Chapter Text
Fëdor's head hurt.
That was the first thing he could register: distant, fuzzy pain. Keeping his eyes open took a great effort when the light flooded his vision and colorful blurs started to pop in.
“...an you... hear ...e?”
“Slip... fall... urts?”
“...eel? ...dizzy?”
Fëdor blinked repeatedly. He could feel a hand—his own hand—press near his eyes, while his brain slowly tried to make sense of what they—who the fuck?— were saying.
What were they saying? Something about a—
“Izzy?” he rasped out, his own voice surprising him. “...Who's Izzy?”
The noise increased tenfold.
Amongst the yelling and whispering and crying, a harsh growl pierced through:
“Waru, I'm going to kill you.”
━━━━━━━━━━
That was yesterday.
Apparently, Fëdor was currently suffering from some sort of "amnesia" as a result of falling down the stairs.
And apparently, everyone blamed Waru for it, because it was "his prank" and that meant it was his fault.
But it wasn't his prank!
Where was the fun in pushing Fëdor down the stairs? Nowhere! Because it! Wasn't! Fun!
Now pushing Brolly down the stairs, on the other hand. That was funny! Comedy gold.
Which was why this obviously had nothing to do with Waru. Someone else pushed Fëdor for shits and giggles, and he was betting it on either Felix or Spade because those two were the first to point fingers at him!
He would blame Kuromaku too, but after getting beaten up by him yesterday out of pure rage at Fëdor's condition (wow he must really love the guy) Waru was convinced that Kuromaku would never harm Fëdor. He just wasn't a good actor.
And he was sure Kuromaku would never forgive himself if he were the reason Fëdor was now so...
“My beloved clones, guess what I have!” Fëdor stepped into the kitchen, grinning with a notebook in hand.
Weird.
The only right way to describe it.
Ever since he woke up, Fëdor began spouting nonsense.
“Why do we all look alike?”
“Because we're clones, Fëdor,” Kuromaku explained for the thousandth time.
“But none of you act like me! That one is too happy, that one is too lazy, that one is ga—”
“Look at yourself first, before looking for the faults in others.”
“What?” This Fëdor was blissfully unaware of Dante's quote language.
“He's referring to when you first summoned us for school, because you were lazy,” Brolly translated.
“Oh... Hey, are you two an item?”
Yeah, so, that last question cemented how serious this was.
Waru wanted to gag at the memory. Brolly and Dante? Gross. Everyone knew Dante had a crush on—
Felix lightly nudged him and pointed at Fëdor. Oh God. He didn't expect Waru to pay attention to that madman's ramblings, did he?
“What do you have, Fedya?” Oh God. He did.
The others weren't paying attention either! Only Felix and Kuromaku cared!
Dante was eating his gross instant noodles, Brolly and Gabriel were watching him eat his gross instant noodles, Romeo was on a gross call with his lover on the phone, and Spade—
“Don't finish that thought.”
Was being perfectly normal and not gross.
“I have a special story I'm planning.” Fëdor smirked mischievously.
Waru needed a beer. He couldn't handle listening to an amnesiac Fëdor go on about... whatever his story was about. His normal non-amnesiac comics were bad enough.
“That sounds interesting, Fëdor,” Kuromaku stated an obvious lie. “What is it called?”
“I'll call it... drumroll please!” He looked to Felix.
“Oh!” Felix quickly glanced around. Seeing that there were no drums (because why would there be) in the kitchen, Felix drummed (oh God) his knuckles on the table.
Fëdor grinned, too proud for something that won't be good in the slightest. No. No no no. This won't be remotely decent—!
“I'll call it... Thirteen Cards!” He opened the middle of his notebook, showing pages that literally just said the title.
Cricket sounds filled the room.
Kuromaku coughed. “Gabriel.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Gabriel picked up his cricket friend and carried it out of the room.
When he returned, everyone still looked at Fëdor in blank silence, and Fëdor still grinned like he created a masterpiece.
Waru seriously needed a beer.
“...Why Thirteen Cards?” Kuromaku asked the question nobody wanted to ask, which was also the question nobody wanted the answer to, fuck you Kuromaku!
“Because there are thirteen of you!”
“There are nine of us.”
Fëdor shook his head no. “I'm non-included!”
Before Kuromaku could open his mouth to point out the non-existent word in that already horrible sentence, Waru beat him to the punch.
With a punch.
That was, to say, Waru's fist collided with Kuromaku's face. And Kuromaku fell to the floor.
Ouch.
“That was for yesterday,” then he said to Fëdor, “If you're non-included—”
“Not a word!”
Waru kicked Kuromaku while he was down.
Literally.
Because he was on the floor...
“Then where did the other five come from?” Waru asked.
“From the other cards.”
“And where did they come from?”
“The fortune teller.”
“Who is...?”
“Izzy?” Fëdor shrugged. “Haven't thought of a name yet. The important thing is that she has the cards.”
“...Right. The 13 Cards—”
“Thirteen.”
“...”
“You spelled it wrong.”
“I'm getting a beer.”
━━━━━━━━━━
Waru turned and left just as Kuromaku got up, limping and holding his arm, which was weird, because Waru only hit his face. Was Waru actually the most powerful clone?
Before Gabriel could take a sixty-seven paragraph detour that would bore the reader, Spade leaving caught his attention.
“Where are you going?”
“To make out with Waru.”
“Oh.”
Spade glared. “Obviously I'm gonna make sure he doesn't get into trouble.”
“...By making out with him?”
Now before Spade could beat Gabriel to the punch, Felix came in between them, facing Spade.
“Hey! Let's not hurt each other while Fëdor is like this!”
“Like what?” Fëdor asked. “I'm perfectly fine!”
“Mm mmm mm mmmmmm mmmm mmm mmmm mmmm mm mm mmmmmm,” Dante quoted, noodles in mouth.
“A crazy person doesn't know when he's crazy,” Brolly roughly translated.
“Mm mmm,” Dante nodded.
Fëdor sighed dreamily. “Oh, our DZ.”
“...Dizzy?”
Spade made a move to leave. Felix followed with a whisper, “Please take me with you.”