A/N:

Hello all! Anyone who knows me probably knows me for my downright obsession with Albedo. And that's fine. I've written non-fiction and roleplayed (Paragraph format-and, don't worry, there will be NO OCs in this. Canon and original don't mix.) for years, and figured it was about time to make a fanfic. To be completely honest, the fact that there hasn't been any updates on any good Albedo fics in much too long (and I'm terribly impatient) was a rather key factor. (Here's looking at you, Tylida! My cruel, yet most wondrous goddess.)

And so, out of the insanity, this came!

The title comes from what Jr. claims before your final fight with Albedo: "I'm going to rip you out of here and drag you back to the Durandal!"

And, that's the main basis of this fic. I don't want to spoil too much, though. 3

I've left it rated T for now, but there's quite a chance it'll be bumped to an M before long.

Any of the French I'll probably leave untranslated; if Albedo doesn't explain it to poor little Rubedo later, then it's either not important, or you can look it up. c:

The full titles and the chapter titles will probably be different each time—I like nice, long chapter titles, but, alas! Fanfic only leaves room for a word or two. Anyways, enjoy! And, do review, uploading's somewhat a pain (thank you, Razzy-chan!), so if there's not enough like for this story, I may just not upload them. *shrug*

Second chapter's rough draft is almost finished, but I'll probably wait to see the reception of this one before I upload it.

Chapter 1

The Eternal Chain Cannot Be Broken

The fight had been long: tedious, even. Sure, it was fun to have his final fight with the redhead, but said boy was taking so long. He wanted to attack right back; alas, a few morning stars and ice blasts were the worst he could do. He could always use any element, but ice seemed particularly "right" at this moment. Battling a crimson serpent, blowing tendrils of flames; it was only natural to counter with the polar winds of ice.

Frail, frail Rubedo... he began to wonder if casting safety was even going to do the job before fainting from exhaustion. Even modifying this realm to heal the few wounds he gave was beginning to become tedious. And, who knows, if he ran out of ether, he would have to sit there helpless. A helpless victim was definitely not one Rubedo would go for...

A few escape routes came to mind, in case this went on for too long. The pain was nice, so nice, but the tension from fear of not-death was getting to him. His best, though longest escape route would be out the way his precious Rubedo came in; the redhead's way out would probably be via that disturbingly pure presence floating around—his guardian angel, no doubt. Another option would be to summon his reconstructed Simeon: though, was Wilhelm even done with it? The bulky form was to be replaced with a lithe hydra, dashed with glorious orange, a sickly red. Then again, the deal he made with Wilhelm may not be valid if he didn't die... that wouldn't be good. The latter option of escaping seemed less valid. He could always just teleport, but that always left him so tired, and then he'd be at the mercy of listening to Margulis rant and ramble. Not that he had any room to complain, having been giving his own obsession a nice, psychotic rant moments ago. Yes, that fired him up.

But, as for Margulis... Did his lover boy kill him? No, probably not. He was too stubborn to die: it was one of the few things he liked about his so-called boss: that refusal to give up, despite his goals being hollow, mindlessly following some annoying voice...

...no, he'd just have to restrain himself. If he kept this mocking up, certainly the stressed boyish figure would give him just enough shots, just enough fire...

The white-headed variant wondered if amidst the battle, his much younger older brother would notice everything he did to create a perfectly poetic arena.

The Kirschwassers lined the room, frozen: ageless as his brother was, and just as defenseless. A quick shatter to that glass, and their existence would be over.

The walls were gruesome, wavering images that could be anything one imagined. Mostly, though, they looked like bones: giant, monstrous bones. Fitting for a monster's grave, he figured; and if Rubedo didn't see that, perhaps he'd think they were to represent his own dragon bones.

Did he notice the red and blue wires spread across the room, converging on his red throne? It was Rubedo who shaped him, after all. It was Rubedo he wanted to be close to, to be seated beside him in his new world; correction, their new world. A shame that the king of this new world would not take the reins from his hard-working knight. But, that figures; this king was much more of a taker than a receiver.

Even his choice in gloves were for him; the pale lavender was the middle between his own snow white and deep amethyst eyes. After all, purple originated from that fusion of blue and red that his twin carried. Really, all variants used that blue as a base for their eyes, their secondary identities; mixed with namesake locks, their primary identities. Blue was mixed with a dash of the leader's red for himself, a dash of their father's bronze for the ever-loyal sister, and a dash of the sister's yellow for the executioner.

Alas, his brother was oblivious to the world around him, just doing the empty task he encouraged ever so strongly. He kept shooting those bullets infused with his glorious god-killing fire. If it could kill a god, surely it could kill a simple human strangled by that god's power.

And it was working. Complete control of this domain allowed him to cover how slowly the wounds were beginning to regenerate. U-DO enhanced the rate, Red Dragon destroyed U-DO. His own regeneration relied on the UMN, which relied on U-DO; no U-DO, no UMN, no regeneration.

None the less, back to the primary point, this battle was getting cumbersome. That red rage was somewhat returning to serene blue.

"The only one who can kill me is you, Rubedo..." he smirked triumphantly, as if to kindle the fire back. But, there was a bit of shock instead. Oh, right, his brother dared to have fantasies where he dragged his nearly 6'3" body all the way back to his ship; he'd be lucky to even find the way out. Granted, if he fainted instead of died, then who knows what would happen to this domain...

"Can't you do anything by yourself?" he quipped, struggling to stay standing under the massive blood loss. Ah, illusions. So convenient, especially to someone blinded with rage.

"Shut up!" the red-head roared back, his aura vibrating in response. Good, good, he was back on track.

"Give it to me, fill me with your rage!"

"Albedo...!" Those teeth grinded, giving another double dose of bullets. It didn't matter where they went; as long as they made damn contact! The way his narcissistic brother flinched and stumbled to a sitting position so often implied they were. But there weren't even bullet holes! It was ridiculous, and he was getting tired. When Albedo regenerated him, it made him feel sick to the stomach, healing the few wounds he had. It was more like he was being forced to heal his wounds, forcing any positive energy the Red Dragon managed to have into Medica. He'd be damned if he wasted any time to heal himself, he just wanted the monster in front of him sedated.

"Now! Kill me now!" a beastly growl and more shots, deciding to take this a bit more systematically: one limb at a time. He shot relentless at that left arm, until he was out of bullets.

It wasn't until he went to reload he noticed something peculiar. First off, Albedo was sitting, head hung down. Secondly, the entire area was starting to collapse. Was it over? He ran closer to his brother, both out of worry and survival instinct: the pillars were less numerous up here. However, there were still no wounds on him and...

"Not bad... Rubedo," he sounded so weak. But he was just mocking him a moment ago...

"Albedo? You..." Are alright? Are pulling an elaborate trap? ...Are going to die?

A small chuckle came out, completely devoid of previous sanity. It sounded almost... sad.

"Well, Rubedo, admit it: you enjoyed that, didn't you?" it was a complicated question, but with a simple answer. The redhead replied without thinking.

"Yeah. It was fun," it reminded him of those years in the past, playing war games with his brothers. Demented or not, growing up a bioweapon, war games were considered "play" for them. And it was rare that the variants would be on the same side: that just wouldn't be fair to the standards.

"My blood danced in my veins... we really are nothing more than instruments of war," the boy stated factually, eyes locked on his brother. The throne that seemed to confine him dissipated—another illusion?—as the nearly bare man came half-tumbling down the stairs. He sat at the bottom of those steps, near Rubedo, but leaving just enough space to not pop his leader's bubble.

"No, that's not it," the albino muttered, as if he'd just had an epiphany. "We're not foolish because we're tools," a pause for the twin's expectations to grow, "It's because we're men," because, deep down, they were human. It was natural instinct, the fight of flight reaction: and neither twin had enough sense or lacked enough pride to ever chose flight over fight. The boy's eyes darted back and forth over his brother's body, uncertain how to take this new-found sanity, let alone the words he was saying.

"Oblivion, huh? You might say... this is a release," his grip on the illusions was slipping. His arm had long been gone, and the intangible one he created was vanishing. An unfortunately good thing Rubedo wasn't a hugger, else there wouldn't be much to hug...

"At least... I won't have to fear losing anyone anymore," and that was his intention, his goal, all along. To not have to loose anyone he cared about; to not care about as many people as possible. But, sometimes that was hard; so, he had to kill them himself. Yes, eliminate the fear of losing them by getting over it... and over it, and over it, and over it...

"Albedo?" unfortunately, the one person he could never bring himself to kill, was staring at him with big, childish, and confused eyes.

"What's with that face?" he couldn't let him hurt too much for the rest of his life, acting nonchalant would be best. But... still, he had to know... "You look like... you just lost your best friend, Rubedo,"

"You bastard!" yes, he was hurt, "You knew... all along!" tears were welling in those beautiful cerulean eyes. Nonchalantly would be much better.

"What are you talking about?" unfortunately, a smile was tugging at his lips. "I... I can't stand you or Nigredo," that damn smile wouldn't leave. He felt almost at peace, knowing his death and Testamenthood were both soon. As a Testament, he could protect Rubedo, from the shadows; affect fate in his favor. It would be wonderful to watch over him, prevent his death. Speaking of imminent deaths...

"Rubedo. Beware of Nigredo's shadow," that Executioner was still alive and kicking, after all; the primary threat to Rubedo's life. Last time he connected with the baby variant, he felt something... disturbingly familiar weaseling its way to the surface. "Think why it is... he doesn't react to U-DO," the younger looking let out a small sob, realizing this was good bye. But, really, it wouldn't be…

Angels—no, winged Kirschwassers—were descended from god knows where.

"Kirschwassers?" All a part of the grand, illusion-filled plan, to ease Rubedo's conscience. Surely, if angels were to carry Albedo off, he was to go to heaven. That's what he wanted his beloved twin to believe, at least. Granted, neither heaven nor hell were his destiny, but something far greater and more terrible.

The sound of bullets disturbed the silently, sobbing peace. Illusions here might as well been real: gloriously accomplished by U-DO. So, when a spray of bullets went through those dove-like wings, he fell. When he hit the ground, an earsplitting crack of bones was heard, and that unsuspected pain disturbed the illusion he cast on himself. The arm was gone, his torso drenched with blood, and bullets were still lodged in their target.

Rubedo froze at the sight. There was so, so much blood. He was absolutely drenched in it, and it was all his fault! Wasn't he supposed to be immortal, supposed to regenerate from... from anything? A small laugh made his mouth close and he went to say something, but it was lost. The laugh started gentle, then grew to the regular psychotic.

"You—ah..." more laughing, body unable to support itself as it slumped to the ground. "You just... you just can't let me go, can you, Rubedo?" all his plans were just blasted to hell. He didn't have enough power left to even try to finish himself off. Those escape routes from earlier began filing through his head, and he realized that he couldn't summon Simeon, because he was being reconstructed; he couldn't just walk out, because his legs wouldn't support him; and he couldn't teleport, because he didn't have enough. Every bit of his energy was trying to force him to regenerate, despite his conscious objections to it. Why couldn't his flesh just give up on life? It'd make everything so much easier.

His body ached, a feeling so much different than pain; dull, bothersome, endless. Pain was passionate, like hate; but aching was tedious, like loneliness. Unfortunately, despite being worn out himself, that damned little redhead was planning on holding up his promise. He planned on dragging him back to that warship he called home. He didn't realize he was still laughing until a sickeningly soft voice interrupted. His laughing morphed into quieter giggles, though he wasn't happy, he wasn't amused; he just didn't know how else to react, to the irony of his independent twin refusing to let him go.

"Jr.?" that damned guardian angel had shown up, using that terrible feline-stolen name. Not even the full name, just the secondary creation due to his "adoptive father" having the full. Honestly, who would name themselves after a cat? Granted, he himself stole his last name from an Austrian musician who was considered ancient even when Lost Jerusalem was fled. But, what's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell just as sweet. Speaking of his most beloved color...

Blood blurred his vision, and despite his best ability to push the hands away that were holding him up, he couldn't. He noticed two bodies beside him, one supporting each side; granted, the left on had a shoulder to support. Gloved figured covered that side, daring to get close to him; although, that placed Rubedo on the right side, close to his heart, and that wasn't so bad...

Honestly, what the hell was he thinking? He couldn't take Albedo back to the Durandal! Wounded or not, he would regenerate, then cause who knows what kind of havoc: kill his 100-Series, steal his emulators, hack into his system… it was just too risky. So, with a knowing glance to his angelic companion—really, what was chaos doing here?—both age-defying boys began lugging the near-unconscious warrior towards the Elsa. Honestly, it didn't take as long as the redhead expected; one moment, the pink-red of U-DO was beginning to seep in through the cracks… the next moment they were in the women's quarters on the Elsa.

"chaos? How did we…"

"I thought the female's area would be better," chaos quickly interrupted, "They won't be disturbed, and we don't have any women on board right now…" the boy stared is disbelief, quickly losing his want to even ask how the hell they got here.

"That's… pretty damn good thinkin', chaos," his mind was on more important things, anyways. Like, how he was going to deal with his psychotic brother once he woke up. Being that close to death—or elaborate escape—and having his plans quite literally shot to pieces, his brother wouldn't be happy if he woke up. When. When he woke up. There was no way he was going to go through all this trouble to have his brother just… bleed out and die.

"Jr.?"

But, should he restrain him? Tie him down? That might just make him mad…

"Jr."

To hell if he's mad, it'd be better than him finishing himself off or running off.

"Jr.!"

"What!" the redhead finally answered, with a bit too much bite. He immediately regretted it as he saw the subtle shock in his companion's turquoise eyes. "I—sorry, chaos. I just—"

"With as much energy as you used on him, he probably won't be up on his feet terribly soon,"

"…you think?" even before his U-DO infection, he regenerated fairly easily. Like the time at the Institution…

Unit number 623 had been the object of Albedo's rage. It certainly wasn't his fault that his Standard siblings had been infected, and did as all infected standards did; attacked anything that wasn't infected.

The Standards weren't even really allowed to fight back. Just against Gnosis, U-DO, and the assigned enemy. So, unless ordered, 623 would just have to silently take the beating; it's not like he stood a chance, anyways. 666 may have been a monster, but at least he was collared; 667 may not have been as much as a monster, but he wasn't collared. So, as the white-headed variant beat the lowly standard into a pulp, he couldn't help be a bit frightened when the collared monster and his tamer came walking over; obviously they'd come to join in the fun. Were Standards even allowed to feel fear? Not against the enemy, but they had all just experienced it. U-DO was… frightening. But their allies were…

To his surprise, though, the beatings stopped. Out of the corner of his swollen eyes, he could see the uniformed backs topped with red and black; the assaulter above him seemed ready to cry. Variants were so emotional; the white one had to be the most sad, the red the most mad. The yellow and black were surprisingly mellow, but when linked up with them, one could feel the onslaught of emotions they tried so hard to bury. It was pathetic for weapons to have so much feeling; the only feelings necessary were ones that helped you survive.

If the beatings had been in the real world, the situation would have been much different. Sure, he would have had a few cracked ribs and a generally broken face, but those would heal with time. URTVs may have been disposal, but being in the 600s saved him from being tossed aside easily.

But, the beatings weren't in the real world. They were in the Encephalon. In the subconscious domain. The domain that all the Standards shared. Which means the injuries he sustained would be placed on the brain, and affect the rest of his brothers. He was good as dead. The leader knew it. He hoped otherwise, and he would never know anyways: Dr. Yuriev had the habit of making up completely true bullshit excuses. "Died in the line of battle" can apply to about anything. /

Surprisingly and unknowingly to the standard, the first variant was determined not to let this happen again. He had to talk about it to his ravenous little brother.

He wasn't even sure how to start. The redhead just glowered angrily, trying to find the words, hoping his brother would realize why he was so mad. …but doubting it. His younger twin just didn't understand such simple social expectations, if they ever were relieved of their weapon's duty, then he'd have to teach Albedo common sense. Then again, Sakura had taught the red-head most of what he knew…

"What?" the bratty, somewhat confused tone broke him from his thoughts. What? What? Really?

"What were you thinking?" he just didn't understand his once symbiotic twin. "Number 623's badly injured!" oh, he understood now. Rubedo was just mad he hurt someone again. He should be happy…

"Hm? Is that what this is about?" he really shouldn't be angry. It was so easy to fix… "All's he gotta do is just regenerate. What's the problem?"

"Regenerate?" the leader was confused, but that excited, all-knowing look in his twin's eyes made him quickly regret his words. What was he planning now?

"Regenerate," he said like a lecture, whipping out his pistol and casually aiming it at his head. He was frozen with confusion—why was he suicidal? Was it the coldness earlier? He was just trying to teach him a lesson and…

"Like this," and then, like that, his head was… gone. And they screamed. Later, the variants would wonder if their middle brother heard the scream. If he did, would he then realize what terror it brought them? But, no: no head, no ears, no hearing—hell, no brain to even process sounds. A moment later, the UMN began to form around the top of his shoulders, and after a bright flash of light, the exact same head sat on those shoulders.

"See?" he had to have done this before. Perhaps a great many times before. There was no fear in the easily frightened child, as if regenerating was a normal, everyday task.

He didn't know how to react. He was scared, stressed, beginning the first stage of grieving falsely; he was absolutely furious.

A small mumble from the bloody figure on the back bed made Jr. startle from his thoughts. chaos had wandered off to try and hold up appearances, no doubt doing his best to buy his little friend some time to… sort things out. With no clock or sun to go by, he had no idea if he was lost in thoughts for a moment or had simply dozed off for hours. Either way, the figure below him was waking up, and he still had no clue what to do with him. The albino let out a miserable groan, though it sounded more… irritated than pained.

The stub of his left arm flailed a bit until the right arm took over and wiped the crimson from his vision. Narrowed amethyst eyes tried to identify where he was; it was a ship, but he didn't think it was the Durandal. He doubted the residential area was so… crowded on a large ship. Perhaps that blasted little blue ship who swept in to save the day more than once? The Elise? Yes, something like that. However, what was far more important than "where" was "who," and the white-headed was more than happy to see his twin glaring down at him with masked concern. A chuckle emanated from his lips, locking his matured eyes onto the boy's childish ones.

"Yo, Rubedo. What's wrong?" another laugh, a bit louder, that stopped short as he bit back a groan— something was grinding against his ribs. Oh, that's right. His precious little redhead had shot him rather full of holes, then refused to let him go. How cumbersomely sweet.

"Listen, Albedo…" that voice was stern. Time to lay down the law, was it? "You're not getting your way. I'm not going to kill you," it sounded like a fact, really. How ridiculous.

"Oh, is that so, Rubedo?" he kept his voice as sickeningly sweet as possible.

"Damn right it is!" oh, that fire was reignited so quickly, despite his fatigue. "I'm going to keep you here until you can fucking function, then throw you in a mental institution! Maybe they'll give you some of that damn nanotreatment, and you can sane up a bit. Then you can… you can…"

"Play house with you and Nigredo? That doesn't sound very fun at all. I'd much rather have a lobotomy done, anyhow: let's do it right now! I'm sure we could find a nice, sharp knife around here somewhere… I'm sure your hands are plenty steady, Rubedo," both variants wondered if the whitette was serious. A lobotomy might have regularly been fun, but in his current condition, it might be a bit… detrimental to his health, even if only temporarily.

"Albedo… you sick bastard!" he let out as loud of laugh as his lungs would allow, as it slowly trickled down into a giggle. "Shut up—keep your voice down! Matthews doesn't know you're here. He'd kill me if he knew you were aboard his precious Elsa…" ah, so, it was the Elsa, not the Elise.

"What role would I take?"

"What?"

"In your happy little family. Your uncle, perhaps? Though black and white area bit too far away for a regular, brotherly bond. Perhaps your long last father, come to take you back from your adopted parent. I have enough sexual prowess for people to believe I'd father a child at the not so tender age of fourteen; and at such a young age, it's obvious why I would have to give up my son. And then, 14 dreadful years later, I find my flesh and blood alive and well. They could easily do a DNA to see just how similar we are, Rubedo. How our genes are nearly the exact same, excepts a few phenotypes reorganized to differentiate us from the non-existent standards," a small chuckle, loving his idea… and the expression on that cherubim face was priceless. Shocked, confused, intrigued, and angered.

"That's—that's so stupid!" probably because he didn't think of it. "No one would believe you were my dad. We don't act or look shit alike and—"

"Don't act alike? Please. They see how stubborn we both are and will immediately connect the dots. And albinism is recessive. Not that I really have that ancient condition, just lightened pigmentation on the hair and eyes,"

"But your eyes aren't—"

"White? Why, didn't you know? Most albinos have blue eyes, the pigmentation is just so thin they appear red due to the blood behind them. But, if it's just the right thickness, then they appear to be purple. And our dear old dad made it just so. Brilliant, isn't he? In his own, terribly demented way…"

"Brilliant my ass! He's dead, now. And I think all his insanity went right to you!" another loud laugh, to which the younger looking cringed. He just laughed, and laughed, and every time, it reminded Jr. of just how much insanity he had. He didn't sense terribly much U-DO energy; he'd canceled quite a bit of it out. He hoped that would help his insanity, but…

"Why am I here? You think I'm better in your frail little care than in, say, a professional? Really, all I need is enough time to regain my energy. You could have left me in that region of space, and I'd be quite alright,"

"You'd be dead! That's not 'quite alright,' if you ask me! Damnit…"

"Oh? Does the dragon want his knight to be in his treasure hoard?"

"You're not my damn knight! And since when do dragons have knights? Aren't knights supposed to… kill dragons?"

"Alas, you are also my king,"

"If you were a knight, you'd listen to your king or kill your dragon! You do neither! You just piss 'im off!" a small, mocking smile crossed the twin's features, and the redhead flinched lightly at the sight of it. That kind of smile usually meant he'd thought of a perfect comeback.

"And isn't angering you my greatest attribute? Who else lets you release your rage and relishes in it? Tsk, Rubedo. You need not and do not feel guilt for hurting me, unlike all those you consider 'friends'… am I right?"

"No!" was the immediate response, as eyes darted back in forth to find a better come back. "I mean, it's true that I… enjoyed fighting you, but I… I don't want to hurt you! The only reason I did as much damage to you as I did was because of your damn illusions!"

"Oh, please. As if you didn't feel my energy dissipating with every bullet,"

"I…" and he did, but it was so minute each time. Eventually the energy was so much less, but with such immense energy still seemingly under the surface, he kept on shooting and shooting…

"You?" he mocked, tilting his head which graced him with a crack. Moaned lightly, rolling his neck back and forth to be greeted with many more. The redhead cringed at the sound, grossed out at Albedo's ability to do that so easily. Maybe his bones weren't as tightly knit together?

"You're a real bastard, you know that?" of course he did, "You're so damned heavy and still me and chaos dragged you all the way here," he still wasn't sure where the Elsa picked them up at… or how they escaped Matthew's and crew's sights. But, that was another question for another day. "And you aren't even grateful!"

"Oh, you have my upmost gratitude for shooting me out of the sky," not much humor was there, bitterness seeping into those tanned features.

"I saved your damn life!" the boy quickly returned.

"You added more years to my prison sentence, known as immortality!" it was times like these when Jr. almost, just almost, wished his brother would just stay psychotically crazy. When he got dark and bitter like this, he was… too human, which reminded him his real brother was buried in there, somewhere.

"Then how about you enjoy the years I granted you!" a bitter little scoff from his bedridden other half, nearly rolling his eyes.

"Sorry, but my brother abandoned me to a terrorist organization, where I grew up killing for a living!" a pause, that venomous glare softening back to its regular smugness. "Of course, it was nice, to see all that blood, that beautiful, wonderful crimson liquid. I wonder: if one tore your head, would the blood even be visible in those blazing locks?" he reached out his functional clawed hand in curiosity of his statement, to which the boy quickly smacked away. A loud laugh resonated, informing the return of nice, normal insanity.

"Keep your hands off of me, Albedo," Jr. gave that venomous glare, not really liking to be touched by much anyone after the Conflict.

"Come now! It's not even my bare hands, just gloriously clawed gloves," he offered his hand out again, to which the boy just stared at. 'Gloriously clawed,' indeed, they were more or less clothed razors.

"Why the hell do you even wear gloves? You're immortal, and I've never seen you sick; so, I figure you've got no reason to be germophobic,"

"'Germophobic'? If you mean mysophobia, then I do have a small case. I'm sure you have it far worse than I, though... if you mean bacillophobia, then, no; pathogens don't bother me in the least. …I like to stay clean, is all. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood out of your hands? I don't think you've ever been bloodstained for that long, Rubedo. You always were fond of hiding behind your guns, even when we were kids,"

"And you were always fond of beating people to a pulp, even as kids. You could never use a gun on someone else. Heh, I bet you're still scared of them, huh?"

"I do not have hoplophobia, no. After my worse fear, monophobia, came true, all the rest of my fears shriveled into nothing. And a fearless man is a very, very dangerous thing,"

"A fearful man is just as bad…"

"You would know... eh, coward?" the redhead narrowed his eyes, not liking the direction this conversation was turning. Or any of the conversations were turning: back towards him. How is it this sociopath always managed to make him feel guilty, when he'd nearly wrote the book on the seven deadly sins?

"You should sleep,"

"Ah, but Rubedo, there's bullets in me,"

"Albedo, I'm tired of—"

"No metaphors, Rubedo. Many of your bullets are lodged within my body still, and I'm regenerating right over them,"

"Oh," was about all he could manage. Now, how the hell to get those out without… well, killing him. "…you should probably sleep and get some energy, first. I'll, uh, get something to dig those out with," or get something to have chaos dig it out with. He was gentler, anyways.

"Merci, mon petit roux,"

"Wh-what?"

"Bon nuit, j'adore toi,"

"What the hell does that mean?" merci meant 'thank you' and nuit meant… night? Alright, so, he told him thank you and night, but, what was all that other crap?

"Don't worry about it," a smirk was set on those lips, eyes narrowing on the enraged figure before him. Such a short, short fuse on his vicious temper.

"I'm—I'm gonna go tell Matthews I'm here. You sleep. If I'm not here when you wake up, then just call me over the…" link. Which they hadn't used in quite some time, since Rubedo sure as hell didn't want to connect with that crazy bastard, else he become just as crazy. "I'll be here when you wake up,"

"Oh, good. I would hate to be lonely," sarcasm laced his voice, meaning he was probably irritably wanting his sleep. And who could blame him? Jr., too, would want to sleep after getting filled with bullet holes. Well, he wouldn't be sleeping, per se, but… "Good night, Rubedo,"

"Y-yeah. Don't mess around with anything, y'hear?"

"Or what?" the boy just glared at the closed eyes of his brother, not bothering with a rebuttal.

He needed to try and explain the situation to Matthews…or find some way to better hide it.

-End Chapter 1-