Work Text:
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. He just stands there in numb, cold shock between the body of the boy he loves and the man he has just learned is his biological father. The smell of blood hangs in the air; that sharp, coppery scent thick enough to turn his stomach. It’s all over his hands, on his shirt, smeared on his face, in his hair, soaked into his pants.
People are talking but he doesn’t hear them because Crow is dead. Crow is dead and the Chancellor is not. Somehow, Crow is the one with a hole in his chest and the Chancellor stands there as though the bullet Crow fired into his heart two months ago were a butterfly.
The Chancellor may be his father but Rean is not his son. Maybe he was once, but it’s thirteen years too late for blood to mean anything. The only blood he cares about is drying on his hands.
Crow is still dead. A glance over his shoulder confirms it. Someone nearby is asking if he needs help, but he just stands there helplessly because Crow is dead.
Rean stumbles into situations and whether by luck or grace or mercy, walks back out intact. He’s never had the kind of mind Crow does (did), able to see the possibilities and weigh the likelihood of each outcome. If he was just a little bit smarter, he would have understood the consequences of Crow’s plan. There was no way Ordine could’ve defended himself. Crow saw that, but Rean didn’t, and Crow knew he wouldn’t because he knew Rean better than Rean knew himself. Knew Rean would make the sacrifice without question and loved him too much to let him do that. Knew there was no going back, no going home, knew that not even Rean’s boundless determination could redeem him, knew only death could do that.
“I’m cleaning up the mess my game left on the board,” he said. Then what? Rean forgot to ask, but now he has the answer. Crow never saw a way out, an option where he survived. He couldn’t tell Rean that because it should have been obvious from the start, and maybe it was. Maybe that was why his friends had all rallied behind his dream to bring the older boy back home, because they knew it had never really been possible, but Rean allowed them to dream, to pretend the world could be put back together into a shape they would all recognize. That the pieces wouldn’t be reshaped by cruel hands into a tool for their own means. Crow broke the world, trusting that Rean and the others would make it better. A world without men like himself and the Chancellor. He knew what he became to fight monsters, and Rean nearly chokes on the irony.
Rean sees a life without Crow stretching on in front of him like a dim hallway with old, cheap bulbs that threaten to burn out any moment and there’s no light at the end of it. Crow is already behind him.
That’s when the hopelessness hits him and he feels his chest start to cave in.
Seconds are slipping by, turning into minutes and maybe days and at some point, his friends carry him out of that room because he can’t move. In his mind, he kicks and screams and throws them all off, running to Crow’s side and holding him just one last and final time, but he’s paralyzed in reality, so he just goes where they take him.
Sometime later, Claire shows up. She sits beside him on the bed and offers her condolences before launching into a prepared speech. Will he help them end the war? Save lives, make things easier for people?
His mouth says yes because Crow is dead and nothing matters anymore.
There’s a certain irony in all this, he thinks passively, as one of Calvard’s tanks explodes. Crow was doing this exact thing, cleaning up the mess his game made, only this isn’t Rean’s mess or Crow’s mess or even the Noble Alliance’s mess. It’s Osborne’s mess, and Rean’s the one cleaning it up because what else is there to do?
He hardly remembers the funeral. He thinks he tried to open the casket and George pulled him into a tight, fierce hug as they both wept. That embrace was the only thing that kept Rean upright. He’s pretty sure he threw up at some point, but quietly and out of sight, so as to not inconvenience anyone. Afterward, they all told stories about Crow, and Sara allowed them all some alcohol (with the exception of Millium and Fie). Angelica poured everyone a shot of something and joked that it was what Crow would have wanted, and how pleased he would be to know he was corrupting them from the afterlife.
Rean tried to laugh along, as though each anecdote wasn’t the equivalent of putting his insides through a meat grinder.
He goes through the motions of each day without much thought, because if he ever stopped to really think about it, he’d break. In a way, he’s almost grateful when the Intelligence Division calls him away from school. Crow’s ghost is in every room at Thors, the wind on Rean’s skin feels like the other boy’s breath. On every path, around every corner, he still expects to see the silver-haired boy walking with his hands laced behind his head.
He thinks Patrick understands. Has caught him trying to bring it up a few times, asking if Rean needs to talk about anything, offering his ear, trying to be a friend while maintaining their feigned rivalry.
He catches Rean outside the old schoolhouse one day.
“I remember the first time I came here,” Patrick says, breaking the silence. “Your sister had wandered in, chasing after that cat. He called me ‘Patastrophe’.”
“Yeah.” It comes out thick and forced, his throat clenching so tightly around the syllable he thinks it might close. Then he turns away and heads back toward the path.
“Rean,” he tries, “he had his faults, but he was a good man. I’m... I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too.”
Teaching at Leeves feels like penance. Everything reminds him of Crow, reminds him that the world has moved on and Rean hasn’t. He keeps that coin on his desk when it’s not in his pocket, right beneath their class picture.
When he sees Azure Siegfried for the first time at the top of Stargazer’s Tower, Rean forgets how to breathe. He sees that masked face and messy white hair, and he smells blood and feels a damaged heart stop beating beneath his hands in his memory, but still, hope twitches in his gut, his body betraying him.
He watched Crow die. He was there when they put his body in the ground. This masked stranger cannot possibly be Crow...
And yet –
No. Hope is dangerous.
But – there’s Ordine’s shadow –
No.
He numbs himself again, but Azure Siegfried haunts his dreams. Crow haunts him, too. Haunts him in the echoes he sees in Randy, in Ash’s troublemaking and anger, in Sidney, in Musse’s relentless flirting, in Juna’s love for her hometown, in Kurt’s passion, and of course, in Stark.
Crow would like Leeves. He’d make a good instructor. He was always patient, always helpful. He’d be able to get through to Ash in a way Rean hasn’t yet.
When he sees the masked man at Juno Fortress, he almost can’t stop himself from reaching out as the blue long-coat brushes past him. The familiarity makes his knees weak and he swallows a sob in his throat.
He’s torn between rage and agony. “You’ve stolen his face and I hate you for it” and “I want it to be you so badly I can’t breathe.”
At Himmel Cemetery, he doesn’t wait for Towa to arrive with a shovel. He’s on his knees in the dirt, clawing through fistfuls of suspiciously loose soil with almost manic intensity.
He doesn’t hear Kurt’s concerned voice asking if he’s all right or Juna imploring him to wait, doesn’t notice the tears streaming down his own face or the sweat dripping from his forehead. He doesn’t see Ash kneeling down nearby, digging his own hands into the earth without a word. Doesn’t see Musse or Altina follow suit, or Juna and Kurt do the same.
It’s Towa who finally pulls him away. He flinches and starts to shove her aside before Randy catches his fist.
“Hey there, buddy. Slow down,” he coaxes. “We’re here to help.”
Rean’s breathing is labored and he blinks a few times, finally coming back to himself. He goes to wipe his eyes, and again, Randy stops him.
He’s puzzled by the dirt on his hands and wipes them on his coat. Towa cleans his face with her scarf, and Rean turns toward his students.
Class VII stands there, looking concerned but not with pity. Their hands and knees are filthy. The ends of Altina’s white hair are a muddy brown color, and Ash has streaks of earth across his face. Juna has a smear of it under her chin, and Kurt’s brow is dirty as well. Musse’s normally-immaculate skirt is a rumpled mess.
“I... I’m s –”
“‘S okay, Instructor,” Ash replies, and they share a moment of silence. This boy knows loss.
Without a word, Randy and Towa get to work and it’s not long before they’re standing in front of an empty grave.
Rean cries quietly because there are no miracles in this world. Something like this doesn’t come without strings, and the price of whatever sort of mock-resurrection this is certainly isn’t cheap. He knows something’s been done to Crow. Knows without a doubt. The coldness, the contempt, the utter lack of acknowledgment... Crow was never able to fool Rean. Not even when he’d first betrayed them and tried to make them hate him.
“... You know, it figures the guy with a harem of chicks falling all over him would be in love with a dude,” Ash sighs from where he stands, leaning against a tree. “What a waste.”
Rean shrugs.
“The guy’s got abs for days, though; I’ll give you that.”
And Rean laughs. It’s small and short, but real. “You two would get along. Probably team up and cause no end of trouble.”
“Wouldn’t have figured you’d go for the bad-boy type, Mr. Goody-two-shoes.”
Rean shrugs. “You can’t choose who you love.”
Ash makes a noise of agreement and crosses his arms over his chest. “Look, I didn’t know the guy, but it seems to me like he wouldn’t want you moping like this.”
Rean looks at his student.
“He’s alive, right? Somehow, some way, he’s alive. And you’re the most stubborn bastard I’ve ever met. That guy doesn’t stand a chance, and neither does whatever’s messed with him.”
It’s the closest to a compliment he’ll ever get from the blond boy.
Rean feels one side of his mouth curl slightly upward at the edge. “Heh, I’m the one who’s supposed to make cheesy, motivational speeches.”
Ash sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, just don’t tell anybody you’re rubbin’ off on me, all right? I’ve got a reputation.”
Rean smiles. “No one will ever know.”
And maybe Ash is right. He feels a spark of his old self again, the part of him that died in the Infernal Castle with Crow returning to life like blood to a numb limb. The feeling that carried him through the civil war begins to trickle into his blood. It’s not hope; it’s certainty. Absolute and unshakable certainty that he’ll bring Crow back, and this time, he won’t fail.
That resolve carries him through their battle in the catacombs and propels him to victory. It’s not skill or strength but sheer will that sees him through. He’s determined to get that mask off Crow’s face. If he could just do that , Rean thinks – no, he knows everything would be all right.
But Siegfried has other plans. And for as impassive as he is, he seems to grow almost imperceptibly frustrated when Rean calls him “Crow”.
He summons Ordine by name, and now there’s no doubt. Not in Rean’s mind, nor in the thoughts of anyone in the original Class VII.
So why does Rean feel a sinking sense of dread?
“Don’t expect any interest on that,” Siegfried sneers.
Rean wonders if this is how it felt when the Vermillion Knight’s tail stabbed through Crow’s chest.
Rean is tired.
He feels like all the marrow has been sucked from his bones, like if someone knocked on his chest, they’d hear it echoing through his ribcage like a scream in an empty cathedral.
He’s so tired of fighting Crow. He kind of wants to cry, to just break down and sob so hard he can’t tell if he’s laughing or crying anymore because he’s glass under pressure and even the delicate wisp of a butterfly’s wings could shatter him.
But Crow still knows how to push all his buttons in the right combination to get what he wants, so they fight. They fight and they fight again , just like they did in the Infernal Castle – and Rean hates himself for still being so slow, because Crow is fading away, just like Rean feared he would, just like Crow planned – of course he fucking planned this – planned to throw himself away and die for Rean again – and Rean is just so fucking done with all of this.
Fuck Crow and his noble sacrifice.
Fuck the prophecies.
Fuck fate.
As Rean grabs Crow by his collar he’s clutching the very last thread of a rapidly-fraying rope and screams in Crow’s face. He doesn’t ask – he’s through being polite and tired of waiting for Crow to come around. He yanks him into a tight hug and holds on, even as the world goes dark and consciousness slips away.
When he comes to again, Crow is still there, sitting on the bed nearby. Rean’s not sure what exactly he did or how he did it but somehow, he’s keeping Crow alive, and it’s the first time he’s really, truly smiled since he came back to himself in the Workshop.
Crow doesn’t fight him this time. When he bumps Rean’s fist in return, he sees tenderness and determination as Crow promises to follow Rean straight into the depths of Gehenna.
They’re both living on borrowed time, but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that the seams of the world are ripping apart or that there’s a corrosive thing in Rean’s chest that whispers in his dreams and extends its sneaky tendrils when his attention is elsewhere. It doesn’t matter that Crow’s hair is white instead of silver, or that his complexion is too pale. The absence of a beating heart in his chest matters as much as the fact that the one inside Rean’s belonged to Osborne.
All they have is right now, precious seconds slipping through the present, melting like hot wax to reveal the future hidden inside. The flame will burn out and so will they, and it will be up to their friends to make use of what the two of them leave behind.
They’re so much more alike than Rean ever thought. Both self-sacrificing to the point of self-destruction; both haunted by their past regrets, both have already accepted their own deaths yet refuse to acknowledge the other’s.
They want the other to live as much as they themselves want to die.
It’s not something they can forget about for long, but even still, there are moments when they almost do. And while “almost” usually only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, it’s enough for them now.
In Mishelam, Rean takes him on the ferris wheel and the Haunted Villa. The first time through, Crow is so flustered by Rean constantly messing with him, whispering “don’t miss” in his ear and pinching his side to make him flinch, that he ends up with an impressively embarrassing score. He pouts and Rean apologizes and they go through again. Rean smirks but holds himself back, and sure enough, Crow kicks ass and wins him a stuffed Mishy, and Rean is enjoying himself too much to even ask himself if maybe Altina will want it when they’re both gone tomorrow.
They walk through the Castle of Mirrors, bathed in its quicksilver, ethereal glow. They both know their futures, but it’s good to see Beryl, and the look of embarrassed vulnerability Crow shields with a hand to his face when she calls him out on the true meaning of the “gamble” he plans to make touches Rean to his core. Crow is so rarely shy; Rean can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen him this soft, and Rean just wants to take him in his arms and shield him from anything that might so much as throw a harsh glare his way – and it hurts like little else has when he realizes how impossible that is.
They share a drink with Machias at the end of the night and head outside to watch the sky lanterns and fireworks, and fuck it, it’s their last night on Earth, so what’s the worst that can happen?
His hand finds Crow’s and holds it tentatively, loose enough for the other to break away, and Rean’s worthless little heart soars and dives in his chest when Crow squeezes it back.
They retire to Rean’s room and lie in each other’s arms, never saying anything but understanding it all the same.
If we had time, I’d…
Me, too.
But they don’t, and because nothing sweet was meant to last, the hours dissolve like sugar.
Rean dreams that night. Dreams of tomorrow, of the Ironbloods, of McBurn, of defeating Osborne and consuming Ishmelga. Dreams of pain and suffering burning in his veins like acid and it takes everything in him not to scream. Dreams of the sky, higher up than any airship he’s ever been aboard could climb, dreams of light. Light so bright and beautiful it’s almost painful, of his heart swelling with love enough to beat back the darkness threatening to consume him; something warm and familiar entwining with him somehow, threads of love shielding his soul from the darkness, lifting it out of his body so Rean can join them and stretch across infinity.
It’s a lovely dream and a fitting end, but when he wakes with Crow beside him, his heart clutches in his chest.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Crow teases, though it’s clear he’s only just woken up himself.
Rean brushes some hair out of Crow’s eyes. Maybe Rean isn’t worthy of a second chance (or would this be his third?), but Crow is .
“I’m not giving up on you, Crow,” he says.
Crow gives him that sad, touched smile. “Rean… don’t get your hopes up.”
Rean wants to laugh. “I gave up on hope a while ago,” he replies. “All I’ve got now is will.”
“I’d laugh if you hadn’t willed me back to ‘life’ with pure stubbornness once already,” Crow jokes. “But whatever happens today, Rean, I need you to know that I didn’t regret a second of our time together, short as it was. If today’s the end for me, there’s no better way to go out than at your side.”
“Crow, I –”
“Later, yeah?” Crow interrupts, smiling through the hurt that glitters in his eyes. He takes Rean’s hand and gives it a squeeze, draws in a deep breath and steadies himself against the shine in his eyes.
Rean gives a slow nod of acceptance. “Later.”
They fight their way through Tuatha Dé Danaan. Past Lechter and Claire, Prince Cedric and Shirley, Campanella and Mariabell, Rufus, and McBurn, until the only one left is Osborne.
Rean’s understanding of his father has changed considerably in the last two weeks. It changes again when Osborne apologizes to Crow, and even more when Rean defeats him.
Part of him wants to blame Osborne for sacrificing his own soul to save Rean’s life. The other part reminds the first of what an absolute hypocrite it is, because Rean has already defied fate for Crow.
Yeah, Osborne is definitely his father, and Rean is unquestionably his son.
The curse burns with that horrible pain in his chest, but now it’s in every inch of his body and it hurts to breathe , and Rean marvels at how strong his father was to endure this for the past fourteen years. Rean’s not sure he’ll last fourteen seconds.
That voice rumbles in his head, offering reprieve, offering to relent for the price of his soul, and Rean takes a deep breath and ignores it as best he can.
He remembers his dream from the night before, and knows he only has to hold on a little while.
But something happens, something different than what he dreamt. Instead of Alberich, it’s Alisa’s father who materializes nearby, and instead of cursing them and declaring his undying loyalty to Ishmelga, he tells them to use the Earthen Prison.
He and all his allies take on Ishmelga’s physical form, and somehow, some way, they prevail. They prevail, and Rean feels a strange lightness in his chest and slight disorientation, and the curse is gone.
“I’m glad I got to see the real you one last time,” Crow says with wistful affection, and Rean’s heart seems to shrink in his chest, growing smaller and smaller with each passing beat as it pumps despair through his veins.
“Crow…” he croaks weakly because Rean can’t do this again. How can he go back to living in a world without Crow when he’s only just gotten him back?
Yeah, Crow was right back at the Sol Shrine. Rean is still just as spoiled as he ever was, but only when it comes to Crow.
“This is not a fate you need accept,” Valimar interjects in a comforting voice, and he and Ordine summon their siblings.
Rean isn’t sure what happens or how it comes to pass, but Franz and Roselia command the Divine Knights to run some kind of program, and there’s bright light enveloping Crow who falls to one knee and makes some remark about constantly being upstaged by his friends, and his hair is silver and his face is the color Rean remembers, and Rean knows even before Crow does that his heart is beating again.
His confusion is endearing as he slowly works his way toward the conclusion that he’s alive, really alive, and all Rean can think about is how badly he wants to pull him aside somewhere and kiss him absolutely senseless, to make Crow’s heart race so Rean can feel it beat under his palms and make his skin flush.
So he does. Kind of.
Later, after a celebratory dinner and drinks on the Pantagruel II, Rean finally gets Crow alone in the same room where they met during the civil war.
“So,” Rean says carefully. “It’s later.”
Crow gives a shy laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
Rean tentatively reaches toward Crow, his palm hovering above his chest. “Can I?”
Crow gives a nod, and Rean places his hand over Crow’s heart. It beats beneath his palm, strong and steady and picking up speed, and Rean can’t decide whether he wants to laugh or sob, so both end up happening at the same time, which is a strange sound, full of both joy and pain, the feeling of being stitched back together without anesthetics.
He throws his arms around Crow in a bear hug, apologizing because he can’t stop himself. Crow stands there like he did on Bryonia Island, but this time, the surprise thaws and he brings his arms around Rean to hug him back, which just makes Rean hug him harder.
Rean is weeping now, as though his body is trying to purge itself of all the anguish Rean has stored up on account of Crow’s death.
“Stay,” Rean asks. “Please ,” he adds, because he’s not too proud to beg. Not for this. Not for Crow. “I don’t know what’s going to happen next. All I can tell you is I still need you.”
“... I’m kind of a mess, Rean,” Crow confesses with no small touch of self-deprecation.
“Me, too,” Rean answers in the same voice.
Crow sighs. “As long as you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“Same goes for you.” Rean exhales and smiles, and relaxes his embrace and lays his head on Crow’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to hit you with this all at once. I mean, you just came back from the dead and here I am shoving my feelings at you and asking for things.”
Crow rubs a gentle circle against Rean’s back and doesn’t mention how Ash took him aside to explain what would happen if he “tried to pull that punk-ass bullshit and ran away again”.
He takes a breath. “I’ve fucked up everything in my entire life, Rean.”
“That’s not true,” Rean replies. “There’s so much of it ahead. It’s hardly fair to judge yourself by the fraction you’ve lived.”
Rean feels Crow start briefly, then pull him a little closer.
“I guess you’re right,” Crow replies, and Rean can hear the wonder and the small hint of a smile in his voice.
“I’m right most of the time, you know,” Rean teases.
Crow exhales artfully. “Little shit.”
Rean laughs. “I love you, too.”