

Mutsuki Tooru's concern was earnest, but something else too. Darker. Arima felt that he completely understood the look in the younger boy's eyes. A possessiveness that screamed "give him back" and a sharpness that threatened pain beyond death. As strong as he was, Arima pointedly avoided the boy that reeked of slaughter just as much as he did.

As for the others, they knew better than to cause trouble. Though they hadn't been told, somehow both Akira and Hirako knew the truth about Haise. Though they never said anything, it was written in the increased tension in Hirako's shoulders and the sadness in Akira's eyes. They knew, but they couldn't and wouldn't do anything.

Fura probably knew too. He had a way of knowing more than what Arima was willing to admit. But he was also easy enough to avoid. After all, the Reaper was eternally busy with granting death.

And Ui would have known too if only he looked. But as it was, his eyes seemed to be stuck gazing blankly off into the distance. No doubt, his mind was full of the student he had lost. As a mentor, he had become too involved. Not that Arima could scold him for that without being hypocritical. All the same, the "Hope of the Arima Squad" had been extinguished and left to resemble a burnt out candle now rather than the blazing light of justice he had tried to be when Hairu was still alive. When Haise was a part of them. When everyone was not barely holding onto to their will to live.

Simpler times, those were.

Beyond Haise's mourners hounding him for updates, no one else dared to disturb the Reaper anymore. They were normal people with normal lives. And in their eyes, he was a god of death to be worshiped and feared, but never truly loved. Though they never said a word and were always quick to look away, their eyes spoke for them. They were scared of him.

Being their god was a lonely thing, but it was all he had known before Haise had happened. Once upon a time, Haise had served as a bridge between his famous father and the pencil-pushers. Though the boy was just as deadly and hardly human, Haise's infectious cheer had broken down the social barrier that existed between them. Instead of silent admiration, the bubbly boy was greeted with good-natured teasing and genuine grins. If anything, that was where Haise's true strength came from. He had even managed to coax soft emotions and smiles out of the recluse Reaper that had made him seem human.

Without Haise to encourage them, everyone had retreated from the death god once more. He would be lying if he said it didn't make him feel empty. But he didn't need their shallow pleasantries and nervous interactions. He needed Haise. And he did have him - completely possessing him in a way he had never imagined.

So long as Arima had Haise, he still had hope.


Kaneki had no such hope.

He avoided looking to his sides, knowing he'd see the bars of his crib. Such a sight always reminded him of his current imprisonment. No matter how nicely Arima had decorated his "nursery", the room was still a cell. After all, no matter how many treats and toys you put in it, a cage was still a cage. He faintly recalled Dr. Kanou's speech of a twisted world entrapped in a birdcage. At the time, he hadn't understood. Or rather, he hadn't cared to even try to understand. But with his cage more visible than ever, Kaneki felt that he could finally understand the mad scientist. It was an uncomfortable thought.

He shuddered as he remembered the twisted man's faux fatherly smile as he invited him to join his "family". And he remembered the parental disappointment he wore when Kaneki had rejected his offer. He'd looked down on the young man that he had doomed as if he were just a spoiled child throwing a tantrum.

Just what was it with these twisted men trying to adopt him? At the very least, Arima didn't experiment on him. A crib was much better than being strapped to a cold and sterile lab table. Especially, when the crib was as comfortable as the one he practically lived in.

These days, his crib was more of a nest than a proper bed, filled to the brim with various blankets and pillows. This was only to be expected, Kaneki mused with some humor. After all, Arima was a dove and doves made nests for their young. Even if their nestlings weren't exactly doves themselves apparently. Not that Kaneki could complain.

He rather liked his little nest full of soft things. And it was always a bit funny to see Arima bring home yet another blanket, plushy or pillow as if Kaneki needed another. Thanks to that though, Kaneki had more than enough things to comfort him. Or to suffocate himself with if he was so inclined.

But suicidal thoughts aside, he enjoyed his bed even though he only used it during the day. Most of his nights were spent in Arima's room or sleeping in the rocking chair with his over-indulgent caretaker. Far too often, they had both dozed off in the rocker after reading into the wee hours of the morning.

It wasn't entirely his fault either. Rare as they were, there had been times when he had slept peacefully on his own. Unfortunately, he'd be woken by Arima who was anxiously waiting to be needed. It would seem that the both of them had developed an unnatural dependency on each other.

Kaneki liked to poetically think, that on the days when his nightmares left him alone, they were plaguing the reaper instead.

But just what could scare a man that even monsters feared?

Misplacing his glasses? Accidentally showing up to work in just his underwear? Butterflies? What was Arima afraid of?

As amusing as it was to speculate about the stoic man having silly fears, Kaneki knew what the man was really afraid of. He'd seen Arima's frightened face that day Haise had "gone to sleep". He'd seen how Arima's fear had progressed into insanity when he realized that Haise was gone forever. He still saw the lingering fear in Arima's expression when he gazed upon him, no doubt dreading the day death or life's circumstances separated them forever.

Arima looked very vulnerable in these moments. As if he could break. As if he could die from grief alone. And that scared Kaneki more than Arima's invulnerability ever had.

Shaking off his troubling thoughts, he stared up at the solar system dancing above his head. His grey eyes first found the small, lonesome Pluto doing its wide orbit. As if hypnotized, his gaze followed it for a full orbit, before locating the next planet and then the next. His mind supplied him with memorized facts as he surveyed each planet. His eyes landed on Earth and he solemnly thought of home. He stared at the little moon and found himself missing an eccentric man. As always, the sun reminded him of Hide. And even if it wasn't the real sun, it still hurt him when he stared at it too long. He missed Hide most of all. His eyes flitted back to the lonely Pluto and he could only sympathize. It was so far away from the sun, so far away from everyone. If Hide was the Sun, then he must be Pluto.

The baby mobile was clearly well-made and probably expensive. He imagined Tsukiyama most likely had something similar above his crib as a baby. His mind trailed off as he pondered about what Tsukiyama was like as a baby. The only thing he could really conclude was that he must've been spoiled rotten and had chubby little cheeks.

While too intricate for a baby to truly enjoy, it was perfect entertainment for a bored half-ghoul who had been forcibly infantilized. If he was honest, he quite enjoyed his room. He refused to admit it was a nursery.

The ceiling was as dark as the night sky. On bad days, it reminded him of the void he'd been staring into for most of his life. It reminded him of those few months he's been without his sight. But on good days, he was able to focus on the green glow of the artificial stars. Arima had painstakingly recreated the night sky for him. It complimented his old night light well.

As ashamed as he was to admit, Kaneki appreciated the soft glow of the night light. Even if it was something that was meant only for children, Kaneki hadn't ever had such a thing to chase away the many fears of his childhood. He had been just as afraid of the dark as any other child, but he had also been poor. And poor children couldn't afford the luxury of comfort or safety. Being frightened was much better than being starved after all. So eventually, he learned to ignore all the monsters lurking in the shadows whether they be imagined or real.

But Kaneki's fear of the dark had never ceased. Even as he became a monster in his own right, he found himself anxious of the bigger and badder monsters that stalked the same streets as him. His fear had only worsened during his time as Haise. He had been afraid of most things, so it was no surprise that nighttime made him anxious too. Between his nightmares and over-active imagination, he was a mess. It was Arima, with his unconventional outlook on life and lack of social propriety, that had solved his problem.

While most people probably would have told their twenty something half-ghoul student to just grow up, Arima had simply shrugged and figured his bed was big enough for the both of them. And for the days when he couldn't be there to chase away his student's bad dreams, he bought a nightlight. Arima had little sense of what was normal and Haise had even less of an idea. Thus, the Death God's disciple cut down hundreds of ghouls by day and slept needing the assurance of a nightlight by night. He hadn't realized it was strange until Urie had spotted it in his room and given him a long judging look. But then again, long, judging looks were typical Urie behavior.

Urie. He'd always been so prickly. He hoped the troubled youth had learned to soften up for the sake of the others. He wondered how the Quinx were faring without him. Did they miss him? Did anyone at the CCG miss him? Did anyone even care?

Sometimes, he would lose himself to happy day dreams of being rescued by his friends. He'd smile as he imagined Akira scolding Arima as if the man was just an unruly cat that kept climbing on tables. Sometimes he imagined Juuzou, Itou and the Quinx rushing to his rescue. Sometimes he imagined Touka and all his old ghoul friends breaking him out of his prison. More often than not, he imagined both sides putting aside their differences and teaming up to save him. Those were the happiest day dreams.

They were also the most impossible.

Kaneki was not a ghoul. He was not a human. And he certainly was not a bridge between them.

People couldn't be bridges and they couldn't be homes. People were people. Fleeting and flawed.

Now that he had been removed from the world, he finally understood it.

It was just as wrong as he had once believed.


"They miss you. Everyone misses you, Haise," Arima admitted one night. He had never talked about the outside world. About all the people Kaneki had been forced to leave behind again and again. But now, he whispered about the outside with his quietest inside voice.

"I miss you, Haise," Arima whispered into his hair. It was as close as he would ever come to admitting that Kaneki was not Haise.

The nightlight glowed comfortingly in the corner, but Kaneki found that he was still scared. Scared of the darkness in Arima's voice. In his eyes.

Kaneki's head throbbed with phantom pain as he remembered the last time Arima had succumbed to darkness. He remembered the same darkness from when his mother would lose control. He never wanted to go through that again.

Fueled by desperation, he reached for him with what remained of his arms and hugged him close. It was something Haise would have done, It was what he used to do as a child to quell his mother's rage. Pathetically offering up affection and pleas of love so that he could avoid pain. Love born fear wasn't love and he knew this. But if he could convince himself, then maybe he could convince them too.

So he lied that night as he had done many times before. With a mouth that couldn't speak words, he mouthed words of love hoping that Arima's cold eyes would be able to see them. Hoping that Arima would believe his lies.

When the sun finally spilled over the horizon, Kaneki found that it had been enough. Arima smiled at him, a warm light emanating from his eyes as he returned Kaneki's fear-fueled hug.

Kaneki smiled back and that was a lie, too.

Behind his smile, he fretted for the day that he couldn't chase away the darkness.

Because he couldn't be the bridge that Anteiku had wanted. He couldn't be the home that so many strays had wanted. And he couldn't be the light that Arima had needed. He couldn't be Haise.

But he could lie.

And so that's what he did.


A/N: So the mystery of how the CCG is reacting to this situation has been cleared. They will trickle back into the story later, but I thought it would be a good idea to share how they're all currently feeling. Also, I probably wasted too much time exploring how Kaneki feels again, but I just really wanted to expand more on what "the nursery" looks like. Sorry if I wasn't graceful about this info dump, but I'm glad the information is out there now.

Once again, thank you sooooo much for all the support! I really wish I could hug each and every one of you that have encouraged me! You don't know just how happy all the reviews, follows and faves have made me. This is completely selfish, but please continue to support this story and let me know what you think. You are all golden and I love you!

Oh! And all those having to contend with Hurricane Harvey, please stay safe! I'm praying for y'all! I hope everyone has a safe, wonderful day! Thanks for reading!

~Dotti3