beyond the door.

[purgatio]

The great doors of the ballroom opened at a touch, and Albedo stared into the grey light, unimpressed. A fine mist diluted sight and form, and it was all too obvious that the ones who brought forth the unlocking were supposed to step forward for the sight of what laid behind the dust and thickened air--too obvious a setup, and too trite the design.

...But, just as well, there was no point in not continuing. After a glance at his brother, Albedo stepped through the doors. Nigredo moved with him, and not two feet in, there came the sound of a slam, of heavy doors shutting. The white-haired Variant gave a sigh--just as expected--and glanced backwards. Only to tilt his head, eyebrows raising lightly. Well, now. The doors had vanished entirely, leaving nothing, so that at least broke the pattern if but slightly.

His gaze angled towards his brother. "I take it we're continuing?"

Comments

[atrabilis]

Nigredo gazed out into the mist, looking past the murky grey in hopes of recognition, that spark of potential. Nothing registered (nothing impressive, at least), leaving the boy to wonder if their reward was as ill-conceived as the evenings spent obtaining the very same. And knowing their captor, the chances of that scenario were quite high.

Nevertheless, his opinion fell in with Albedo. Which slid into fact when their entrance became inaccessible and vanished into thin air. Wonderful. Once again, they were doomed to a death trap. If he was younger or highly stressed, he might have cried out of frustration.

The corners of his lips pulled downward as Nigredo assessed the matter, although that quickly proved meaningless. Finally, he nodded at his brother. "I really hate this place," he added lamely.

[purgatio]

The response got an amused smirk, and Albedo cocked his head at the building nearby towering upwards. "Hate it, darling? You haven't even seen it yet." And it looked so promising, too. He was so excited. So much so, that he was nearly asleep from it. This cliche-ridden place.

The buildings solidified quickly, forming a wrecked cityscape that rose around them sooner than one would have thought. Skyscrapers reached for the fog filled sky--or dome, who could say, really, what was hidden past?--and trash and rubble filled the streets. "Charming," came the murmur as they moved on. Soon enough, it was as if that first emptiness hadn't existed at all. Only this city, endless and shifting. No living creatures, no b-rate horror mutterings. Just nothing but grey and near ruins stretching on.

Albedo paused in the middle of a street, a hip cocked out to one side as he frowned in annoyance. "Well, now what," he gave sharply. What kind of reward was this supposed to be?

[designerchild]

Gritting his teeth against the dull throb in his shoulder blade, Jr. gingerly sat up, boots scraping alongside shards of dirty glass and rubble for purchase. The unfamiliar surroundings gave him pause and he craned his neck, intently studying the wreckage of the building he was currently in, the hair on the nape of his neck standing on edge. He knew immediately that, wherever he was, it wasn’t anywhere in Freya’s District. Wary, he pushed himself onto his feet, careful to avoid nicking himself on the broken glass, and struggled to recall how it was he came to be here. He’d just finished his talk with Nakama—a queer, bittersweet pang seized his heart at that memory—and had left his room, heading for the stairwell…

Eyebrows shooting into his hairline, he whirled around. Sure enough, at the top of a partially-decayed set of stairs, there was a door, the same door he had seen in the House. He’d come through the door, lost his footing, and had fallen into what looked like a basement. But that didn’t explain what the hell this place was, or where the damn door had come from. Determined to find out, Jr. grabbed the warped end of the railing, intending to hoist himself up onto the first whole step (the fifth), when the door suddenly vanished.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He climbed up onto the fifth step anyway, walking up the ruined stairs with caution as it groaned and trembled beneath his meager weight. When he reached the first floor landing, he waved a hand through the space the door had recently occupied, not all-together that surprised to find it hadn’t just turned invisible. Figured. Sighing, he brought his right wrist up and tried to turn on the communicator in his bracelet. No dice.

The weight of his gun in his other hand was a small comfort. Listening carefully, he began to make his way slowly down the hall, keeping his back to the wall.

“No way this is still Asgard,” he remarked to himself as he came upon a blown-out window, eyeing the architecture of the surrounding buildings. “The dragon didn’t do this much damage.” Considering his options, the redhead glanced around before vaulting through the window into the street. This was beginning to feel like those old zombie apocalypse vids he and Mary used to watch; Jr. smiled nervously to himself and cocked the gun, just to be safe.

It was five minutes of aimless walking later, paranoia driving him up a wall, that he thought he heard something. Leveling his pistol before him, he edged around a building, body tense. The sight of two figures at the other end of the street should have been a comfort, but when he lowered the gun, it wasn’t out of reassurance. He stared at the boys blankly, eyes wide, and felt his chest tightening painfully. A dream, then. He was dreaming.

But when he holstered the gun, he knew it was real.

[atrabilis]

As was typical, Nigredo found sparsity in terms of humor--less from Albedo's smirking lips. "Given our track record, I think I can hate it without reason." Not that they were lacking in reasons, of course. The basement happened to be a minefield of significant trauma. Conflict, death, kidnapping, inanity, more death, more inanity, to name a humble few. The complete list could traverse miles, and a ruined city beneath the institute was another tick to the count.

His eyes rolled heavenward, tracing the outline of the cityscape and committing the details to memory. What happened fell short of appeal. What awaited them held no purpose. This world had plenty of decay to stifle a child's healthy curiosity while emptiness had become a simple fact in life. Nigredo dug his toe into the crumbling asphalt and sighed.

"We could look around," he said, "or we could stand here until morning. Not that we have much of a choice." Options, it seemed, all led to a single path.

It came to a question, then. Of what that path happened to be.

A moving shape in the distance forced Nigredo's attention, and the child jerked his head to the side for a better view. The grey made for poor visibility, but there existed enough basics for Nigredo to reach for the blade at his side, hand gripping tight on the handle.

"Albedo." The name was a warning for both sibling and newcomer, for the latter appeared human. Wary, too, from how they were standing--

Familiarity struck him, and his eyes went wide. For what, Nigredo would not say.

[purgatio]

Not much of a choice seemed to be their role in things, and he didn't care to make a list right now. Albedo sighed again, and moved to turn--

There. Right. There.

Even as a fearful pounding started in the confines of his chest, even as he couldn't accept that familiar (beloved) sensation, even as Nigredo called his name, and Albedo turned from habit (--red hair, even at this distance, and there, would be, blue irises, bright and shining, and there--), eyes widening to show whites.

For he had already known. Known the moment a second heartbeat pounded in his chest, not like when that mimic had played at his twin, but like the other two variations in the institute, like the one they had grown with. He had known, and needed to seek no familiarity as Nigredo did. He had known.

"It--" Speech left him, and emotions forced him away from the link, even to send to Nigredo. A beat spanned out and he swallowed. Tried again. "...It is. It's him."

Rubedo.

[designerchild]

A slow, shuddery breath escaped him as he stood rooted to the spot, unable to look away from his brothers. By his sides, his hands clenched and unclenched until his nails had nipped angry crescents into the skin of his palms and his knuckles were a bloodless white. He could barely hear over the pounding of blood in his ears, escalating in time with the quickening of his pulse. Incredulous disbelief held him in check while a raw kind of hope, a hope that was burning him up from inside out, paralyzed him with fear. He knew that his eyes weren’t betraying him. But Jr. also knew that he couldn’t bear for this to be a trick, an illusion, a sick prank played on him. Bound and overwhelmed by emotion — guilt, relief, grief, terror — he remained where he was, eyes raking over their forms as if trying to commit them once more to memory. It had been long. So very, very long.

Hearing his twin’s name spoken out loud, the sound of their younger brother’s voice — Gaignun, Gaignun, Gaignun — was like an electric shock rolling through his body, jerking it into motion without his consent. He took one faltering step forward and then another, before he suddenly broke out into a sprint for his brothers. His insides were churning, his instincts were screaming at him for letting his guard down, and when he finally pulled up into a stumbling halt, it was roughly seven feet from them, as close as he would allow himself on blind faith.

Now, as he paused to catch his breath, memories of meeting KOS-MOS in Asgard penetrated the fraught haze that had clouded his mind upon seeing his brothers; KOS-MOS, who should have been dead, KOS-MOS who remembered nothing beyond her rescue at Vector Industries…and then memories of Jr.’s own theories and revelations on timelines, on time paradoxes and alternate universes. This could be real, he thought wildly, wretchedly. This doesn’t have to be a ploy.

What if it was? What if this was a trap?

His expression contorted with a desperately sad smile that he couldn’t swallow.

It doesn’t matter. They’re still my brothers. They’re always my brothers.

“So,” he began lamely, wetting his lips. “Nice duds.”

[atrabilis]

He prayed for a mistake, not a miracle, for the approaching child to bear none of his details--no red, no blue, no mirroring features. A false replica had once taken Nigredo's trust and cut it open, stained the sword in his hand with his own blood. Had torn apart his mind and left him with loss, only loss, and Nigredo was not keen on repeating that night. Never again.

And that was not speaking of the original. That was not considering what he had left behind.

What he had now come back to, according to Albedo. A prayer, it seemed, held no weight on reality.

Nigredo flinched visibly and stepped back, an uncharacteristic fear overriding all else. Their brother was here. Here, and reacting to them in tangible ways, even as Nigredo recognized nothing in his greeting. Above everything, after everything, the youngest could not stand this the most. His fingers loosened from the hilt to clutch forcefully at his shirt, and he spoke the first thing that came to mind.

"Rubedo."

[purgatio]

Both younger siblings focused on color, and where Nigredo contemplated past mistakes, Albedo's mind blanked to nearly nothing as the eldest came at them at a near run--his body only tensed as if waiting for an attack. Even as he knew-- Knew this Rubedo was true, though hadn't he learned?! How willing it was for his twin to harm him, and--

And nothing. Nothing. No. He couldn't. And anyway-- That Rubedo might not have been theirs. And this one might not be either.

When Nigredo stepped back from a curious mix of panic and fear, Albedo stepped forward despite his own wanting, a hand discretely out in front of his brother as if to protect. As if that would matter if this one tried. Rubedo was always better at maiming them in heart rather than in form. Despite the promises given of destruction.

...Do you kill me in the future, too? Rubedo?

Albedo's mind fractured quietly, the only thing maintaining stability being Nigredo's presence. He reached his waveform backwards, tracing his younger brother's--a gentle reminder. I'm here. And Albedo would not step aside for his twin if he meant to harm the youngest.

And yet still, when he spoke, the bravado shook in his voice, tones trembling. (Rubedo. Rubedo.) Albedo was fooling no one. "My, and you say this? Shouldn't we be saying that to you?"

[designerchild]

The smile faded slowly, leaving him cold and aching in its wake. Nigredo’s reaction was unlike anything he had expected, the naked fear evident in his brother’s body language almost inciting a sympathetic flinch in Jr. himself. He wanted to make a show of glancing around, trying to find the source of this terror, and found he couldn’t stomach the pretenses; he knew the source, even without understanding why. Hurt but still determined, he was about to approach and reach out to Nigredo, just let this be real, I’ll deal with the rest later, when Albedo stepped forward. The sight was so surreal — Albedo protecting Nigredo from Jr. — that he couldn’t help but stare at his twin in open confusion and shock. Something strange, stranger than waking up in a broken down, lifeless city, was happening here. The seeds of doubt were firmly planted now and his inability to reconcile his brothers’ reactions became the first hard evidence that no, perhaps this wasn’t real, perhaps it was a dream, a nightmare.

Jr.’s eyes darted between them, the same hopeful longing driving his frantic heartbeat, before settling his gaze on his twin with a look that was near pleading. “Albedo,” he said, no longer interested in joking about the eccentric outfits they wore. Shaken and uncertain, he said his twin’s name again, and this time it was a question, an appeal for answers.

Is this how it felt? he wondered. That moment when someone dear to you inexplicably pulled away?

He had no idea what was happening, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let history repeat itself.

[atrabilis]

Two aspects drew Nigredo away. Two placed distance between himself and that gut-wrenching anxiety, and the boy was left to ponder the progression of things. For a brother to show disbelief, to wear heartbreak on his brow as he had not when the response might have counted. For another to display a protective front when homicide had been his modus operandi weeks prior. When had they become so displaced?

And when had that started to hold the better sense?

The youngest gave a shuddered exhale, an unspoken resignation, and then looked to acknowledge Albedo's quiet prompting. Alright. Alright, for he was long past denials with this brother. But he would offer nothing else. Rubedo likely wanted nothing from him, despite the emotion held in the eldest's mirrored face. Green eyes passed on from the pair to a pile of shambles, and like a good outsider, Nigredo fell into silence.

Let the twins speak as equals. Let him witness the changes that had brought them there.

[purgatio]

Nigredo's waveform calmed in increments, and part of the tight tension in Albedo loosened-- Part, and no where close to all, and when Nigredo looked to the side, Albedo dropped his arm, maintaining the majority of his body in-between the two.

There was humor in it, and a few weeks ago, a week ago even, Albedo would have laughed. Here were the two parts of his soul, embodied in his own brothers, and here he was between them, never so separate as he was now. Loneliness shuddered through him, and as Rubedo said his name, once, then again, Albedo shook where he stood.

He couldn't stop shaking.

He remembered the night in solitary, he remembered questioning if Rubedo had ever loved them--he remembered his dream, and waking up with the sheer knowledge that his twin had; once, once upon a time, they had all--

Loved each other.

One of Albedo's hands slid to his opposite arm in a young gesture; he bit his lip like he hadn't in months, and looked to the side, away from that cerulean gaze. Here, more than any version, did this seem... like Rubedo. But what percentage, what likelihood was it? Of all the versions there were, would they find theirs here?

The first one they met at Landel's--he, too, was kind and contrite in the beginning. And he was the one to ruin what remained of them. And what, then, would this one do?

If they were smart, they would leave. They would walk in the opposite direction and never face backwards--they would sever all ties in the neatest of ways. But that was not was they were prone to. All of them, all three--if nothing else, love was messy, family relations near close to the worst thing there was, even if it was all there was and ever could be. When given the choice to sever cleanly or to cling until the flesh tore into shreds, the latter would always be the option, and even Albedo-- Even when he had decided to punish them, avenge himself on the ones who abandoned him, even that was a form of clinging to what was left.

He understood all of that now.

"You...." He couldn't decide which route to take. He didn't know which was the correct path. Even now, he wasn't sure.

He wasn't sure at all.

The bravado had slid away easier than it had formed, and instead of anything like Albedo had been, he was now closer to a regression--to the child he had been before. Emotion held him still where once he would have clung with fear and love. "What's the last thing you remember... Rubedo?" Here the boy lifted bright violet eyes, to stare through white bangs with an indiscernible emotion. "The Conflict? After it? Are you twelve, Rubedo?" And here, here only, did the distrust slip into tone. "Or are you a bit older than that?"

[designerchild]

The slide of green eyes away from their encounter disturbed Jr. profoundly. Mouth dry, he stared at his brother over Albedo’s shoulder, swallowing against the disquiet choking him. To see his youngest sibling behaving in this way, the sweet promise of Gaignun’s last words to the twins fresh in his mind, left Jr. at a devastated loss. Nigredo had always been the one Jr. had depended on, the one he had leaned so heavily on, the one he had gone to for guidance, for a clear and logical approach to any situation. Now there stood a child with but the echo of the man he would become, a child who seemed unable to bring himself to meet Jr.’s gaze. Then, as if this was not foreign enough for Jr. to digest, there was his twin. He had grown accustomed, in a weary, resigned manner, to always being taken aback by Albedo’s actions; his twin’s mind was a convoluted book Jr. could never hope to read, never mind actually process. Even so, for Albedo to take up a defensive stance, for Nigredo’s sake no less, with what appeared to be genuine concern written across his features — this was equally unsettling and just as jarring. Who were these children that wore the faces of his brothers? What was this place that created such strange caricatures?

Jr. would not allow himself to linger down that train of thought for long; brows furrowed, he began examining explanations for why his brothers would react to his presence like this, why they —

Albedo’s questions startled Jr. from his reverie. Dimly, he saw that his twin was shaking. There was a sudden urge to reach out yet again, to offer some form of comfort, but Jr. was sure now that this would not be tolerated, for reasons he did not yet know. Slowly, to keep them from bridging the gap between him and his brothers, Jr. crossed his arms across his chest stiffly. Mulling over how to respond, he glanced at Albedo, taking note of the childlike body language exhibited and comparing it to what he remembered of the adult. As he regarded his brothers, Jr. realized that he felt very uncomfortably old in his skin.

“I remember Asgard,” he replied, shifting his wrist to give the communicator bracelet a light shake. “I had just left my room when…” The details weren’t necessary. His brothers had not been in that place.

The fact that Albedo had factored in Jr.’s age was, ultimately, not as shocking as it would have been, had Jr. not met KOS-MOS in Asgard. Lips quirked in a weak smile, he tossed his head, showing off the earring. “I doubt dad would have allowed me to get this if I was still under his foot.” It wasn’t a direct answer, but it was all he was willing to give until he knew how exactly his twin had gained access to such information.

“Listen.” The word tore itself from his throat before he could help himself. “This isn’t…this isn’t a prank, right? Someone from Loki’s House using me as a guinea pig for their experiments? Because this isn’t how…”

How I remember you two, but his voice failed him.

[atrabilis]

As the black-haired child withdrew, retreating back to a familiar role, he found himself in a state of detachment, a better vantage in observing his elders. He watched them from his peripheral as he abandoned his own prejudices, his waveform fixed upon theirs as though nothing else mattered in the world. And that was the reality of things, was it not? That despite the passages of time, they were everything in terms of existence.

And what he discovered reflected the same. Both twins struggled to find semblance in each other, a conflict that moved distinct and muddled in the same breath. It was Albedo that took his attention first, and on instinct, Nigredo shifted to clutch the back of his brother's shirt, forearm against the other's back. A weak form of comfort to one breaking from another's presence, but he remembered what Albedo had impressed upon:

Love was only one half of the equation. Only one part of the way things move. He wondered if Rubedo held similar sentiments, if he regarded his twin in the same manner. For when he flickered his eyes upon Rubedo, he saw a mirrored emotion.

A fractured, complicated thing.

This, however, was soon tossed aside. To the question Albedo posed, the eldest answered strangely, prompting confusion no matter how Nigredo tried to interpret his words. "Asgard?" he echoed. "Loki's...House?"

What in the world was Rubedo talking about?

[purgatio]

Albedo shivered, and waited for Rubedo to speak. In the seconds forming the interim, Nigredo took a step forward, to clutch and press at Albedo's back. There was a moment of physical relaxation from the touch, and he leaned back instinctively, exhaling quietly. Nigredo wasn't leaving him at least. No matter.... No matter what this came to, Nigredo wouldn't leave him.

This was something he had gained faith in, formed from the shattered remains of a broken heart.

--To complement, it seemed his twin had broken his mind at first thought, and there was no end to that amusement at the words used. Albedo's hands clenched into fists, and as his nails pressed into his palms, the boy laughed, the sound grating and harsh, high and nearly unnatural. "Have you been spending time seeking Valhalla, dear heart?" The endearment came without effort, as if they hadn't been separated for weeks pushing years. "I wager you'll have a hard time finding it."

And Loki's house. Really. Of all of them.... Again, the boy laughed, and there was a desperate quality in it. In that family, the youngest was the father's favorite, the eldest the most gifted and skilled, and the middle one? One that didn't belong, who was villainized for his plots, and cast out from the family that he had. Oh, didn't that just smack of similarities? Didn't that just cling to things known well?

Albedo was breathing hard, and he hadn't realized it. The laughter cut short, and he stared, dead-eyed, at his twin. "No, he wouldn't," he said, speaking of the earring, and--how ironic! For wasn't that what Albedo had noticed first before?! "You're twenty-seven, then." A guess as good as any--the last ones had been, why not this one? If people were taken from a moment of great meaning-- Albedo and Nigredo's lives had changed at the Conflict, but it seemed Rubedo's was far later.

Perhaps that was just an assumption. Albedo couldn't claim to know. The child was suddenly tired, the energy drained out of him, and he nearly slumped where he stood. "...Wherever you've been," he picked up again, tone exhausted. "We've been elsewhere. There's a great many different realities nestled within time and space, and--"

Albedo stared as if to discern meaning. "And we've met quite a few of you in the time spent here."

[designerchild]

His breath caught at the wordless exchange of physical contact shared between his brothers so naturally, as if they had always interacted with such painstakingly intimate understanding. Across from them, he felt off balance by the subtle action, like an outsider witness to something secret, something treasured, something he had no right to. His fingers tightened on his biceps as an indiscernible look darkened his expression. Turning his face to the side, he gazed down the street, and it belatedly occurred to him that he was allowing them that moment of privacy.

He was still staring off when Nigredo questioned him, but his brother’s surprise didn’t come as news to Jr.; he had already prepared not to expect them to know. There was comfort to be found, however, in the responses of his brothers. Nigredo, who had not brushed off his words carelessly, who had, while blatantly confused, prompted him for clarification. Albedo, who had mocked him, whose laughter sent shivers of unease crawling down his spine. These things were familiar to him. These things he could handle. Anchoring himself, Jr. glanced back at his brothers, gauging them.

“I dunno,” he began coolly, replying to Albedo’s first remark. “I bet it’ll find us, one of these days. Seems like the ideal place for men like us, after all.” Except the reference was wasted. This Albedo was too young. He wouldn’t pick up on it. As much as the physical contact shared between his brothers had been something private, something almost sacred, so too had been that moment the twins had shared in the space-time anomaly following their battle. At the thought, his arms fell to his sides so that he could reach up to touch the right side of his chest, an instinctive gesture that was both protective and desperate. Nothing was amiss, of course. He’d had known the instant something had changed. It would seem that this place could not unmake what was now whole, complete — what was one.

The rest of Albedo’s words were numbing. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring at one brother and then the other with a sharp, searching look. The next moment, he was walking, pacing back and forth in front of them, forcing himself into motion to keep these revelations from boggling him down. He watched them out of the corner of his eye as he did, lips tight. He had not too long ago come to a similar conclusion to the one Albedo now expressed, that there existed different realities, different parallel worlds. It explained why KOS-MOS had come to Asgard from a time much too early in their shared history, why there had been people who had disappeared from the holy city, only to later return with no memories of their previous stay. Parallel worlds. Even with his theories and discussions on it with the others, even with the evidence standing several feet off, it was still difficult to swallow. Perhaps, he thought, there existed a world where Rubedo had never released his brothers’ hands.

Stopping abruptly, he scrubbed a hand across his face, just as exhausted as his twin. “That would explain your awful fashion sense.” The quip was half-hearted at best, an attempt to take an unfamiliar situation and ground it. But Jr. wasn’t in the mood for humor. “You’ve met…you’ve met me — ” No, no, he refused that idea immediately. “ — you’ve met multiple Jr.s out there. That’s how you know about my age.” He was working through this slowly, but already a question was on his lips. “What else did they tell you?” Why, he wanted to ask, are you acting as if I’m something to be feared? Something that doesn’t belong? If he was there with you, if he told you how things turned out…

He paled.

“If…if you’ve met more than one… What the hell happened to the ones before him?”

[atrabilis]

At times, the twins had a way of communicating that existed on a plane or two above his. A natural rhythm in a dance for two, the similarities shared in halves of a whole, as he had once read. Nigredo used to attribute this as a trait shared solely by twins and often disintegrated into a loneliness he wouldn't dare voice. Here, however, his emotions manifested differently.

There were facts he was missing in this exchange, a reference that would be made clearer with--what he assumed would be--a simple explanation. That neither was providing him with said explanation made the youngest discover how much annoyance could flare in spite of the drama involved. He bit his bottom lip, and in an attempt to ignore his own misgivings, Nigredo scrambled for some form of purchase.

"What in the world are you two talking about?" he asked, frowning. The fear had long since dispersed, and yet, his hand remained clutching tightly to Albedo's shirt. The discrepancy was almost comical, though some might see it as a sign that the fear had never truly left. It had merely redirected.

This became more evident the instant Albedo put forth an accusation. A viable one, of course. They had sorted their reasoning some time prior, but the fact of an accusation remained. Furthermore, to bring up alternate worlds and other surreal matters Nigredo was still trying to swallow, it registered as wrong in his mind. A sentiment that only strengthened at Rubedo's response.

Nigredo glanced between the pair, an eyebrow quirked in a question as his eyes went wide. His words, however, attempted to produce responses. It was better than being silent, he supposed. "So that's it, then," muttered Nigredo, his mind settling on a certain bulletin exchange. "You did eventually take up the name Gaignun Kukai, Jr." He shook his head and fell silent, leaving the single most important query to Albedo.

It was Albedo, after all, who had the right to answer.

[purgatio]

It was Rubedo who had Albedo's attention first--and wasn't that always the truth?--but it was Nigredo who Albedo replied to, even as he stared at his twin. Nigredo, nearly belligerent in his own way, and it spoke of how much this was affecting the youngest if only for that. "Lost Jerusalem. Norse mythology from the Germanic countries from the continent known as Europe, then. 'Asgard' was the home of the gods. 'Vahalla' was where heroes and warriors aspired to go to when they died." A weight was given to that. Albedo had thoughts to that, but he would finish explaining, as he normally did not. Even to Nigredo. There was something in that, as well. Possibly some way of showing Rubedo what had changed.

But at twenty-seven, wouldn't his twin know that already? Albedo smiled sickly, and went on, an edge to his tones. "'Loki' is one of three divine brothers--the middle one," he shot back over his shoulder at Nigredo. "Isn't it funny?" He bled out his thoughts from earlier. "The eldest, Thor, the most talented and powerful. Loki, the one who did not belong, who seduced others with words and was cast out for his differences, and Balder, the youngest, most beloved by their father." Albedo looked at Rubedo again. "Perhaps we should have taken those names instead. And really, Rubedo. Vahalla? For a set of weapons? For monsters? Even if I did believe, we'd disgrace the realm just by standing in it." No, that reference was not for him. Albedo looked disgusted, and after a moment, pain shot through his expression instead. He looked away to try and cover it.

Nigredo focused on names, but what were words really? Albedo had no attachment to any of his own--they were but labels when you came down to it. His twin used a different name as he aged, and Albedo and Nigredo fell back to numbers when they did business. There was no difference to him, but Nigredo thought differently.

There was something else to speak of, and it was this that he devoted his attentions. It was too easy to just answer each and every question, speak truthfully and bluntly until all was revealed, but Albedo smiled instead. Something malicious in the expression. Something afraid in his eyes. "Are you sure you want to know? Rubedo? What happened before this. What happened to us." The smile dropped away, and Albedo only glared. "Do you even care?"

[designerchild]

A guilty flush crept across his cheeks when Nigredo expressed confusion over the conversation and he cleared his throat to explain, but Albedo took the initiative. Silent, Jr. listened as his twin described Norse mythology to their brother, finding it strange for Albedo to respond so helpfully without descending into a bitter tangent — ah, right on time. He groaned inwardly as his twin took note of the parallels between them and Odin’s sons. “That’s not what I was saying about Loki,” he groused under his breath, unfailingly frustrated with Albedo’s ability to twist words. Yet, as the middle brother continued, a small, sad smile ghosted Jr.’s lips. He said, gently, “I’ll stick to my guns. It’s definitely the ideal place.” He didn’t expand on why; maybe one day, this Albedo would understand too.

To Nigredo, he raised a brow with a firm look. “We both took the name up,” he corrected, casually stretching his arms up behind his head to pillow it. He shifted his weight onto his back leg and eyed his brother thoughtfully. The change in the boys was most obvious in Nigredo, and though he was adopting more nonchalant body language as time ticked by, Jr. was still distressed by the youngest’s reactions.

The nonchalance didn’t last long. Albedo’s accusation hit him harder than one of KOS-MOS’ reluctant high-fives and he reeled back, eyes widening. “What the hell kind of question is that?” he demanded, walking forward and finally breaking that respectable distance. The idea that he wouldn’t care was so stupid that he could barely muster the energy to be annoyed by it. Now standing directly in front of his two brothers, he struggled for words, unable to understand how they could come to such a conclusion. He looked at each of them in turn, knowing that there was something he was missing, something that he didn’t get. Quietly, he vowed, “Of course I care. You think I’ve been standing around here trying to figure out what’s up with you guys just to hear myself talk? I’ve missed you.”

Except he really hadn’t meant to admit that. Not right now. Embarrassed, he fingered Freya’s bracelet, thumbing the inset gem — goddammit, he really could use Nakama’s advice right now.

[atrabilis]

Another of Nigredo's personality might have found fault in the breakdown. To be handed an answer so graciously might have registered as an offense. The youngest, however, found only gratitude, and he paid utmost attention to the details given--for Nigredo understood Albedo would not leave out the necessities. Strangely enough, the reason had less to do with fondness and more with practicality; they discovered survival proved much easier when they complemented each other's strengths.

This came as no exception. Lost Jerusalem set the scene; Norse mythology gave the origin. Asgard and Vahalla were placed in their appropriate spaces, painted cleanly against the canvas of Nigredo's mind. An obscure reference, indeed, and one that happened to fit quite well in context. One that turned bitter in the knowledge. When the explanations slid into opinions, the boy paled considerably and dropped his eyes.

"Then what," he began, "exactly were you saying, Rubedo?" About Loki's House. The insinuation should be obvious. Nigredo could disregard the parallels strung between them, but that particular bit of information had to be clarified.

As for the name, he gave no apparent reaction. There was no real need, for it bothered him on mere principle. Nigredo raised his head and looked at Rubedo, his green eyes clear. "Maybe," was the response. "You... The other you... You wouldn't tell me." Hid the facts from me, went unsaid. As if Nigredo, trusted Nigredo, could not be informed of something so straightforward, and that it took outright contradictions for him to obtain any semblance to the truth.

Then again, perhaps that Rubedo had a very good reason for doing so. A reason this one was purportedly denying. Nigredo flinched at the comment regarding care, as well as the admission afterward, and he wondered what had changed here. "That's--" A lie. Wasn't it? After everything that had happened, it could only be--

He shut his mouth and stared elsewhere, vaguely aware of his own slip.

[purgatio]

Let's ignore the words about the place that doesn't exist. It's a tangent Albedo wasn't willing to waste time on--not when there was things more detailed, things more important, further up and further in--even when those things are just pointless, because this Rubedo would disappear just like all the rest.

Another time, and Albedo would have hung on his twin's words-- Placed weight on the idly spoken, “We both took the name up,” directed at Nigredo. Leaving Albedo separate once again, once more! This was the type of thing that had been his fuel when they had first come to the institute here--this was the thing that had formed the unnatural, superficial hatred directed at Nigredo. This was the thing that was utterly unreliable, because rather than the bosom buddies that could be gathered from that sentence, Albedo knew for an absolute fact that Nigredo was more lonely than he. And the only thing that was actually provided in that... Was that Rubedo had no knowledge of either of his brother's hearts.

Something Albedo would take a malicious pleasure in revealing.

Of all of them, Albedo was the one who knew best that this Rubedo was not any of the ones they had encountered. Something given through the absolute shock of seeing the two before him, and his reactions to what they had said. Albedo knew more than any. That this one had not committed any of the acts of hatred against them.

He also understood a different truth. That even if everything his twin was telling him was true, that the possibility still remained that Rubedo would end up hating them. Once the possibility had been given, once that side had been shown--once his twin had shown such a willingness to cut him down-- There was nothing that would show him otherwise.

Maybe this Rubedo didn't hate them. Maybe he loved them more than words could describe. It remained, that quite possibly one day, he wouldn't. That he would hate them more strongly than their hearts' combined beating. That he would take it upon himself to shun Nigredo and kill Albedo himself.

His mouth watered in anticipation at the thought, even as his stomach threatened to upheave itself. There was no longer any chance at tears. No longer any chance at anything, and wasn't that what he had learned?!

...Ironically, it was Nigredo that gave Rubedo a chance for redemption with Albedo. Because as Albedo remembered his previous vow to never again trust blood, he became aware once more of Nigredo at his back. At the cancellation of that vow when Albedo began to love Nigredo in full. When Albedo put his faith in Nigredo, that Nigredo would not leave. When Nigredo told him that all he was, everything, was Albedo's to do with as he pleased--and when that statement was given with absolute trust that Albedo would love him rather than harm him.

And Albedo remembered telling Nigredo that one night, that no matter what, Rubedo had once loved them. And this one possibly loved them still.

It changed nothing but everything, but things remained the same. Albedo's emotions were too high, and here was the face of his pain, his undying adoration, his loathing. And even as this one yet walked clean, it was too easy to point a finger at what had been done wrong.

He understood as well. That if Nigredo was not here, this interaction would have gone quite differently. For better or for worse, the youngest had a moderating effect on their behavior. Something he was thankful for as Rubedo came forward, because Albedo could not think of touching his twin. Could not break that careful barrier set between them, because if that was done, everything... Everything in him....

Would just break apart. He knew it. Knew it and flinched when Rubedo stormed up, pressed back against Nigredo, but only as a reaction, because in the next moment, Albedo was leaning forward, voice raising with each breath. "What kind of question is that?" he repeated, mockingly, then continued bitingly. "A valid question, beloved, from what's been shown in the past. Should we put it all behind us; place it to whims and petty indulgences?"

His tones were slipping, sounding melodic more and more, but this was no Song's sweet embrace influencing him, but the sins of the past. "You missed us," he continued without hesitation, snarling out the line. "Then let me tell you how we've been, oh twin of mine. --What happened to the others? Mm? Wasn't that what you wanted to know?"

Here, Albedo gave his first pause, humor and anger both draining from expression, energy being lost along the way. What remained was an expression close to dead, tinged with both apathy and disgust. "There's been four of you, that we encountered, once we came to this world. One was a monster in disguise, and tried to destroy Nigredo by manipulating his heart, playing with his love-- I killed it instead." A smile was given, thin and pointed. "That was the simplest of the interactions we had.

"One could not remember anything true that happened to us, one hated us beyond reckoning, and one ended up being both of those. That one we were with the longest, and he told us his age, told us that he killed Citrine, that he knew of Nigredo's fate--of his mission. That he went on to kill me, to stop my ever-beating heart from continuing another second." A sick look was passing over Albedo's face, but his momentum didn't cease. "That one ignored us, abandoned us, tried to kill me without a second's hesitation. We were worthless, Rubedo."

For the first time, absolute pain registered in Albedo's eyes, and the question put forward, meant as rhetorical, came out as literal instead, pleading. "Are you here to make us feel like that again?"

[designerchild]

White noise drowned out the buzz of his racing thoughts. A queer stillness settled into his bones, heavy and unfamiliar, paralyzing him. As he had listened to his twin — beloved — respond to his query, a surge of emotions had crashed through him, dizzying in their intensity, until his body had locked up in indecision, unable to find purchase to respond to his denial, his horror, to disgust, and fury. The blood had drained entirely from his face, leaving it painfully ashen against the shock of his vibrant red hair. And through it all, he looked at them, these his brothers, these once his dearest companions and playmates, they who shared his lifeblood, who had once shared the spiritual link with him, who had delved into his most intimate thoughts as he had theirs. He searched them for any traces of falsehood, desperate with the need for this to be a lie, to find anything to belie the monstrous tale he was being described. Oh, how his blood had sung as Albedo recalled parts of the story that Jr. recognized, parts of the story that he had lived, events that were true regardless of how they were spun. Yet they were wrong at the same time, so very wrong, leaving a bitter taste in the back of his mouth that he couldn’t swallow past. And now, the white noise, increasing in crescendo, hollowing his emotions out and sparing him from being overwhelmed by this information. As loathe as he was to admit it, he couldn’t deny Albedo’s words; that these hideous things had happened to his brothers was obvious from the looks in their eyes, the tension in their small frames. It was impossible for him to even begin to grasp at the sense of betrayal and hatred they must harbor for him. He wondered if this was a wall he would ever be able to scale.

But, reaching deep, untangling himself from the stillness and blankness and hollowness, he found his voice. It was not steady. It shook. It was strangled, thick. He said, “I don’t know why I’m here.” An old nature within him was hungry to purge these conflicted feelings through violence; he seized upon his own waveform, focused intently on the echo of his heartbeat within his chest — That doesn't sound so bad. Sorry, Rubedo. I'm really tired. — and discovered stability. “I can tell you three things right now, though.

“One. I’m not one of those creeps. I don’t understand parallel universes fully. I can’t explain their actions. I don’t want to understand their actions. You don’t need me to tell you that it…shit.”

He paused, breathing in and out, slowly. Resisted the urge to scream that he would never, that those were shades, that the very idea of manipulating Nigredo —

Breathe.

“A-and I don’t know how to prove it to you. Hell, I don’t know how the hell to prove it to myself, you’re freaking me out so much. I…I don’t…”

He felt sick. Miserable with guilt for actions that weren’t his own. Ashamed of how much his eyes burned. Coughing, he turned away from them to give himself a minute, not even considering the fact that presenting his back to his estranged brothers might be dangerous. When he felt the bile recede, he crossed his arms over his chest and spun around again.

“Two. You aren’t worthless.” There was a bite to his words now, a residual anger that coiled hot in his stomach. “Either of you. Your value doesn’t depend on me or on any of those other idiots you met. I don’t know what he was thinking, because I — you guys, you’re…” The world to me. “You’re so important to me. I know I haven’t always shown that, but I mean it.

“Three.” Here, he paused. “Like I said, I don’t know why I’m here. But I’m not here to make your lives a living hell. I was…happy when I saw you guys. I thought that this could be— uh, well. You know.”

Except they obviously don’t know. Shuddering, he scuffed his boot in the dirt and grime, aware this wouldn’t be an easy fix, that he couldn’t wish away their experiences with a few well-meant words. This was going to take time. He only hoped that he had enough.

“Hold on.”

It was a spur of the moment idea, born from his inability to remain motionless any longer, driven by his desire to draw his brothers into a group hug and hug this out, cemented by the knowledge that that would probably earn him a few bullets in the temple (he had noticed the weapons, yes). Walking away from them, it was a physical ache to leave them now when he was so close, pulling away was harder than he expected, his limbs were like lead, he approached a nearby building and studied it. Then, regarding the caved in entrance, he pulled himself through a wide, gaping window, low to the ground. “Give them a minute,” he muttered to himself, nerves alight with nervous jitteriness. “Give me a minute.”

He found what he was searching for. Grunting with effort, he hauled it by the edges back towards the window, feet slipping in all the messy debris. The physical labor was a welcome relief; he needed this moment to calm down, to figure this out. Nigredo had asked questions, questions he hadn’t been able to get to before Albedo began talking. Well, they certainly had the time to chat now, unless whatever had obliterated this city returned. It would just be easier to ask them come inside, but the openness of the outside was more reassuring — he wasn’t positive they’d follow him anywhere, anyway.

Huffing, he managed to hurl the relatively small, round table up and over the window. It was mostly intact, though one of the legs wobbled dangerously as it landed upside down. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he shouted over to them, unable to tell if he was interrupting a conversation or not.

“Hey! Move that away from the building would you? I’m not going to stand around facing you two down like this is some kind of stick up or something. Let’s set the table up, then we’ll talk. I don’t know about you guys, but I have a lot of questions.”

That said, he ducked back inside for chairs, guts clenching painfully. His brothers of old would have done as he suggested, perhaps grudgingly, but these brothers were alien to him. He was still half-waiting to be attacked.

[atrabilis]

It was from old fears that Nigredo locked his lips, from ancient habits that he grinded his anxieties to dust as brothers took to words. As one set their trauma to the melodic, carved their four weeks into a lengthy diatribe, he gazed down at his scuffed boots and felt powerless. When it came to the twins, he found he was experiencing nothing different from the past year--that despite the middle variant's propensity for drama, his preference for the argumentative, for the length and breadth of the younger's understanding of motives, Nigredo could never disagree with what was given.

It was from cowardice that he would keep to silence. For all his care and respect for the eldest, for the protection he would offer at a moment's notice, Nigredo had always held a leaning toward Albedo's mindset, an unspoken empathy in regards to his plight. For all the efforts placed upon moderating the twins' polarizing opinions, he would have rather voiced assent with the one looked upon with disfavor.

Here, it went no differently. Except here, Nigredo's fear traversed through a territory unknown. This time, Rubedo recognized the truth in their actions, the wordless agreement from Nigredo on Albedo's behalf. The look thrown spoke of nothing less; what else would pallor describe except for dissonance? He was afraid of the outcome, suddenly.

Even as he witnessed a worse fear coming from the one close by.

Rubedo, however, proved contrary, enough that Nigredo's head flick toward the redhead in shock. Though the first and the third aspects settled nothing in particular, the second touched on sentiments long since buried with the variant. Worth. Value.

Existence. For a brief, stuttering instant, Nigredo wondered if his memory might have missed the mark. His mind also caught the impression of a dark-haired girl (whimsical in her choices in friendships), though he hadn't an idea as to why. When Rubedo paused the exchange and stepped away nervously to a nearby dilapidation, the youngest stared after him with wide eyes, before glancing at Albedo with the same.

What had just happened? he seemed to ask. In that instant, what had changed? Nigredo could not say. He remained as such until there was a request for decent conversation, and Rubedo had thrown both table and sense out a window. For those reasons, Nigredo felt oddly out of sync.

"We should-- H-He's going to break his back," he stammered, not recognizing his own voice. "We should help him."

[purgatio]

There was too much dissonance in the words. Albedo didn't know where to begin. A Rubedo that claimed to be happy to see them--when an encompassing truth had been shown that they were only a bother. Albedo lost awareness of Nigredo, of the world. His twin was rambling, moving in a way that Albedo knew, in a way that couldn't be doubted, through actions rather than words, expressions more than impressions, and speaking in truth because when riled up like this, Albedo knew that Rubedo failed at being a liar. Was too easily seen through, and here, he seemed to be hiding nothing. An irony seen and forgotten, because everything... Everything was too shrouded by the past of all three of them to have any clarity.

He couldn't take in anything. He couldn't accept-- Important?! If they were so important, then why did Rubedo walk away?! And everything-- Everything else, he would--

His twin moved and Albedo froze, mental processes freezing halfway through rage. This is the fear your other selves have taught me, Rubedo. I can't even strike you down without steeling myself to your touch.

But where Albedo expected forward momentum, Rubedo moved back and away, and for a moment, the two youngest were left together. Albedo stared after. Did little else but stare after. And when Nigredo chose to speak, to voice a stuttered concern, Albedo's eyes remained focused on Rubedo's movements. A moment. Two. More than that, before his eyes rolled to Nigredo, staring for the breath of a heartbeat before his gaze skittered away. He didn't want anything. Right now. Right now, he would just die and all of it would end and--

His hand reflexively reached for Nigredo's. For the sole point to remaining alive. "I don't know--" he said, evenly, eyes refocused on his twin. "I don't know if I can do this."

[atrabilis]

Another's distress made one disregard his own. A hand reaching in need was always taken. Nigredo watched Albedo for moments longer than necessity required, before he allowed his eyes to drop and his digits to squeeze, to comfort someone who wasn't himself. Who was more connected to the situation than Nigredo, for the break came from this one's own twin.

It wouldn't be right, otherwise. After everything, an attempt at harmony would be selfish on his part, an insult to what he had promised.

Nigredo steadied the internal tremors and attempted calm. Rubedo would be fine, regardless, but Albedo... "No one will blame you if you can't," he told the other, "and I will be with you no matter what happens."

[purgatio]

Words promising stability would be rejected, because there was no factual consistency to them being true. This was true, except in one case. One solitary case only. Because Rubedo... Angel... Ritsuka... All of them had faded, and in the end, there was only Nigredo. Nothing else. And not by chance--by choice, and Albedo knew that.

So when his little brother spoke, Albedo listened. And then looked past the words to find further need. Leaving things like this would just cause them to rot further. One way or the other, this situation--this Rubedo--needed to be dealt with, because if they left as things were now, it would eat away at them. He knew this as well.

Still, he stared. Still, he made no effort to move. "Go to him," he said, and there was no hostility in the tone. Albedo reached, and the link sparked open between them for the first time since they'd come here. {Send if you need me. I'll...}

One could not lie through the link. Not when one's entire mental and emotional processes were laid bare to speak more clearly. Albedo could not promise to follow. Regardless. {...I'll catch up.}

In one way or the other, the middle Variant would shift his senses.

[atrabilis]

One could not lie through the link, no, and though there was nothing to guarantee such an outcome, Nigredo held no objections. Only truth and trust lay in this brother's words. Nigredo was only surprised that Albedo would let him move toward Rubedo and converse; he expected joint movement, united in whatever decision they held to. Although given what the youngest knew, perhaps he should not be surprised at the very least.

And the parts of him that loved both siblings were grateful for the allowance.

He squeezed the hand again for reassurance, before he released in favor of meeting the other eye-to-eye. {If you don't--} If you can't, was unsaid. {--then I'll come back.} If Albedo could not promise to follow, Nigredo could promise to return. That was the basis of their connection between them, was it not? The boy paused for breath and ran toward where his other brother was busy inside a dilapidated building.

As was expected of him, Nigredo recalled the request to move the partially broken table. This he fulfilled without delay, stopping once to pick out the shards of glass strewn upon the surface. The fact of needing furniture seemed ridiculous to him, and he could not get a sense as to why they required such a setup. Nevertheless, he was not one to forget. To question, but not to forget.

He didn't think to ask, however, until he was staring uncomfortably through the window. Until he could make out the bright red hair as its owner busied himself over chairs. "Hey--" Nigredo paused, a choking sensation passing over him. It had truly been some time since he had ever conversed with this one. Everything came as awkward.

He inhaled slowly and tried again. "Rubedo, do we really need furniture? Wouldn't it be easier to talk inside?"

[designerchild]

He had respectfully kept his back turned to allow his brothers some small measure of privacy. The entire time, however, he had felt eyes on him, making him fumble nervously as he puttered about and pretended to be otherwise occupied. Perspiration had matted the hair at the nape of his neck to his skin, but he knew it wasn’t wholly from shifting around and digging through the debris and ruined furniture. He was afraid. Repeatedly, he went over the facts, forcing himself to digest the information. This was not a dream. Younger versions of his brothers, from a parallel world, were here from a place not unlike Asgard. In that place, they had met multiple…Rubedos. A hated name he’d long since discarded, it seemed the only appropriate way to refer to the others, those who definitely shared nothing of himself beyond physical appearance. More facts—in that place, his brothers had met multiple Rubedos who had, for reasons beyond his comprehension, tried to kill and break his brothers. Surprisingly, this was the easiest pill for Jr. to swallow; the idea of killing either Albedo or Nigredo was so sickening, so foreign, that he could immediately displace himself from it. Even back when his relationship with Albedo had been steeped in violence and bitterness and regrets and antagonism, he had sworn to the old bastard that he wouldn’t end it by killing his twin. In the space-time anomaly, that wasn’t how he’d intended their fight to end. No matter how much Albedo made him bleed with rage, no matter what Albedo was or what he had done, it had never been his intention.

“Bring it on! I’m gonna rip you right outta here and drag you back to the Durandal!”

Jr. paused, fingers tightening around the edge of a shattered support beam, and wondered how differently things would have gone, if he had been able to do just that. Hurling the heavy beam with more force than was strictly necessary, he crossed into what appeared to have once been a kitchen. He stopped himself again now, realizing how tense he was becoming, how tightly he was clenching his jaw, and forced himself to relax.

The idea of killing Albedo was unbearable, but not false. The idea of hurting Nigredo?

He doubled over for a moment, almost sick at the very idea. Nigredo, who had been his rock after they had escaped Miltia, who had been so much more than a little brother or a pseudo-father and everything in-between. If not for Nigredo, Jr. wasn’t sure where he would have ended up following the incident. But maybe that’s what had happened to those Rubedos? Maybe they had grown in a world without a Gaignun Kukai, without the man who had given structure in all the chaos. They must have; there could be no other explanation for why they would ignore Nigredo, the image of the child whose last words still remained with Jr., or why they would try and bring him harm.

“What does it say,” he mused aloud, resting his forehead on the remains of a wall, “that I’d sooner side with my brothers than I would with myself?”

Making up for lost time, he thought. For how stupid and blind even he had been in the past.

He was trying to free a chair from beneath a collapsed section of staircase when he heard footsteps beyond the building. Licking his lips, he wiped his hands on his jacket and turned to regard his youngest sibling, expression rippling like water, as if he was having difficulty maintaining the smile on his face. At his brother’s words, the smile became a little weaker. He stepped closer to the window, noticing how Nigredo hadn’t come through—do you blame him?—and stopped a short distance away. It was like a game, now; see how close you can get before you begin making your traumatized brothers panic.

It wasn’t a very good game.

“Uh, yeah, well…” He trailed off, mouth clicking shut, and then steeled himself. “I didn’t know…how comfortable you two would be inside with me, y’know…in an enclosed space. N-not that I’m trying to suggest I’d…”

He peered at Nigredo, at a loss for words, willing his brother to understand. And then, unable to help himself, he looked beyond Nigredo to Albedo in the distance, the other half of his being who apparently couldn’t even bring himself to approach. The nausea returned; the role of the villain’s shade wasn’t a part he had ever practiced for.

Quietly, looking back to Nigredo, he whispered, “I have no idea what the hell you guys need me to do, but I’ll do it. I’m gonna try, at least.”

[atrabilis]

It was a faltering smile that stood against his brother's wretched countenance, that crumbled easily at the proximity. The fact was easily seen, but the reason proved less than straightforward, less than known for someone who was once as obvious as an open book. Nigredo watched with bated breath and wondered when Rubedo had begun to carry the air of a stranger.

Or in this instance, a penitent sinner.

Green eyes fell to the opening in the ruined building, mind assessing its stability and his choices. There was truth in his preference to keep a comfortable distance, but there was also truth in his loyalties. Nigredo was never one to ignore them, not to the point of no return. To accept that he would rather have distance came as undesirable, and before long, the boy pulled himself to the level of the window sill. Without hesitation, he dropped to the space in front of Rubedo and stayed.

"It's okay. Really." Discomfort was to be expected; one would be a fool to believe otherwise. "Anyway, we should worry more about the environment. We can't say what's out there--" Besides a trio of estranged bioweapons. Nigredo gave his sibling a weary smile. "--so it may be wise to remain discreet." And arguing out in the open was not an exercise in good discretion.

The expression dropped to the wayside, however, as the last statement became comprehensible. "I," he started, before biting his lip. He didn't know how to go about this, how to convey a simple truth to someone important. There was a labored intake of breath. "Listen," he started again. "What happened to me..."

Never mind what happened to Albedo. Nigredo had no right to speak of it. His, however... "I don't blame you or your counterparts." He blinked and looked away. "You don't have to do anything for me."

[designerchild]

A breath he hadn’t known he had been holding was released, slowly, on a shaky exhale as his brother climbed through the window. After the concerns he had just admitted, after everything (and nothing) that he now knew, the fact that Nigredo would close the distance between them was encouraging. Maybe the gesture had been small, something meant more to pacify him than something sincerely felt, but Jr. would take what he could get.

Biting back yet again on the impulse to reach out (his usual hands-on approach was going to be a difficult habit to break now), he moved forward toward the window, turning around to lean his hip against the intact sill. With Albedo in his peripheral vision and Nigredo before him, he listened to the youngest brother’s logic with an amused, fond smile. At least that hadn’t changed.

But Nigredo’s next words wiped the smile clean from his face. Something else that hadn’t changed, then. He couldn’t allow this, though, couldn’t even pretend he was relieved to hear such words. He tried to keep his expression light, tried not to let his misplaced anger show, and yet his mouth curved downward regardless, a sharp dip to his brows. Almost incredulously, he echoed, “I don’t have to do anything for you.”

This was a sentiment he wouldn’t tolerate.

“No, you listen.” The parlay was broken and Jr., unthinkingly, reached forward to place his hand on Nigredo’s shoulder. “You have no idea what you’ve done for me, what you’ve always done for me. I may not have had most of those experiences with you yet, and you may have had pretty damn awful experiences from the other ones, but you’re my brother. You’re my best friend.” Gently, he squeezed Nigredo’s shoulder, eyes bright. “I want make this better, easier. For both of you. I just need your help in getting there. Okay?”

The fact that Nigredo chose not to blame him, or them, wasn’t something he could even start on right now. With time, however, that was something else he knew he had to address.

[atrabilis]

This demeanor was remembered, gracing humor and kindness in fragments of the past. It came as languid talks in the courtyard, as quiet laughter in the dead of night. Nigredo flushed pink in the recollection, in the sea of his memories. He had not seen the eldest brother make such an expression, not since Sakura--

The smile vanished as if it had never been, replaced by a look Nigredo feared above all others. He did not know which part of his words had caused the change, sparked the shift in emotion. He could not begin to guess which would be rejected and which would require justification. Too much, not enough, and the boy trembled lightly against Rubedo's touch.

What came made its mark. It tore through the fragile ends of his psyche as Nigredo struggled to understand. He ultimately failed in the attempt--for what manner of person would express gratitude for his actions? Who would grant absolution to their executioner and call him their best friend? What had Nigredo done to earn such remarks? Trembles became shakes, and the child struggled against the onslaught of tears.

All else vanished beneath this single focus.

"You know," he began, breath hitching. "You know what I was made for." There was no doubt, not in the matter of years and knowledge. It registered as pain, considering the fact, and his face crumbled. "Why?" asked Nigredo. "When I don't deserve anything from you?" No matter what he had done.

[designerchild]

He had not expected this sudden turn in the conversation. Thrown off guard, he simply stared at Nigredo with a blank expression, well aware that this was a weighted question. It was his brother’s reaction that rocked him to the core, however, disturbing the pretty semblance of peace he had been attempting to restore. Gaze turning inward, he rolled the word why over inside his mind, picking at it, searching it. But as he settled his attention on the title of Executioner, he could not find it in his heart to feel betrayed. Instead, he only found guilt. After all, he had been their leader, their older brother, their protector—and he had failed them both. Nigredo had been made to carry this burden, this secret, alone all their lives and Jr. had been too stupid to ask about any of it—about dad, about Citrine, about Nigredo’s ability. Why indeed. Stepping forward, he pulled his brother into him and crushed him in a hug, shuddering.

“Would you shut up?” Except the words had no bite to them; they were meant as a distraction, though whether for Nigredo’s benefit or his own, he couldn’t say. He could feel the sting of tears in his eyes again and cursed under his breath. “Man, look at me. This is pathetic. Actually, no, don’t look. Forget I said anything.” Since when was he the crybaby of the group? Hands gripping his brother’s clothes tightly, he exhaled and then began.

“You know what I was made for, so how do you expect me to hold this against you? Your original purpose doesn’t define you, Nigredo. The galaxy is chock-full of monsters and, let’s be honest here, I’m one of ‘em.” He leaned back to look his brother in the eye, and if his cheeks were suspiciously wet, he was determinedly pretending they weren’t. “But you’re not. You’re my brother. You were never my Executioner. C’mon…” Now he paused to wipe his cheek on his shoulder, clearing his throat to find a more humorous tone. “…Did you really think your future self would let dad get the last say? You refused that path. And what you don’t understand is…”

Trailing off, he quietly glanced at Albedo, trying to say it without words.

“…I owe you everything.”

[atrabilis]

It wasn't absolution he wanted. Nigredo understood somewhere that this path came to a dead end. One could never find release from their existence, and for one whose being came as an abomination, they had not a single hope in being accepted as they were nor forgiven for their faults. The best that could be, the best one could hope for, was volition--control over actions and reactions. If Nigredo could guarantee absolute volition, then perhaps his brothers could overlook Executioner. Then perhaps he could forego the want for absolution.

Rubedo, however, wanted neither. He grabbed Nigredo to him and spoke words that denied purpose's definition. He told the youngest that a future self had refused their original design, that he had taken a much different path than what was allotted. That Rubedo owed him everything, for reasons and through methods Nigredo could not even begin to imagine.

Trapped within Rubedo's arms, he shook. Warmth slid to the forefront, and his face crumbled into tears. "But--" He cut off, vision and comprehension blurring, unable to find the words. "But I'm--"

Worthless. Wasn't he?

[purgatio]

For all habitual behavior, Albedo had no wanting to listen in to whatever his brother and twin had to say. Was not willing to listen to excuses and apologies not directed at himself, because he was still remembering breath, and how to breathe. He was still wondering how long this would continue, before this Rubedo remembered that he hated them. What would it take, for this one to show a different face. What Nigredo decided was his own--as much as Albedo knew Nigredo was there for him, his brother knew it as well, and no matter what happened, they would continue. Because both had the other.

A pretty sentiment, if but truthful, and when faced with the fact of a twin's existence, all else but that shattered. There was nothing in him that wanted to contemplate this. Nothing that wanted to accept Rubedo's existence, and much that wanted to ignore it. Albedo's insides shifted, shattered, and he recalled too clearly everything that had been done. But he also remembered the expression on Rubedo's face minutes prior, and the way he reacted, too honest to be subterfuge. And how, for the first time in months, there was something almost like-- Hope.

And Albedo had promised. Promised Nigredo he would catch up.

As if to accent the universal truth of irony that he worshiped, there was a vibration along the link between him and Nigredo. Albedo's head snapped up, eyes on the building both brothers had slipped into, trying to place the feeling. He had felt this before--

"If you didn't know that," Albedo had asked softly. "Then what did you learn?"

"I learned he killed someone I love," Nigredo gave in turn, "and he knew I exist to kill him."

Blinking, Albedo's eyes narrowed on the house, and he took a cautious step forward, wondering if he should approach the little reprieve. There was a possibility that nothing was truly-- Wrong.

Albedo was darting forward before the thought had solidified--the familiar sensation of Nigredo crying, in pain, clear in his mind. It was only a moment before he was standing opposite to the two, divided from them by the window-ledge-- Albedo outside, and the two inside, together, bonded, and it was too familiar to not hurt, and--

And he swallowed it, prioritized as he had learned to in the past month, because before himself, Nigredo--

"What are you doing, Rubedo?" was the hiss, threat heavy in the words. "Did you hurt him again?"

[designerchild]

He awkwardly rubbed the space between Nigredo’s shoulder blades, thumb brushing over the worrisome notches of his brother’s too obvious spine, as if he could smooth them away. On an instinct from a time long past, barely remembered, Jr. found himself gently shushing the other boy when Nigredo began to cry. It was a struggle to keep from doing likewise, but he managed—he couldn’t keep dissolving into tears around his brothers, after all. Not when they’d been through so much. If he needed to be a rock for them, he’d do just that. Hooking his chin over Nigredo’s shoulder, he simply stood there, heart heavy with sadness.

Albedo’s voice cut through him like a knife and, body stiffening, Jr. pulled back from Nigredo, startled and confused. Staring at his twin and wondering what the sudden question was about, it dawned on him. It’s the link. Glancing back at Nigredo, his expression twisted. Had he really upset his brother that much? Cautiously, he placed a hand on the brunet’s arm, ducking his head to meet Nigredo’s eyes, and asked quietly, “Hey. How’re you holding up?”

Then, shooting his twin a dry look, he loudly replied, “I’ll let him speak for himself. That alright with you, mother hen?”

[atrabilis]

The part forever suspended in disconnect noted the details, the contrasts and similarities whenever Nigredo cried in front of a brother. From his observations, the twins had a need to lessen tears, to calm the younger down to outward stability. Neither seemed to want to allow a full cycle; both had yet to act as a quiet witness as Nigredo cried himself out. Albedo, however, served as a deterrent to negative emotions by being affectionate. Rubedo proved more passive, more parental. Nigredo felt young, suddenly, to be comforted by him--more so than the other.

It was due to these thoughts that he nearly missed Albedo's entrance. Only Rubedo's reaction and subsequent question caused his tears to freeze and his face to lift toward the white-haired boy. Why is he so angry? He could not place sense, not until he noticed the cool sensation against his cheeks. "I-I'm okay," Nigredo blurted out to Rubedo as he glanced over at the floor. "Sorry. I didn't mean to--" He swallowed, allowing the word to fall to oblivion.

Crying was a travesty. No one wanted to speak of it. Instead, for Albedo, Nigredo gave his explanation in silence, as absolute truth. {He didn't hurt me. We just talked about...you know.} That. That horrid fact of his existence. Albedo should know very well.

[purgatio]

Emotions seethed at Rubedo's light response, and it was familiar, so familiar, to be angry in this direction--without a killing rage, or a tumultuous pain behind it, it could almost be something like from before all had shattered. Fallen to ruin.

He blinked, overwhelmed by a brief and torrid wave of pure regret.

Nigredo slipped into his mind--the moment passed; Albedo swallowed his petty sorrow.

Except he couldn't. Not now, and not with Rubedo in front of him, and Nigredo connected to his mind. Pain flashed on his face before he muffled it with irritation, but his emotions thrummed with clear and simple wanting-- It wasn't the time. And no longer could he claim that--

There were two instances that he found his head nestled in Nigredo's lap. Two instances, in that park and in solitary, that Albedo sang out his perfectly simple, wretched desire to just go back to how things used to be--

No, he didn't hold that want anymore. He desired forward momentum, and that was legitimate, but still, now, he just wanted things to be different. More than anything else.

Without saying a word to either, Albedo picked his way over the window ledge and moved over to Nigredo, slipping behind the other and holding the back of his shirt, his head laying against shoulder-blade. It was a close mirror, to a time long since past, to two brothers confronting a third on the girl that he liked, and the songs that they played, and Albedo was aware of the similarity. He didn't care.

{I'm sorry,} he finally gave to Nigredo. Sorry that that was discussed. Sorry Albedo couldn't make anything better. Sorry that, in the end, it would be the youngest who likely turned to comfort him instead.

[designerchild]

Slowly, his hand slipped away from his brother’s arm, fingers curling into his palm. He was twenty-seven years old and the Institute was thousands of light years away, in distance and in time, but when he looked upon his brothers standing just so, the memory burned him. How easy it would be, to put the blame and responsibility of the brothers’ current state on other selves. But no, this division had not been born of a false Rubedo. This division had begun long before Gaignun had disappeared beneath their father’s control, long before Albedo had breathed his last in the space-time anomaly. This division had been present even before the Miltian Conflict—the cracks had been there all along, in a place where monsters had played as boys playing as monsters. He’d lost the right to jealousy then, had lost it when he had so carelessly incited it. Now, however, it was electric in him, a hot, childish jealousy of both his brothers and of their relationship, their trust in each other. He was ashamed of himself.

He was also desperately, yearningly lonely in this moment.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, vaguely surprised to find his voice steady. “Sometimes, it’s necessary.”

He had cried as he held Nigredo’s body in his arms. He had cried again when the heartbeat shadowing his own had faded from him. He had just cried now, thinking of the impossible burden their youngest brother had carried for so long, too long, of that brother’s insistence of being worthless. It would seem all his tears were reserved for family.

Eyes anywhere but the simple image of Albedo’s hand clutching Nigredo’s shirt, they’re too young for this, he carefully swiped the debris and remnants of shattered glass from the blown out window and then sat on the edge of the sill.

“Back where I was,” he began, suddenly answering a question long since passed, “all the Travelers—which is what we were called—were split into a different Norse god’s House. Each Traveler received a specific power from their House’s god. Those of House Loki were either bestowed telepathy or telekinesis and, like their patron god, those of House Loki were often inclined to starting mischief amongst their fellow Travelers.

“When I saw the two of you...” He turned away, looking out the window with a stubborn tightness to his jaw. “…I thought that one of them had been screwing around with my head. I knew the two of you weren’t in Asgard and my mental defenses…aren’t what they used to be. It seemed like an obvious conclusion. Someone from Loki’s House was playing a game and I was at the heart of it.”

That is what he had meant by his Loki remark. That, and nothing more.