Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Draxum hated dust. There was something so unavoidable about the stuff. It would nestle its way in between the pages of his books, sit at the back of his cabinets, and grind beneath his feet as he walked. One couldn’t rid themselves of dust. Ever. But there was something different about the dust that clotted the air around him now. It rioted up from the ground, from the crumpled piles of bricks that used to be his walls and the rubble that used to be the foundation. It sank into the sky and completely consumed any light that might’ve dared to rest on the scene in front of the warrior scientist.

Everything was gone.

As he stumbled through the fresh ruins, his lungs and throat constricting as he failed to get air into his body, he found that there was nothing. The walls, his bookshelves, his equipment, his study, his prisoner.

His experiment.

All of it was gone, destroyed, dead.

All of those years of work, every page of painstaking research and failed test runs. All of it was gone. Stolen. That fact, the fact that he had achieved his goal, made everything that much worse. The champion was in his grasp, the math had been triple checked, the perfect test subjects had been selected.

And now, it was all for nothing.

A violent, surging anger overtook Draxum as he fully realized his situation. Everything was gone. The roar of rage that grew in his chest became trapped by the dust in his throat, so he settled for cracking his fist across the landscape. Vines erupted from the ground and shoved the piles of debris, more dust bloomed from the outburst into the sky.

He was something once. Now he was a fool standing in the ruins of his once-great laboratory.

He let out a choked scream and sent his vines angrily against the rubble once again. He was distantly aware of his newly acquired henchman watching him mutely from afar, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. One of them might’ve said something to him, but none of that mattered anymore.

Everything was gone.

“Boss!”

Draxum whirled around, eyes wild with rage and despair, to the small form of his henchman. The gargoyle cowered against his gaze, shrinking to pull behind his companion. “Oh- er, sorry. Uh, tell him Munin!” he squeaked. “Me? No! You tell him! You found the guy!” The other shrieked, also attempting to pull further away from the towering form of Draxum. They continued to argue, both steadily managing to creep away from Draxum until they bumped against a pile of rubble. Draxum could feel his eye twitch.

“What. Is. It.” He growled, stalking across the dusty landscape to the two gargoyles. He could see both of their intense red eyes widen as he neared. Both shot out a shaky claw to point into the vague cloud of dust. “Munin found one of those little guys over there!” One of them squeaked, “We think he’s still alive!”

Draxum stopped. Briefly, all was silent. The dust in the air lazily floated around the three figures as Draxum processed the sentence. Something was alive. Something survived.

The large yokai turned and followed the direction his henchmen pointed to. Realistically he knew that there was no feasible way that anything survived. The initial explosion should’ve taken care of any living thing, the fire that ate away at the walls and the dust that stagnated the air should have been the final nail in the coffin. His eyes rapidly scanned the terrain, flitting over every rock and singed artifact. He couldn’t see anything that would imply a survivor. He couldn’t hear any cries, see any movement, feel anything.

But he could smell blood.

It was a dull tang in the back of his nose; the unmistakable stench of blood. It easily overpowered the dry taste of dust. He stopped, taking in his surroundings with careful eyes. They landed on a small, dirty, bloody, lump. Draxum scrutinized the form, a pit began to form in his stomach as he took in the scene. There was so much blood, there was no way something that small could still be clinging onto life. Surely this isn’t what his henchmen were referring to.

Suddenly, he heard a chirp.

It was a pathetic sound, but it was a sound nonetheless. For a moment Draxum was certain that his ears were playing a trick on him. The residual ringing in his skull had yet to fully leave ever since he had dragged himself from unconsciousness. Still, his curiosity won over his rationality and he crept closer to the lump. He extended a careful hand and gently nudged the form with his cracked knuckle. It let out a small, terrified whimper.

Draxum felt himself suck in an involuntary gasp. It, whatever it was, was alive.

But he doubted it would stay that way.

As he crouched near the figure he was struck by the amount of sticky crimson blood that stained the dust around the form, turning the ground into a rusty mud. The thing that cowered in its own gore, he realized, was one of the baby turtles he brought in for his experiment. It didn’t look like a turtle anymore, it hardly looked alive. It’s limbs were twisted awkwardly against it’s own body, blood seeped lazily from multiple lacerations and burns. It’s breath whistled agonizingly through it’s clenched teeth.

Draxum distantly felt himself scoop the dying creature into the palms of his hands. It let out a harsh cry as he jostled it’s mangled body, but the scientist didn’t notice over the growing ringing in his ears. The thing was completely engulfed in his palms, blood pooled from it’s wounds down the creases in his hands and dripped to the ground from his fingers. It mewled pathetically, it’s remaining eye leaking useless tears. He noticed that the left half of the baby’s body was nearly burned through- it’s arm and leg charred to stumps.
This was the creature that Draxum had slaved over. This is what countless years of work had brought.

This thing couldn’t be a soldier. It couldn’t fulfill it’s purpose.

All of his work had been for nothing.

The thing in his palms keened softly, it’s blood continued to slip down his hands into the dust. Draxum felt his fingers twitch.

This creature was useless to him now. It was supposed to be strong, intelligent, and formidable. Now it would be lucky if it ever learned to walk, if it even survived.

Draxum’s fingers clenched around the form in his hands. He could feel the charred flesh under his skin, he heard the child let out a muffled wail, he could taste the dust in the back of his mouth.

He would not let this thing be the only surviving piece of his work. He would start over. This thing was just another mistake, another setback. He’d faced many setbacks before and they hadn’t stopped him yet.

His grip tightened, the child wheezed.

Suddenly, Draxum noticed an intense gold between the cracks of his fingers. The child was looking at him, his remaining golden eye boring accusingly, terrified, into Draxum. The warrior felt his hands slacken, slightly. There was something in that eye, something in the stubborn way it refused to blink, something in the defiant fear. The child knew that it was going to die, that Draxum was going to kill it, yet he still demanded the yokai look him in the eye as he stole his brief life. It let out another small noise, a quiet chirp, watery with exhaustion. Draxum’s fingers unfurled from the child. The gold eye refused to blink, refused to look away.

It wanted to live.

Draxum scoffed. What right did this creature have for such a want? It was as good as dead. If it survived it wouldn’t be able to complete it’s purpose. Half of it’s limbs were clearly unsalvageable, it was very possible that it was deaf, and there was the very high probability that it’s lifespan had been halved by the trauma. It was basically useless to Draxum.

Even still, as Draxum stood in the ruins of his once great lab, dust whirling around him in torrents, the child bleeding through his hands, he became acutely aware that the dying animal in his hands was all he had left. Even if it was maimed beyond recognition, even though it was as good as dead, even though it was a fraction of what he had expected it to be, it was still here. It was still his. It was all that remained.

Draxum had already made his decision by the time the chaotic flapping of his henchmen pulled him from his thoughts.

“Ack! It’s even worse up close.” one gargoyle gagged as he landed on Draxum’s shoulder. The other joined on the other side, offering an equally disgusted response to the small creature in the scientist’s hands. Draxum’s nose crinkled.

“Look for anything else that survived.” He grumbled as he turned and made his way from the rubble. The gargoyles watched him curiously as he disappeared from the dust to the nearby forest. The trees consumed his hulking form as he walked, leaving behind a small trail of blood, a destroyed lifetime, and the taste of dust.

…

As the night wore on, Draxum became less and less certain that the child would survive. The defiance that the turtle had shown earlier nearly disappeared once Draxum had reached his safehouse. It’s breathing had slowed considerably, it had stopped twitching each time Draxum jostled it too much, and it the only sound it seemed to make now was the horrid wheezing breaths. Luckily, Draxum had a hefty first aid kit hidden away in the old shack that served as his storage unit. He did what he could for the creature, applying burn cream and wrapping it’s stumps, bandaging it’s shrivled eye socket, stitching it’s wounds, resetting it’s misaligned shoulder. The child didn’t stir as Draxum worked, not even when the scientist attempted to reconstruct it’s horrifically damaged shell. He was nearly done bandaging when his henchman returned with the expected news that the only noteworthy things they were able to find were a half-melted doorknob and a particularly large shard of glass.

Now they all sat around the small box that held a clump of blankets and the half-dead child. The gargoyles peered over the edge and quietly watched the erratic rise and fall of it’s bandaged chest. Draxum was becoming more and more sure that each exhale would be the turtle’s last, but he found himself consistently surprised when the child would suck in another painful breath of air.

He wasn’t sure if he should regret saving the child’s life just yet.

“What should we name him?” A quiet voice murmured. Draxum startled from his complicated musings and stared down at his henchmen. He couldn’t tell which one of them asked the question as both still had their eyes glued to the injured form.

“What?”

“He needs a name.” One of them, Munin, answered. He turned his large red eyes to Draxum, they held an indescribable sadness to them- a sort of longing that the larger yokai hadn’t witnessed in the gargoyles before. “We aren’t going to name him.” Draxum stated, “don’t get attached.”

“But- you don’t think he’s gonna die do you?” Hugin asked, abject horror evident in his squeaky voice. Draxum scowled. “It will decide whether or not it wishes to fufil it’s purpose.” He mumbled, his eyes flicking back down to the ‘sickbed’. The child twitchd.

“I think he’ll make it.” Munin assured confidently as he crept over the edge of the box and carefully positioned himself near the child’s feet. “He’s held on this long!’ He added earnestly, his eyes refusing to leave the pained form of the turtle. “He does have Lou Justu’s DNA.” Hugin agreed as he joined his companion next to the boy. “He’s a natural fighter!”

The gargoyles crept closer to the small creature, both careful not to disturb his sleep and his wounds. “ I mean,” Munin started, “Just look at how cool his eye is!” The gargoyle slowly reached out his hand and ran a gentle claw across the red marking over the boy’s uninjured eye. The child stirred slightly, sighing as he leaned into the small yokai’s touch. Both gargoyles gasped dramatically at the gesture, their eyes lighting up in excitement.

“Aww!” Hugin crooned, “Lookit the little guy! See? He’s doing better already!”

That statement, Draxum knew, wasn’t true. But he had to admit, it was nice to see the boy do something other than shrivel into his own agony. “We have to name him!” Hugin urged, turning his intense red eyes to his boss. Munin agreed enthusiastically. His claw still rested softly against the turtle’s small face.

“Fine.” Draxum relented, too exhausted from the events of the day to argue. “We will call him… ‘One’”.

“One?!” Both gargoyles shrieked. The boy grimaced and flinched against the outburst. Munin’s attention was easily stolen by his attempts to calm the baby, Hugin’s priorities remained with the turtle’s name.

“We can’t call him One! It’s just a number!” The small yokai argued.

“One is the name he had before the explosion.” Draxum countered.

“Does it have to be One?” Hugin whined, “I’m sure we can think of something better!”

“How ‘bout Antonio?” Munin offered from his place next to the boy. “Hm, maybe.” Hugin hummed, “What about Buddy?”

“Eh, Nah. What about Munin jr?”

“Why not Hugin Jr?”

“Why not both?”

“Enough.” Draxum growled, effectively silencing the gargoyles. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, he was definitely not in the mood for such a stupid conversation. “If One is such an offensive name we will call him Uno instead. Happy?”

The garoyles blinked and looked to each other, then looked to the boy. “Uno.” Munin tested, “U-no. Hm! I love it!”

“It suits him!” Hugin added, “Uno was gonna be my next suggestion.”

As the gargoyles continued to banter, Draxum let the peripheral world sink away from his consciousness. He focused on himself. He focused on the boy- on Uno. As he watched the rise and fall of the boy’s chest, he found himself conflicted. Part of him wanted it to be over. He knew that this was foolishness; saving a mangled creature and wasting supplies on him. He was certain the boy would be dead by morning, and he had made the mistake of letting his henchman name the thing and get attached. It would have been a mercy had he killed the boy earlier. He should have killed it.

He should have let his fist tighten until he heard the creature pop.

But still, a quieter, unknown part of him whispered in the back of his head. It wanted the boy to live. He wanted the boy to live. He had worked so hard, and this child was all that he had left. A dying boy with a missing quarter of his body, a golden eye, and a name.

Uno.

In that moment Draxum made a promise to himself. If this boy lived until the next day, and the subsequent days after that, Draxum would ensure that he became the greatest warrior the hidden city had ever witnessed. This child would be an unstoppable force. Draxum reached out and placed his hand protectively over the boy.

He willed him to survive. No matter how foolish that wish might be.

Chapter Text

It was surprising what things chose to change over time. The forest that stretched far above Draxum’s head had shifted greatly since he’d last stumbled through. New roots had burrowed into the dirt, leaves had fallen and sprouted anew, young animals scurried through the undergrowth.

To a casual observer, it would seem that the forest had not changed at all. The trees were still trees, the roots were still roots, and the animals still ran underfoot. Draxum knew better.

He knew these woods, this path, and the change to the scenery unnerved him. He had never intended to be gone this long. Never intended for this forest to become to foreign to him.

Draxum paused next to a tree, he placed a hand against the bark and closed his eyes. Through the tree, he could see the interconnected series of roots and leaves. He could feel the trees communicating with one another, the gentle messages passed between them. They were good, they spoke of fertile soil, peace, good air, recovery.

He sighed. This was good. This meant he could finally start to rebuild.

He would’ve started earlier. If it were up to him, he would’ve started the moment the walls of his lab crashed to the ground. But, there had been some…. Unforeseen consequences to that night.

“Boss!”

Draxum turned to greet the chaotic flapping of his henchman. Munnin barreled through the woods and promptly smacked into Draxum’s chestplate. The gargoyle took a moment to reorient himself as Draxum guided the smaller Yokai to sit on his shoulder. “Uno’s fallin’ behind.” he informed as he cradled his bruised snout in his claws. Draxum frowned, casting a glance over his shoulder. There was no sign of his young charge or the other gargoyle. The large yokai felt a twinge of concern in his chest. “Where have they gone?” Draxum asked as he began to retrace his steps. He scowled when he felt Munin shrug in his periphery. "You lost them?" Draxum asked through clenched teeth. “ I didn’t lose them!” the gargoyle defended, “ I just.. Don’t know where they are.”

Draxum set his jaw and scanned the surrounding foliage. “Uno!’ He barked, but he was only answered by the gentle sway of the leaves in the breeze. The warrior alchemist stalked through the woods, a worried anger building in his stomach as he continued to desperately, fruitlessly, search. He had never truly taken the boy out of the small lodgings he’d found on the edge of the hidden city. The turtle didn’t know how to survive in an outside, foreign world. The scientist began to regret taking the boy on this outing as he continued his search. There were so many places in this forest that Uno could get stuck in. So many animals that would eat him. So many poisonous berries that Uno would definitely try to eat. Draxum shouldn’t have let Hugin look after the child, what was he thinking?

It was then that Draxum crashed through a dense bush and nearly tripped over two hunched forms on the ground. The bigger of the two let out a squawk of alarm as the large yokai’s hoof nearly stomped down on them.

Draxum felt himself skid to a stop against the dirt. He immediately whirled around to face the two familiar creatures. “Uno!” Draxum snapped, causing the young mutant to jolt. “Papa!” Uno’s scarred face twisted into a brilliant smile as he hobbled to stand on his feet. “There you are, Papa!” he cheered as he carefully balanced his weight on his wooden prosthetic leg. Draxum watched, a scowl etched into his face, as the boy limped across the ground to greet him. Uno collapsed against the large yokai’s leg and wrapped his singular arm securely around the limb. “Uno.” Draxum grumbled, “Why didn’t you follow me?”

“You’re very fast.” The boy answered simply. “I not.” He waggled his polished wooden leg to emphasize his point. “I small.” He supplied helpfully. Draxum sighed and took the boy into his arms. Uno giggled in excitement as the goat placed him firmly on his shoulder. “Don’t let go.” he warned. Draxum felt the small boy wrap his fist into the larger man’s hair and lean against his head. He heard the excited bah-bum of the mutant’s heart in his skull.

The two gargoyles joined the boy on Draxum’s unoccupied shoulder. Draxum cast a sideways glance at Hugin. The gargoyle was staring intently at something in the far distance in a clear attempt to avoid eye contact with his boss. “Next time,” Draxum growled, “Don’t fall so far behind.”

The group continued through the forest towards their destination. Uno blabbed incessantly, excitedly pointing out each unique bug his singular eye could catch. The gargoyles aided his enthusiasm by making up stories about forest monsters and ghosts. Draxum’s headache continued to worsen.

Much like the forest, Draxum had also changed.

He felt that he’d grown very tired during these past few years. Taking care of Uno had proven to be a much more taxing endeavor than he’d expected. It didn’t help that the boy had suffered such horrendous injuries at such a young age.

The developmental schedule that Draxum had laid out before completion of the experiment had to be completely tossed out the window due to Uno’s handicaps. He should have been up and walking almost immediately after the mutation, but it took almost two months for Uno to learn to sit up on his own. Balance still proved to be the boy’s greatest downfall. Even now, after being fitted for a basic prosthetic and learning to hobble around on it, Uno would often end up on the ground. Sometimes he would trip, his fake leg getting caught on his flesh one. Sometimes his real leg would buckle under the stress of overactivity. Sometimes he would overcompensate his balancing and simply topple over. But Draxum did have to give the boy credit. Never once did he stay down, not even when he’d get scrapes and worsen existing bruises. Every incident was practically identical- Uno would let out a little gasp before crashing into the earth. He’d pause for a moment, wiggle his toes and fingers, let out a small laugh, then maneuver back onto his feet and continue onwards.

He was proving to be an extremely resilient child. Then again, he was built to be as such. He’d survived every infection, every unseen complication, and now he’d survived his first trek through the forest. With every step Uno took towards getting better, Draxum grew more confident that saving his life wasn’t as much of a mistake as he initially expected.

Not to say that there weren't other issues Draxum neglected to realize. He’d underestimated how attached the boy would feel towards him. It started small- Uno would cry weakly for Draxum if he left his crib for too long. The larger yokai was content just leaving the boy laying there until he eventually tired himself out and went to sleep, but the gargoyles thought differently. He remembered the day the two henchmen sat him down and had a long, tedious talk about how Uno was technically his child now, so he needed to start showing him some kindness and stop doing the bare minimum in keeping him alive. Draxum figured he’d shown the boy plenty of kindness, what with saving his life and all, but that answer did not bode well with the small yokai. That very evening, Draxum found himself carrying the boy against his chest in a fabric sling. It was a stupid idea, but it kept the boy quiet and it kept the gargoyles off Draxum’s back, so he kept the thing on.

Thankfully Uno had eventually healed enough to manage riding around on Draxum’s shoulder, which proved to be an easier, faster way to get around.

“Where we go, Papa?” Uno whispered, his feet kicking idly against Draxum’s chestplate, his prosthetic leg making a hollow thunk thunk with each impact. “My old lab,” The goat answered simply, “The place where you were born.”

“Oooh.” Uno hummed with faux understanding. “I want to see a boat.” the boy commented seriously, his small hand subconsciously twirling a lock of Draxum’s hair into a snarl. “Now there’s an idea!” Hugin butted in, “ A boat sounds like a wonderful idea! We could tan on the deck and get drinks and we wouldn’t have to go back to the memory of your failure!”

“If we pick a nice enough boat, we could get massages too!” Munin added enthusiastically. “Pirate boat!” Uno supplied helpfully, bouncing excitedly on Draxum’s shoulder. “Enough!” Draxum snapped, the trio of creatures balanced on his shoulders freezing at the outburst. “We aren’t going to a boat, we are going back to the lab!”

The group continued in silence as Draxum maneuvered over fallen tree trunks and past the dense foliage. He could feel Uno tuck closer into the curve of his neck, a nervous curiosity radiated from the small boy as he took in the foreign surroundings. Finally, Draxum broke through a particularly troublesome tangle of thorns into a familiar clearing.

Things hadn’t changed much since they’d last been here. Nature had mostly retaken the space, vines and ferns suffocated the piles of rubble and various flowers dotted the landscape. Every surface had a generous growth of vegetation overtop. “Garden?” Uno asked into Draxum’s hair. Draxum chuckled, reaching up to lift the boy from his shoulder and back to the ground. “No, little one.” He corrected, “This is the site of our new beginning. This is the place where you will reach your true potential.” Uno blinked up at Draxum, then turned his eye to the surrounding area. He placed a hand on his hip, turning back to the goat with a perturbed look on his face. “Um. Ok papa. Can I go play?”

Draxum sighed, something the young mutant seemed to take as a “yes”. Uno squealed in excitement as he turned tail and promptly tripped over his own feet, slamming into the ground. Draxum watched as the turtle paused, laughed, then bolstered himself back onto his feet and took off behind a particularly thorny piece of rubble. “... Make sure he doesn’t kill himself.” Draxum wearily ordered his henchmen. “You got it boss!” The two gargoyles answered in unison, both stiffening into a salute before eagerly following the boy. Draxum supposed that was one nice thing about having nearly incompetent henchmen- they were great with kids.

The large yokai left the gargoyles to their babysitting.

He paused. It was strange to be back here after so long. It was like looking at a faded photograph- something familiar yet incorrect to its initial design. He carefully paced the length of the ruins, he tried to remember the layout of the building when it was still, well, a building. He found the entryway, now just a crumbled section of bricks, and trailed down what used to be the hallway. He passed the kitchen, he could still smell the herbs and spices and hear the sizzling of meat against a pan. He traveled the length of the passage, memories of stairways, bookshelves, a living area, whisked past him as he walked. He did his best to ignore it all, he had a purpose here.

Draxum paused in front of a leafy pile of debris. If he remembered correctly, this was the exact place he needed to be.

He began to dig.

The warrior scientist clawed fistfulls of rubble from the pile, he willed the vines and roots within the ground to ease between the cracks to help him. Steadily, slowly, Draxum carved away at the earth. The magically influenced vines writhed underneath his palms, sweat dripped down from his forehead onto the ruins, his teeth clenched as he gave one final push and revealed the dark pit in the ground. He stopped in shock at the reveal. The space was damp, musty, but it wasn’t collapsed as he had expected it to be. He barked out a laugh of relief and ran his clawed fingers through his hair. He was sure this tunnel had been destroyed in the explosion, but here it was! Dusty, yet intact. He decided to take whatever luck was being granted to him and continued forward.

There was just enough space cleared for him to squeeze past, down, down the cobblestone staircase to the space underneath. Gems embedded along the walls let out an eerie glow as Draxum maneuvered further into the earth. He was mutely pleased that the gem’s magic had withheld over these years, it made his task much easier.

Finally, the steady decline of the stairs evened into a solid stone floor. Draxum scrunched his nose as he inspected the large, musty room he had found himself in. This place used to be his excess storage area, a place for things to go when they took up too much space in his lab. Mostly everything in here had no immediate use to him- moldy sofas, an old carved bookshelf, a mirror, and an old wood stove that refused to give off any good amount of heat. What he was truly here for, the real treasure of it all, rested in the wooden trunks tucked away into the corners. Draxum started with the biggest of the bunch.

The large chest opened after a few firm kicks to the lock. Dust plumed from the inside, stinging at Draxum’s eyes and causing him to sneeze. He waved his hand in front of his face to clear the air and leaned over the freshly opened case to take stock of what he had to work with. It was filled with old scrolls, nothing relating to what he was looking for. Draxum scoffed and went on to the next chest.

He made it through three more cases before he finally found what he was looking for.

Draxum felt his heart snap against his ribs as he shakily reached into the fourth chest and pulled out a small bundle of leatherbound notebooks. He feverishly leafed through the pages, careful not to tear the moldy paper. The damp dark space hadn’t done any favors to the books, but it wasn’t the quality of the books that mattered- it was the contents. The contents were exactly what he was looking for.

Diagrams, notes, equations, sketches, everything. The research was slightly out of date, sure, but it was there. It was in his hands. All of his early notes about the experiment that created Uno and his brothers. Most of the work was faulty due to it being earlier drafts, but it would save him years of research. The mistakes had already been made, now all he had to do was figure out what he did to perfect it. He let out a shaky chuckle and gently pocketed the books. It was a start- it was a good start.

Draxum searched through the remaining chests to ensure that he wasn’t going to leave anything immediately important behind. There was dust, moldy paper, old stationary, nothing else that could really help him. It was as the large yokai was leaving when he noticed a small flat box stashed onto one of the shelves. It was so covered in dust and cobwebs that it nearly became indistinguishable to the shelf it sat on. Draxum brushed the debris from the top and tested the box in his palms.

Interestingly, it was not a box at all. It was a carved case with a twine handle woven into one side. One side looked like it was painted at some point but it had long since chipped away. Draxum did not remember owning this case, he wondered mutely where it came from as he unclipped the side and carefully lifted the top to reveal the contents. He was met by the musty smell of slightly mildewed paper, the dull tang of herbs, and a small collection of books. Draxum carefully reached out and leafed through the pages to discover that they were filled with stunning ink drawings of plants.

Trees, flowers, roots, leaves, vines, grass, all of it. They were drawn in incredible detail with basic annotations scrawled on the margins in pencil. Draxum figured that these must’ve been his books, created during his early years of study, but he could only procure vague memories of reading other materials. These books here he could not remember, but they could still prove useful. If anything, they could serve as entertainment for Uno.

Content with his findings, Draxum left the damp storage space and scaled the winding staircase back into the daylight. Before he even caught a glimpse of the above world, the goat could hear the enthusiastic shrieks of Uno as he played with the gargoyles.

Draxum broke free from the earth, squeezing back out from between the rubble. He took a deep breath of the fresh air, his body electrified with the priceless information he now held in his hands. He scanned the landscape for the young mutant and his henchmen. Hugin and Munin were enthusiastically cheering as Uno attempted to wrench a weed from a crack in the ruins. The plant was proving stronger than the young boy, but Uno wasn’t letting that stop his efforts.

“Uno.” Draxum called. The child whirled around at the sound of his name, his face splitting into a brilliant smile at the sight of the large yokai. “Papa!” He shrieked as he stumbled across the rubble and landed incoherently against Draxum’s leg. “Papa! Pick me up! Up!” The small boy demanded, bouncing slightly in excitement as he urgently tugged on the yokai’s limb. Draxum bent down and deftly scooped the turtle up against his chest with his free arm. Uno giggled at the motion and nuzzled against the warrior’s chest once he had settled, letting out a small, content, sigh. Draxum tightened his grip on the boy and began to walk back towards the woods. “Uno.” Draxum began, “ Do you know what I found?”

Uno cast a quick look to the reading materials in Draxum’s other hand. “Buncha old books.” Uno answered into his chest, the sound muffled by the large yokai’s hair.

“No, Uno. I’ve found your future.” Draxum murmured. At this, Uno moved his head just enough to glance at the collection of books in Draxum’s other hand. He scrutinized the pile, then turned a confused eye to his father. “Papa… Those books.” Uno whispered quietly, almost as if Draxum were the one that was misunderstanding the situation. Draxum laughed softly and adjusted his grip on the boy so he could better see the materials. “No, boy. These books are your future. These have everything that we need to ensure that you become all I know you can be.”

Uno pouted and let his head hang slightly askew. He blinked slowly, then fell back against Draxum’s chest with a frustrated sigh. “S’ just books.” The boy grumbled into his chestplate. Draxum laughed. It would take some time, but the boy would eventually learn the significance of this gift that was going to be given to him. Draxum would be sure of that.

With these books, Draxum could restart his research. He could train Uno to not only become a formidable fighter, but an incredible scholar and tactician. No longer did he look at the boy and see a missed opportunity at success, he saw untapped potential curled up against his chestplate. He held the boy closer to his chest and felt his pace quicken. There was a lot of work to do, and so little time to do it. Draxum grit his teeth and felt himself smile.

He was back.

Chapter Text

Uno did not own a watch. He’d read about them in a book once and had been quite confused to learn that there was such a thing. Watches seemed like a basic tool for unskilled yokai. There was no effort needed on your part except to lift your wrist to eye level and read. There was no skill to it! Uno almost felt like it was cheating. He had learned to tell the time in multiple different, better, ways. He could watch the flowers and plants, they tended to shrink into themselves when it was night. He could listen to what animals and spirits tussled about in the surrounding forest, certain ones preferred the ambiance of the night while others benefited from the day. Sometimes it would get dim and Uno could tell that way, but that way tended to be a bit unreliable as there was no set “day-night cycle” like in the human world. There was no sun here. His dad had told him about the sun, about how the humans let their entire existences be dictated by a great ball of fire that wasn’t even sentient. Uno thought it was all quite silly, almost as silly as watches. This is one way Uno knew that humans were lesser, simple lifeforms. Here they had this perfect tool to tell the time, lazily floating across the sky each and every day at the exact same time. It was perfect, it was scheduled, yet they still decided to cheat and make watches. Ridiculous.

By far, the best way to tell the time in Uno’s opinion was smell. His sense of smell was one of the only senses he had that hadn’t been damaged in the explosion. As it stood, he was practically blind in one of his eyes and often heard a horrible ringing in the ear on the same side. Those senses were unreliable. Smell, however, proved to be one of Uno’s strong suits. He could tell now from the ashy smell of cooked meat and spice that the restaurants in the hidden city had started cooking lunch. That meant that his dad was going to make him start studying soon.

Uno did not like studying.

He tried to run through his father’s lab as quietly as his wooden prosthetic would allow. He’d wrapped the foot of it in a towel to dampen the harsh clicking it made, but all that was doing was slowing him down. As if to accentuate his point, Uno felt his prosthetic catch against the back of his flesh leg. His body pitched forward and he smacked unforgivingly into the stone flooring of the hallway. He paused, ensured that his jaw wasn’t broken and all his teeth were still in his mouth, grumbled, then flung back onto his feet to continue his mad dash. He really didn’t like studying.

Studying was boring. Studying meant sitting at a splintery old desk, looking at maps and numbers and reading books about really old yokai killing a bunch of other yokai. It got really dull after an hour or two.

Uno quickly ducked from the lab into a peripheral hallway. He let his palm skid across the dry cement wall and he tried to move as quickly and quietly as possible. He had recently discovered a new hiding place and he was anxious to try it. The past 52 hadn’t worked, he’d been found within 20 minutes or so, but he was more confident about this spot.

He chose to ignore the fact that he’d felt equally confident about the previous hiding spaces as well.

He stopped abruptly as the wall neatly disappeared under his hand as it gave into a built-in bookshelf. His heart fluttered with a mix of emotions as he took a moment to size up the bookshelf once again. It was neat, large, nearly taller than his dad, and it was filled to the brim with books and papers. When dad was rebuilding the lab he made sure that it was full of things like this bookshelf to keep all of his research materials. Some of them were empty, granted, but that’s because dad was still missing a lot of stuff that he lost in the accident. Dad had plans for a bigger project someday, but his current biggest goal was just to find a way to get all of his old research back. Uno wasn’t sure how he was doing it, he was sure that didn’t really care all that much.

Uno backed away from the bookshelf slightly and sized up the shelves. He felt his face pull into an involuntary smile as a shiver of excitement spun up his body.

This spot might actually work.

Uno quickly hurried to the bookshelf and began to scale the shelves like the rungs of a ladder. It took him longer than he would’ve liked , the dust resting on the stone slabs slid under his singular hand as he tried to climb, making this already difficult task even harder. Still, he would not let himself give in. He refused to miss the chance of finding the perfect hiding spot just because it was too slippery to climb.

Uno sighed in relief as he shakily reached the top shelf. He set his chin as an anchor on the slab and used his now freed arm to shove the books that rested on the shelf to the side. There was a small, dusty, space behind the large books that was just enough room for Uno to squeeze into.

He’d tried hiding on one of the lower shelves a few weeks ago, but he had been caught easily. He was hoping that maybe if he was above his dad’s eye level, he’d be out of his range of discovery.

Uno huffed and squeezed himself into the space between the books and the wall. He was uncomfortable, of course. He had to lay, stock straight, on his full flesh side as it hurt too much to lay on his missing-limb side. He had to be careful not to breathe too hard, as the rise and fall of his chest might shift the books that were aligned against his plastron. His face was pulled into a grimace from the effort of staying so still, the tension tugged slightly on the scar tissue surrounding his eye and mouth but he paid it no mind. He chose to ignore the multiple spiders that peered at him from the dustier corners of the bookshelf.

The perfect hiding spot, for sure.

Uno carefully inhaled, taking in the scents from the surrounding air. He mostly smelled and tasted dust, but under that he could tell that the restaurants in town were at the peak of their afternoon business. That meant that dad would be looking for him soon-

“Uno!”

Uno stiffened, his breath catching in his throat as he heard his father’s hooves clicking through the hallways. “Uno! Come here!” Uno stayed still. He heard Draxum’s movements almost as if through muddy water, his good ear muffled against the stone surface he was lying on. The only feedback he got from his bad ear was a pulsing whirr that seemed to follow the erratic beat of his heart. He waited.

“Uno! I am tired of these childish games!” He heard his father bark through the watery haze, “ Come out now!” The boy felt the goat yokai’s footsteps vibrate through the floor, up the wall, and into the bookshelf. They grew heavier as Draxum stalked past his hiding spot. Uno felt a trill of excitement as his dad easily passed by him and continued down the hallway still angrily calling his name.

It worked.

It took all of the small boy’s will power to not let out a shriek of excitement at this revelation. It finally worked!

Before Uno could truly process his small victory, he felt two somethings land on the shelf. Two pairs of twinkling red eyes peered at him from between two dusty tomes. “There you are, little boss!” Hugin greeted. Uno felt his stomach sink to his ankle as Munnin eagerly shouted “Hey boss! He’s over here on the bookshelf!” down the hallway. “Man, you are really squeezed back there! How did you even get up here?” Hugin added quietly, trying to reach a tiny claw to the boy. Uno barely registered the gargoyle and his attempts to pull him from his hiding spot. The small mutant closed his eye and accepted his fate as the booming footsteps of his father stomped over to the group.

A clawed hand shot between the books in front of Uno and shoved them to the side. The novels made a generous BANG against the stone bookshelf and a plume of dust exploded from the ancient pages. Uno sneezed.

Draxum glared at his son through the books. Uno’s eye widened. “Oh! Heeey papa!” He greeted warmly, “Whatcha doing here?”

Instead of answering, The large yokai grabbed Uno by the lip of his shell and mercilessly pulled him from his hiding space. Various books clattered to the ground and were quickly accompanied by the two gargoyles as they tried to catch them before they could hit the floor. Uno shrieked in defiance, thrashing as best as he could in an effort to dislodge himself from his father’s grip. In his effort to escape, however, his prosthetic leg easily flung off of his body and hit the stone floor with a crack! “Ack! Papa! My leg!” He wailed, trying to twist in his father’s grip to see his fallen limb as the goat carried him down the opposite hallway. “Go back! Dad!”

“Enough!” Draxum snapped, silencing Uno immediately. “You have wasted enough time already. Maybe if you are without your leg during your studies it will encourage you to pay attention. Hugin! Munin!” The two gargoyles eagerly flapped over to their boss’ call. They landed on his shoulders and peered down at Uno with slightly pitying eyes. “You know,” Hugin whispered into Uno’s ear, “You kinda look like a newborn kitten hangin’ like that, mini boss. Sorry.” Uno pouted and angrily turned away as best as he could. He didn’t want to be faced with the pathetic mental image of himself hung like a ragdoll in the air. How humiliating.

“Take Uno’s leg to his room for safekeeping. He can have it back after his lessons.” Draxum told the gargoyles. They both nodded, shot Uno a guilty glance, then flapped over to the now vacant limb. Uno heard the two of them struggling with the heavy wooden leg, arguing over how to properly carry it, what the correct flying technique would be, whether or not it would be best to just drag it instead. He craned his neck to see over his shoulder to ensure that they were treating it well, but he was already being whisked out of the hallway and into his dad’s laboratory.

Draxum set him down at his desk with a huff. Uno glared down at the scratched wooden surface of his father’s workspace, it had various stains and dents from years of use. His dad had built this desk by himself, as he’d built most of the things in their home, but he’d put special care into this particular structure. The drawers were large, tall, sturdy. When Uno was a baby he had spent many days sitting in said drawers watching his dad work. He used to love this desk, love the creaky joints and earthy smell, it meant time with his dad. A time when he would sit, wide eyed, watching his father's pen glide across the pages. Drawing symbols and charts over and over again, each time as exhilarating as the last. Now all it meant was lectures and homework.

“Uno.” Uno avoided his father’s eye. “Uno, look at me.” Uno crossed his arms and let his head fall onto the desk surface. He heard his father let out an exasperated sigh. Uno could envision Draxum pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, something that he did so often that Uno was sure he had dents on his nose. “Uno, I’m not trying to be your enemy here. I’m trying to help you so you can help our kind! Don’t you understand?” His father’s words came gentler than before, pleading almost. Uno silently shook his head against the woodgrain. Draxum sighed again.

“Uno. You must understand that this is the reason you were created! This is your destiny, to-”

“To help my fellow Yokai in the battle against that which would harm them.” Uno recited, his words muffled against the desk. “Ah- uh. Yes.” Draxum coughed, “Exactly. You do understand.”

“I understand. I just don’t wanna learn this stuff anymore.” Uno whined, rolling his head to the side to face away from his father. “It’s boring and it makes me sad.”

“Sad?” Draxum scoffed, “It should make you sad! These books hold the brutal histories of our kind.” Uno heard rustling as his father rested a large clawed hand on a collection of Uno’s schoolbooks. “ These are what is most important to your education as you are not yet physically able to fight.”

Uno felt a pang of guilt well up in his stomach. “That’s not my fault.” He defended quietly, shrinking slightly into himself.

The space where an arm should have been felt slightly emptier.

There was a brief moment of silence before Uno felt a warm hand against his back. “I know.” His father rumbled quietly, “I’m sorry. But these are the steps that need to be taken in order for you to fulfill your purpose.” The goat rose from his spot next to Uno and pushed a leather bound novel in front of the boy. “Start on page 43.” He said gently, then clicked back over to his own work at a nearby counter.

Uno groggily peered at the book that had been placed in front of him. It was his hidden city geography textbook, a newer book that had been bought from a nasally bookseller in the town. Uno didn’t mind geography so much, but he was still finding it difficult to actually pick up the book and his notes and get to work.

What Uno really liked learning about was plants, not all the various wars and diseases that plagued the undercity since its inception.

Plants were fascinating, intricate, layered. He’d discovered an old case of his dad’s work last year, a collection of stunning graphite illustrations and incredibly detailed notes. He loved looking at the pages, reading the notes, feeling the paper. He’d taken other things too- he’d torn out quite a few pages from books on plants and medicine and stashed them with his other notes. He kept all of his little treasures pressed under his mattress, secured between two newspapers to protect the ink and graphite. Most nights when he couldn’t sleep, Uno would slip from his bed onto the floor and free the pages from their compressed prison. He’d fan them out in front of him, careful not to smudge any information.

Then he would read.

He figures that he must spend hours like that, leafing through the musty notes letting his eyes take in every shape and purpose of each plant. Memorizing. He’s read the pages hundreds of times by now, but he always manages to catch a detail that he’s missed in previous sessions. Small details about how to prepare an herb, a little note correcting a previous instruction on how to harvest a certain fruit, a new spell that he doesn’t quite know what to do with yet.

It makes each rerun just as interesting as the first time. Uno loves it. He’d much rather be there, tucked away against his bed frame surrounded by papers, then here at a desk that used to be his cradle.

“I can hear you not working.” His father called across the lab. Uno groaned but still couldn’t find it in himself to move. “Uno!” Draxum snapped. Uno tensed, hearing the danger in his father’s voice. Begrudgingly, he drags his arm over to the book and flips it open to a random page. Without lifting his head, Uno fumbled across the desktop and grabbed a nearby pencil. He lightly scratched the lead of the pencil across the paper hoping that the noise will placate his dad.

Suddenly, there’s an angry hand on the lip of his shell hoisting him into a sitting position. He can feel the frustration radiating off of his dad as he angrily flips the pages in his textbook until he reaches 43. “ There.” A clawed finger japs at the center of the page leaving a small crescent-shaped indent on the depicted map. “ Get. To. Work.”

Uno held in his protest and quietly flipped open his notebook as his father returned to his workplace. He scanned the page. This one’s about strategy, about outmaneuvering an enemy in familiar territory. How one could use the environment to their advantage. How to create the most damage in the easiest, fastest, ways. Where to build traps, where to build a base, where to escape if things go wrong. He’s done this exercise before. He’s done it many times before, at this desk, in this notebook, while his father does his own work behind him. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be at this desk anymore. He doesn’t want to look at maps anymore; he wants to make his own. He wants to be outside. He wants to learn about plants.

“I don’t want to learn about this.”

The words exit his mouth before he can stop them. He freezes.

That was supposed to be a private thought.

“I thought I already explained that it’s not about what you want.” His father answers tersely. “It’s about what others need.”

Uno swallows.

“Do other yokai really need me to learn about geography?” He asked quietly. He rolled his pencil against the desk and his forefinger, it rumbles and catches against the grooves. “Yes.” His father answers after a beat. “Yes, they do. All of this matters, Uno.”

“I’ve already learned all this.” Uno retaliated, “ I want to learn new stuff! I want to learn about plants. Did you know that some witches use plant magic?”

“Of course I know that, Uno.”

“Exactly! You could teach me and I wouldn’t have to learn all this junk anymore.”

“You aren’t ready to learn magic, Uno.” His father answers. Uno finds himself somewhat shocked by the genuine honesty in Draxum’s tone. “You aren’t strong enough.” He stresses.

Uno spins around in his seat. His dad is looking at him with a strange expression. An odd mix of anger, sadness, and something else. Fear? Uno glares at him.

“I’m strong!” He defends, choosing to ignore his father’s frustrating protectiveness, “You said it yourself, I’m very strong for surviving the accident! You said that you didn’t think I’d make it yet here I am!”

“That’s different.”

“ Why? Why is it different?”

“Uno, that’s enough. Go back to your maps.”

“I want to learn about plants! I can help people that way, too! Dad-”

“That’s enough!”

Draxum’s fist crashed against the surface of his workbench. A few loose pencils clattered to the floor near his hooves, but he didn't seem to notice them. Uno froze, unable to look away from the piercing rage in his father’s eyes. “You aren’t ready.” He bit, pausing between each word. “You’ll be ready when I say you’re ready. You aren’t strong enough right now. Just look at yourself.” He gestured vaguely at Uno’s body. “ You can’t even walk on your own, you honestly expect that you’re ready to learn witchcraft? You’re a child, Uno. A damaged child.”

The silence between the two stung.

Uno’s eye widened in shock at his father’s words. He was subconsciously aware that he really couldn’t show his emotion properly on his face. Damaged face. Draxum sighed and bent down to pick the fallen pencils up off of the floor. Uno didn’t stop watching him, he could feel himself shaking slightly at his father’s words. He tried to restrain the tears he felt welling up in his eye.

“You’ll be ready one day, but that’s not today.” Draxum concluded, rising back to his feet. The two stared at each other for a moment. Uno wanted to say more but found that he couldn’t without crying. He wanted to tell his dad that it isn’t fair. None of this is fair. His existence isn’t his fault, yet it seems like every day he is slowly convinced that it is his fault. He wants to learn more, he wants to be better.

He wants to be a son that his dad is proud of, but now he thinks that as long as he looks the way that he looks he can never be that. He’ll always be wrong.

Damaged. That was the word his dad had used, hadn't he? Damaged. Like a too-old desk that had drawers that didn’t pull out all the way. Like a window with a fine crack through the frame. Like a fruit that had been dropped on the ground.

Damaged.

Draxum opened his mouth as if to say something else, but let it fall shut before he could even let out a breath.

“Page 43.” He mumbled, nodding his head towards the book on Uno’s desk. Uno watched as his father collected a few pages from his workspace, then turned and left the room. He waited until the click click of Draxum’s hooves faded completely down the hall. He was shaking harder now, the tears flowed freely down the functioning side of his face. He gingerly turned back around in his chair and picked up the pencil off the desk.

He got to work.

…

Uno couldn’t sleep, but that didn’t really surprise him. He’d never been good at the whole “sleeping” thing. He’d had a lot of nightmares ever since he could remember. He would always wake up with a jolt, sweaty, jaw clenched so hard that sometimes he found that he couldn’t open his mouth.

He especially couldn’t sleep tonight. He still felt raw after the argument with his dad.

He lay flat on his back, something he really didn’t do that much, and stared at his ceiling. The dull lights from the hidden city and surrounding forest danced across his vision and illuminated his mostly barren room. Sometimes, when Uno was on the verge of falling asleep, he would imagine what his room would look like if his dad let him decorate it. He would have a rug, definitely. A colorful rug, maybe with some flower patterns stitched into it. He’d have a bookshelf too, a blue one, full of books. Fiction books. Books about dragons, adventures, and love. Maybe he’d have some paintings on the walls too. No mirrors, he wasn’t the biggest fan of mirrors. He’d have plants, of course. Big plants, small plants, anything.

That was one of his favorite games. Sometimes, if he was tired enough, he could almost see the plants and paintings and bookshelves and rug in his stone-walled room.

That game wasn’t very fun tonight, though. He didn’t want to pretend that his life was more colorful, more fun. Tonight that would just make him sad, so he settled for staring upward into the lights on his ceiling.

Uno wasn’t sure if he was in the mood to go through the notes under his mattress tonight. He could almost feel them squished under him, a miniscule bump in the mattress that he’d easily become accustomed to in the past year. Every time he felt his hand itching towards the edge of the bed, to the notes, he would hear a quiet replay of his father’s words to him. A damaged child.

Maybe he shouldn’t be upset about all that. When he really thought about it, his dad wasn't wrong in the slightest. Everything he said was true, wasn’t it? A normal child, a complete child, would have two arms, two legs, two eyes, and two functioning ears. An undamaged child would be able to open their mouth all the way without scar tissue tugging one side downwards into a frown. An undamaged child would be able to sleep at night. An undamaged child would be the perfect fighter that his dad needs him to be. But he’s not that, is he? He’s the damaged child that his dad has to settle for.

Uno sighed and let his hand wander the surface of the mattress until it reached the small bump that was his papers. His fingers swiveled over the spot briefly as he considered actually getting up and retrieving them. There was this familiar heaviness weighing down on the boy, the kind of heavy that sat in the stomach and the base of the ribs and stopped him from moving. It’s not that he couldn’t move, he could if he really wanted to, but he couldn’t find enough energy in his young body to actually get up and go about.

He sighed deeply and let his head hang limply to the side to face his window. He couldn’t see much outside, just trees and leaves and branches. The vibrant lights of the hidden city peeked cautiously through the foliage, he could smell alcohol and smoke and the thrill of life. If his ear wasn’t ringing, he was sure he would be able to hear the city too, past the dark allure of the forest and the hushed secrets of the night air.

He didn’t want to be stuck in this lab anymore. He didn’t want to be stuck in his own body anymore.

Uno moved somewhat automatically, robotically, off of his bed. He let his body hit the ground haphazardly, not wanting to spare the energy to find a safer way to the floor. He set his shoulder under the lumpy mattress and used his small form to wrench his bed upward. He groped blindly in the newly revealed space until his hand landed on the neatly stacked pile of papers.

Uno carefully set the stack in front of him and gently eased the crystal lamp off of his bed stand to the floor next to him. He activated the lamp with a small tap of his index finger, causing the room to be filled with a warm-orange light. The boy turned his attention back to the stack of papers. The light from the crystal pulsed against the pages, causing the words scratched into the parchment to waver. Uno began to read.

He’d already read all of this before, of course. The diagrams, drawings of leaves and roots and spices, measurements of ingredients needed to make certain medicines, scratched out information with updates written next to it. All of this was as familiar to him as his father’s face. That didn’t stop him from noticing things, however. New things, new details, new notes. Sometimes, there were pages he didn’t understand. He could read the words, memorize the diagrams and numbers, but nothing about what he was reading clicked. It was all too advanced for his inexperienced mind. He’d look at those pages some nights trying to understand. He’d read until he fell asleep, or until his head hurt too badly for him to continue, or until he got so frustrated that he wanted to rip the page into small pieces so he wouldn’t have to think about it anymore.

He understood the page he was currently inspecting. It was on a common plant that grew in the surrounding woods- a great big purple thing with spiraling leaves and a sleek network of stems. When prepared properly, it did wonders for stomach aches. If prepared wrong, it could cause temporary blindness.

Despite knowing all of this already, the young boy lets his eye absorb everything in the page.

He stayed like this for a while, leafing slowly through the paper in front of him. He moved automatically, quietly, until his father’s words became as dull and faded as his own heartbeat in his chest. He hadn’t noticed that he’d stopped at a page until the words seemed to jump out at him. He blinked.

He’d seen this page before, many times, but something had clicked. It was a page with strange symbols sketched into it in winding meticulous loops, most likely a spell of some sort. There were many pages like this, all of which eluded Uno, but the rings of text and faded notes began to morph into something familiar.

He’d seen something like it on his dad’s workbench, he was sure of it. He remembered sitting at his own desk, idly leafing through a book on the history of agriculture in the hidden city, when he’d realized that his dad was up to something much more interesting. The large yokai was muttering to himself, pacing from one bookshelf to another, pulling tomes and notes and parchment scrolls from various shelves. He would read, scratch something down on a sheet of paper, then retrieve another book and do it all over again. Uno watched this meditative behavior of his dad for awhile, transfixed on the larger yokai’s focus. Suddenly, Draxum’s face cracked into a victorious grin. “Yes.” Uno heard him mumble, “Yes, this must be it.”
“Papa?” Uno called out, catching his father’s attention. “Watcha doing over there?” Draxum triumphantly looked down at his son, his eyes full of a vigor for life that Uno rarely saw. “I’ve done it.” He explained, placing a clawed hand over the paper he’d been writing on. “Done it!” Uno repeated enthusiastically. “Yeah! You’ve done it!”

“I have!” Draxum agreed. “I’m sure I have!”

With a flourish, accompanied by raucous cheering from Uno, Draxum raised his palm and slammed it down onto the parchment with a crack. Uno shrieked and bounced in his chair, excited by whatever was happening. Draxum crinkled his nose and let out a deep exhale, he pressed his hand harder against the surface. Slowly, the large yokai pulled his hand off of the paper and a curling flower bloomed off of the sheet, following the motion of his palm upwards. Uno sat in silent shock at the display. Draxum’s smile widened as the plant curled around his fingertips and snaked towards his wrist.

“Hah.” He breathed, “I did it.”

“Pretty.” Uno whispered, entranced. Draxum glanced over to the boy, a strange kindness in his eyes. He uprooted the flower easily from the sheet and brought it over to Uno. He placed it gently in the young mutant’s lap, Uno quickly captured it in his hand. He looked up to his father, full of wonder.

“It didn’t work this well the first time.” Draxum explained, “ A second chance, Uno. Never underestimate the power of a second chance. Yes?” Uno nodded firmly, his grip tightening on the plant. He didn’t quite understand why his dad was being so serious, but if this flower mattered to his dad it mattered to Uno. It especially mattered if the boy was being entrusted with it. It meant something to his dad. He would protect it.

Later that day he’d gotten Munin to grab the paper for him so he could see what his dad had done to get it to grow an entire flower. Turns out it was mostly nonsense. Curving circles and weird symbols and nonsensical words.

But now, as Uno sat on his floor, he recognized the nonsense. He was certain that this was the same sheet that his dad had used to grow that flower. Not the exact one, this one was noticeably older and had some creeping water damage, but the writing was the same. Uno slowly placed his palm against the paper and felt a rush of excitement spin up his spine. Maybe he could do what his dad had done, maybe he could grow a flower.

It would be small, a flower is nothing in the grand scheme of things, but it had made his dad so excited before. Maybe if he grew him a flower with his own hand, his dad would trust him. Maybe his dad would think better of him.

Uno closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He pressed the entirety of his weight into his arm and focused on the texture beneath his skin. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, a spark or a zap of electricity or what. “Magic magic, grow a flower.” He whispered, urging something to happen. He waited there for a moment longer, palm desperately applied to the paper. A paper that was, decidedly, not growing a flower. Uno felt his face involuntarily pull into a snarl, tears of frustration welling up in his eye.

Useless. Can’t even grow a flower.

Uno dejectedly pulled his hand from the paper and curled miserably into himself. His dad had made it seem so easy. All he did was put his hand on the paper, why couldn’t Uno do the same? Why was everything so hard for him?

Suddenly, a soft noise rustled through the room. Uno felt his breath catch in his throat as his vision snapped to the paper in front of him. Something seemed to bubble in the parchment. The paper twitched slightly, the symbols scratched onto it writhed and spun. Slowly, at first, then faster. Fast enough to match the feverish pace of Uno’s heartbeat.

Without warning, a twisted vine burst from the center of the page. Uno let out a shriek of surprise at the sudden development. He reeled back, his shell bumping against his bed frame with a quiet thunk.

That wasn’t a flower.

But it was something.

A hysterical giggle bubbled out of Uno’s mouth as he truly took in what he had done. That he had done it. There, right in front of him, was something tangible and alive and his. The vine curled upwards, it was turquoise, splintered, and absolutely beautiful. Uno laughed again, clambering towards the plant with an intoxicating enthusiasm. He had to show his father. He had to show him what he could do!

Uno grabbed the vine with a shaky hand and began to drag it towards his door. It was heavier than he expected it to be, twitchier too. It pulsed under his hand with an unexpected heartbeat and began to curl around his hand. Uno giggled at the sensation and began to yank the vine in short bursts into the hallway.

He had done it. He’d really done it! Uno let out another tight giggle as the vine scraped against the floor behind him. Sure, he didn’t do it right. It wasn’t a flower, but it was something! It wasn’t useless. It wasn’t just an empty sheet with the warmth of a handprint on its letters. It was real. It was tangible. It was pulsing under his hand.

Uno hadn’t noticed how far the vine had traveled up his arm until it began to tickle at his bicep. He paused, halfway down the hall to his dad’s room, and tried to pull his hand free. With every shake of the limp, the vine seemed to wind tighter around his arm. Uno felt a jolt of concern as a dull pain began to grow from the pressure. He placed his foot on the paper and tried to forcefully tear his arm from the plant’s grip, but that achieved nothing. The vine was creeping higher and higher on the boy, he could feel his hand begin to prick with a lack of circulation.

“Uh- Dad?” Uno called, panicked. He felt his breath begin to quicken as the vine began to wring around the back of his neck. “Dad!?”

Uno’s desperate cries for help were suddenly cut off as the vine shot around his throat. It constricted easily, stopping any noise with a shriek. The boy fell to the ground, twisting and fighting against the pull of the vine as it continued to tighten. He barely noticed the plant curling above his jaw and into his mouth.

He tried to scream.

Uno’s limbs flailed against the ground, his legs shot out pathetically in an attempt to kick away his attacker.

Nothing was working.

He was going to die.

Black spots faded into the edges of his vision. The ringing in his ears increased unbearably. He felt saliva dribbling down the front of his chin. Tears slipped easily down his cheek.

It didn’t make sense. Everything was working so well for him not a few seconds ago. Now what he had once been so excited for was tearing him apart. In his state of half-consciousness, Uno wondered if this was how his father felt. His father meant to make a flower, but with Uno all he had was a depleting vine. Something that spun and further trapped him the more it grew. A constricting, regrettable thing that was supposed to be something good. Something great, even.

Now, all it did was pull him deeper into a near-endless dark.

When he began to feel warmth, he was sure that he had died. He wasn’t expecting death to be something warm, but there was no other clear explanation for his current circumstance. The coarse grip of the vines faded away and he could no longer feel the cold dustiness of the floor. He was shocked to feel himself coughing. It was strange to become refamiliarized with the sensation of air in his lungs, then the blurry vision slowly fading back into his consciousness. He wasn’t dead.

Something was talking to him. A persistent, steadily growing noise was building over the incessant ringing in his ear. There were hands on his shoulders, warm and clawed and desperate.

“-o! Uno! Breathe!”

It was his father. His father speaking to him in a panicked rumble, his hands slowly rubbing up and down Uno’s arms almost as if he were trying to warm him. He let the steady presence of Draxum bring him back to lucidity, His powerful heartbeat through his chest, the comforting grip of his hands, the fervent murmuring of his voice.

Uno blinked, the concerned features of his father fading into his line of sight. The goat wasn’t wearing his helmet, giving the boy a full view of the foreign terror on Draxum’s face. His amber eyes were wide with a strange panic that Uno had never seen before, his mouth pulled back in a sneer, his brow wrinkled with tension.

“Dad.” Uno croaked softly before breaking into a coughing fit. Draxum’s face softened slightly, a sigh leaving his large body. “Uno.” He grumbled, “What happened?” He felt his father shift to face the hallway.

“Where did that come from?” His father grimaced. Uno let his head lul to the side to see the carnage Draxum was referring to. The vine that had been previously constricted around his body was now in shreds on the stone floor, some parts of it still twitching. The paper it had emerged from was torn into ribbons. Uno swallowed, his throat tender. “I’m sorry.” he whispered, emotion bubbling in his scratchy voice, “I just wanted to grow a flower.”

“What did you say?”

Uno swallowed, trying to bite back against the growing need to cry. He hated crying infront of his dad. “I- I just wanted to make you proud.” He choked, “I didn’t mean to make something bad. I’m s-sorry.”

“You. You made that?”

Uno nodded jerkily, a small sob stubbornly escaping his mouth. Draxum was silent, staring wide-eyed at the shredded vine on the floor. The boy in his arms let his eye fall closed, feeling more exhausted than he had in a very very long time. “You made that.” Draxum repeated, moreso as a statement than a question. Uno let out another choked sob, burning shame piercing every fiber of his being. “I’m sorry.” He whimpered, “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry. Sorry.”

“Uno.” Draxum breathed, returning his attention to the form on his lap, “Don’t you understand what’s happened here?”

Uno shook his head no, eyes still squeezed shut. He felt his father’s body tense, two large hands gently lifted him upwards to rest against Draxum’s chest. Draxum slowly rested his chin against the top of the boy’s head. “Most yokai don’t develop the ability to wield mystic energy until their teenage years. That spell on that paper was an advanced spell, Uno. It takes a large amount of mystic energy to complete.” Draxum’s voice wavered with excitement as he explained. “ You shouldn't have been able to do that. Not yet. Sure, you did it wrong. But nothing should have happened in the first place! The fact that something happened is… It’s incredible!”

Uno looked up at his father through a teary eye. His dad was… excited? Happy? Happy with him? When was the last time he’d done something that had made his father this happy? Had he ever? The fear that had sunk into Draxum’s features only minutes before had melted away into a fierce excitement. His grip tightened protectively over Uno.

“Maybe you were right.” Draxum mumbled, “ maybe… Maybe you are ready to learn magic.”

He smiled warmly at his son, rising to his feet with the boy still tucked in his arms. Uno’s eye began to droop with exhaustion, but he still managed to smile through the painful, tired haze. “Really?” the boy croaked. Draxum chuckled softly as he carried Uno back to his room. The goat noted the sprawling pile of his old notes on the floor, but decided to save a conversation about that for another day. He placed the boy in his bed and set the covers over his small form.

“Rest, my son.” He murmured to the now-sleeping boy, “We have a lot of work to do in the morning.”

Chapter Text

Year 12

The air was hot and damp, the kind of humidity that stuck to hair and caught in the creases of one’s eyelids. The old shopkeeper rested against the post of her tent and fanned herself concomitantly with her hand. She felt a bead of sweat slip down from her forehead and follow the taper of her nose, hitting the ripe fruit in front of her with a small plip. On an average day, she would’ve fussed about, ensuring that her display was as presentable as it could be. Today was too miserable to do such. She continued to lazily flap her clawed hand next to her face in an attempt to stave off some heat.

Her eyes scanned the lines of booths she was a part of, past the writhing bodies of shoppers going about their days. Everyone seemed to be faring similarly, tired sunken eyes, tongues lolling from open mouths, fans sweeping next to those who could afford them’s heads. The shopkeeper sighed.

“Helloooo, Ms. Tilk’n.”

The shopkeeper jumped slightly as a large purple leaf was shoved in front of her face.

“Ach! What on earth-”

The elderly yokai grabbed the edge of the leaf and gently pushed it to the side to reveal the expectant smile of the newly arrived customer. She grinned softly, a slight mischief sparking in her gaze.

“Uno, dear.” She greeted, “There’s a leaf in my face.”

“Mm-hm” The young turtle agreed, casting a glance to the leaf still being offered to Ms. Tilk’n. “Yeah, it’s for you.”

“The leaf?”

“Sure! I grew it myself you know.”

“Didja now?”

“Yep! It’s for the heat, see?”

He turned the leaf back to himself and began to enthusiastically fan it as a demonstration. He let out a dramatically relieved sigh as the air hit his scales. Ms. Tilk’n let out an amused chuckle.

“See?” He encouraged, handing the leaf back to the shopkeeper.

“Yes, I see. Thank you, dear.” She said graciously, taking the leaf from his hand and fanning herself with it. It wasn’t nearly as helpful as the boy’s presentation made it seem, but it was still much better than whatever Ms. Tilk’n was trying previous.

“Are you going to buy anything today, Uno?” She asked, still flapping the leaf next to her head. Uno blinked his visible eye, his other hidden under an eyepatch, and let out a quiet “Oh, yeah. Right!”

He lifted his singular hand to his chin and began to scan Ms. Tilk’n’s assorted fruits and vegetables. A familiar sadness began to well up in the old Yokai as she watched his deliberation. He was incredibly damaged for such a young person. She didn’t know what happened to him to leave him like that, missing so much of his original skin. The heavy, flowy clothing that he wore did little to hide his missing limbs, and the eyepatch did nothing except invite the imagination of anyone looking at him. The scars that littered his flesh just added to the mystery.

She remembered the first time she saw him a few years back. She was sitting at her booth, much like she was today, tired and bored when a small green head popped into her line of sight. She was shocked at the boy that stood in front of her. He looked at her with a strange gaze, a mix of milky white and stunning yellow. She could see the scarring that peppered down the side of his body and felt herself grow slightly dizzy at the sight of the stump where an arm should’ve been. He stared at her for a moment, a small hand gripping the edge of her stand.

“I need this.” He stated suddenly, reaching into a pocket in his pants and flipping out a piece of paper. Ms. Tilk’n blinked, first shocked at the fact that he could talk, then shocked at herself for assuming that he wouldn’t be able to. “W-what was that?” She asked. The boy let out a quick sigh and leaned further into her display of fruits, shoving the paper closer to her face.

“This!” he urged, his body slightly tilted to accommodate his missing arm. The shopkeeper gently took the paper from his hand and read the sweeping cursive on the paper:

Uno,

Buy groceries.

Dad.

Ms. Tilk’n laughed and smiled curiously down at the boy. He’d scratched out “Uno” and “Dad” on the page.

“Why did you cross out these two?” She asked, turning the paper back around to the boy and tapping the words gently. The boy sighed dramatically. “Well,” he started, “dad told me to go to town and get stuff for the lab. I didn’t know what he wanted me to get so I asked him to make a list. This is what he gave me. We already have me, I’m Uno,” He jabbed out suddenly, punching a finger towards the name at the top of the list, “and we have Dad” a second jab at the final line, “But I don’t know what the middle thing is. Do you have it here?”

“Groceries?”

“No. Buy groceries. That’s what it says.”

The boy traced the middle line with his finger and read it out slowly for Ms. Tilk’n in an effort to help her understand. She withheld her laughter at the boy's lack of understanding as she warmly watched his mini lesson. Once he’d finished, he stared back up at her with his mismatched eyes and set his jaw expectantly. The shopkeeper blinked as she realized he was expecting an answer from her about her ownership of ‘buy groceries’. She huffed a quick amused sigh and handed the paper back to the small turtle. “Well, I have some groceries here. I don’t think buy groceries is one thing, dear. I think your dad wants you to buy many groceries, like fruits and veggies, to have in the house.”

The boy scrunched his nose at the shopkeeper and turned his attention briefly back to the letter in his hand. He gazed back up at her. “Mm, No I don’t think so. He wrote it on the list.” He stated matter of factly, flipping the paper back around so Ms. Tilk’n could get another look. The old yokai chuckled.

“Well, I can’t get you ‘buy groceries’, but I can help you get some other things that your dad might like. Is that alright?” She offered, folding her hands in front of her and leaning closer to the boy. He thought for a second, his bottom lip stuck out subconsciously as he scanned her collection of goods. “Yeah, ok.” He relented, stuffing the letter back in his pocket. “Thank you- wait.” his gaze snapped back to her, an air of distrust evident in his patchwork features. “What’s your name?” He asked.

“Me? I’m Lily Tilk’n.”

“Mm-hm. Ms. Tilk’n”

“Oh! Uh- sure. That works.”

“Ok!” He started enthusiastically, any implication of distrust immediately melting away from his demeanor. “What do I buy?”

Ms. Tilk’n spent the next half an hour or so sorting through her display of produce and helping the small boy select the best of the bunch. He was very particular for such a young boy, fruits had to be the right size, shape, and texture. Some vegetables he demanded weighing in his hand before he agreed to buy them. Strangest of all, he demanded to smell each thing before it went into the ‘purchase’ pile. “I have a very good nose, it’s good at smelling things.” he explained, pointing to his snout matter-of-factly. “Is that so?” Ms. Tilk’n asked, amused.

“Yes.” He continued, “I can smell that you had rosewater tea this morning. And you had honey with it.”

The shopkeeper startled. She hadn’t had rosewater tea, but her wife wore rosewater perfume the night before when she went to the theater. Before the old yokai could press the boy about his observation, he’d reached into his pocket and set down a hefty sum in coins on the booth’s counter.

“This is to pay for everything.” Uno explained, gently sliding the coins into a straight line in front of her. Ms. Tilk’n watched as the boy set out a ridiculous amount of money, much more than any child should really have.

“Oh- um.” She mumbled, “Dear, this is way too much. I only need this much.” She carefully pulled three coins out of the line and placed them into the pouch on her side. The boy scrutinized her for a moment, glanced down to the remaining coins, then squinted back up at her. “Dad said to use these to pay.” he stated.

“And you did! I just didn’t need all of them.”

The boy hummed softly, then began to carefully place the coins one by one back into his pocket. The shopkeeper watched him curiously.

“Uno,” She began, “How old are you, dear?”

“M’Four.” He mumbled, dropping another coin into his pants with a clink.

“Why did your dad send you out here on your own?”

“Oh, he’s real busy.” Uno answered immediately. “He’s got experiments and stuff to do.”

“Experiments?”

“Yeah.” The boy continued nonchalantly. He stopped, the final coin from the lineup pinched between his forefinger and his thumb. His gaze slid over to the bag of fruits and vegetables still on the counter. “Can I have my things?” He asked, nodding to the bag. Ms. Tilk’n smiled and gently swung the bag over the counter and placed it on his outstretched arm. “Thanks!” He smiled, then slapped the extra coin onto the booth. Before she could say anything, the boy had already bolted back into the crowd of yokai and disappeared. Ms. Tilk’n blinked, startled by the sudden action and disappearance of her young customer. She carefully picked up the coin and began to search the mass of the yokai to find him and return the money, but he had already gone.

“Ok! That should be all.”

Ms. Tilken jumped as she was brought out of her musings by the present-day Uno. He had placed a small bundle of fruits and a pile of coins in front of her while she had been caught in her reminiscing. “Is that good?” He asked, nodding towards the small pillar of coins. She smiled and nodded, not needing to count to ensure that he’d paid the right amount. “You’re all good, Uno. Have a nice day dear.”

Uno flashed the elderly yokai a grin and tucked the fruits into the satchel at his side. “Thanks, Ms. Tilk’n! I’ll see you next week!”

With that he was gone, down the dirt road and into the mass of yokai. Ms. Tilk’n watched him wander away, the leaf still gripped faithfully in her wrinkled claws. She smiled.

…

Uno liked the market. He only got to come once a week, but it consistently proved to be the time when he felt the most relaxed and happy. He loved the excitement of it all, the whirlpool of yokai going about their lives, the chatter, the smells, the sights, the sounds. The first time he’d gone he’d gotten so overwhelmed that he’d turned around and left before he even fully stepped into the street. Nowadays he’d like to consider himself somewhat of a pro. He knew which booths gave the best deals, he knew the ones that had the best foods, and he knew the ones that had the best people. That’s the real reason he loved these shopping days, he loved being around the people.

Up at the lab there was really just his dad and the henchmen. Hugin and Munin could be fun, sure, but at the end of the day they were his dad’s cronies. They always, always, reported back to the big man. That removed a lot of the possibilities for fun from the equation.

“Hi Uno!” A voice called out from a nearby booth. Uno threw up his hand in greeting and shouted a quick “Hiya!” before continuing on. He smiled.

That was another thing he loved about this place. Here he was known. He’d worked his way around to all of the shopkeepers at some point, won them over in some way. He liked that he was liked. He liked knowing that some yokai looked forward to seeing him. It warmed his body in a way nothing else could.

The boy meandered further into the hidden city market, passing the vibrant booths and swirling scents. The pack on his side bumped rhythmically against his leg as he walked, heavy with produce and herbs. He stopped suddenly as he came across a particularly colorful booth.

Next to him stood a modestly sized tent decorated garishly with various tapestries, ribbons, and flags. Lines of lavishly dressed mannequins guarded the entrance, each wearing a unique, vibrant dress. Uno hovered at the edge of the display, his hand nervously clenching and unclenching at his side. His gaze flicked down the street, wary of anyone taking note of him. Cautiously, the boy slunk over to a nearby mannequin clad in a blue dress.

It was beautiful. Sleek, woven blue fabric hung loosely off of the form. White and gold flowers were stitched into the hem of the sleeves and the bottom of the skirt. A deep blue vest accompanied the garment, golden vines curled around the collar and dove down the spine. The sleeves poofed and tapered, clasped together with ivory buttons. Uno’s chest ached at the sight. It was such a lovely thing. What he would do to wear a dress like that.

But he knew better. The dress was far too expensive for his meager savings, and he doubted his father would be thrilled if he learned that he spent his money on a dress. Things like dresses and fancy shoes and exotic snacks were generally considered a waste in the Draxum household.

“You loitering again?”

Uno spun to face his accuser, face hot with embarrassment. A cat yokai stood in the entrance to the tent, her dappled face holding a veiled amusement. Uno scoffed out a short laugh, turning away from the dress quickly. “Oh! Hey Richie! I didn’t see ya there.”

“Uh-huh.” The cat responded, eyes flicking over to the dress that had been occupying Uno. “Nice dress, huh?” She asked, smirking.

“Hm? Oh!” Uno startled, jumping away from the mannequin with a forced shock. “Oh yeah! Huh, I guess it is pretty nice. One of yours?”

“Nah, not really. I made the vest, Tia’s responsible for the actual dress. She wants to see you by the by.” Richie said before slinking back into the folded patterns of the tent. “She- wait! Richie!” Uno groaned, trying to hide his excitement as he followed the seamstress inside.

He always loved having an excuse to go in here.

The tent was always accompanied by the chattering clack of the main seamstress, Tia’s, machine. The sewing desks were buried under months of half-finished projects. Bolts of fabric tossed haphazardly in every open area of the small space. String, twine, ribbon all thrown into various hat boxes and crates. Scissors hung nailed from the support beams, measuring tapes spilled from half-closed drawers, needles stuck out of every available surface. From in here, the smell of vanilla was almost dizzying.

“Uno’s here!” Richie announced as she plopped back down at her workstation, resuming her stitching on a lacy white skirt.

The continuous clatter of Tia’s machine abruptly cut off. She leaned around the bulk of the machine and squinted at Uno through her bright purple reading glasses. A collection of pins stuck out of her mouth in a beaded line. ‘You’re late.’ She signed, glaring down the end of her stub nose at the boy in her shop. “Late?” Uno laughed, “How can I be late? I didn’t even know you wanted to see me.”

The tamarin waved him off casually, kicking her machine back into action with a RAT-TAT-TAT. Uno stuck out his lip and frowned. “What did you want from me!?” He questioned loudly over the raucous of her sewing. Tia glanced up at him nonchalantly, then nodded over to a small pile of scrap fabric. ‘Wait.’

Uno scoffed halfheartedly and slumped down onto the fabric. He let his surroundings wash around him. The scratchy mix of texture under him, the beastly noise of Tia hard at work, the scent of vanilla that was always there but he could never figure where it came from. It was nice in here. A controlled chaos.

Tia and Richie’s shop hadn’t been here too long, only a year or so. They’d already become some of his favorite shopkeepers. He never bought anything from them, but he always made sure to stop by. Sometimes they let him in, mostly to have someone for Tia to talk to other than her co-owner. Uno was just excited to meet people who could actually speak sign language. It wasn’t common knowledge for most yokai. Uno had learned it when he was younger and found it extremely useful. It was nice to have a different way to communicate other than his voice. The ringing in his ear made other yokai’s words difficult to distinguish at times. He was prone to get in trouble for following instructions improperly when said instructions were given in a loud room, when it was dark, or when his father’s mouth wasn’t visible to him. Worse than that, He would occasionally find himself locked, his jaw stuck and his tongue paralyzed. Like speaking through tar.

That whole thing, not being able to speak, had really started in earnest after the night with the vines. Little things would set him off. Something would brush past his throat, linger too long on the back of his neck, a noise too loud, a room too quiet. He wasn’t able to talk for nearly a month after the incident with the vines. Learning sign language came from necessity, as Draxum was partially convinced that his delicate son would never speak again. Gradually, he was able to recall his voice. Draxum and Uno were relieved for the same reasons when he mustered out a few sentences one night at dinner. With his voice back, Uno would not be forced to live with yet another setback. Draxum wasn’t sure what he would do at that point. If he would have to sit by and watch as more and more of the boy melted away from him until he was nothing. Until he was truly, absolutely, useless.

Unfortunately, even after all these years, Uno would still be pulled back into those moments of muteness. He’d learned to catch them, to notice them before they would happen, and he’d learned what helped to get him back to talking when it was necessary.

(Occasionally it proved very useful when he simply did not want to talk, but still being fully capable. Sign had its perks.)

Tia was not the same. Tia did not have options like he did. She was always locked, her throat’s only uses seemed to be to keep her head upright and to serve as a resting place for her measuring tapes. He wasn’t sure if he’d be friends with Tia had they not held a strange mix of needs for sign. They were like two oddly shaped ships quietly crashing next to each other in the midst of a strange and loud sea.

It was nice.

Uno had nearly fallen asleep when a sharp snapping brought him quickly back to the present. Tia was in front of him, fists planted firmly on her hips, an unreadable scowl set on her face. Uno blinked up at her blearily.

“Are you done now?” He asked. Tia clicked her tongue at him and grabbed his wrist, effectively hoisting him back onto his feet. Before he could further question her motives, she was shoving a small tin to his chest. Uno blinked again. “What’s that?” He asked, curiously taking the tin from her hand. It looked like it used to be packaging for fish, the worn label on the front showing a painted tuna tipping a bowler hat to the viewer. ‘Sewing kit’ Tia explained, ‘so you can stop standing out front looking miserable. Make some of your own stuff. Make this stuff pretty.’ She tugged at the sagging sleeve of his shirt for emphasis. Uno would’ve normally gasped in mock insult at the jab towards his fashion, but he was too shocked by the gift. “Oh. Uh,” He stammered, “T-thanks! Thank you so much!”

Tia clicked her tongue again and waved the boy towards the door. Uno caught the etchings of a smile in her features as she spun around and returned to her desk. He felt his chest ache with that familiar warmth. “I’ll make something real good!” He promised, clutching the tin to his chest. “You’ll be beggin’ to hire me soon!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Richie relented, rolling her eyes. “Keep dreaming, kid!”

Uno smiled and eagerly left the small tent. He strolled easily past the dresses on display and wove himself back into the crowd as the tin found a comfortable home alongside the other groceries in his satchel. His body buzzed with excitement as he redirected himself towards the lab. He had a lot of work to do once he got home.

…

The dirt path crackled under Uno’s feet as he walked. His prosthetic pinched into the flesh of his thigh uncomfortably with each step, but it didn’t bother him today. He was too busy trying to catch the sparking ideas that rioted in his brain. What would he make?

First, he’d have to figure out how to sew. That might prove difficult with his one hand, but he was determined to find a workaround. Maybe he could try and use some magic for this one? He was getting way better at controlling the vines. It had taken him years, but he could kinda make the vines hold a cup of water without shattering the mug, that was a big improvement. And it was merciful on the many crumbled mugs that got him there.

But what would he make? Maybe he could embroider some patterns into his sleeves, just like Tia implied. Maybe he could make his eyepatch look less scary. Maybe he could make his eyepatch scarier!

The options were limitless.

Uno hummed to himself as he deftly leapt from the dirt road and slid down into the ditch, cutting into the woods. Sometimes the long, strange trek it took to get back to his home was annoying, but today it served as a welcome pause to daydream and plan. The teen easily wove through the familiar shortcut, ducking under branches and traversing through the twisting foliage.

Suddenly, he found himself at a stop. A slight wave of dizziness swam over his senses as he came to a slow realization. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. His hand clenched around the sewing tin in his grip as he took a deep inhale through his nose and was hit with an unmistakable stench. A familiar smell.

It was what he was born into, what forged him. It’s what would get clogged in his nose and mouth with each training session. What would waft through the house from Draxum’s lab on occasion. What was always just below the breeze in the hidden city.

Yokai blood.

Lots of it.

Uno felt a spike of anxiety bore into his stomach as his eyes wavered across the surrounding terrain. He couldn't see anyone, but he knew that somewhere nearby there was someone hurt. Someone who needed help.

What do I do? What do I do?

The mantra thrummed alongside his rapid heartbeat. Should he look around and find the injured person? Should he get dad and come back? Should he just walk away? No. No, that wouldn't work. Dad didn't leave him behind when he was little. He could've, but he chose not to.

Now it was Uno's turn. His turn to help, to save someone.

He sucked in a steadying breath of air and began to nervously scan the area around him. He carefully crept over the roots and soil of the forest, groceries hanging forgotten at his side.

Uno’s gaze snagged on something in the underbrush, a pair of clawed feet sticking out from under a tangle of leaves.

His breath became hollow in his chest as his mind numbly processed what was in front of him.

There was a canine yokai collapsed on the ground, mostly obscured by leaves. Their body was twisted in upon itself, blood clotted the creases of their fur and oozed from their slightly open jaws. It seemed like they had been attacked, face swollen with violence and body presumably littered with stab wounds. Uno couldn’t tell if they were breathing.

His hand shot up against his scarred snout, the metal sewing tin hitting the ground with a tink! He hardly noticed the sudden abandonment of his newest prized possession. He barely even registered his movements as he crept towards the crumpled figure.

His foot squished into the dirt around the yokai, muddy with blood.

“H-” Uno gagged, the air rank and catching in his throat. “Hello? H-hey. Hey are you breathing?”

Uno’s hand shook as he carefully crouched next to the figure and reached out to feel their chest. Now that he was closer, he could see that the yokai was elderly. Age speckled their dust-brown snout with gray and white. A pair of reading glasses hung askew on beads around their neck, cracked with the violence of whatever had happened. They were dressed simply; robes, pants, a knitted scarf. There was a slight movement in their chest, but Uno couldn’t tell if it was from breath or the passing breeze.

He placed his hand on the Yokai’s arm and squeezed gently, fearful that if he pressed too hard the form in front of him would shatter.

The yokai sucked in a horrible breath at the contact, air tearing through damaged and aged lungs. Uno reeled backwards and fell into the dirt, letting out a small shriek of surprise as he went. The yokai began to cough, choking on whatever collection of mess had accumulated in their mouth and throat. They struggled sideways, trying in vain to roll over on their side to ease their pain. Uno watched their efforts dumbfounded, previously certain that he had definitely stumbled across a corpse.

“Hhhkkggg…” The yokai groaned, a strand of bloody saliva pooling from their mouth onto the ground. They squinted up at him through bruised eyes. “H..hel-p.” The dog choked, tears welling.

Uno knew that look. The desperate, terrified, helpless gaze of someone completely out of options. He’d seen it reflected in his father when he thought Uno wasn’t watching. It pierced him each time he slipped, got a question wrong in his studies, had a pain in a missing limb.

Uno’s body moved before his brain could comprehend the motion. The bag of groceries joined the discarded sewing tin on the ground as Uno wrapped his arm under the weak elder and gently lowered them back onto the earth. “Shhh… Shh it's ok.” He soothed, “ uh, Try not to move, ok?”

The yokai let out a small strangled noise as Uno gently pulled his hand from under their body. “Sorry.” Uno hissed quietly.

He sat there for a moment, body spasming with energy and the need to help but not knowing what to do. The yokai needed actual medical attention, not some preteen who’d read his dad’s notes one too many times. Uno sucked in a quick breath and shook his head violently. This yokai didn’t need him panicking right now, they needed help. And right now Uno was the only help they were gonna get.

“What happened? Where are you hurt?” He asked, returning his hand to the yokai’s shoulder. The yokai watched him out of the corner of their cracked eyelids. “It’s ok if you can’t answer,” Uno started. “I-”

“R-robbed.” The yokai bit painfully. “ They c-came out of the… the woods. Stab-bed me.” They raised a shaky hand and gestured towards their stomach. “T-there.” They whimpered.

Uno felt the blood sink from his face as he realized just how bad the situation was. Stomach wounds are nothing to joke about, the young mutant understood that clearly. “Oh, ok. Uh- ok yeah.” Uno fretted, head spinning. “Ok.”

What would dad do?

He scanned the bushes for any plants that could help.

He knew this. He knew this! The moment that his years of memorizing drawings and charts and notes seemed to easily slip away from his grasp in the time that it counted the most. Uno grimaced and bit the inside of his cheek. Now was not the time to spiral. He had to get a hold of himself.

Paleleaf. Paleleaf was a very common plant that grew at the base of large trees. The fuzz on the underside of the leaf has properties that help with blood clotting and encourage scabs to form on open wounds. There; a start.

“What’s your name?” Uno asked, flitting his attention across the nearby leaves.

“L…Lelin.”

Uno haphazardly grabbed and discarded a leaf he assumed was the one he was looking for.

“I’m Uno. I’m going to take care of you, ok?”

Lelin’s breath started to bubble.

“Y… you’re so yo-young.”

Uno discarded another bundle of leaves.

“I’m 12! I’m old enough to go get groceries on my own.”

Lelin seemed to laugh. Or choke. Uno didn’t want to try and distinguish.

“I have a gr-grandson your… age.”

Uno nearly fainted from relief as he spotted a neatly grown patch of paleleaf tucked under a tree nearby.

“A grandson?”

He ripped the leaves from the earth.

“Mm…”

He carefully unraveled Lelin’s robes. The wounds that littered their fur were ugly. The dizziness returned.

“C-can you tell me about him? What does he like?”

Uno packed the leaves against Lelin’s stomach.

“Hhhgkk!”

There’s dirt under his fingernails.

“Sorry! Sorry!”

There’s blood between his fingers.

“...”

Uno swallowed nervously, hand still firmly placed against Lelin’s heaving stomach. He doesn’t like that he’s causing the yokai more pain, but there’s no other way to make sure the leaves stick and do as they’re supposed to. He could see tears freely falling from the dog’s scrunched eyes, but they made no effort to voice their pain.

“I-I think I should take you to my dad.” Uno confessed, “There’s not a lot I can do out here for you. But he can help! He’s really good with medicine.”

Lelin hummed under Uno’s pressure.

“I’m going to have to carry you, ok? I can’t leave you out here all alone.”

Lelin let out a shuddering sigh. Uno grimaced.

Taking a few moments to steel himself, Uno peeled his hand away from the paleleaf bandage across the dog’s stomach. Lelin hissed at the removed contact, but did not move.

“I’m going to pick you up now, ok?”

Uno tried to maneuver the elderly yokai as efficiently as possible onto his back, but with one arm, a bulky shell, and a limp participant it went as poorly as one would expect. Somehow, Uno managed to hoist Lelin onto his back, one arm slung over the young mutant’s shoulder so he had something to grab onto to keep them up. Lelin did not protest throughout the whole ordeal, only offering the occasional hiss or moan at a particularly painful movement. Uno was panting with exertion, tired. The adrenaline previously coursing through his veins was starting to lose its effect.

“Ok. Ok let’s go. It’ll be ok.”

When Uno was walking by himself, this part of the trip home usually went by pretty fast. It was a nice hike, lots of trees to look at, the occasional hidden-city animal, flowers in bloom. When he was still getting used to his prosthetic, he would walk this section of the woods just to get better at walking on an uneven surface. Maneuvering over rocks, roots, slipping through dust, getting caught on vines and leaves.

Right now, he felt like he was right back there. The flesh on his stump leg ached, fiery jolts of pain shooting up his nerves with each step. Leaves catching on both feet, causing him to stumble. Taking way too long to step up and over rocks and roots.

For once, he wished that Hugin and Munin were with him. They could’ve gone ahead and told dad. But no, he was alone.

He could feel something hot seep down from his shell and hit the back of his leg. He ignored it.

“Do you have more family?” Uno grit out as he stumbled over another jagged rock. “Any kids? A spouse?”

Lelin wheezed out a slight breath of air, but it was in Uno’s bad ear so he couldn’t tell if the yokai had answered at all. He went with it.

“Oh yeah? That’s nice! We’ll make sure to get them once we get you stable. I’m sure they’re worried.”

Another hiss.

“Don’t worry. My dad really knows his stuff. He fixed me up when I was basically dead!”

Uno wasn’t in his body anymore. He felt like he was watching everything happen from the outside. From within the curving purple leaves of the nearby bushes he watched himself spill his entire life story to the dying yokai. From up in a tree he watched the sky begin to open and pour rain on his body and Lelin. Through the front door’s window, he watched the two stumble up the muddy road to the front of the lab.

His body ached. That felt selfish to realize, considering the circumstances, but it did. Rain already made him hurt, made parts of him hurt that weren’t damaged in the explosion. His spine, his neck, his hips, the joins of his fingers. The rain was good only in the sense that it disguised the tears that pooled down his cheeks. He didn’t want his dad to know he’d been crying.

Based on his father’s mutedly terrified expression, it seemed like he already knew.

The two stared at each other in silence. Uno stood in the mud of the steps leading up to the lab, Draxum hovering in the glowing entryway. The cold rain sliced at Uno’s skin, his teeth chattered, his grip on Lelin was starting to fail.

“T-they ne-needs hel-p.” Uno stammered, pleading. “Th-they got st-stabbed.”

Draxum’s expression twisted from one of abject confusion to one of sadness and concern. He carefully approached the young mutant, hands held out infront of him as if he were calming a terrified animal. “Uno.” he started slowly, “Uno, put him down.”

“Th-they need help.” The boy stressed, a panicked mania creeping into his voice, “You can h-help! Yo-you can save-”

“Uno.”

“No!” Uno interrupted. “I-I said I co-could help! Th-they a-asked me t-to help!”

Uno was avoiding looking at Lelin. He knew that the yokai had long since grown cold. He knew that they’d stopped answering him, stopped breathing, before they’d even exited the forest.

The turtle felt his body seize up, tired, sore hand refusing to let go of the corpse on his back. With an unfamiliar sympathy, Draxum reached out to his son and carefully unclenched his grip on the wet fur of Lelin’s wrist. Uno did not move as the cold weight on his back was eased and his father set the body onto the muddy ground.

He was back in the window, watching as his father wrapped a large and strangely kind arm around his shoulders and started to lead him inside. The goat said something to Hugin and Munin before the two entered. Uno didn’t stick around to see what their plans were as they flapped towards the body.

“-o. Are you with me?”

Uno blinked. He was in his dad’s study, which was strange. He did not remember coming in here. Uno was used to being on the other side of that large wooden door that separated this room from the adjoining hallway. Before that door was built, he used to come in here all the time. He’d study, he’d rest, he’d watch his dad work from behind his giant bookcase. But now, the most he saw of this place was that barrier, the thin sliver of the room that could be caught by looking under the crack of the door. It was strange to be back inside. He was dry, cocooned in something large and warm and lying on his dad’s sofa. His fist clenched around the warmth that engulfed him, quickly realizing that it was the quilt that the gargoyles had made some years back. It was patchy, weird, and had a strange smell to it but nobody could deny it wasn’t warm. He could feel his heartbeat in his hand and foot, his body still thrumming with a dull, sore, pain. Above the roaring fireplace, Uno saw his pants and eyepatch hanging in an attempt to dry. His shirt was not there, most likely ruined beyond repair. Uno could not feel the familiar pinch of his prosthetic, but he didn’t have much energy to care where it had gone. There was a cup of something warm on the table next to him, it smelled flowery and sweet. Marigold.

“Uno.” Draxum started again, his voice steadily losing the patient edge he had sported before.

“Mm?”

“Are you with me? Do you know where you are? ”

“Your office.”

Draxum let out a large sigh, leaning back against the chair he had pulled over to the side of the couch. His clawed fingers found their place pinching the bridge of his nose. A familiar sense of guilt started to well up in Uno’s chest.

“Should I even ask why you carried a corpse up here?” Draxum asked bluntly. Uno picked absentmindedly at a loose string on the quilt.

“Uno.”

“They were alive when I started carrying them back.”

“What were you thinking? Why did you do that?”

Uno ripped the string free from the seam. Puffy wool and a strange mix of fur bloomed from inside, a pale contrast to the greens and purples of the fabric.

“They- They needed help.” He answered quietly, nausea steadily growing in his chest.

“And why did you think that you could help? You’re an untrained child!” Draxum questioned, leaning closer to Uno. Uno continued to avoid his gaze.

“I… I thought you could help.”

“What? Why would I help?”

“Because they were hurt! They needed help!”

“Uno, I can’t just help every yokai that comes bleeding to my doorstep.”

Uno felt a flare of anger burst in his shivering body. He glowered through the blanket at his father- finally looking at him for the first time since returning. He stared at Uno with a strange emotion. Pity? The way he spoke, the gentle tightness in his shoulders, made it seem like he thought Uno was an idiot. Uno was not an idiot.

“I thought our whole goal was to help yokai. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? What we’re supposed to do?” He spat bitterly, the words like venom off his teeth. Draxum bristled. “Uno-”

“No!” Uno interrupted, shooting upwards and out of the safety of his cocoon. “We’re supposed to help people, right? You’ve told me for years that this is what I’m supposed to do! It’s up to me to help yokai, to protect them!” His sides were heaving, he could feel hot tears welling up in his eyes. He was going to end up crying again, he hated that. Draxum watched him, an unreadable expression plastered over his face.

“This is my purpose, dad! You said so! I have to help my kind, that’s why I was created. That’s why I'm here!” He swallowed, “I thought… I thought my training was going well. I was learning things, I know things! Important things! I know how to take care of stomach wounds! But today I-” His rant cut off into a choked sob. He shuttered, trying in earnest to stop himself from making any noise. Pleading with the tears now freely falling down his cheek to stop. He could feel his father’s eyes boring into him. Uno did not want to see his expression.

Carefully, Uno sucked in a shaky breath of air in an attempt to calm his fried nerves. He bravely raised his gaze to the visage of his father, a face that still offered him no expression. No emotion. Nothing.

“I failed.” the boy stated simply.

Once again, Uno found himself sitting in silence with his father. Neither made an effort to speak, or blink, or move. Uno started to feel himself shaking again, but it wasn’t from the cold this time. Finally, Draxum’s brow began to furrow, his mouth pulling down at the edges in his signature frown. He sighed softly, collapsing gently into the seatback behind him. He looked tired. More tired than he’d been in a long time. The guilt bore deeper in Uno's stomach as Draxum averted his gaze to the fire. The large yokai took a deep breath.

“He was going to die whether you helped him or not.” Draxum murmured. “You don’t just walk away from a wound like that.”

“I did.” Uno said, his voice as small as he felt. “I survived what happened to me.”

Draxum’s gaze snapped back to Uno, resting a moment too long on his scarred and sightless eye.

“I don’t know how you survived, Uno.” Draxum started carefully. “By all means you should be dead, yet you aren’t. You're…”

He paused, taking a second to let the thoughts tearing through his mind find rest. “You're a miracle.”

Uno’s brow furrowed in confusion. He opened his mouth to respond, but was easily cut off by his father.

“You should have died. But you didn't! Can't you see how remarkable that is? The world has been set out against you since the day you came into it, Uno. Yet you fight! That warrior spirit in you, it might not show physically but you can't deny that it's there! Somewhere in there.”

The large yokai was looking at Uno with that strange kindness, a sudden flare of passion.

“Uno, that yokai was going to die whether you did anything or no. We don't control who lives, not really. Besides, we aren't going to help yokai by saving each little life. We help the yokai by getting rid of them.”

He raised a clawed finger upwards to the wooden grain of the ceiling.

“Them?”

“The humans.”

There was a glint in his father's eye, an echo of the violence that burned in the fireplace. Anger. Raw, forged anger. Even though he knew this anger wasn't directed towards himself, Uno felt his body tense. Draxum continued, lost in his ranting, oblivious to the discomfort of his son.

“ We live under their feet, Uno. Beneath them. Who got to decide that?”

“ I… I dunno…”

“Exactly! What right did they, whoever they are, have to choose who lives above and who rots below?”

“I-”

“ They're ruining it.” Draxum growled.

During his speech he’d slowly eased forward so his elbows rested on his knees. His eyes had grown large, the intensity of his stare matching with the grimnes of the topic. Uno wanted to shrink into his shell, but he couldn't even imagine an escape from this with the unwavering stare of his father.

“Humans are a parasite, Uno. They've been given everything. Everything handed to them like they've earned it! They're killing it, Uno. They're starving it. They've bit the hand that fed them and they haven't stopped chewing. And yet we're the ones that live down here.”

Draxum barked out a humorless laugh.

“ No. No, we aren't going to help yokai by taking care of each sniveling passerby. We can't heal every wound. That's unrealistic.”

Draxum eased off the chair and crouched next to Uno. Uno subconsciously slid backwards on the sofa, but the distance made no difference. Draxum reached out and gripped Uno's wrist in an unforgiving vice.

“We don't help the yokai that way, Uno.” He repeated, “We help yokai by destroying humanity. Do you understand?”

It was then, suddenly, when Uno truly realized the violence his father was capable of. The way his body tensed with the thought of action, eyes alight with the idea of revenge.

It scared him.

“Uno,” Draxum pressed, “do you understand?”

“I understand.” Uno whispered. His father smiled slightly at that, a corner of his lip pinched upwards in unspoken humor.

“Good.”

…

Uno did not get out of bed the next day. He lay curled within the scratchy cotton of his blanket and stared at the wall of his desolate room. He felt the familiar bump of the hidden books and notes under his lumpy mattress, but he knew that paging through them would just make him feel worse. There was something inside of him, something familiar yet unwelcome in his young body. A weight, a terrible heaviness that sank into his stomach and chest. He was tired. So tired. Too tired to get out of bed and join his dad and the gargoyles for breakfast, too tired to start his morning studies, too tired to do any physical training. His limbs were like weights sunk down in a murky water, out of reach and out of sight to him. The only way he knew he was, indeed, alive was the quiet heartbeat he could hear in his bad ear.

Today, he felt like that ear was tricking him. Taunting him. Look how I press ever forward. It seemed to say. Not everyone gets to be a miracle. This miracle, your miracle, was wasted.

Uno became acutely aware of a presence in his door. He could practically feel the two sets of red eyes boring into him from the entryway. He shifted his head, slightly, to pull his good ear from off of the cushion so he could hear any back and forth between the gargoyles.

“- f he tries to, I dunno… vine us?”

“Ohhh, no, that's a good point. You saw what happened to that mug the other week.”

“I know! It was my favorite tea mug. Now it’s in the great beyond.”

He heard a slight shuffling, something that was most likely the two saluting their dearly departed ceramic mug.

“Maybe we can poke him with a stick or something?”

“Wouldn’t that startle him more?”

“I dunno! I’ve never poked him with a stick before.”

“What about that time when he was a baby?”

“Oh shoot! You’re totally right! Maybe it will work then.”

Uno sat up slightly, the blankets shifting around him as he rose. He scrutinized the gargoyles, both hanging upside down like bats in his door frame. They were so busy trying to figure out where they could find a long enough stick that they hadn’t noticed the boy’s consciousness.

“-Well, What if you made yourself super long and super stiff and you can be the stick?”

“Why do I gotta be the stick?”

Uno cleared his throat.

Both gargoyles snapped their attention to the boy with a collective shriek.

“Uno!” Munin cheered, “You’re up! Now neither of us have to be a stick!”

The two exchanged an excited high five before flitting over to Uno’s bed. Uno adjusted so he was sitting more comfortably against the wall behind him. The two henchmen landed easily on his shoulders, not fitting as comfortably as they could on Draxum but staying nonetheless.

“How are you feeling, big man?”

Uno shrugged, the gargoyles bopping up and down with the motion.

“Not talking today?”

Uno shook his head.

“Ah man. Ok. Well, the other, bigger man wants to see you. He’s in the backyard!” Hugin said, pointing a clawed finger to the door. The idea of getting up and walking to said door made Uno feel heavier than before, if that was even possible. He sank miserably against the wall.

“Hey!” Munin cried, flapping up off the young mutant’s shoulder and landing on his lap. “Aw, c’mon Uno! I think he’s got something super cool to show you!”

“Yeah!” Hugin chimed in, “maybe he’s finally letting you have space in the yard for that garden.”

Uno huffed and closed his eyes, letting his head fall against the wall with a thunk.

Tired. He signed jerkily. Don’t want to.

There was a brief moment of silence. He could feel the gargoyles staring him down, trying to figure him out as if he were a scared animal and they had backed him into a corner.

“I told you this wouldn’t work!” Munin hissed to his partner from his place on Uno’s lap. Hugin answered, his words strange and muffled through Uno’s bad ear. They always did this when he didn’t talk. They always seemed to think that just because he wasn’t talking also meant he couldn’t hear.

Uno sighed again.

The gargoyle’s frantic deliberation became background noise as he felt himself drift away. Again, he felt as if he weren’t sitting in his body. Almost felt like he was directly next to it, adjacent to the pain in his limbs and the ringing in his ear. If he tried hard enough, he could almost feel himself resting his head on his shoulder, supported by a body that was no longer his own.

He was absently aware of a small clawed hand tapping his face in an effort to grab his attention. Uno cracked open his eye and stared down at Munin, who was currently pressed against his chest.

“Hey.” the small yokai greeted casually, as if they were speaking for the first time that day. “You should come outside with us. That would be very very cool.”

“Uber-duber cool!” Huginn supplied helpfully, leaning into Uno’s field of vision.

I’m ok.

Munin sighed, a twinge of frustration seeping into his mannerisms as he sat back on his haunches. He crossed his small arms in front of his chest, his red gaze not breaking from Uno. “Listen, Uno.” He started, a strange seriousness in his tone, “ I get that you’re not feeling good right now. What happened yesterday was… well, it was awful. I think the boss is trying to do something really nice for you! You know how he really doesn’t do stuff like that. I think it would be a good idea to just hear him out, you know? Just go see what he’s up to.”

Uno held Munin’s unrelenting gaze for a moment. It was weird to see him so stern, even Hugin seemed put-off by the other gargoyle’s tone. After a few beats, Uno realized that his father’s henchman was not going to give in. By the slight twitch in his claw, Uno was partially convinced that he was half ready to grab Uno and carry him outside if that’s what it took.

The boy sighed and leaned over the side of his bed to grab his prosthetic leg.

…

Draxum was, surprisingly, still waiting by the edge of the yard by the time the trio made it outside. Uno had convinced himself that his dad would have long since grown tired of waiting and would be back in. Then he would be able to turn right back around and return to bed. But no! There he was, the stern, unwavering statue that was his father framed by the twisting forest. The goat perked up slightly as he noticed the approaching group.

“Got him! Sorry it took so long.” Hugin greeted, flapping off of Uno’s shoulder to occupy Draxum’s.

“Yeah! Also he’s not talking right now.” Munin added, joining Hugin on the opposite shoulder. Draxum frowned down at Uno slightly, his lips pursing in annoyance. He never did like it when Uno was like this.

Uno was too tired to feel guilty right now. He wanted to lie down. The grass under his foot did feel extremely soft, maybe taking a nap out here wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“Uno.”

The boy looked up. Draxum had his helmet on, but he could still see the strange glint in his eye as his father nodded towards the woods. “Come.” He commanded simply, turning around and disappearing into the growth. As if on autopilot, Uno followed. He was used to following. It was easy to follow.

The group walked through the forest at a gentle pace, slowed down by Uno. Nobody made any efforts to make conversation as they trekked, instead letting the ambiance of the forest take up the space voices would. Uno didn’t wonder where he was being led.

Maybe they’re taking you out here to kill you. A voice in his head whispered. Maybe they’re trying to make it so you’ll get lost and they’ll never have to deal with you again.

Uno shook his head clumsily, jumbling the thoughts and causing himself to stumble. “Careful, kid!” Munin chided softly. Uno shot the nastiest glare he could muster at the gargoyle and the back of his dad’s head. He had learned long ago that he really didn’t need to try too hard to make any expression grotesque, half of his face already took care of that part of the equation.

Suddenly, he was smacking snout-first into the back of his dad’s breastplate. He let out a small squawk of surprise at the abrupt stop his father had taken. He reeled back, holding onto his nose blinking away stinging tears. His eye snapped to his father, a bubbling anger welling up in his small frame. That anger was quickly dampened by the sight of Draxum. He was still standing with his back to Uno, but his shoulders had sagged considerably. As if a tremendous weight had suddenly been thrown upon the powerful yokai and it had stopped him in his tracks. His clawed fingers twitched absently at his thighs, tapping strange patterns on the flesh of his leg. Uno, mindful to not move too fast in case it set something off in his father, leaned around the large form in front of him to see what had caused such a reaction.

He was disappointed to see that it was a shed.

He was expecting a grave, in full honesty. But no, it was a crumbling old wooden shed, long having been overrun by the forest. There was an open space where a door might have been, and a measured cut taken out of the wall to serve as a window. Looking closer, Uno noted a small stepping stone path leading to the hole that was the entrance. Grass sprouted from between the rocks in an attempt to reclaim them back to the earth, back to nature. It brought Uno a strange feeling of peace seeing that. Knowing that, despite it all, the forest would reclaim everything. Someday he’d be like that rock.

“This.” Draxum started suddenly, stopping briefly to swallow down any emotion in his voice. “This is where I took you when you were young. After your accident.”

Uno watched as his father gently stalked into the deteriorating building, his hooves clicking across the stepping stone path in the way only years of walking over the rocks could create. Uno followed curiously, hopping cautiously from stone to stone with a tump clunk! tump clunk! The gargoyles, aware that this whole situation was not one that was supposed to involve them, flapped away to rest on a nearby branch like a duo of owls.

“I thought we were only going to be here for a few weeks when we first came.” Draxum continued once they’d entered the shack. “I truly underestimated how long it would take you to recover. How much of my time you consumed.”

The inside was in better condition compared to the outside, but that really wasn’t saying too much. It withheld the musk of years of mold, floorboards puckering with moisture and caving slightly underfoot. Draxum let his hand float over the surface of a nearby wall. It almost seemed like if he touched the wall, really felt it’s texture beneath his hand, it would somehow ruin the memory of the place. This was not the same wall as it had been before, such as he was no longer the same yokai. It had rotted, gathered age and water and the elements. It had been disfigured by the years. What had happened to Draxum? Was he like this wall? Once something strong and useful, now molded and strained under the force of passing time.

He didn’t want to linger on that. That was the worst thing someone could do, let it linger.

“You were so small… You could fit in an apple crate!” He chuckled, turning to his son and holding out his hands in an estimated size of the box. “This big.” He stressed.

If he opened up his arms a bit wider, stepped forward towards his boy, this could’ve been a hug. When was the last time he hugged his son? Did Uno even like hugs? They seemed like such trifles, all it was was grabbing on to someone. Maybe Uno needed that. Maybe he needed someone to hold him like when he was small enough to fit in a crate. It was easier to carry him then, easier to envelop him and let him cling on in return. Maybe that contact mattered more now. It was easier before, but now was the time when it actually meant something.

Draxum let his hands fall back down to his side. Uno was staring at him expectantly, curiously. He always held an exhaustion that kids his age normally didn’t carry, and that was very evident in this moment. He swayed slightly from side to side, catching himself right before he listed too far in one way or the other. His functioning eye was bloodshot, giving his features an additional eerie look. He was waiting for Draxum to say something. To explain why they were really there. To hug him. To tell him that what happened yesterday wasn’t his fault, that it was most likely going to happen again and again and there was nothing he could do about that except not let it affect him this badly anymore.

Draxum settled for turning away from his son to face the mildewed environment.

“This place, it’s yours now.” the goat confessed.

He heard a slight shuffle behind him, most likely Uno signing things at him. He did not turn around. He was not going to interpret any of that nonsense today, if Uno was going to talk with him he would have to use his voice. He had to learn to not shut down like that every time something bad happened. Draxum was helping him. He was sure he was helping him.

“I have no use for it anymore.” Draxum continued, pushing past his son’s efforts in communication. “It’s just sitting without purpose out here. I’m sure you can find a good use for it.”

More shuffling, a slight tug on his arm. Ignore.

“It will need some work, but I think it will be good for you. You can start that garden you keep bothering me about. And I-”

Suddenly, there was an arm wrapped around him. He could feel Uno’s face smushed against the back of his spine. His son couldn’t wrap fully around his father’s torso, his arm only managing to reach around to his opposite hip.

They stood like that for a moment. Draxum unwilling to speak, Uno unable. The wood groaned around them, heavy. It made the air feel heavier, weightier. Draxum carefully, slowly, put his hand over Uno’s.

They stood, entangled, quiet in the center of that rotted shack. Neither dare say anything. Part of Uno wanted that building to collapse right then, to trap the two of them inside. Then Uno wouldn’t have to leave this moment. This was the closest he’d come to that feeling he’d get when he was younger. When he would be sat in his father’s lap, staring across the desktop in front of him and the work his dad was doing. Uno never was able to understand what he was doing, but part of him felt like he was helping in some way. Just by being there, by being close to his dad. He could feel Draxum's heartbeat through his chest, steady and strong. It was nice then, to know that there was a heart out there beating outside of his own. Sometimes his dad would speak to him, his voice a constant buzz. That was when he felt the safest, cocooned in a blanket of warmth and sound. Peace.

He had a taste of that peace now. This was the closest he’d been to his father in a very long time. When was the last time he hugged him? It didn’t matter. All that mattered now was the breath of air between the father and his son, and the chance that the roof would collapse and trap them, forever, in this embrace.

….

Chapter Text

Sleep had never been easy for Uno. 

Falling asleep, staying asleep, letting his body rest when it demanded. The games he used to play when he found himself in a bout of insomnia no longer worked as well as they did when he was younger. Even though he’d found a near-perfect mixture of herbs that could be used to make him fall asleep with little difficulty, he’d yet to find any relief from his terrible habit of waking up way too early and not being able to go back to sleep. 

This, the waking up at ungodly hours, was a newer development. Something would shift in the house- a support beam creaking back into place under the weight of the night, the clicking of his father’s hooves as he retreated to his own bedroom, the muffled mischief of the henchmen, and Uno would be snapped awake. More recently, there had been something just outside his room that would shriek and wail at strange hours of the morning. He never caught sight of it, just barely becoming cognizant by the time it would tear away back into the woods with an echoing caterwaul. These interruptions seemed to activate Uno in a strange way. It was almost like his body was a fire immediately set ablaze by any stimulation. Unfortunately, he had no clue how to put that fire out. He was so sick of waiting for it to die down so he could just go to bed. He was tired. 

Tonight was one of those nights. Well before the world was awake, a terrible yowl erupted from under Uno’s window. His eye snapped open immediately, adrenaline pumping into his half-conscious body causing him to jolt. He stayed, squished between the weight of his quilt and the woven fabric of his mattress, deliriously trying to figure out what had awoken him. He felt a wave of frustrated anger trickle into his being as he registered that he had been woken up, yet again, by the mysterious creature. He felt his fist clench into the fabric of his blanket, his mouth subconsciously pulling into a sneer. 

Wonderful. This is just fantastic. 

The boy stayed as still as possible pressed under his sheets with the knowledge that if he moved, got to his feet, his body would become reminded of how sore he was. He hated the stiff, creaking feeling that always greeted him when he really started his day. It was only getting worse, and he was certain his training sessions weren’t really helping with that. They’d also gotten worse these past few months, longer, harder, more exhausting. Participating willingly in training was painful, avoiding it was worse. 

After a brief moment of deliberation, Uno decided that there was no use lying in bed waiting for the inevitable. He eased himself into a sitting position, yawning dryly as his stiff joints pulled against the motion. He stretched, going through the familiar pull of popping the tension out of his still-sleeping muscles. Sometimes he felt like his body had forgotten that he had recovered from the accident. It liked to remind him on occasion that he used to have a hand and a foot, random stabs of pain would shoot through a limb that no longer existed on him. At first all of that was terrifying, but now it was just plain annoying. Phantom pains, his dad had called them, which had made the boy chuckle. 

Now, whenever an ache like that would hit him, he would imagine a ghostly apparition of his arm or leg coming back to haunt its owner. A vengeful spirit hellbent on being as annoying and slightly debilitating as possible. Coping, his dad had called that one. 

Uno fumbled in the darkness next to his bed until his hand slapped against the familiar surface of his prosthetic leg. This one, this leg, was by far the weirdest one he’d used. Draxum had always made him a new leg whenever his development called for it, or on the off chance he completely demolished his existing prosthetic. The ‘completely demolishing’ thing was becoming a bit more commonplace after his most recent growth spurt and Draxum’s decision that his training sessions weren’t as effective as they could be. All his youth, Uno had clunked around on faithful wooden legs. However, after the third instance of his leg splintering into nothingness during a sparring match, His father had decided that something a bit sturdier was needed. This new leg was metal, shiny and foreign. It was heavy, uncomfortable, often making Uno secretly slip on his spare wooden one when he knew his father wouldn’t be scrutinizing too hard. The boy knew that this technique wasn’t going to work very well in the long term- he’d already outgrown his spare and was too scared to ask for a new one. 

So, like most days, Uno chose to ignore the part of him that hated the weird metallic leg. He slipped it onto his stump with ease and rose to his feet with another creaking stretch. He grabbed the sleeveless black shirt and soft purple pants he’d set out the night before, getting dressed as quickly as he saw fit on such an early morning. As he wrapped his flesh leg in a compression bandage, another terrible yowl echoed from the woods outside his window. Uno’s brow furrowed as he clasped the bandage in place, trying his best to come to peace with whatever creature was running around their property at such ungodly hours. The thing was lucky Draxum was such a heavy sleeper, otherwise the poor thing would most certainly be in some cage right now. 

Uno snagged his new satchel from its place on his desk before padding down the hallway as quietly as he could manage. He crept past his dad’s office, past the menacing door that led to the inner workings of the lab, and past the rumbling snores that came from Draxum’s bedroom. The boy snaked his way into the kitchen, an oddly cozy place in the intimidating darkness. The cool, sleek tiles always felt wonderful against his skin and the entire room always smelled like a mix of vague and exciting spices. Uno cracked open the icebox, scanning the shelves for anything edible that didn’t need to be cooked. 

“Can you pass me the cheese?” a quiet voice hissed next to him. Uno jumped, flailing sideways and nearly slapping the gargoyle out of the air. Munin, miraculously, dodged the offending fist with a “Woah-hoh! Gentle!” 

Uno gaped at the gargoyle, his heart still beating frantically against his ribs. “Why did you sneak up on me!?” Uno whisper-yelled at the blob. In the darkness of the kitchen Uno could barely piece apart Munin's body from the surrounding shadows. Only his red almond-shaped eyes could be distinguished clearly, giving a strange image of two floating gems staring at Uno. “I heard you banging around out here!” Munin defended, “I wanted to check on you!” 

“That doesn’t explain why you snuck up on me.” 

“I made sure to make some noise.” 

“You came up on my deaf side!” 

“Oh!” 

The red gems scrunched in embarrassed realization. 

“Sorry mini-boss. I always forget about that.” 

“It’s ok I guess.” Uno sighed, turning his attention back to the icebox. “You wanted the cheese?” 

“Please!” The gargoyle sang out, excitedly perching on Uno’s opposite shoulder. The boy reached into a small envelope of parchment and broke off a small piece of the aged cheese. He took a nibble of the cheddar before passing the chunk to Munin. 

“Why are you up and about so early?” The small yokai asked as he graciously took the snack. 

“Twas the creature.” The boy said mysteriously, shooting an exaggerated look to the gargoyle. 

“Ah! The creature.” Munin agreed, “I heard it too! Hugin sent me out here to, and I quote; ‘show that beast what happens when they mess with a graduate of the academy.’”  

“Hm? What academy is he talking about?” 

“I dunno.” Munin answered flippantly, shrugging the arm that wasn’t clutching the cheese. “But I think I’m just gonna go with you wherever you’re off to.” 

Uno nodded in approval and tore off a chunk of cheese for himself before popping it into his mouth. “So,” The gargoyle started as Uno chewed on his breakfast, “Where are you going? What’s the plan? Are we gonna show this critter our academy chops? ” 

“Figured I’d go out to the garden and get some work done before dad wakes up starts the torture session.” Uno answered quietly. 

“Torture?” 

“Training.”

“Ah! I see!” Munin giggled softly, stuffing the entirety of the piece of cheese in his mouth. “Yer such a drama queen. I’sh really not dat bad.” The gargoyle relented, speaking around the food. Uno wrinkled his nose at the comment and grabbed a hardboiled egg from a bowl on the shelf. “It’s torture.” he repeated, shutting the icebox with a click. 

“I dunno mini boss, that seems a biiiit extreme if you ask me.” the gargoyle chided, patting the side of Uno’s face with a consoling claw. Uno stiffened in defense. He frowned down at the gargoyle. 

“I went into town once and Richie saw that I had some bruises.” He began. “She asked where they came from and I told her it was from a training session. Do you know what she said to me-?” 

“Who’s Richie?” 

 “‘- That’s not training, Uno. That’s torture .’” the boy recalled, doing his best to capture the snappy anger the cat had displayed. He popped his fist against his hip, leaning forward slightly to an imagined Uno in front of the pair. His face pulled into an ugly scowl as he copied the memory of the disgusted rage in his friend. 

She’d said some other things too; “If he’s your dad, why is he hurting you?” “Does this happen often?” “Are you safe?” “He’s abusing you, Uno. This is abuse.” 

But those things were harder to repeat. Almost as if repeating them, saying them out loud with his own mouth, would make them true. That was not something he wanted to deal with so early in the morning. 

“Is Richie a soldier or a bodyguard or something?” Munin asked curiously. 

“.. No.” Uno answered carefully, pulling back into his normal posture. 

“Well, what does she know about proper training then?” The yokai pressed innocently. “When me and Hugin were working with the other gargoyles, we got beat around all the time! Weights dropped on us, thrown into walls, crushed under wagons, so on and so forth.” Uno looked severely at his companion as the gargoyle counted off the various injuries he had received on his fingers. His tone made it seem like he was reading off of a grocery list, not recounting the horrific damage he had suffered before finding a place in Draxum’s laboratory. 

“That sounds terrible, Munin.” Uno whispered, unable to stop the pity that stained his tone. 

“It was necessary!” Munin defended, a strange earnestness taking place in his demeanor. “Without all that, we would never be here with you guys! Listen kid, sometimes the road is a little rough and rocky, but at the end of it is a wonderful dog bed and a new family!” 

Uno hummed, jutting out his lip in thought and he let the yokai’s words sift through his brain. 

“... You’re sure?” He asked after a moment. 

Munin nodded, popping his fingers into his mouth one-by-one to further savor any remaining taste. Uno sighed thoughtfully, crossing through the kitchen and down a smaller side hallway to a heavy blue-green door. The gargoyle rode lazily on the mutant’s shoulder, seemingly having decided that Uno would be his transportation for that morning. “Wait, are we going to your garden? Isn’t it a bit too early for all this gardening business?” The small henchman asked. 

“Don’t got nothing better to do.” Uno grumbled, stepping out from the sheltered warmth of the lab and into the brisk morning air. He took a deep breath through his nose, savoring the delicious smell of the forest. “What about studying?” Munin chirped, “You do love those books! And you don’t have to walk through the woods to study. You can stay all cozy inside next to the fire. Maybe get a nice cup of hot cocoa-”

“Who said I wasn’t going to study?” 

He saw Munin pause for a moment, red eyes turning up to Uno’s face. “What,” He asked, “You're gonna garden and study? How do you plan on doing that?” 

Uno grinned down at his companion, a familiar twinkle in his eye. 

“I have some ideas.” 

…

“Uh…ok. Um, how do you… fix a concussion?” 

“I told you to give me a hard one.”

“This is hard! Concussion is a hard word to read.” 

Uno sighed, taking a moment to wipe the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his wrist. He stared over to Munin, currently sat to the side of the garden on a stack of textbooks. A field medicine training manual lay open in front of him, randomly flipped open to one of the many dog-eared pages. The gargoyle was looking expectantly at the turtle, his claw placed strategically over the paragraph Uno assumed held the answer. 

“Rest.” Uno started, “Don’t let the patient do anything too physically demanding. Make sure they’re hydrated and get enough sleep. Avoid loud and bright places. Maybe some pain medicine if they need it.” 

Munin smiled and nodded approvingly, taking the edge of the page and flipping it with some effort. The book was almost as big as he was, so sorting through it was a task in itself. Uno returned his attention to the garden in front of him, sinking his trowel into the ground. He twisted the handle to better dislodge the dirt and rocks, careful to avoid the roots of his tomato plants. 

“Find a harder one. You keep doing easy ones.” 

“This is hard. For me! ” 

Uno snorted at the henchmen’s lamenting. He easily removed a gnarly weed and chucked it across the dirt to the periphery of the garden. It thunked against the mildewed wood of the shack and fell lamely to the earth. Uno resumed his attack on a different weed. 

“Find one?” 

“Uh… yeah… hold on. How do you apply a tor..torni-ket to a leg?”

“Tourniquet?” 

“Sure, whatever.” 

“Hm.” Uno paused his digging, resting the trowel against his knee. “You need to put the tourniquet up high, probably the upper thigh. Make sure it’s tight, like really tight. You can’t just tie it, you have to wind it with a stick or something. Make sure the stick is secure so it doesn’t unwind. Keep pressure on the wound and keep it elevated. You also can’t keep it on for too long, necrosis will happen.” 

“Necrosis?” 

“It’s when your body tissue dies. Like your flesh and stuff.” 

Munin grabbed the edge of the book and slammed it shut with an air of finality. He scrunched his nose at Uno in a strange defiance. “I think I’m done, mini-boss. I wasn’t built for this kind of studying.” He confessed, looking a little green in the face. Uno quirked a grin as Munin heaved the manual atop the pile of books with a grunt. The small yokai flapped lethargically over to Uno and landed on the teen’s shoulder with a sigh. “I don’t get how you can deal with all that.” Munin groaned, rubbing his tiny fists against his eyes in an attempt to expunge the things he’d seen in Uno’s books. 

“I dunno.” Uno muttered, continuing back to his work once Munin had settled. “You get used to it after a while.” 

“Hrn, not me.” Munin coughed, “Definitely not me. No sirree. When you were little and really hurt like that we had to change your bandages sometimes and- boy- there is no way you can get used to seeing the burns you had.” 

The small gargoyle shuddered against Uno, the sides of his mouth pulled down in a haunted scowl. Uno frowned, a pang of guilt etching into his chest. Sometimes he forgot that Hugin and Munin had been there since the start. 

“Well,” Uno started carefully, “Maybe that’s one reason why I want to get better at medicine. So guys like you don’t have to deal with things like that anymore.”

“Ooh, that would be nice.” Munin agreed. 

The two sat in a comfortable silence for a bit, Uno painstakingly sifting through his rows of vegetables and herbs removing any weeds. Steadily, the world began to wake up bit by bit as the teen worked. The far-off clamor of the city kicked up, the forest began to rustle with life, Uno’s fingers began to ache from use. 

“You gonna do the vine-thing on the boss today?” Munin asked suddenly. Uno jumped at his unexpected comment, previously certain that the gargoyle had fallen asleep tucked away on his shoulder. “Uh,” the boy stammered, “I’m not sure. I want to…”

“But..?” The gargoyle encouraged, red eyes blinking at him in his periphery. 

“But it’s never worked. He’s too fast. He’s better than me at literally everything. ” Uno whined.

“You are only 13. You gotta give yourself some credit here.” 

“Psh! Tell him that!” Uno got to his feet, wiping the excess dirt off of the trowel on his pant leg. 

“So try the vine arm again.” Munin pressed, leaning back onto his haunches and flexing his arm boastfully at Uno. “That was sick last time!” 

“It didn’t work last time.” Uno grunted, grabbing the unearthed weeds and dumping them into a nearby crate. He set the crate against the exterior of the shack with a soft sigh, memories flashing through his mind. 

“So?” Munin pressed, ever the optimist. “Try again! So, what if it only kinda worked last time, that means that it sort of worked which means that it can work! Wouldn’t that be cool? To have a vine arm?” The gargoyle nudged the edge of Uno’s neck with his elbow, trying to get a reaction out of him. The boy smiled softly, warmed by the henchman’s attempt to encourage him. “Yeah,” He relented, “I guess that would be really cool.” 

“Yeah.” Munin hummed as Uno cracked open the crumbling front door of the shack to the deceptively cozy interior. After receiving full ownership of the shack from his father, Uno had immediately gone about making it as livable as possible. It started simple, building up the bones of the shack so the foundation didn’t crumble and hurt anyone. He’d bribed the gargoyles into fixing the roof for him (incredible what candied apples could get them to do). The boy had tackled the flooring, tearing out old and moldy boards and replacing them with fresh planks of wood. The sparse decorations that had been steadily scavenged over the past year had done well to make the space look nicer. The gargoyles had drawn some pictures, mostly of themselves, to be tacked into the soft wood of the walls. They’d also supplied Uno with many cool rocks, sticks, and leaves which had been expertly woven into a collection of wind chimes and other wall ornaments. Uno had taken to sewing lumpy floor cushions and weaving a less-than comfortable rug. To everyone’s surprise, Draxum had chipped in, stopping by one evening to grow a bookshelf out of vines. “See?” He’d said once he’d finished, turning to Uno. “See what’s possible? Practicality, Uno.” 

It was nice to have a bookshelf, but it also stung to be reminded (again) that he was not as good as he should be. 

Uno sighed and carefully hung his trowel on a nail sticking out of the wall before meandering to a clay pot tucked away in the corner of the shack. A curling, dark plant grew from the container, leaves large, rough, and greedy. He brushed one of the leaves to the side to reveal small, ball-shaped seeds growing in clumps against the stem. He experimentally poked one of the pods and watched curiously as it shifted under his touch. 

“Are they ready yet?” Munin asked from his place next to Uno’s head. Uno bit his lip in contemplation. “I think so.” He answered after a brief moment. “I don’t know if I’m ready to use them, though.” 

“Aw c’mon!” Munin urged, “vine arm! C’mon! Think of the vine arm!”

Uno hummed, closing his eyes in mock-mysticism and waggled his fingers in front of him. “Mmm, vine arm.” He whispered playfully, a smile cracking across his mouth as Munin cheered gleefully, copying the motion with his own limbs. Uno laughed, carefully picking a few of the seeds from the bundle and placing them into the pocket on his belt. 

“You can do it this time! I believe in you!” Munin encouraged, enthusiastically bouncing up and down on his shoulder. “I mean, c’mon! What’s the worst that can happen?” 

…

The blow came entirely out of nowhere, a tense tangle of vines sent cracking against Uno’s jaw. His teeth clacked painfully against each other as his head wrenched violently to the side. A bolt of agony shot through his neck as he collapsed heavily onto the ground, dust pluming around him in mock laziness. Before he could collect himself enough to think to move, he felt the familiar constricting force of his father’s vines wrapping around him. Uno let out a choked shriek as the plants tightened around him, pinning his arm and legs, leaving him prone on the ground. He twisted slightly against the force, a frustrated yell tearing itself from his throat as it became clear to him that there was no way he was getting out of this one. 

“Wailing like a child isn’t going to help you, Uno.” A disgruntled voice called across the space to him. Uno grimaced, glaring out of the corner of his eye to the casual form of his father. The goat stood off to the side of the dirt court that served as their training grounds. He was in the middle of a small circle that had been carved into the dust with a stick many months ago, occasionally being redrawn by the gargoyles when it started to fade. Every training session, Draxum stood in that circle. Never once had he moved from that outline. He won every single fight without letting so much as a toe over the line, his vines wrenching from the earth and pummeling Uno into the ground again and again. It was humiliating. 

Uno turned his head slightly to the side and spat out a glob of bloody saliva onto the dirt next to him. He’d bit his tongue again, maybe one of his teeth got knocked loose as well. Who really knew. Who really cared. 

“I give up!” He relented, “Let me up!” 

Draxum scoffed, frowning down to his son. “A true enemy would not let you up so easily, Uno.” He lectured, his voice gaining a familiar haughtiness. “An enemy would leave you tied down. An enemy would squeeze you until you popped!” 

“But you’re not my enemy! You’re my dad!” Uno shouted, frustration gradually building the more he was forced to lie on the ground. He was not a fan of the feeling of the vines pulling slightly tighter against his body. He wanted out before he started to panic. Draxum’s face twitched slightly, his posture loosening as he fully took in the image of his son, bloody, dirty, a gnarly bruise starting to form at the edge of his jaw, helplessly tied to the ground. Without a word, the vines around Uno went limp, allowing him the freedom to sit upright and wiggle out. He let out a shaky sigh of relief at his release, closing his eye to offer up a quick “thank you” to whatever god had chosen to take pity on him at that moment. 

The moment was short lived. 

“Get up!” Draxum commanded sharply. Uno relented, slowly unfolding himself until he was standing upright. He was sore. He could feel his pulse throughout his limbs. He sank most of his weight on his flesh leg, putting any pressure on his stump would most likely end up with him back on the ground. His mouth was still bleeding, but he was too tired and frustrated to wipe away the excess blood from his lips and chin. 

They’d been at it for only an hour, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to continue on like this. He still hadn’t fully recovered from yesterday’s training session, or the one before that. God, when was the last time he wasn’t sore? There might have never been a moment where he wasn’t in pain. He was born into pain, so it only made sense that he should exist in it as well. 

“Again!” His father commanded. Uno stifled a groan of frustration, spitting blood and saliva into the dirt. The boy took off across the field, trying and failing to ignore the agony in his body. 

He was on the ground in less than a second, smacked back into the earth by another vine. He wheezed as the breath in his lungs was forcefully pummeled out of his body from the impact. 

“Get up! Again!” 

Uno growled dangerously but clambered back upright. They continued like this, for how long Uno didn't know or care. He would attack, or try to, and quickly find himself beat back down into the dirt. 

Exhausted, dirty, and bleeding more than he was comfortable with, Uno stumbled onto his feet. 

Draxum stood at the other end of the field with his arms crossed, still planted firmly in the circle. He was looking at Uno expectantly, waiting for the boy to throw the first punch. Uno wavered, putting more focus on staying upright than plotting an attack on his dad. 

“This is dumb.” He said suddenly, too tired to try and keep his thoughts to himself. 

“This is not dumb, Uno. This is important.” 

“All the wrong things are important to you, dad.” 

Draxum bristled but did not move from the circle. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He bit, eyes glowering at Uno through the horns on his helmet. 

“It means… it… ugh!” Uno growled, mushing his fist against his eye socket. “I don’t learn anything in these training sessions!” He whined, “It feels like I’m not supposed to learn anything! Sometimes I feel like you’re just looking for an excuse to beat me up!” 

“Uno!” Draxum snapped, effectively cutting him off. The boy’s mouth clamped shut with an audible click , recognizing the danger in his father’s tone. “You are… smarter than this, Uno.” Draxum growled, “All of this is to help you.  The only reason you’re getting hurt is because you aren’t strong enough to fight back.” 

“This pain,” He continued, gripping his claws into a fist in front of him, “Is the weakness leaving your body. Understand?” 

Uno vancantly stared at his father. There was a complicated feeling welling up in his chest, a strange new kind of frustration and anger. He wanted to hurt Draxum. He wanted to launch himself across the dirt and knock that stupid helmet off his dad’s head with the butt of his false foot. He wanted to make him bleed, split his lip, tangle his fingers in his hair and pull as hard as he could. The emotion, the strange new emotion, twisted painfully in his body. He could feel his heart beating oddly in his chest, his hand twitched with the threat of violence. 

Suddenly, he was moving. His body twisted without his brain’s permission, jerking forward with the intention of cruelty. 

He did not know what he would do once he reached his father. He saw Draxum casually raise his hand, fingers loosely extended, ready to summon his vines to knock Uno back into the ground. The disinterest in the motion pushed Uno further, his half-mangled lips pulling back in a terrible snarl as he pressed forward.

He buckled easily against the unstoppable presence of agony the moment he put pressure on his stump leg. 

Uno was unable to catch himself as he crashed against the earth. Stars exploded across his vision as his chin violently slammed into the dirt. Red hot pain shot through his jaw as the warm presence of blood began to well up and out of his mouth. He was vaguely reminded of all the times this would happen when he was younger. When he was learning how to walk, how to compensate for the parts of him that were missing. How was he able to get back onto his feet again and again? He was so small then, so naive and hopeful. So stupid. He didn’t remember the ground being this magnetic, his body being this heavy. 

But his mouth always tasted like this; bitter, metallic, and dry. 

Shakily, Uno brought himself onto one elbow, too weak to try and get his knees under him so he could sit. He sloppily prodded at his chin, not surprised but still slightly sickened as he felt a sizable gash in his flesh where he landed. He let his hand fall back to the dirt, now muddied. The teen’s eyes slid over to his opponent, the stiff form of his father. A moment ago he’d seemed ready to launch another attack, but now he was just… standing. 

He was still standing in the circle. 

He was looking down at Uno, hands clutched at his sides, planted firmly in the middle of that stupid circle. 

Uno tried to laugh, but through the blood in his mouth it came out as an awkward gargle. 

He was still standing in the circle! 

Here Uno was, bleeding on the ground, a new mouth freshly split open on his face, unable to sit up because he was exhausted. There his dad was! Standing in the middle of a meaningless dirt circle. 

“... A-are you gonna help me?” Uno asked as loudly as his voice would permit. He didn’t like the waver in his tone, he could tell that Draxum didn’t much care for it either. His father paused for a moment, almost weighing his options as he stared down his nose at his son in the dirt.

“If I help you now, you’ll never learn anything.” He said finally. Draxum said it as if it were a rule, as if there was some sort of unstoppable, unseeable force keeping him locked away within that ring. An absolute truth. 

Uno wanted to cry. He wanted to scream and thrash and expunge any of the violence he was feeling. He needed to do something- hurt something. He settled for reaching a shaky, bloodied fist into his pocket, sarcastically procuring one of the seeds he had pulled off of his plant earlier that day. He painfully rolled over onto his back, seed still held earnestly in his palm, and scrunched up into a seated position. He quietly brought the seed to his mouth, tearing at the skin of it gently with the edge of his teeth. Blood splattered idly onto his hand, but he paid it no attention as he brought the now-broken seed to his stump arm. 

Without thought, and little motion, the seed easily burst free. Vines erupted from the small pod and latched onto the void where an arm should have been. He jerked forward, shooting his newly grown appendage across the turf towards his unsuspecting father. Draxum barely had time to process Uno’s intentions before the vine whipped around the large yokai’s ankle. Uno swung backwards, collapsing against the earth as his vine wrenched Draxum to the ground, tearing him from his protective circle. Uno barely comprehended the cry of shock that was ripped from his father’s throat as he was flung across the training ground. There was a sharp crack of something big hitting something bigger, then silence. 

Uno lay in the dirt, entirely unable to process what had just occurred. He felt the decaying pull of the vines withering off of his limb, dying due to his ineffectiveness. His mouth was still bleeding. He wondered if the color of the blood matched the red stripes over his eyes. Maybe it was too dark, out of place. He knew the laceration on his chin would scar, another piece of him taken and regrown. As he spat another glob of blood out of his mouth, his mind pulled him back into the conversation he’d had with Richie. 

She’d been so upset. Upset for him, not at him. Abuse, she’d said. Torture. 

Those were big words. Heavy words. But maybe they weren’t entirely incorrect. 

He really didn’t want to think about that. 

It was then Uno dumbly realized that Draxum might not actually like him. His brain scrambled to recall a time his dad had seemed happy by his presence, had said anything about being proud of him, saying that he loved him. That’s what dads were supposed to do, right? That’s what they did in books. Sometimes when he went into town, Uno would see fathers playing with their children. Dragging them from stall to stall or hoisting them onto their strong soldiers so the children wouldn't have to walk. 

Had Draxum ever referred to himself as Uno’s father? Or had that been something Uno decided for him? 

Did Uno really even like Draxum? 

A moment ago, he’d been ready to hurt him. Kill him, even. Was that feeling just from the ever-present helplessness that came out of training, or was there something else there? 

That anger that he’d felt not but a few moments before, was that how his dad felt about him? He’d wanted to make his dad hurt, wanted to make him feel pain, feel Uno’s pain. Was that what Draxum was doing to him as well? Wanting, needing Uno to feel his own failure. Punish Uno for being that failure? 

He really didn’t want to think about that either. 

Without warning, the weight of what had just occurred finally hit Uno as he realized that he had not heard his dad get up. His eye snapped open, adrenaline shooting through his veins causing his pain to thrum in the background. He rose into a seated position, frantically scanning the training ground for a sign of his father. He was decidedly not in the circle, for one. There was a streak of disturbed dirt that led from where the circle once had been to the edge of the grounds, a clean set of lines in the dirt made it look as if Draxum had tried, and failed, to gain purchase by digging his nails in and holding on for dear life. One of the trees off to the side of the grounds had been splintered, the upper half lying haphazardly next to the base. Uno could see Draxum’s helmet lying off to the side, empty, most likely knocked off in the concussive force of hitting the tree. 

Uno felt a nauseating wave of panic hit him as he half-ran, half-crawled to the fallen tree. As he neared, he heard the rattling sound of someone breathing through pain. 

“D-ad.” He choked, pushing through the large-leafed plants that blocked Draxum from view. 

The warrior was crumpled against the ground, one arm clutched against the side of his chest. His sharp teeth were grit in agony, breath whistling with force. His head was bleeding slightly from a small gash on his temple. 

“Dad.” Uno repeated weakly, his mouth subconsciously pulling downward in a guilty frown. 

Draxum’s eyes cracked open, misty with pained confusion. His gaze landed on Uno. It took all of the boy’s willpower not to shrink away from those eyes, shame burning alongside the flow of adrenaline. He settled for looking down at his father’s chest, at the hand gripped against his ribs. Had Uno broken any? Were any bruised? That would need to be taken care of, Uno needed to be sure that nothing had punctured his lungs. He needed to be sure that his dad didn’t have a pneumothorax, he’d need to somehow convince the warrior to remove his chest plate. He reached out a shaky hand to prod his father’s leg, to try and see if he was conscious.

Draxum let out a terrible barking cough, his body spasming with the force. Uno reeled backwards, certain that he had caused the outburst. 

“Dad, Breathe.” Uno commanded, mustering more authority in his tone than he actually possessed. “You might have broken ribs. You-you’ll need to lie still so I can get your breastplate off-”

“Uno!” 

Uno’s gaze snapped back up to his father. He was shocked to be met by an expression of absolute joy.  Draxum wasn’t coughing, he was laughing. Great, heaving cackles of laughter. His mouth was pulled in an elated smile, showing off more teeth than Uno had ever seen before. 

The teen was completely and absolutely dumbfounded. 

“That!” Draxum barked, “That was brilliant!” 

He was looking at Uno differently. Warmly. It made Uno feel weird, like he had somehow invaded someone else’s body and this praise was meant for that person. 

“Huh?”

“Did you see what you did?!” The goat started to struggle into a sitting position, “That- Ack , was exactly what we’ve been working towards!” 

“But- I… uh, I hurt you.” Uno mumbled, fretfully watching as Draxum attempted to find a comfortable position. “You should really lie down-” 

“You caught me completely off guard!” Draxum continued, a smile still plastered across his face, blazing forcefully over Uno’s worries. 

“I was starting to worry that the prowess you showed towards magic in your youth was just… a-a farce!” He rambled, “I figured we’d lost all of our progress when you shut down- but no! Look at you!” 

His warm expression returned to Uno. Uno stared back, vacant.

“Yes.” Draxum muttered, almost to himself. “Yes, there’s still hope for you yet.” 

He raised an arm out to the boy. This time it was not stretched out with the intention of antagonism, but with the invitation for Uno to come closer. Uno blinked. His mouth was still bleeding, dripping blood into the soil with a plip plip plip. 

“Me?” he wanted to say. “You want me to come closer?” 

His father’s eyes were alight, friendly even. 

Uno crawled across the dirt into the welcoming arm of his father. He sat stiffly next to the larger mutant, pressed between his arm and chest. He could feel Draxum’s heart beating next to him, strong and firm. It reminded him of when he was little. That heartbeat meant so much to him when he was small, when did that change? Draxum sighed contentedly, giving Uno’s arm a light squeeze. The boy was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to start crying. 

Maybe Uno was wrong. Maybe his dad did like him, but just this version of him. Not the old Uno that had existed a few moments previous, tired, crying, helpless on the ground. 

Maybe he liked the version of him that fought back.  

“Your mouth is bleeding.” Draxum said suddenly. “You need to take care of it so it doesn’t get infected.” 

Uno fidgeted, picking a crust of blood out of his nail with this thumb. 

“I need to make sure your ribs aren’t broken.” the boy said after a moment, voice quiet and flat. 

“..Alright.” Draxum replied quietly. 

When Uno looked up at his father’s face, the goat did not return the glance. He was looking intensely into the middle distance, mouth pulled tight into a brilliant grin. The spark had returned to his gaze. The spark that was there when Uno had first used magic and hurt himself. It was there when his father spoke of his work, his experiments and how they were going to change the world. How he was going to save all of the Yokai not only from humanity, but from themselves. 

Uno returned his gaze to the ground, to his blood that stained the dirt and now ran down the front of his shirt. The adrenaline was starting to leave his system, becoming rapidly replaced with an intense exhaustion. Carefully, he let his body ease against his fathers, his head finding rest on the warrior’s shoulder. Draxum didn’t stir, or try to push him off, or even seem to notice his presence. He could hear his heartbeat better from here, nearly feeling it against his own ribs. 

He closed his eye and let himself be taken elsewhere. To a world where this was commonplace. Where he was complete and painless. Where his father would walk through the streets of the market with him. Maybe, right now, they were sitting in Draxum’s study after a long day. Draxum working on his experiments, reading through his notes through the brims of his glasses. Uno would be asleep, having done so after hours of reading his school books until the words bled together. Draxum wouldn’t notice he was unconscious until he’d turn to him to share a development in his research. He would notice Uno was asleep and smile, proud of his son and his hard work. He’d carry him back to his room, laying him in his bed and leaving the room with the knowledge that he’d done good. He’d raised a studious, intelligent, strong boy. Someone worthy of his father’s pride.

The father and son sat, pressed against one another, amidst their own gore and violence. Both bearing damage from one another. Silent. Although they were together, hearts beating in tandem, they were both somewhere else entirely. 

… 

Uno had broken three of Draxum’s ribs. 

He’d felt terrible, of course. Shameful tears burning his eyes as he delicately wrapped a bandage around his father’s chest. He’d refused to tend to his own wounds until he was sure Draxum was cared for. He wasn’t sure if this need came from penance for the feelings that had sparked him to cause this damage, or from genuine concern for his dad’s condition. He chose not to reflect, but push forward in his repairing.  

He’d patched himself up on his own in his room, shooing out a concerned Hugin and Munin to go make sure that his dad was actually complying with his bedrest. He stitched the wound on his chin shut, covering it with a bandage that stank of medicine. He put ointment on the inflamed scar tissue on his stump leg, did his best to wrap his wrist which he had discovered was sprained, and tended to the various smaller cuts and scrapes he had accumulated. 

The skin on his stump arm was, surprisingly, undamaged. He was certain that his fusion with his plant magic would have physical consequences, but there was no evidence of such. 

Only after he’d ensured that all of his wounds had been tended to did he realize how truly exhausted he was. 

He sat, empty, on the floor of his room against his bed frame. His various medical tools, ointments, and bandages lay sprawled around him in a semicircle. He blinked slowly, his body stinging with the pain of healing. 

Tears were pooling down his face before he registered that he was crying. He was suddenly seized by all of the emotions that his mind had refused to let him feel. He became paralyzed, mouth slightly agape, his limbs spasming as more tears leaked down his cheek and onto his chest. His breath hiccupped in his lungs, but he made no noise as he continued to writhe in emotional agony. 

He hated this. He hated this. 

He cried. 

…

The forest path that lay out before Uno was strange and unmanageable, but he pressed forward still. He was slow, weighed down by a lack of a foot and an impromptu cane. The ache in his stump still persisted, even though the fight had happened days ago. The slightest pressure on his flesh, whether from his own touch or the passing breeze, set his teeth to a grimace and stung at his eyes. No use for a prosthetic right now. 

The cane he was using he had found tucked away in his dad’s lab. There had actually been quite a few in there, but Uno decided to settle on the one that seemed the least mystical and the closest in relation to the door. He did not go into Draxum’s lab that often, but when he did he made sure he didn’t stay long. He did not like that area of the house at all. From a non-personal standpoint, it was a stunning space. Large vaulted ceilings, walled bookshelves that held years of research, curving magnificent windows that let in a comfortable amount of light. It was beautiful. Architecture was something that Draxum did not credit himself being talented in, but there was no denying that his dad knew his way around a blueprint. No, that wasn’t the part that set Uno on edge. It was the general feeling that the space elicited. Uno would always be hit with dizzying waves of nausea every time he would be forced to go in. He hated passing by the rows of cages that held living creatures, some clawing at the vined bars in an attempt to free themselves, others having long given up, bodies tucked impossibly in the corners of their prison. 

Whenever Uno passed them by he felt as stuck as they were. Although they couldn’t speak, it always felt like they were trying to get Uno to let them out. But he couldn’t. This was his dad’s work, they were his dad’s work. If Uno let them out, it would just be a repeat of the first time Draxum lost all his research. 

So Uno stayed away from the cages. Earlier that morning when he’d hobbled in, a broom serving as an extremely ineffective crutch, he’d spotted a gnarled walking stick tucked against the wall and grabbed it immediately. 

He mutely wondered as he trekked through the woods to his shack if there was something tricky about this staff. What if it was cursed and anyone who held it was doomed to have extreme, labyrinthine nightmares for the rest of their lives? What if it was haunted by the ghost of an old widower, determined to reunite with the grave of the wife he loved so dearly? What if it came to life with the taste of blood, becoming sentient and leaving Draxum with yet another son he was not expecting? 

Or maybe it was just a cool stick that needed to be in Draxum’s lab for some reason. That was also an option. 

No matter what it was, whether it was anything at all, didn’t matter now as Uno continued to push through the woods. His breathing was heavy with exertion, sweat beading and sticking to his face and neck. His body was still withholding an intense exhaustion, but he ignored it. If he stopped now, he’d never get to his shack. 

He really just needed to get out and away from Draxum and the gargoyles. Things had been weird since the fight, quiet. He hadn’t really spoken to his father since then. Even when he’d stop by Draxum’s room to replace any bandages and check on the status of his ribs they would rarely talk. Draxum would watch him carefully, not making any effort to start a conversation with the boy. Sometimes it seemed like he wanted to talk, but he never did. Uno didn’t mind. He found his father’s presence much more manageable when he wasn’t going on about his ‘purpose’ or whatever. 

Uno’s cane caught on a root, nearly sending him crashing into the leafy ground. He cursed softly as his body jerkily reoriented. He heaved a heavy sigh of air, allowing a brief moment to gather himself before continuing on. He could see the silhouette of that familiar mildewed shack through the tree line and sincerely hoped his body would allow him the energy to make it that far. 

He was used to feeling this tired after a particularly stressful life event. He was also used to allowing himself some rest to recuperate. This time was different, felt different. He was jittery with the need to do things when he was in the lab, hyper aware of everything that happened in the space. Uno felt the constant pull to check in on his father, ensuring that he was healing properly and resting well. The feelings became exhausting and frustrating very quickly. So, naturally, he chose to avoid them entirely and leave for a day. 

Uno collapsed against the edge of the shack the moment he came close enough to do so, dizzy with overwhelming relief. He slowly eased alongside the splintered wall until he reached the front door, haphazardly letting himself inside and collapsing into one of the lumpy floor cushions. He barely registered the door shutting behind him with a bang! 

He lay there, face down, cane forgotten in the entryway, on a scratchy cushion, completely alone. 

“Mrrrgggggg……”

Um. Completely alone? 

Confusion managed to bypass any sleepiness in the teen as he became instantly aware of the fact that he had a visitor. His eye snapped open, fervently scanning the dim interior of the shack for the figure. His gaze landed on a pair of wide purple eyes staring lowly at him from the bottom shelf of his bookcase. The light glared strangely against the eyes, lending the pupils a reddish-orange hue. Uno remained still as a corpse, caught in an unwilling staring contest with whatever had managed to sneak into his space. 

“Rrrrrnnnnnnnnnn…..” the thing growled, a noise made entirely out of danger and fear. 

Uno blinked, unsure of how to move forward with this predicament. 

“Uh, yeah you too.” 

“Mmmmmmrrrr….”  

“Listen, I don’t know what you are or how you got in here, but I couldn’t even hurt you if I wanted to. So there’s no need for all that.” He assured quietly. The statement was true, after all. Uno was certain that if that thing came out from the bookshelf and began to eat him, he’d just lie down and let it. He was very, very tired. 

The thing hissed at him, eyes scrunching and going slightly cross-eyed. Uno snorted out a laugh. 

“You can come out.” He coaxed, rampant curiosity keeping him sternly awake. “I said I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

The mystery beast growled again. Uno sighed. 

“Ok. Whatever.” 

He closed his eye, which was becoming teary with sleep. He did not allow himself to fall unconscious, however. With his bad ear muffled against the cushion, there was no interference in his listening. He could hear the thing breathing, quiet, quick breaths that would occasionally drag into low rumbling growls. It smelled like the forest, peaty, dirty, but not unpleasant. He waited, still and calm. Waiting for what, to what end, he wasn’t sure. The thing on his bookshelf didn’t seem dangerous, so he didn’t see any harm in trying to figure it out. Oddly enough, some part of him was excited by the thing on his bookshelf. This had never happened before. 

Quietly, like a whisper, he heard the slight shuffle of the creature removing itself from it’s hiding place. There was a Timp Thump! Timp Thump! As the thing slowly approached the boy on the ground. It sounded like it was favoring a leg, limping heavily as it grew closer and closer. He felt a cold, wet nose against the side of his face accompanied by the gentle sound of sniffing. Uno stayed entirely still, heart hammering in his throat with excitement and anxiety. 

Slowly, carefully, Uno cracked open his eye just enough to see through the veil of his eyelashes. 

There was a cat. A normal, gargoyle-sized cat. It was fluffy, light fur in the torso that bled into a deep brown in the face, paws, and tail. It had stunning purple eyes. Uno had never seen a cat like that before. It almost looked like a human-standard cat. 

It had moved it’s investigation to his outstretched arm, nose following the grooves of his muscles. It still seemed threatened by him, it's fur a shock of spikes along the spine. But the cat still pushed past this anxiety as long as Uno was, well, seemingly dead. 

But he didn't mind. If anything, he was kinda glad this cat didn't need any immediate action from him. Eventually it might, he didn't like the sound of it limping around, but for now he’d probably scare it off if he tried to tend to it in any way. 

So, he settled for settling. He let the cat painstakingly worm around his prone form, sniffing and nudging him. The cat made it's way to his legs, first inspecting his flesh one, then pausing at his stump. He felt a lump of trepidation growing in his stomach as the cat lingered at his scar tissue, wet nose tickling his skin as the cat investigated. Just as he was beginning to worry that it would actually try to eat him, the cat moved onward. 

Onwards and upwards, consequently, as the cat scrambled onto Uno’s back. He tensed as the cat found purchase on his shell, planting itself firmly on his upper back. The boy stayed still, unsure of what else to do in a moment like this. 

The cat settled, scrunching into a ball and letting out a quiet sigh. Uno resisted the urge to echo the relief. He let himself relax, unclenching the hand he failed to realize had become a fist. The cat chirped contentedly, and Uno was objectively horrified when he unconsciously chirped back. He immediately felt blush rise to his cheeks in embarrassment. He hadn't done that since he was a kid. 

The cat didn't seem to mind as it murred in surprise, then chirped happily in return. He felt it begin to rumble against his body, it's small form vibrating with the force of its purring. 

Uno let his eye open fully. He couldn't see the cat from its place on his back, but there was no point in pretending to be dead if the cat now knew he was, indeed, alive. He was surprised that it wasn't leaving. He was certain that any movement, any sign of life from him, would cause the animal to flee. But no! The opposite, it seemed, as the cat let itself get more comfortable after Uno slipup. 

“Are you going to run away?” He breathed. The cat continued to purr contentedly. 

“Do you want to stay here with me?” 

“Murr!” 

“Ok. I could use a-” 

Friend 

“-assistant.” 

The cat chirped, he felt it rest it's head on it's outstretched paws. Uno smiled. 

“You'll need a name if you're gonna stay.” He whispered. 

“Miao!” 

“No, not that one. Something more…. Thematic.” 

“Chrrp!” 

“Nah. Maybe something related to flowers? How about magnolia?” 

“Rrrnmmm.” 

“Yeah, too feminine. Not ambiguous enough.” 

Uno puffed out a sigh, the cat bobbing with the exhale on his back. He sifted through as many flowers as his tired brain could recall. 

“How ‘bout philodendron? We could call you Phil.” 

The cat made no objections, it's contented purrs mixing with gentle snores. Uno warmed, fighting the urge to roll over so he could hold the cat in his arm. Let it purr and rumble against his chest, feel the texture of its fur under his hand. 

But he didn't want to rush it. Trust, he learned, was built slowly. Methodically. Like baking bread. Fail to let the yeast activate, don't knead the dough properly, leave it in the oven too long, it messes everything up. 

So Uno stayed put, newly stitched chin pressed uncomfortably against the floor cushion, stomach growing cold from the earth, and a rumbling cat on his back. 

When he fell asleep, it was the best rest he'd gotten in a very long time. 

…