Archive of Our Own ^beta

He was an ordinary teenage boy, living an ordinary life, in an ordinary school with definitely the ordinary number of friends (and people certainly didn’t avoid him because of his temper, and he certainly didn’t sleep poorly because of nightmares about swords and fire and death and it’s all my fucking fault, and he definitely wasn’t far too obsessed with classical music than any normal teenage boy had any right to be), and the fact that he was alone in the music room again at lunchtime again meant nothing at all.

He could eat in the cafeteria if he wanted. He was reasonably sure that he’d even be able to find people to sit with, too. But something had been blooming at the edges of his mind lately—something strange, something familiar, something alien, something soothing—and though it didn’t at all feel like he was composing a song, he found himself at the piano with his blank sheet music notebook all the same.

He had the makings of about half of one song written there, and half of another, and he didn’t know how he knew that they were two separate songs (and what were their titles?) but he knew anyway. It felt as though he’d heard them both, a very long time ago, but he couldn’t quite remember where, and he couldn’t find the songs anywhere.

So he continued, day after day in the empty music room, until eventually he had two complete songs that he knew he hadn’t written (and for one of them, the knowledge was a sickening thing, heavy and laden with guilt, while the other was simple deduction—this was a song he remembered, so it was impossible for him to have written it). He had both songs, and he played them until they were memorized, and as the next three years passed and he moved from high school into college.

As his twentieth birthday approached, people began making noises about the 120th anniversary celebration of the Baskervilles’ triumph over Jack Vessalius and his evil organization. He paid attention with half a mind until, one day, he saw a flyer advertising a competition put on by the Baskervilles themselves, for people specifically born on the year he was: to submit a song or an original arrangement to the competition, alongside your name and birthdate, for a chance to win.

Over three years, he’d found that nobody recognized either song, no matter who he talked to, and everyone seemed convinced he had written them both, even though he hadn’t.  

But it said that he could submit an arrangement, too…

The deadline was in less than a week, but the young man had done more in less time, and so he threw himself into arranging the two songs together. It was a duet, one made for four hands—but with the possibility of being played by three, because Glen Baskerville was lacking a hand, and the young man flattered himself by thinking that perhaps the leader of the Baskervilles himself would take an interest in the competition—and soon, all that was left was a title.

A title.

He had no idea what the original two songs had been called, so he couldn’t use that—he didn’t really have anyone he could ask for advice (he had a recurring dream where he had a best friend, but he had get to actually make a best friend) and he still had no idea where to begin looking for titles.

At the last minute, before the contest was ended, he slapped on the first thing he’d thought up and discarded, all those years ago when he’d first begun remembering the songs and hit submit.

Elliot & Leo: an Arrangement.

For whatever reason, he’d crafted an entire life story of the Elliot and Leo of his title—Elliot the youngest son of a duke, Leo his beloved and bad-tempered valet, and their tragic end at Elliot’s own hands after he’d killed himself to save Leo and everyone else they knew, and to keep from making his older brother or his friend do it—but this was not something he sent with the song. Instead, he had included a note saying that he was unable to credit the original composers, since he’d never learned their names or the names of the songs, and hoped that he wouldn’t get dinged for plagiarism, and then moved on with his life—or, at least, he tried to.

On the day of his twentieth birthday, a teenage boy with dark hair and thick glasses and a large hoodie with his hands tucked away in his pockets was standing in front of his door. A few feet away, someone the young man recognized from one of his literature classes was pretending he wasn’t watching the teenage boy, a pistol strapped to his hip and the book they were reading for homework in his hands. His blonde hair was falling over his eyes like a shield, but the young man still recognized Oz Baskerville and stopped short.

“Can I help you?” he asked, half-suspiciously.

“Not at all,” said the teenage boy smoothly, holding himself as though he were far, far older than sixteen, and pulled out a folded envelope from his hoodie pocket. “This is for you.”

“...Have we met before?” the young man asked suspiciously.

The maybe-not-a-teenager’s lips pulled themselves into a wry smile. “I’ve met a lot of people,” he said.

Down the hall, Oz snorted. The teenager flipped him off with the hand still holding the envelope.

“Are you a Baskerville?” the young man asked.

“I…am, yes,” said the teenager. “Though likely not for much longer.” His smile turned bittersweet. “I am very old. Still, though, I was…on the committee reviewing your song for the competition, and I believe this sheet music contains the songs you were referencing.”

He froze. “No way ,” he breathed, using every ounce of self-restraint he had to not snatch it from the definitely-not-a-teenager’s hands immediately, instead carefully taking the envelope into his hands and holding it as gently as he could. “You—who are you?” he asked.

“...You can call me Leo,” said the not-a-teenager.

“Haven’t heard that one in a while,” Oz called over, clearly not even trying to pretend like he wasn’t listening.

“And whose fault is that?” Leo called back.

“Hey,” Oz said, half-laughing, “I’m acting as your bodyguard right now, I have to be professional. Maybe if somebody hadn’t gotten me killed a century ago, things would be different.”

“Oh, screw you,” said Leo. 

“Bodyguard?”

“He’s a very old man,” said Oz. “Very fragile.”

Leo flipped him off before turning back to face the young man fully. “I’ll take my leave now,” he said seriously. “You are a brilliant composer, and I wish you the best of luck in all the lives your soul takes you to.”

“I…thanks,” the young man said. “Same to you.”

Leo smiled at him, and the smile was as brilliant as that of the best friend he dreamed of, and then he left.

“See you in class,” Oz said, and followed him, and the young man was left blinking in the lobby in their absence.

He headed into his apartment, though, and immediately threw his things down, sat at his desk, and carefully, carefully opened the envelope.

It included two pieces of sheet music, handwritten in two different handwritings, and when he scanned the notes he recognized with a jolt the two songs that he hadn’t written. The first was entitled Statice, by someone named Elliot Nightray, with the words for Leo scrawled under the title. The other—and he felt ill even as he looked at the sheet music, in a handwriting so familiar and yet utterly foreign, was called Lacie, and the composer’s name was given simply as “Leo”, and underneath the title it read for Elliot.

There was a note, too, in paper far fresher than the ancient writing, though not new: it looked maybe a decade or so old, in the same handwriting as Lacie, and was short and to the point.

To You, in this life: 

I have done my best to ensure no other records of these songs remain in this world. They are now yours to do with as you please. If you remember naturally: I apologize. If you have the choice, I will not and cannot tell you which to choose, and I will accept whichever choice you make. 

Ever yours, 

Leo

It raised more questions than answers, honestly, and so the young man spent the next few hours trying to find Oz Baskerville’s contact information to get more answers before giving up and resolving to ask the next day in class.

He knew about reincarnation, of course: everyone was reincarnated, other than Glen Baskerville, after a hundred years. This was why the large celebration of the Baskerville’s triumph was held a hundred and twenty years after they defeated the wicked Pandora and not simply a hundred: that year, there had been huge amounts of discourse over the Pandora traitors’ reincarnations: what to do with those wicked souls who were now walking the earth once more. The Baskervilles had said they ought to be left alone to live their new lives, that there was no such thing as an evil soul, that several of their number had once been members of Pandora and that they’d had friends and loved ones in it and it wasn’t right to say that Pandora was completely evil, but that had been mainly ignored by governments.

And he knew, too, of the Nightray family: their youngest son had contracted with a Chain known as Humpty Dumpty and spent the years leading up to Pandora’s fall ruthlessly slaughtering his family members, and the only two survivors were those who were already Baskervilles, Gilbert and Vincent Nightray. People had written entire books on the subject, and though the young man had never paid too much attention before, writing Elliot Nightray off as simply another monster, high off of bloodlust, but…something seemed off about it, just a little.

For one, he realized that, in every single one of the books, someone claiming to be Glen Baskerville flamed it, claiming that they were too harsh on Elliot. Often, they would be mocked—clearly, they’d gotten a reputation, and nobody actually believed they were Glen Baskerville—but…for one thing, they actually raised some pretty good points. For another…

The Leo mentioned in the sheet music never came up, not even once.

The young man dove down the rabbit hole of research on Elliot Nightray, and came out of it…confused. Every source mentioned the family murder, though the single time the Baskervilles had commented, they’d said that the boy was under the control of an illegally contracted Chain, after his servant gave him the contract without his knowledge or his consent in order to save his life, and that he had not been in control of his actions when killing his family. This hadn’t taken off in people’s imaginations much—Pandora was, after all, widely hated, and so were the people who had headed it—and besides, the idea of a cold-blooded family killer was a lot better for stories than a couple teenage boys doing their best in an impossible situation—especially since nobody seemed to know or care about who the servant had been.

The young man wondered if it was the Leo from the sheet music, and what that meant, and what that meant about the Baskerville who had visited him. He thought about how he’d remembered the song—he thought about his recurring dreams, which seemed to pick and choose the most painful moments from a life he could have sworn was his own, though he’d never lived it—he thought about reincarnation.

Surely, it was impossible that he’d been Elliot Nightray in a past life. Surely.

…If anyone knew what was going on, it would be Oz Baskerville.

On a whim, the young man Googled his name. It wasn’t often that there was information on how a Baskerville came to be where they were, but he figured that the more he knew, the better.

And, luckily for him, Oz Baskerville did have an internet presence: he and his twin sister had been adopted by a Baskerville named Vincent Nightray-Baskerville—possibly one of the surviving Nightrays—under incredibly shady circumstances. After a drawn-out legal battle, the end of which seemed strangely rushed, they were brought back into the country, at which point Vincent Nightray-Baskerville died, survived by Oz and Alice Baskerville and his older brother Gilbert Nightray-Baskerville (definitely a surviving Nightray, then, the young man thought excitedly, I could ask him for more information about…whatever’s going on with me) who died seven months later (Nuts), at which point Oz and Alice had passed into the custody of Glen Baskerville, and, a few months later, Alice Baskerville was announced to be in training to take up Glen’s mantle, which, according to the article the young man was reading, was rumored to be happening in a few months, once the 120th Anniversary celebrations died down.

So Oz Baskerville had been raised by Glen Baskerville and the last two surviving Nightrays, and his twin sister would be the next leader of the Baskervilles. He would definitely have the answers the young man needed—and if he didn’t, he would know who did.

If there was one thing the young man had learned from his Nightray and Baskerville research, it was that those Baskervilles who cared about Elliot Nightray disliked the way he’d been remembered, and so the young man found the book with the most flagrant inaccuracies and the most flaming from @therealglenbaskerville online, bought it, and sat directly next to Oz Baskerville’s place early before class, flipping the book open to somewhere in the middle and beginning to read.

“You know that’s trash, right?” Oz’s voice came from next to him.

“The name Elliot Nightray came up in that envelope your friend gave me, and I wanted to do some research,” the young man shot back. “This one has good reviews.”

“No, it doesn’t, Glen’s been review-bombing it since its publication and it was shit anyway,” said Oz. “What do you want?”

The young man closed the book. “Answers.”

Oz’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “Answers, huh? To what questions?”

“Am I the reincarnation of Elliot Nightray?”

Oz’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t think I know enough about you to say for sure,” he said carefully.

“Listen, dickhole, I have slept maybe four hours in the past—”

The professor walked into the room and everyone fell silent.

“We can talk after class,” Oz whispered. “I’ll treat you to some coffee or something.”

The young man nodded, and turned his attention to the professor as class began.

Oz was as good as his word—better, even, since he brought the young man to one of the fanciest coffee shops he’d ever set foot in and promised to pay for whatever he bought.

“Vincent left everything he had to Gilbert,” said Oz, “and Gilbert left everything to Alice and I, and Alice…doesn’t need it, so basically, I’m loaded.”

“Lucky you,” said the young man, “no college debt.”
Oz’s lips twisted wryly. “I wonder,” he said. “You know, there’s a reason why people aren’t supposed to remember their past lives, right? The odds of ever seeing your friends and loved ones again are extremely low, and if you ever do, you’re probably going to have to watch them die. And…one hundred years…we aren’t meant to remember our past lives.”

“And if we already have some memories?” asked the young man.

Oz raised his eyebrows. “Then tell them to me,” he said, “and maybe try writing them down, too, and Leo and I can go over them.”

“Not your sister?” the young man asked. “Or is she too busy?”

“The two of you—assuming you are Elliot—never really met much,” he said, “and never when I wasn’t there.” Oz’s smile changed, turning into something a little more real. “I see you’ve done your research,” he said, “so I can actually ask the good questions.”

“The good questions?” 

“Yeah. From my own experience…once you know the basics of your past life, then it’s easier to remember the specifics, like things about and with people who weren’t very important to you…for example, that annoying fifteen year old who thought Elliot Nightray hung the stars and who he only knew for, like, four months before their untimely deaths, two weeks apart.”

“Oz Vessalius,” said the young man immediately. His throat felt dry. “Bad taste in characters, but good taste in books. I…didn’t know he died that soon.”

“Yeah, shit went incredibly downhill incredibly fast after that incident where Elliot died,” said Oz Baskerville. “Do you know where and why that was?”

“Isla Yura’s mansion, a party in Oz Vessalius’s honor,” said the young man. “...It’s a bit confusing, how you’re both named Oz.”

“Not both,” said Oz Baskerville. “In my past life, I was Oz Vessalius. That’s why I changed my name to Oz in this one.”

“...My name isn’t Elliot here,” said the young man.

“People’s names change with their lives,” said Oz. “Mine…didn’t used to be Oz. I haven’t gone by my old name since I was six, though. Vincent was…he very much wanted Alice and I to regain our memories, and didn’t really care about the consequences for anyone other than Gilbert.”

“From what I remember, you were much the same,” said the young man—Elliot? Did he want to go by that name again? He didn’t feel like the Elliot Nightray in his memories, or the one he’d read about.

“That was another life,” said Oz. “I still love him. But he’s dead, and I’m not, and I’m never going to see him again—or, if I do, he won’t know me, and if he does, he’ll have to watch me die, which is an incredibly cruel thing to do to anyone. And—Gilbert watched my past life die, so me watching him die was simply my just desserts, but I don’t want that to keep happening. But…” He sighed. “It’s looking like everyone who died in the Abyss is regaining their memories in this life.”

“If Isla Yura shows his face anywhere near me I’m beating his ass,” the young man said flatly.

Oz laughed. “Oh, me too,” he said. “What was his relationship to Leo?”

“He knew about Humpty Dumpty and the kids of Fianna House, and used that to taunt him,” said the young man.

Oz nodded. “Who wrote Fruits of Uncertainty ?”

“Evil B.”

“Who’s the best Holy Knights character?”

“Edwin.”

“Fuck you, it’s definitely Edgar, but whatever.” Oz grinned at him. “What was Oz Vessalius’s sister’s white cat named?”

“She called him Snowdrop. I named him Moon, once…if that really was the Leo I knew there, he can confirm.”

Oz nodded, tapped something into his phone, and then tucked it away. The next few hours continued like that until Oz seemed satisfied, leaned back, and nodded. “You’re definitely Elliot reincarnated,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” the young man—Elliot—asked.

“I’m expressing my sympathy.”

“Okay, asshole, why?”

Oz scowled. “Because remembering past lives—sucks, okay?!” he said. “I mean, it’s fine at first, and it’s great when you’re reunited with your family, but then everyone else you’ll never meet again, and if you do they most likely won’t know you, and any survivors—you know you’re going to have to watch Leo die a horrible death, right?”

“...I thought Baskervilles just dissolved into flower petals when they died,” said Elliot slowly.

“Not Glen Baskervilles,” Oz said. “Their bodies slowly split apart until they turn into Chains. Then their souls spend the rest of eternity inside the souls of the next Glens, unless they pull the same interfering bullshit Oswald did, at which point their souls are destroyed, forever. The regular Baskerville death is nasty enough—the Glen one is worse.”

“...Leo is Glen Baskerville?” Elliot said, something in him feeling hollow.

“Right, yeah, that happened after you died,” Oz sighed. “Yes, Leo is Glen, no, it isn’t all that awkward anymore…but he is going to be dead six months from now. I told you this wasn’t the sort of thing you wanted to remember.”

“I remembered most of it already,” Elliot said hollowly. “By the time I finished transcribing Statice and Lacie… I just thought it was all an absurd daydream, though, I never thought…”

“I mean, if you could have lived happily thinking it was a daydream…”

Elliot shook his head. “I think I would have figured it out eventually,” he said. “At least…I mean, we get to say goodbye this time, I suppose.”

“He’s different than the Leo you remember,” Oz warned.

“So are we,” Elliot pointed out.

“You definitely have a longer fuse,” Oz said.

Elliot smirked. “More consequences to a short one here. Nobody would have dared expel me from school back then. You seem more…outwardly bitter, and more mentally healthy.”

“More emotionally secure childhood,” said Oz, “but I have unresolved grief issues, I think, and Alice is leaving me behind to become the next Glen, and I hate that, and nobody shares my opinions on reincarnation. I mean, Glen says he does, but as soon as he saw that song you submitted he lost his mind.”

“...You call him Glen,” said Elliot.

“I’m a Baskerville,” Oz said simply. “Bound to obey him. Besides, we were friends in my past life, and…things are different now. If I’d survived the whole…thing that happened, with Jack and everything else, we might still be friends today, and I might call him Leo. But who I am now…that’s just not possible. Leo was my friend. Glen is…he’s family, but he’s also my boss. I don’t want to throw more confusion in there.”

“You and Leo were closer friends than you and I were,” said Elliot.

“I’m not that person anymore,” said Oz. “I don’t want to be.”

“Why not?”

“Because Gilbert fucking died,” Oz said, voice tight and trembling. “We got seven months, seven fucking months, and then he died, before Alice and I even regained all our memories of him. And—Oz Vessalius couldn’t have lived without him, but I have, and I most likely will keep living without him for over a century. Reunions aren’t worth it when they’re that short—and I know it’s greedy of me, and I know it isn’t much shorter than what the three of us had after Alice and I got out of the Abyss then, but—he wasn’t the only one who wanted to stay together forever, and I’m not…patient like he was. Or good, or kind. So what’s the point in pretending?”

Elliot scoffed. “There’s no way you see yourself like tha—”

Oz pulled out a few bills and slapped them on the table. “That should cover everything,” he said. “See you in class.”

“Oz, wait—”

But Oz was already hurrying away.

Elliot did not go to the rest of his classes. Instead, he searched out the address of the closest Baskerville residence and headed there, half unsure of what he was doing, half set on seeing Leo today. When he arrived, though, he was greeted by a girl his own age, glossy black hair braided back, loitering around the outside.

“Why are you here?” she called.

“My name is Elliot,” he said. “I’m looking for Leo.”

Her eyes widened. “Huh,” she said. “So you’re done talking to Oz then…and you really were Elliot. Damn it, I owe Oz $50. Long time no see, bitch.”

Elliot frowned. “...Alice?”

“The one and only. In this life, at least.” She sighed explosively. “I haven’t found my sister yet, but I’m sure I will soon.”

“Oz seemed pretty upset about people remembering past lives,” said Elliot.

Alice’s face tightened. “Yeah, he…we disagree on a lot,” she said eventually. “It’s…he changed, after Seaweed Head died. I think there was a part of him that thought he’d see him again after ten years, like what happened last time, but…I mean, it’s whatever. Glasses is just as weird about it as he is—he says that everyone deserves to live happy lives after all the shit that happened back then, and he doesn’t want us interfering unless we have proof that you guys remember and want to be involved with everything again.”

“Oz said that they disagreed.”

“Oz thinks that everyone who doesn’t completely want everyone to forget their past lives forever is insane,” Alice snapped. “He’s—really being crazy about all of this. I don’t understand why—he never talks to me anymore, not since Seaweed Head died. He doesn’t really talk to anyone, other than Glasses and non-Baskervilles. It sucks!”

“What’s wrong with him?” Elliot asked.

“I don’t fucking know,” Alice sighed. “It’s been like this for a decade now. —Glasses isn’t here right now, by the way, but I can give you his personal cell number.”

“Is that legal?” Elliot asked.

Alice shrugged. “Who’s going to arrest me?” she asked. “I’m the next Glen fucking Baskerville.”

edwin kinnie
Is this Leo?

welcome to the black parade
how the fuck did you get this number and that name

welcome to the black parade
ill rip ur fucking teeth out

edwin kinnie
Alice the no longer B-Rabbit gave it to me.

welcome to the black parade
oh hi elliot you died like a fucking idiot

welcome to the black parade
also alice wasnt ever b rabbit fun fact she was a ghost

edwin kinnie
What the fuck, how?

edwin kinnie
And how did she and Oz have a contract then???

welcome to the black parade
ask oz

welcome to the black parade
im busy

edwin kinnie
LOL loser.

welcome to the black parade
DID YOU JUST FUCKING CAPITALIZE YOUR LOL

edwin kinnie
It’s an abbreviation. 

welcome to the black parade
how am i literally 136 years old and better at text talk than you

welcome to the black parade
you sound like an old lady

edwin kinnie
Ok boomer.

welcome to the black parade
eat shit and dieeeeee

edwin kinnie
I heard you would be doing that soon, actually

welcome to the black parade
un fucking called for

welcome to the black parade
but yeah ill be spending the rest of my miserable existence trapped in other peoples heads with fucking levi forever

edwin kinnie
Levi?

welcome to the black parade
you remember that author you liked? evil b?

edwin kinnie
God, yeah, I would fuck him in a heartbeat.

welcome to the black parade
he was a glen. two generations back

welcome to the black parade
hes been in my fucking head my entire life and i hate him sooooo muuuuuuch

edwin kinnie
I would KILL for that.

welcome to the black parade
to be in my head or to have evil b in yours?

edwin kinnie
Both.

edwin kinnie
Actually, no, the less I know about the inside of your head the better.

welcome to the black parade
same i hate it here

welcome to the black parade
though i do have seriously insane levels of work to do so im going to have to stop replying

welcome to the black parade
text later?

edwin kinnie
Definitely.

So there was that. He wasn’t even surprised when he won the song competition, though he supposed that it was probably rigged in his favor from its conception, if Oz’s comments about the identity of the judge and the age of the message in the envelope meant anything. He still graciously accepted the reward, though, and Leo made a speech about how wonderfully the songs had been arranged and the amount of effort that had to have gone into locating the songs that he and his first love had written each other over a century ago (which. Elliot definitely got what Oz had said to him, once, about relationships getting fucked up by time), and Elliot had gotten quite the large cash prize, and extra credit in his music composition class.

And he knew that Leo was going to die soon.

“How did you deal with knowing you’d lose Gilbert soon?” he asked Oz one day before class.

“I didn’t know,” Oz said. “And then—I didn’t deal.”

“Well, that’s not going to work for me,” Elliot grumbled.

“Maybe try therapy?” Oz suggested. “I don’t know. I stopped actually trying to deal with my problems when I remembered that this is my first time actually being human, so it’s okay if I mess it up a little.”

“Wait, what?”

Oz looked away. “I was the real B-Rabbit,” he said shortly. “Alice’s stuffed toy—a little insignificant worthless thing—and then Jack manipulated her twin sister into turning me into a Chain and used me to slaughter her entire family, and nearly end the world twice. He…used me for a lot of things.”

“Oz…” Elliot swallowed. “Did you ever talk to anyone about this?”

“I didn’t remember it until after Gilbert died,” he said, “so no.”

“Alice—”

“The first thing I remembered was Jack trying to make me kill Gil,” he said, voice totally blank and emotionless. “That happened—two separate times. And I remembered Break saying that if I were to strike Gil at full power, he would crumble away into dust. I remembered what happened and then he crumbled away into dust. I didn’t understand that it was old age until years later. Why would I tell Alice that I had murdered our best friend?”

“This is the first time I heard you call him Gil,” Elliot said rather than answer.

“What?”

“You never used his full name in our past life. In this one, you’ve only used his full name. God, you’re shitty at dealing with grief.”

“I’m sure I’ll have plenty of practice,” Oz grumbled. “Also, you know that you and Glen’ll be able to pass messages through Alice, right? It’s not like he’ll be gone forever.”

“I didn’t think of that, actually,” said Elliot. “Are you sure he’ll want to?”

Oz shrugged. “If he doesn’t,” he said, “he still won’t be gone forever, and Alice can be very annoying when she wants to be. And there are other annoying ex-Glens in there, too.”

Elliot snorted. “I’ve heard,” he said. “Thanks, Oz.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“...I’m sure,” Elliot said slowly, “something will happen that will give you hope too.”

Oz scoffed, but didn’t say anything more, since class was beginning. That was a good thing, too, because Elliot seriously doubted that anything short of Gilbert being contacted vis-a-vis Ouija board or Alice suddenly being removed from her position as next Glen would give Oz hope for the future, because as much as they’d been friends in their previous life, it was ridiculously clear even then that there was nothing he held holier or more important than Alice and Gilbert, and clearly that had remained the case into this life.

Maybe Oz was right—maybe it would have been better for him to not remember. But Elliot was pretty sure that there was no way that would happen. After all, he’d heard from Leo that Xerxes Break and Oscar Vessalius had also recently been found, memories intact, and it was highly likely that everyone else who’d died in the Abyss would show up at some point or other, too.

On a completely unrelated note, Oz had moved in with Elliot and hadn’t spoken to a single Baskerville other than Alice since his uncle had been found.

…Elliot had no idea why he’d thought asking him advice on anything was a good idea.

But Oz had at least slightly more experience with reincarnation and watching your valet die in front of you after living for a century after your suicide, and Elliot had no idea how to handle it other than texting Leo and pretending like nothing had happened, even though it very obviously had.

But as time passed on and grew closer and closer to Leo’s death, nothing at all seemed to change other than Elliot’s mental state—he found himself growing antsy in a way he never had in his past life, found himself unable to sit still, and unwilling to be alone with his thoughts, reminding him of all the pain he’d caused Leo in the years leading up to his death, at which point he killed himself and left Leo alone to deal with the consequences.

It was the best out of three bad options, he knew, and he also knew that there was no way he would have been able to get out alive at that point, but that didn’t stop him from feeling incredibly, sickeningly guilty over everything that happened—and he hadn’t even mentioned it to Leo, or anyone else in his admittedly small social circle—though it had gotten a 300% increase after reuniting with Leo, Oz, and Alice.

…Which was kind of pathetic, now that he thought about it. Looking back, it seemed that he’d been so preoccupied with Statice and Lacie, and now with Leo and Oz and their many and severe issues that he’d never once even considered connecting with any of his peers. Oz was different—Elliot was pretty sure he’d befriended everyone in every one of his classes, and was definitely a teacher’s pet, seemingly going out of his way to make as many non-Baskerville connections as possible. Elliot wasn’t sure how he did it—he could barely muster up the will to even care about the opinions of those who didn’t personally remember the events of a hundred years ago.

He…fuck, he was going to be so lonely after Leo died and Alice became Glen. Oz would still be around, but unlike Elliot, he was a Baskerville—he had his own role and responsibilities, and, with the sheer amount of money Gilbert had left him, he would never have to work a day in his life if he didn’t want to. Oz had offered Elliot as much of the inheritance as he pleased, saying that it was originally Elliot’s money, but he’d turned him down. After all, Elliot Nightray had died. This Elliot was, as much as Leo seemed loathe to admit it, someone new. He remembered his life as Elliot Nightray. He went by Elliot in his day-to-day life—it was his middle name, after all, and there had been someone in one of his classes with the same first name, so it was an easy switch. But he wasn’t the same person he’d been. Different childhood—different socioeconomic status—different life experiences. He was different. So was Oz. So was Alice. So too, he was sure, were Xerxes Break and Oscar Vessalius and anyone else wandering around with their memories of their past lives intact. Elliot Nightray had thought that killing a Baskerville would be his life’s pride. Elliot now had idolized them all his life.

He was still mulling over this conundrum the night before the ceremony when Alice would officially take Glen’s mantle. The four of them were in Leo’s office, eating shitty takeout and talking about nothing, when the clock ticked its way past midnight and Oz suddenly rose.

“I think the two of you need to talk,” he said. “Alice, do you mind stepping out with me?”

Alice’s eyebrows raised, and then she smirked. “Yeah, sure,” she said. “Be safe! Have fun! Use protection!”

“Alice, I am 116 years older than —”

Alice tugged Oz out of the room, waving cheerfully, and closed the door firmly behind them. 

Elliot swallowed, but Leo spoke first.

“I owe you an apology.”

“What for?”

“Humpty Dumpty.” Leo sighed. “After…about a century’s worth of study of the Abyss, I’ve found that there were a lot of better options I could have taken that day that wouldn’t have resulted in…the deaths of all but two members of the Nightray family.”

“And I could have waited until we had help searching for the kids that day, too,” Elliot reminded him. “Besides…every time that I…that Humpty Dumpty…every murder, I chose to allow my memories to be wiped and replaced. I was in shock at the time, but I never objected—”

“There’s a difference between consenting and not objecting—”

“If you can be blamed for making a snap judgement after watching six of your siblings die and then nearly losing your best friend as well, then I can be blamed for not saying ‘no’ to it erasing my memories,” Elliot said. “It wasn’t your fault. Any of it.”

Leo looked away. “Well,” he said, “I suppose I’ll have the rest of eternity in other people’s heads to reflect on that.”

Elliot grimaced. “Right, that sounds horrific. ”

“Especially because Levi will be there,” Leo muttered. “He’s literally the worst.”

“Well,” said Elliot with a grin, “at least you’ll have access to good books for the rest of eternity!”

“Fruits of Uncertainty was barely legible,” said Leo, “and even if it was good, Levi’s personality is enough to ruin even the best book.”

“Maybe I remember it being better than it was,” Elliot granted. “I’ve never actually read it, after all.”

“You and Oz got into three separate fistfights over it,” said Leo.

“In a past life,” said Elliot. “I’ve never even seen it in this one.”

Leo paused, and said slowly, “What about Holy Knight ?”

Elliot swallowed again. “What about it?”

“What are your feelings on it? Have you read it?”

“I…got my hands on a PDF of one volume in high school,” said Elliot carefully. 

“And?”

“You never liked it. Why are you asking me?”

“You were obsessed with it, Elliot. Why wouldn’t I—”

“Not me,” said Elliot. “My past life.”

Leo looked as though he’d been struck, and Elliot felt a rush of guilt. “...You’ve been talking to Oz.”

“Not about this,” said Elliot. “But—I figured, it was my last chance to talk to you, and since Oz and Alice left, I…might as well bring it up. I’m not the same person I was in my last life. I don’t exactly know who I am now, but…I’m not him.”

“I know,” said Leo.

“I did not enjoy the Holy Knight book I read.”

That got a reaction: Leo looked absolutely horrified. “You—what?!”

“It was a little boring, and the writing was both old-fashioned and childish. It didn’t really interest me at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had the same reaction to Fruits of Uncertainty, actually. I…remember all of my life as Elliot Nightray, but I remember it like it was a novel I read, or a story thought up. I thought it was all a story until I met you and Oz that day.” Elliot took a deep breath. “I know that that was me now. And I love you and Oz and Alice, and I don’t exactly talk to anyone else. But I don’t have all the…thoughts and feelings of Elliot Nightray, and I don’t know why. I remember everything now—I even remember some of my time in the Abyss after death, but I can’t remember any of my thoughts or feelings from that life.”

“...Oz has said similar things,” Leo admitted after a few moments. “That will be useful for our research on reincarnation, at least. I’m sorry. I had no idea—I thought Oz was just handling his grief poorly.”

“Oh, no, he absolutely is, let me tell you about some of the insane shit he’s gotten up to in my apartment—”

Oz and Alice did not return that night, though the next morning, Oz’s eyes were suspiciously red and swollen as he came out of Elliot’s guest room, dressed in a spiffy little suit, and, before the ceremony started, Alice made no secret of the fact that she’d been crying the night before. She seemed excited, though, whirling out to say hi to Elliot before pulling Oz away—apparently, she and Leo had made sure that, as her brother, he would have a role in the ceremony (though Alice had been quick to assure Elliot that it wasn’t as the customary human sacrifice to the Abyss, which was—hm. That was unsettling) and so he attended sitting alone, as Alice knelt before Leo and swore vows to the Baskervilles, and as a rush of dark power flooded the room, and then—Leo was no longer Glen Baskerville, but simply a man, impossibly old despite his youthful stature, and Alice’s stance had changed to something more mature, more assured, and though before the pledge she’d smiled over at Oz, she did not look over at him as the ceremony concluded, and afterward, Oz left the building before her.

There was a banquet after, which Elliot was on his way to when his phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out.

welcome to the black parade
pizzas on me if you guys want to join

edgar kinnie
oh fuck yeah if i have to go to one of those dumb banquets alone i think i will cause an international incident

welcome to the black parade
you get used to it

edgar kinnie
i refuse

edwin kinnie
You aren’t going to congratulate Alice?

welcome to the black parade
lmao no i hated my job after about 60 years and she knows it and she will know im lying

edgar kinnie
already did that 

welcome to the black parade
what lied to her?

edgar kinnie
no congratulated her dumbass

edwin kinnie
Show some respect to your elders, Oz.

edwin kinnie
Also, I’ll meet you guys there—I haven’t congratulated Alice yet.

edgar kinnie
loser

edgar kinnie
and leo is a dumbass lol ive known him most of my life

welcome to the black parade
finally he uses my name

edgar kinnie
ive always used ur name u just arent glen anymore

welcome to the black parade
glen is going to kick your ass next time you talk then

edgar kinnie
let her i still think we should have kept the human sacrifice

edgar kinnie
give the ceremony some spice

edgar kinnie
its what lacie wouldve wanted

welcome to the black parade
all the more reason to not do it tbh

welcome to the black parade
btw if you two dont like holy knight anymore why do you have matching holy knight usernames?

edgar kinnie
for the bit

edwin kinnie
I may no longer like it, but I will always stand by the fact that Edwin was a far superior character to Edgar.

edgar kinnie
suck my fat fucking cock

edwin kinnie
Buy me dinner first.

edgar kinnie
bet

welcome to the black parade
@edwin kinnie what are your intentions with the boy i raised

edwin kinnie
I plan to suck his fat fucking cock.

edwin kinnie
I might take him out on a date or two, too, I haven’t decided.

welcome to the black parade
dont break his heart

edgar kinnie
dont have one lol

edgar kinnie
see you guys soon

edgar kinnie
@edwin kinnie tell glen her dress is stupid for me <3

edwin kinnie
I will not.

edwin kinnie
See you two soon!

welcome to the black parade
see you soon!