Chapter Text
To say that Mukuro got progressively more annoyed at the adoption system would be the understatement of the century.
Seemed like being labeled as the kid-with-an-attitude-problem because she tried to choke a classmate with a sock puppet –after being bullied repeatedly– when she was six years old got a permanent stain on someone's record.
Her own, obviously.
Sure as fuck, the incident didn't affect the other kid in the slightest because, the day after the incident, they announced his departure from the class and the orphanage since he was getting adopted.
It was normal for children to do shit like that and have their victim bawl their eyes out. The girls who got bullied were supposed to accuse their bully to the caretakers or the teachers who, in turn, informed them that harassment was the way boys said: I like you in asshole language, then pat themselves on the back as if that information solved everything.
In her experience, most adults were fluent in asshole so their knowledge of the matter was not the impressive feat they thought it was.
And when Mukuro deviated from the norm by letting Yamaguchi get as blue as the same bubblegum he used to court her by smearing it all over her hair?
SHE was the bad guy.
Who cared about that time he ran his markers across her arms to see if they work or when he threw his thrash into Mukuro's backpack since it smelled the same.
No one ever told his adoptive parents that he had a problem, the weird lanky girl was to blame.
She became a bit of a cautionary tale; every single adult in her life refused to stop talking about something Mukuro did that shocked them way too much or how she seemed antisocial by nature and needed to get steered in the right direction.
Sure, motherfuckers, as if she was not the only kid who obeyed every single one of their commands.
All except maybe, stop being so quiet because as soon as she tried, she did something wrong and was told to shut up.
No one seemed to like her in foster care either, ended up changing addresses so much the orphanage never had the time to give her bed to a different kid because she was there at least once every week.
Mukuro realized that if she could pretend to be the perfect daughter long enough -to be fun, girly, and happy just as they wanted- she would manage to stay in one place a little longer and still...
Her masks always fell off, the curtain went down without finishing the play, leaving her in the deepest darkness. Because no matter how hard Mukuro tried to be loved by a family - or anyone- her life refused to be more than a series of closing doors.
Maybe the problem was inside her all alone; she never understood people, it's not like anyone taught her how to do that, anyway.
“The last time around she only got adopted due to Junko's abilities.” Her foolish mind prompted.
Somewhere around her eighth birthday, Mukuro’s subconscious created this parallel universe in which she was never alone.
Copper hair in pigtails getting tangled everywhere, cutesy drawings of stuffed animals murdering each other, and strident out-of-place laughter in the middle of crime-ridden streets accompanied her dreams.
She was her younger twin sister and Mukuro couldn't help to be anything but captivated by her, not having ever noticed how much she wanted to take care of someone until Junko appeared.
She was so fascinated with this unknown set of emotions; thrived on the stars in her baby sister's eyes whenever Mukuro accidentally broke furniture or walls as she killed vermin and proudly painted her knuckles red whenever some creep tried to touch Junko.
When they finally ran away, Mukuro felt so full of devotion when she lied about having eaten beforehand when they had not enough food for the two of them.
On the streets, life was a combat between wills, Mukuro knew as much hence why she stayed in the orphanage. But in her dreams, Junko was so miserable in their household with their fake boring parents that there was no force strong enough in this world to keep her from leaving.
So Mukuro fled as well, from the white mansion into the concrete battlefield. Confidence in every move because faltering in the middle of a fight could have meant Junko’s demise. Sometimes, her sister put that silver tongue of hers at their service but, more often than not, she made things more interesting.
For herself and no one else.
Mukuro wanted to throttle her most of the time.
And yet she couldn't resist her sister's cries for help, even when they were fake as fuck and the little shit was having the time of her life. Because, at the end of the day, the truth was that they only had each other and, in her sleep, the idea of losing the only person worth a dime in her life seemed like a fate worse than death.
After taking everything into consideration, dreamworld Mukuro decided that if the only way to keep Junko safe was to play the role of her soldier then so be it, she might be boring to her sister - who would moan as if she was physically hurt before scratching her arms so hard it could be felt in the morning- but at least she couldn't deny that Mukuro had made a good goddamned job ensuring that Junko ended up getting everything she ever wanted.
She served the world on a silver plate to the ultimate despair and that was enough.
She could only hope it was.
She woke up from these dreams confused and annoyed.
On one hand, living in service of someone other than yourself sounded so meaningful her existence in the orphanage felt like a mere illusion by comparison; it was somewhat both freeing and scary to learn that all she had done until now was survive. She kept herself breathing because... Well, who the fuck knows, Mukuro had not enough reasons to die either.
However, being alive was not something she had ever considered possible thus far.
On the other hand...
Was she currently living in a fate worst than death by never meeting Junko?
Not really, her asleep persona was just that dramatic.
She could still look out for something worthwhile, not a cheeky sister with a god complex.
It was then when she remembered the boy she barely knew, her sister’s childhood friend who made all her favorite mind wipe toys and watched Otonashi like a hawk.
Just like Junko, he was probably some bastard she made up in her more-interesting-than-life dreams but somehow her instincts kept telling her otherwise.
So, she ended up visiting this wealthy neighborhood with a park in front of an elementary school that reminded her of an anecdote her sister told her once. There, she noticed a dark-haired boy laid down on a bench in front of the sandbox in a fetal position, his face tightly pressed against his knees and his arms holding his legs to keep them still.
He was shaking and Mukuro realized that the kid spent the whole night waiting for someone who doesn't exist in this world. She swears her body moved on its own when she embraced him.
The boy mindlessly moved to hug her back and cry his heart out over her shoulder.
“I got you, it's okay” she whispered that familiar phrase wide awake for the first time.
And she could only pray for it to be well received for once.