Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's been three years… three years since you last saw your younger brother. Three years since you last saw his smiling face. Three years since you lost him to the city. The faded picture was delicate in your hands. You held it as if it might dust to ash any moment. Like it would fade like your memory of him did, it was a simple Polaroid photo, nothing extraordinary. It was a picture of you and your brother before he disappeared. You could see your brother's wide smile, and where he was missing a few of his front teeth. He was gone, lost to the city yet his smile was eternal. He was forever frozen in time, his memory immortalized in your hands. He was gone, not dead. Your parents gave up hope. You never did, you found some find it simpler to grieve than search for answers, to give up rather than carry on. Your parents gave up hope long ago. You never would. You’d keep searching until you found him, dead or alive. Your parents mourned his memory as if he were dead. In your old family room, you remembered how his room was left untouched ever since the day he'd been declared dead. A body had never been found and all traces of him lead you back to Ebott City. The photo forever preserved your brother in time. Your parents made sure his memory remained pure and untainted, silencing whomever dared speak ill of their golden boy, despite the troubled boy he once was.

You wondered what kind of man your brother would grow up into if he were still alive. If he was alive, that is. These mafia-ridden streets were no place for a child. You didn’t belong here. Yet you didn’t let that stop you. You balanced work and college, and juggled searching for your brother in your free time; it made you feel like an acrobat in a circus honestly.

The dusk-like twilight filled you with a sudden gloom. Your heart felt like it was made of glass. And your thoughts were a maelstrom of grief that couldn’t be soothed with coffee alone. You felt like there was a missing part of you. You both grew up alone with your parents, too busy to care; you’d practically raised that boy by yourself. No matter how troubled he was, he was still your brother. Your parents could fill the ocean with their tears with how much they mourned. You wondered if they’d care as much if it were you who had gone missing. Your brother was their golden boy. The star of the family. You always wondered why in your family, your parents' lives always revolved around your brother, well you supposed he did have special needs. It was reminded you of the solar system where the planets revolve around the sun, in your parents' world, their world revolved around the son and never the daughter. Your brother was the center of their world, the star of their hearts; he was the star at the center of the world, not you. Sometimes you felt forgotten. You were Pluto at best, and it wasn’t even considered a planet anymore. You often felt lonely and isolated from your peers in high school. Yet you didn’t hold it against your brother. You could never hold it against him. He was innocent in all of this; he didn’t ask to be born. He didn’t ask to be born different.

He never asked to be born different from the other children. In school, you remembered with chilling anger how they called him ‘monster boy.’ How he always cried when he came home from school. You regretted how you were never there for your brother. When the other kids bullied him, you were never there to save him, as school children pointed and ridiculed, and labeled your brother with the degrading nicknames like, ‘Quasimodo.’ You remembered the chants of ‘monster!’ and ‘Quasimodo’ as he roamed through the schoolyard, as you and your dad dropped him off for school. The kids would yell xenophobic slurs and yell at your brother, telling him to go back to Mount Ebbot where he belonged with the other monsters. Your brother was born with a facial deformity. A cleft palate on both sides of his face. You remembered how, in public, he always insisted on wearing an old scuba diver helmet from Halloween when he was 5. Your mom found it silly and fought against it, insisting that he was perfectly fine the way he was and that there was nothing wrong with his face to begin with. The rest of your family found him weak for not being able to survive in a Mexican household or the outside world.

Your baby brother’s face was scarred from the many surgeries he had to realign and fix his jaw and face. Yet he was still the most kind hearted kid you knew, even if he was troubled at times. You remember how you begged your parents, pleaded for your brother to be transferred to another school, or to be homeschooled when the bullying got too bad for him to handle. Looking back, you should have pushed harder. Though what could you do? Frustrated, you slammed your fingers down on the keys to the mucus green harpsichord. What followed was a cacophony of keys shouting at once. Your shoulders quivered with anger and sadness, hitting you like a train. You were older now an adult now, no longer the lonely outcast you were back in your old city. You were determined to have a fresh start with those who didn't know you. Your shoulders shook with the wrath of your anger. Within a few deep breaths, you collected yourself as you swept dust away from the keys. How long had it been since you last played for fun?

You’d just recently gotten a job as a pianist in the city and couldn’t afford to be rusty. You thrifted a beaten old harpsichord from the thrift shop. You played with the sleeping sun. Entertaining the stars with the music of your solitude. The dawn of melody was medieval, and metallic as your fingers danced in rhythm over the worn keys of the harpsichord. The gentle melody of ‘Fur Elise’ danced through your top-floor apartment. The harpsichord’s sound was metallic, its sound was yet medieval yet lonely. Soon, morning rose. Ghosts of sunlight slid, peeking shyly through your curtains that were your favorite color. Wreaths of prismatic light danced inside the room, from the stained-glass frame you hung against the window. Colors intertwined with the silver pearls of morning light and dew that clouded your window in pearls of moisture. Sunlight that leaked through the window was like a ballerina that danced across the room with majesty. The fresh embers of dawn were bright. It was a beautiful day outside… and on days like this, readers like you… should be enjoying the day! You sat at the small table with a newspaper, along with forgotten bills, were sprawled across the table. With a small bowl of partially rotted fruit spread across the table, you noticed the pear looked the freshest. You picked up the pear and ate it quietly. You came to the city of lost dreams to find your brother. Your brother ran away here to a city of mobsters, a city of monsters and gangsters. A city with the highest monster population in the country. In his goodbye letter, he wrote your parents he wrote that he ran away to be with other monsters like him. Other monsters like him… the ones who bullied him were the real monsters.

He became lost in the city. Lost in his dreams of acceptance. You left the ghetto, you packed up and abandoned your parents in the slums of your hometown, to find him. You had to find him. Your brother came here to live with your uncle. Your uncle, who ran a shady business in his factory on the west side of town, assembling and selling used car parts. Your rich uncle lived lavishly while the rest of your family suffered in poverty, with the other poor families in the hood. In Ebott city here, the poor walked so the rich could run. And the rich took advantage of less fortunate folks at every given opportunity. You were surprised you managed to get an apartment on the dirt-poor side of town. You were alone, stranded in a city that didn’t want you. Ebott city was overrun by mobsters and gangsters. The monsters ruled these streets, and the mafia families were like royalty amongst the poor. Honestly, it wasn’t much different than home, just more dangerous. The gunshots still kept you up at night. You went to your room and pulled on one of your pinstripe suits and tucked your hair into a thrifted leather rimmed fedora. You couldn’t believe how this city still lived life like it was the Al Capone era. It was especially dangerous for women here; you were thankful it wasn’t night. You wandered down the flights of steps and past the laundry area downstairs and sauntered out the apartment complex. Your jaw set with a quiet resolve. ‘I just gotta keep looking.’ You navigated the polluted streets that were like crowded labyrinths, that were easy to get lost in, with each turn bringing you closer to the docks. The world outside was foreign to you. It was as if time had never elapsed. The whole town had an old-timey feel about it. It was as if time had never elapsed.

You shivered from the whisper of cold that whistled through your clothes. You hoped it wasn’t too early to be sleuthing around for secrets regarding your brother’s disappearance. ‘These streets… they just swallow people whole.’ You thought demurely. Massive cranes loomed overhead, casting wicked shadows. Metal cranes were like skeletal giants that pierced the bruised sky, the cold metal of the equipment groaning in the early light. You hoped that when you finally got to work, your boss wouldn’t notice that you hardly slept last night. You wandered down the streets and trespassed near the docks. You studied the empty pier. This was the last place your brother had been seen alive. A knot of guilt slowly formed in your stomach. With a knot of dread, you walked forward. The maritime dock was encrusted with barnacles. There was a hole in the pier where time had eaten away at it. Overhead, you could see a crane. Construction workers were busy bulldozing something in the distance. At the end of the dock was a man you hadn’t seen before. The back of his trench coat swayed with the breeze. With his back turned to you, he brought out a cigarette and lit it. Ribbons of smoke from his cigarette twirled into the sky. The weathered, damp boards creaked under your feet, giving away your presence.

The cigarette drooped from the man’s mouth. “Well, well, look what the tide dragged in. Now what’s got you running here so early? Don’t you know it’s dangerous out here, kid.” He said gruffly as he took a puff of his cigarette. You could see the 5 o'clock shadow sprawled across his chin. His face was chisled like a marble statue, worn with a certain tiredness. Looks like he hadn’t slept either. The stench of nicotine clung to him like a ghost. His features were slightly Korean in the sun. Yet he looked more American. Fog horns and boat horns blared nearby as boats pulled into the docks. You did your best to ignore the ear-splitting sound. You fought back the urge to flinch. You were surprised when he didn’t. You made your approach cautiously, realization dawned on you when you recognized him from your parents' contacts. He was the old gumshoe assigned to your brother’s cold case. The one who promised justice and failed. He was a man of broken promises. “Detective Chino, I presume?” You said, politely ignoring the discontent you felt towards this man. The detective squinted at you with a hint of suspicion waltzing in his eyes. “The one and only. Now, what are you doing out here at this ungodly hour?” It was true you weren’t even sure the birds were awake yet. “I’m looking for my brother. He went missing three years ago.” You said earnestly. Tempests of wind were like a bitter ex. The detective’s gaze softens at you, yet his tone was harsh. Cold as stone. He stood with his hands buried in his coat pockets, looking at you austerely.

“Three years and you just decided to seek justice? Three years and you just now decided to show up?” He said looking at you with suspicion. “After you failed to give him justice.” You retorted. The detective’s gaze fell. “I just couldn’t live without knowing what happened to him. I couldn’t just give up on him like everyone else. That kid deserves at least one person who believes in him. Who believes his life is worth fighting for, that his memory is worth saving and reliving for generations to come. He deserves a chance to live just like everyone else.” You said the maelstrom of emotions churning within you. The storm of emotion threatened to spill out. “You cops just don’t want to help because he’s different. Because he’s not normal like all the other kids… I couldn’t just leave him knowing he could be suffering! I have to find him! He’s just a kid. And I know he’s probably scared. I couldn’t just give up on him. I came here for the truth.”

Now you were crying as tears thick and heavy streaked down your face. Your breath was caught between ugly sobs that racked your chest. Detective Chino sighed an exhausted sigh as he ran a hand through his thinning hair. “This city ain’t no place for hopeful types kid, especially when you're looking for ghosts. It's an especially rough place for a kid to be wandering these parts.” You stood your ground, your resolve unwavering. “I know what you’re thinking, but I have to try. He’s the only one I have left. He’s all I have left.” The detective pulled a hand out of his pocket. “What about your folks?” He brought the cigarette to his lips once more, playing with the lighter in his hands. "Please detective." You urged him almost pleading. The detective sighed, more austere and sullen than before. He pulled a worn notebook out his coat pocket. The pages of his notepad were yellow and stained with coffee stains around the corners. “A’right kid, give me a name, address… maybe I can dig something up, but don’t hold your breath or be gettin’ your hopes up. I’m no ghost hunter kid. I don’t go ‘round searching for ghosts. Or skeletons in closets. If your ever out searching for ghosts call some other detective.” You felt your ears turn red with indignation. Abashed by the comment you shoved your fears aside. You weren’t a kid. And you’d forgotten in these clothes, your cover and identity as a man was blown, and you sounded completely feminine. You’d only worn these clothes to keep yourself safe from any perverts or men and ward off any undesirables. However, you often found wearing men’s clothing, you were often catcalled by women or harlots looking for a good time. Did you really look better as a man than a woman?

You chewed on your lower lip, a flicker of doubt crossing your features before you finally mustered up an answer. “Alejandro Florez. That’s his name. He always wore this silver bird necklace our grandma gave him before he died.” The detective looked vaguely surprised when you used the Mexican pronunciation of the name. He stopped writing, his hand hovered over the page with a frozen shock. So, he remembered this was the one case he couldn’t solve. “Alejandro, huh? I had a kid about his age go missing. Went missing around five years ago, never found a trace of him since." Your brow furrowed with surprise. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” By now, your tears had subsided.

Detective Chino blinked, pulling himself out of his reverie. “Don’t be, it's just the way it is in the city. People disappear often in the city. Sometimes they leave to find themselves or just don’t want to be found. Most times, they don’t get a choice.” Detective Chino said curtly. “Alejandro was thirteen when he went missing.” You said defensively, determination hardening in your soft features. “Adopted wasn’t he?” The detective said as he closed the notepad with a snap, a grating sound in the otherwise quiet seaside. “That would explain the age difference.” He murmured under his breath. The detective continued ignoring your hardening stare. “Look, kid, I’m not saying he did. I’m saying this city eats people up. Once you're gone, you're gone. And all that’s left of you is for the rats to eat. This city devours people and monsters whole. Now I mean it if you hear anything, anything at all about Daniel… you tell me. Anything, anything you hear about him brings me closer to finding my son, as I am your brother. Tell me anything, you hear gossip is all these streets can do for you. All their good for anyways. Hear anything, a whisper, a rumor, you know who to call. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours, kid.” The detective held his cigarette-free hand out for you to take. “Help me find my son. I’ll help you find Elijah.” ‘His name’s Alejandro…’ you thought awkwardly. He really didn’t care, did he?

You considered his words the unspoken agreement that hung between the both of you. “A’light anything I hear about your son, I’ll tell, though you have to promise me you’ll do the same for my brother. Every lead, every tip you find helps.” Detective Chino pulled out a crumpled business card with his name on it out his pocket and handed it to you. “This is the precinct number. Ask for Detective Rob Chino. Don’t call unless you've got any leads. And don’t go chasing ghosts out on your own. It’s a dangerous world out there.” You wondered what the sudden change in heart was didn’t he say he didn’t want to help before? You gingerly took the card out the detective's hands. “I understand thanks, detective.” You said solemnly. “Just Chino. Don’t get your hopes up too high, kid.” The detective shoved his hands into his coat pockets, and just like that, he was gone with his coat swishing behind him.

The card in your hands felt heavy. The card itself was like a fragile link to a life you left behind. “I’m looking for my son too… You got any clues, you call me, kid. Ebbot Metro police detective unit — Easton County.”

You were hesitant. You didn’t trust a detective to solve your brother’s cold case. Especially the same one who gave up on finding your brother in the past. Yet what option did you have left?
—-------------

The walk to work passed by slowly. The streets were dark, caliginous. Smog perfumed down the crowded streets, illuminated by a veil of midnight. The dawn of moon was a pale ivory. Ghosts of wind walked past you. The streets were empty, despite your fear, you still had a job to do. You were a pianist at the ‘Moonlit Hatter’, a lounge bar that was frequented by those in the mafia. It was a treacherous place with rival gangs fighting over cities like turf. This city was under the protection of the Serif family mafia. Here, everyone knew to pay their dues or face death. It was a fee of protection from the other mafia families, though you often felt they failed to keep their promise. Only those who joined the mafia were protected. The wind brushed over your skin with a bitter remark. The night shrouded you like a cloak of midnight. Stars that glittered like diamonds were enveloped by a pale fog that hung in the sky. It was rare to see the stars like this in the city. The streetlights cast a soft glow. The air sang with magic imbued with threads of mystery. Magic practically radiated off the monsters as they passed, you could practically feel the magic buzzing in the air. You ignored the hum of your own soul as you galavanted through the crowds that ran hither and thither throughout the streets.

During your walk, you passed a telephone pole with a missing person's picture nailed to the pole. ‘MISSING ALEJANDRO FLOREZ, IF FOUND PLEASE CALL (989-XXX-xxXx)’ Your name had been scratched out. You wondered who did it? You'd replace it when you had time tomorrow.

You wondered how many nights have you spent looking for your brother? You’d lost count. When you were done with work, you were going to paste the rest of your missing person fliers all over Ebott City. You pushed open the door to the restaurant. The floors were made of velvet carpet with prodigious ivory walls. Chiseled roman columns adorned the walls. Waiters, in black swallow-tail suits, wove past you with little regard. You went inside the lounge and walked over to the grand piano and took your place. You traced your fingers across the tips of the keys apprehensively. You tucked the faded Polaroid photo of your brother behind your sheet music. The piano keys felt cold beneath your fingers. The echo of chatter grew faint in your ears, sound coalescing with the hustle and bustle of the work staff. Hours felt like days. Ignoring the throngs of waiters and busboys around you, you cracked your fingers and began to play. Your fingers flowed across the keys in a dream-like melody. The song was melancholic and slow, yet romantic like a ballad.

When your focus begun to wane. From your peripheral you could see a dapper skeleton watching you with a charming smile. His skull was rested in his palm, looking at you as if daring you to look at him. He appeared mildly inebriated. So, he was drunk. The way he dressed was eccentric, with a colorful vest thrown over a black suit. The bisectors of his vest was split between two colors an electric blue, and a bright orange. You ignored him and continued your shift.

—--

When he saw her, he knew he had to have her. Chaplets of moonlight were a wreath that framed her head like a halo. She looked just like her. However, she couldn’t be her. She looked just like Elizabeth, who died and rejected him so many years ago. The thin silver of moonlight decorated her face like a charm. You locked eyes with the lanky skeleton near the back. While he didn’t come often, he had a table reserved just for him; you heard he was important. You tore your eyes away from him; it was rude after all. His skull was as white as a moonlit pearl, and his bones were smooth like alabaster. The oval shape of his skull was illuminated by orange spires of light that splashed against his handsome features from the oceans of orange candlelight.

The melody from the piano enthralled him like a daydream. When he left, he wondered about the woman playing the piano. He’d have to pay her a visit soon.

Chapter Text

You didn’t want revenge. You wanted closure. You didn’t want sleep, you wanted solace. You didn’t want nightmares, you wanted to dream. You wanted to dream of a future where your brother was alive and happy. You weren’t pessimistic, and you weren’t an optimist; you were being realistic.

You weren’t delusional; you knew very well the chances of finding your brother alive were slim. You knew you coming into this investigation blind, that he may as well be dead, and that the chances of finding him alive were next to zero. Yet what choice did you have? He was a kid alone in the city, lost like a minnow lost in an ocean. You knew from the start that the best bet would be to start with your uncle. He closed off all contact from the family. You lost contact with him long ago. He was austere was the kind of guy who looked like he could crush a watermelon with his pinkie finger.

Finding him would be a challenge, though you could always search his factory for clues. However, you weren’t ready to face him yet. You weren’t just going to wait for Alejandro to show up out of the blue. You cast your luck into the foreboding city like a fisherman searching for answers. You wondered if fate had cursed you. A monolith of doubt crept over your shoulders. Tapestries of fate swirled in your mind. How did that detective remember that Alejandro was adopted?

There was a mountain of questions churning inside you, like a maelstrom of dread. So many questions… yet there no answers. No answers to bring you peace. Spires of golden light blazed through the windows as the gentle hum of memories rouses you from a disturbed sleep. Vestiges of light gently brushed over your skin. Outside dawn rose, vibrant hues of vermillion painted swirling colors of magnolia.

Outside it was like a canvas painted by a painter. The thin sheets of your duvet felt dingy between your fingers. The colors had faded. You’d forgotten to close the curtains while you were sleeping. Spires of light blinded you. Your movements were languid as you shuffled out of bed. You’d have to wash the sheets you found at the dollar store later.

You made your way to the kitchen, pots and pans clattered, as you perused indecisively between pan after pan. The harsh linoleum tiles were cold beneath bare feet. You pulled out your favorite pan and rummaged through your busted fridge like a homeless raccoon. The damaged light in the fridge blinked and flickered. The guilt and depression ate away at your appetite; you felt like you were going to drown in the gravity of it all. Memory, after memory came pouring down upon you. You scoured the fridge… eggs… Chorizo…

Ah ha! Chorizo. You decided that you’d make chorizo. It was a simple yet filling breakfast. You pulled out a small metal pan and brought out a damaged egg carton from out the freezer. One two… You cracked egg after egg into the bowl, until you had cracked 10 eggs. Your eyes fell to the analog clock that hung demurely over the stove. The clock ticked boredly. It was only 8 am. You pulled the frozen chorizo out the freezer, it was wrapped in the thin supermarket packaging. You mentally cursed as you realized you forgot to let it thaw. The chorizo was as hard as a rock and tougher to cook with than a brick. You almost wished you would have got a brick to cook with instead, anything would be easier than this frozen package.

You grabbed a larger metal bowl and slammed it down in the sink. You turned on the rusted tap and flooded the bowl with water. You left the supermarket chorizo in the bowl for it to thaw. You’d come back and make it later. You then did your hair and dressed yet not in a way that would attract attention. You had rules to keep yourself safe on these streets; it was no catwalk, and defying them would mean death.

Rule 1 of surviving these streets- always bring a weapon.

Rule 2 - Never go out alone, especially at night

Rule 3 - keep your eyes low and don’t attract attention,

Rule 4- Avoid people wearing suits in only one color (It was a tell tale sign of the mafia.)

Rule 5 - Stay where it's crowded, they won’t target you in crowds

You wanted to search for clues about your brother, though you were no Sherlock. You can’t believe it had been three years since Alejandro was gone, three years since he just fell off the face of the planet. Three years since your life’s been put on pause, three years since your career has remained stagnant. You lived in a city you hate (Not because there’s monsters, but because the crime rate is too high for you to ever feel safe), all to fund your search for your brother. You never had time to enjoy life since his disappearance. You were too busy to let yourself stop and wallow in your own grief like your parents.

Three years blurred together like an endless shadow that followed you. The phantom of guilt haunted you. It was like a stalactite of negativity, a burden you could never get rid of. You knew that once you embraced grief, it consumed you. You were starting to think three was your unlucky number. Lady luck wasn’t on your side. You only had you, on your corner to support you. You were your own cheerleader, though some days you felt burnt out, like a dying flame.

Friends were too much to manage. They found your dedication to finding your brother creepy and obsessive. Besides, they made you lose sight of the reason you came here. You didn’t have enough emotional energy to spend it on others, much less on a partner. In your reverie, you’d almost forgotten the skeleton with the jovial smile. The pictures of the missing kids with hollow eyes haunted you with their piercing stares. You stepped out the apartment, locked the door, and went down the flights of stairs and lost yourself in the city. The damp air clung to you like hollow guilt.

You scrounged every missing person’s database searching for any clues about where your brother may be. You always hit a dead end to your manhunt. You scrolled past forums of thousands of missing kids. Thousands of kids with desperate parents just like your brother. Each kid having been swept away by the city. None, however, were him. You rubbed the lethargy that crusted at the corners of your eyes. You weren’t a fool; however, you refused to just wait for him to pop out of the blue. Alejandro wouldn’t find himself.

—--

The parking lot swept the scent of asphalt inside. The library was dull like a sparrow, with whitewashed gray bricks. You moved past the portico and into the library. The library was silent and smelled of old parchment. You were lucky it was the weekend. The old librarian with a crow’s neck eyed you wearily when you came inside.

She adjusted her glasses and held them like binoculars to scrutinize you, judgmentally. From over here you saw the varicose veins spidering across her thin, liver-spotted wrists that made her look like a bruised apple. In the library sound didn’t exist. Only a cough or a sneeze from the others here, brought sound to your ears. You went over to the printer, you didn’t have time or energy to read anymore. Flier after flier printer, each was a missing flier with your brothers face printer on the cover. From your peripheral you saw a ghost of orange, entwined with blue. Huh strange…

When all were printed you left with an arm full of fliers. Out in the streets, you nailed some of the fliers to the telephone poles that were already spiked with nails.

---

Feeling hungry, you decided to dine at a nearby diner. As soon as you stepped inside the merry ringing of a bell jingled overhead. The place was esoteric with a 1950’s theme, it was different than the archaic 1920s vibe beyond the diner doors. You took your seat in one of the cheap leather booths, manic chatter swirled around you, reminding you of squirrels back in your hometown. You felt the nostalgia creep between memories, clouding your judgment. Behind you, there was the clinking of glasses.

A waiter approached you. He was lithe, with his appearance being wraith like- with dark shadows under his eyes. He slid a thick manila envelope across the stained table towards you. You slid your elbows away from the ketchup and mustard stains that were encrusted on the table next to the napkin dispenser. You felt confusion mar your face. You debated whether you should open the folder or not. Curiosity got the better of you. What you saw inside the folder made your blood run cold.

The haunting face of your brother besmirched you. It was another faded Polaroid picture. It was of your brother on the docks, the last place he’d been seen alive. In the picture, his expression was a ghost white, frozen with terror. The graty picture shook in your hands. It was a photo that would forever scar your memories and haunt your nightmares.

It was a lead, to you build your case, the cold case that had long remained stagnant without any leads. With quivering hands, you shoved the photo in your pocket. Inside the envelope was a mounting pile of evidence that would help you build your case and help arrest the sicko who killed your brother. Adrenaline swept through like a rocket. You were so distracted you forgot to order when another waitress approached you walking with a swing in her hips. You mouthed a quiet order, and ate in a harsh silence.

You just left with growing hope and cold gnawing sadness, knowing your brother was probably dead. When you left the diner, you saw the same waiter who handed you the envelope lurking in the alleyway, his eyes were trained on you. You felt cold dread creep up your back. A wraith thin silhouette followed you, a shadow that wasn’t your own. Were you being followed? You had to take the evidence to the police then they’d accuse you of your brother’s murder.

How were you supposed to explain this? You were more terrified of whatever had been following you. You waved down a taxi and sat inside. And the person- no monster sitting next to you it was that skeleton from before! “Hello!” He said jovially in a language that sounded like Cthulhu gargling water. "I believe we've talked before and I'm afraid I haven't got the chance to catch your name."

Chapter Text

His clothes smelled like a burning factory. Everything smelled like burning car tires and rubber, an acrid scent that drifted from the ghetto floors below. Motor oil and exhaust whined from the factory below. His pin striped suit was like midnight kissed with a lacquer of midnight. His skin is a fair olive, his eyes a cruel amber that were wrinkled at the corners with age. His eyes a mirroring darkness from his tie of midnight coal.

His hair a fine yet cruel obsidian. He looked at them with a rehearsed calculated look. With eyes that sang of detachment. Eyes that were like a portal that showed just how inhumane he'd became with the blood of innocents painted on his hands, scaring his memory. The ghosts of souls haunted his eyes and thoughts, with his broad shoulders he looked down at his clasped hands which held the fate of whoever dare cross him.

Antiques and ornate memorabilia decorated the shelves looking odd against the crumbling dry wall near the top floor of the factory. The odd clatter of the assembly line bruised the ears of his goons, one fat one lean. There was a rumble in the floor echoing with a clamor from the workers downstairs, where members of his crime syndicate worked assembling cars, that he'd either sell for exorbitant pricings, or use to transport dope across Ebott. The car business was his and it was untouched by the other mafia families, he'd hire his lackeys to steal broken cars from the dump and he'd refurbish them and sell them as if they were gold. There was no other car that wasn't worth diamonds in comparison to his. There was the sounds of grinding metal as his men sanded, polished, and painted, rusted car parts below in the floor under.

He knew grimly what he would say would shatter the truce and would elevate crime throughout the city. A clever scheme to take down the Serif family that had been brewing in his head. He was a master at extortion, rivaling even Don Gaster though he dealt with foreign trade and his crime syndicate was made from new money and not old money unlike the don.

Fedoras were draped eloquently over the heads of all. The factory was bustling with the bottom floor looking abandoned to keep the secrets that lied within the walls. His hands were clasped before him. He was austere. “What of my niece?” He spat his cigarette into the ash tray on his desk of pristine mahogany, the varnish polish on the desk shone with the vile malice of light that reeked in the room. “The girl boss. Your niece she knows boss. She'll be poking her pretty little head round here soon I bet.” One said with charismatic observation.

This floor of the car factory was nearly empty. With members of the family packaging dope and goods to be extorted to the Midwest and past the border to the Spanish countries that lurked many states away. A bottle of moonshine rested on the desk reflecting the bosses violent scowl. “Make sure she never finds him. Bring the girl back dead or alive.” "Woah boss ain't that your niece thou-” One argued. “No exceptions!” The bosses roared. “And don't let the skeletons get head of the girl!” He said harshly. “Wait boss though, what if you can use the girl against the Serif family? What if you trick the girl into helping you by tricking her and using her as a spy so we can finally get that hit on don Gaster. And tell her we'll help her find her dead brother in exchange for seducing old bones himself.” The boss lowered his head dangerously. “Then we do somethin’ like have her seduce the old chap and have her diddle his sausage. Then we kill him. Easy simple” His lieutenant Cucho lowered his hands defensively. Sweat glistening down his neck. He was a balding old man with a heavy paunch as big as the serif Family's lieutenants Sans’ ego.

His right and left hand man looked to him with a violent grimace. “We could use the fact that she looks like the dons old bitch.” “Since when does that uptight don keep bitches?” “I thought he hired prostitutes to handle his drugs.” “No that's us. The skinny don hates prostitutes and anything perverse.” “Then how does he get his money tho-” The think goon whacked the balding one on the head with his balled fist like his hand was a hammer in a game of whack a mole. “Y’eowch!” The corpulent one howled holding a hand to his shiny head. “What was that for gay wa-” “Fatso!”

“Stop shouting! And calling each other gay, you fools! You both are gay! You both are married. You've been married for five years and have a damn kid together! Can you two idiots stop being hypocritical and homophobic towards each other!” The boss bellowed. His men kept arguing as he rubbed the bridge of his nose irritated.

“As for the prostitutes You can always trust a cheap hoe to use all your drugs.” “No, I meant transport them you loon!” “I like loons they're nice birds.” Said the bald one. (Nearly bald one) “How are you two not divorced yet? Silence!”

***
“Have you heard about the dame that’s the new topic of boss's obsession?” He blew out a halo of smoke from the cigarette that lay limply from where his mouth should be if he had lips. “BROTHER. YOU KNOW HOW BROTHER GETS ABOUT HIS PERSONAL LIFE WHEN WE TALK ABOUT IT WHEN HE’S NOT HERE.” “I almost feel sorry for her. It's like Elizabeth all over again.” “DID YOU HEAR ABOUT HIS PLANS TO WOO HER BROTHER?” “Sans if this involves another liquorice scandal… We’re going to hear about it for days from the boss.”

Papyrus's hand dropped to his shirt pocket he pulled out a box of Virginia slims. He lit the cigarette with his thick lighter and lit it solemnly. Silence draped them both as the cigarette smoke climbed the walls. They let the silence decorate them both. They both had a silent understanding of each other. They both shared a secret code, one that didn't use words if Papyrus wore an orange tie that meant the boss was in a terrible mood, and that that needed to tiptoe around whatever they said. It wasn't that the boss was violent though he had a temper and was unpredictable, and he could be pretty scary looking when mad. it meant to only follow the orders that were given don't engage don't look his way for too long.

if Sans wore blue it meant Don Gaster was in a good mood, A black tie meant something bad happened and they needed to discuss it later. Papyrus noticed with a lazy grin that much to his chagrin Sans was wearing blue. In the saloon of Muffet’s speakeasy was busy. It was the one historical site in Ebbot city that was still open. It was like stepping into a moment preserved in history. Billard balls clacked. The ramshackle of chatter began to die down. As shady monsters at the tables discussed racketeering with their faces dipped behind cards of clubs and spades no doubt gambling. The strong scent of moonshine and cheap whiskey sang through the air. On the old saloon piano a bunny monster with a rachet ear was playing ‘The Entertainer’ by Scott Joplin. He was missing half of his ear and bore a scar on one of his eyes.

Behind the bar Muffet polished a glass with one of her many arms with a repetitive motion. Monsters by the pool table twisted billiard chalk into the tips of their pool sticks. “YOU GOT ANY NEWS ON THE BUCHANAN FAMILY? BROTHER.” Did Sans really have to discuss this here? The hit their boss sent them on when they were surrounded by many nosy ears, and eavesdroppers who would surely rat them out to their bosses. “Not now Sans we have bigger fish to fry.” Papyrus said looking lazy and unmotivated as he took a long drag from one end of his cigarette. His cigarettes that looked so thin they looked small between his phalanges. He exhaled blowing halos of smoke that framed the dark speakeasy in laurels. Sans moved away from the angels of smoke shifting on his feet.

“We have to find the girl. Warn her to stay away from the boss.”