Chapter Text
“That Mansion exists in the present day as well.”
― Cross Marian
It was no use. The roads were blocked, covered in thick, impassable mud. Someone had angered the sky and ripped the firmament open, and now it cried in rage, like the God in the original tale of Noah’s Ark.
Travelling would have been a fool’s errand.
The streets had become a miniature archipelago, but whatever was going on there couldn’t be seen through the smudged windows. They looked like chalk drawings against the dark walls that throbbed in the rhythm of the drumming echoing from the roof. The inn room was small, suffocatingly small, and seemed to be shrinking—but it was dry and warm. They had lucked out. No one should have been out it that weather.
A sneeze sent the room spinning.
Johnny groaned. His’s fingers had shot up and brushed against his eyeglasses. There, in the middle of the large lenses, was now a stain. Great—just as he’d managed to dry them, the world blurred again.
The small lantern on the nightstand provided some light. Where was that rag he had used earlier? He hoped it hadn’t slipped to the floor—the floor, as it was, was a junkyard. Piles everywhere, wet clothes and empty food bags; wrappings of devoured sandwiches, apple stalks.
Allen was probably still hungry.
On the other side of the room, just few feet from Johnny’s, stood another bed. Two teenagers had squashed themselves into it, huddling together like baby animals. The sight would have made anyone smile. One of them was slumped against the wall, and his longer legs stuck out from below their shared blanket, white socks wiggling like seal pups. The other teenager was pressed against him, shifting and squirming on his place. His plump, pink face screwed up in discomfort, and the ominous red mark on his forehead blinked whenever it came into the view. Poor things. Red and white fought for space, sticking together like two furballs or thistle flowers.
Lavi and Allen.
They were worth thousand smiles. It’d been a long day, and the younger ones deserved the rest.
Johnny had thought about giving his bed to Allen, but the offer would have been declined. As soon as they had gotten into the room, Allen had pushed Lavi on the bed and crawled there next to him, claiming the place despite its crampedness. How could they tell him no? Allen was caring and generous like that, a good boy. And concerned. Like a guardian angel.
…what a bad choice of words.
Better not to think about that that now. It was late, and Johnny also needed his eyeful. After trying to find a place that would sell food at this hour, he was tired of running around the town in rain. Not to mention glancing behind his shoulder.
Lavi’s feet kept moving, twitching. They were strained from the walk, too weak to withstand long distances. It was good that he had fallen asleep immediately—and hadn’t had time to shun their sleeping arrangements. The messy scarf around his neck looked too big and tight at the same time, just like his other clothes. Old, unfit for the change. As if to agree, Allen let out a small whine.
Something jumped from the floor, grabbing on the sheets of Allen and Lavi’s bed. It was a sturdy arm, ghostly white except for the large cross-shaped scar on its inner muscle. Kanda’s. The Japanese man lied in the small crack between the two beds, sprawled on a mattress forcibly crammed there. His chest heaved up and down, edging the tense arm lower.
Tired—Kanda must have been as tired as corpse. But despite that, his hold on the sheets held stubbornly. He should have agreed to take the other bed, but Johnny understood why he hadn’t.
Done! He was done with the scrubbing! It had worked, and one puff and ten seconds later, his lenses sparkled again, free of grease and dirt! What a relief!
Johnny slipped back in-between the moth-eaten sheets, shuddering as they stuck to his skin. He didn’t want to let go of his clean glasses, but it was unavoidable if he wanted to sleep. One more look around the room—then he’d put them away. He found all three of his companions in the exactly same positions as a moment ago, and with a clear sight, it was easier to spot the small details his bad eyes had missed. Everyone was still wet and dirty, ragged and bloody—the little time in the inn hadn’t been enough to heal their wounds.
It was so easy to forget they weren’t what they seemed. Their bodies had grown and matured, and they had certainly experienced things far beyond your everyday man. But when they were packed together like this, unmasked and entrusting their safety to the night, they looked like three lost children instead of the warriors they were supposed to be.
It broke Johnny’s heart.
He wanted nothing more than take them home. This was not the life they were supposed to live.
How long could they keep chasing that tiny lead General Cross had provided them?