Chapter Text
“You’re my only blood son, Yeager,” Lang’s voice growled. “You carry on my legacy. Everything you do is a reflection of me.” His hand tightened around the back of Yeager’s neck, forcing his head closer to the black waves below.
“Why don’t you listen to me? Why don’t you do what I say?” The icy water lapped excitedly as he was forced closer, burning his face with freezing tears.
“I know what you are.”
With one final push, Lang sent his son crashing into the endless waves. Yeager’s mouth tore open, a scream trapped in his lungs. And to his terrified eyes, the bleak watery grave that encompassed him turned scarlet with blood. A body followed, plowing into his and dragging him under.
Yeager jerked awake, body slick with sweat. He gasped greedily for air as his senses returned to him. Right. His bedroom. Egyptian sheets tangled around his legs. A mirror opposite the bed showed the pathetic sight of Yeager Lang.
Pink hair flowing past his hips, much in need of a touch-up of his roots, with various scars raking his bare torso. Bullet holes were a morbid dot-to-dot across his stomach and ribs, the signature splash burn of a Molotov cocktail on his shoulder, a puffy scar across his bicep from a desperate blade. Not to mention the plentiful nicks and scrapes with forgotten origin stories.
Yeager sneered at the reflection. Scared boy, scared of his dad, missing his dad, missing—
Yeager’s hand closed around a concrete apple the decorator had set out on the side table. Without hesitation, he flung it, the useless bobble colliding with the mirror with a satisfying crash. A smile slowly crept across his face as he untangled himself from his sheets and maneuvered over the shards into his bathroom.
His reflection wasn’t done with him yet though. It had followed him in. The faceless memory of his mother cupped his face, a tiny Yuno silently doodled on his forearm, Ray held his hair up as he fanned the back of his neck with his free hand.
Mickey’s and Egg’s faces shifted in the background, blurred as memory overlapped memory.
The blood son bit his tongue and twisted his hair into an unforgiving tie, hair band snapping into place. Reflected memories aside, he had a mission. He’d do what his father wanted to. He’d make good of the Lang legacy.
Be rich, be powerful, and most of all—
“Don’t let anyone mess with you, and if they do, don’t let them get away with it.”
The growling voice of Buddha Lang haunted him once more as he donned his mask.
He’d make them pay.
He’d be the monster his father created.
Demonblood.
“We’ll do it,” X grunted.
“Hold on,” Marty paused, cursing, “hold on just a second.”
“We’re not going to win this if we run in guns blazing into Little Seoul,” Mickey’s voice betrayed little emotion. “This is our best option.”
“Best option is for us to act as bait? They’re just going to kill us,” spluttered Marty.
X rolled his eyes. “Grow a pair.”
“Of what? Brain cells? Cause I apparently am the only one with any,” Marty scoffed.
“Do you have a better idea, Martin?” Mickey snapped. “You two haven’t been working with us in months, for all CG knows, you’re just like every other gang in the city, too scared to make a move against them. If you come out of hiding, let yourselves be seen, it’ll draw them out. At least they’ll be out of their territory and less suspecting.”
“So, it’s just going to be two of us against oh I don’t know, the entirety of CG while your squad lurks in the shadows waiting for the perfect moment to strike? Yeah, I definitely don’t see that ending badly,” Marty snorted and turned away, downing the last dregs of his whiskey.
X whacked the back of Marty’s head with a telltale ~thunk~ “It’s for Yuno, idiot.”
Marty’s head bobbed slightly from the impact. He glared at his best friend but finally conceded. “Who am I kidding?” He set his glass down. “I’m in.”
Mickey couldn’t help but smile.
“It’s still stupid and we’re probably going to die ‘cause this is a Mickey plan, but yeah, screw it, it’s for our boy.”
X grinned and slung an arm around Marty’s shoulders, jostling him. “C’moooon, it’ll be fun.”
Egg didn’t need to sit in on the meeting to know how it’d go. Most days, she would join anyways, even if everything went exactly as she thought it’d go. But today wasn’t most days. She already knew the plan, already knew her frie—the Guild was willing to die for it. That didn’t mean she had to hear it.
Maybe if she didn’t see them all again, the last time they had would be working at Rooster’s or the comic store or arcade or enforcing DUI fines on the curb or running across the city doing scavenger hunts.
Not that Yeager had joined in on any of those lately.
Yeager.
Egg blinked at the thought of him. He wasn’t—he wasn’t the brother she had grown up with. He was something else. Something darker.
Of course, that had always existed in him. Something a little too eager to kill, a bit too pleased with destruction. But it was Yeager, it always had been. And it had never mattered before.
But the scared boy who Dad had found in the woods after Mel had dumped him there was gone. He wasn’t scared anymore.
And for the first time in her life, Egg was scared. She was supposed to be fearless, supposed to inspire her twin into courage. This… this was wrong.
“Hey.” Leyla’s voice interrupted her musings.
Egg’s turned sharply to face the taller girl, for once regretting she wasn’t wearing her mask. “H-hey.”
“Oh! Oh no, were you crying?” Leyla suddenly realized.
“No,” Egg responded quickly. She wasn’t lying exactly; she didn’t know she had been crying.
Leyla pulled her close, enveloping her in a welcome hug. “I’m so sorry, Egg. I’m so sorry,” she repeated, like they were the only words left to say.
And to Egg, they were.
She buried her face into her cousin’s shoulder, arms tucked against her chest, uncharacteristically letting herself cry. Silent sobs shook her body, and Leyla hugged her tighter, curling in so her cheek rested against her forehead.
“I’m so, so sorry.”
“Honestly, I don’t even know how Liza still has a job, she hasn’t turned her last three reports in on time and she’s already asked for PTO for this month and next. I don’t even know what she does at this point,” Roni took a bite of her meatball sub before setting it down to wipe sauce from her mouth.
Ray took a moment to look up from Flare he held cradled in his arms. “Are you sure she isn’t some secret nepo baby?” His voice was earnest, even if the theory was convoluted at best.
Roni snorted, scrunching up her nose. “It’d explain a lot.”
She turned to face a waiter to order a different drink and Ray returned to the gurling baby in his grasp.
Flare was looking around as best as he could without full control of his neck, dark eyes soaking in every detail of his surroundings. Chubby arms had already worked free of their swaddle and one dangled freely off to the side while the other was jammed in his mouth, gums harmlessly attacking tiny fingers.
He looked a lot like his mother right now. Ray wondered if he always would, or if as he grew, he’d portray a more even mix of their features. Ray hoped he’d inherit his better qualities if any. He had always liked his nose and jawline, and Roni’s freckles and eyes would be a good mix. And he was sure as Flare matured, he’d begin to show traits all of his own. Traits from deep in their family lines, Roni’s aunt’s smile or her father’s hair texture or—or maybe someone from Ray’s own family.
He hummed contemplatively, brows furrowing.
“I didn’t want to ask but you haven’t said anything so…,” Roni inhaled sharply. “You said Parson’s let you leave? Do you have to check in like once a week or something…?”
Ray glanced up sharply. Right. That was the story he had told to explain his sudden departure from Parson’s. He knew the rest of the family would be against him showing his face after his escape, but he needed to… he needed to see his son and Roni, just in case it was the last time. Not that he told anyone that part.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” Ray kept his eyes fixated on his now snoozing son rather than lie directly to her face. “Every week.”
“That’s good,” Roni cast her gaze out the window, seemingly also feeling the awkward tension building. “Did they… did they tell your diagnosis?” She stopped suddenly. “No, I’m sorry, ignore that, that’s private, I shouldn’t have asked.”
Ray shifted Flare in his arms.
“So, uh, what have you been—”
Ray cut off Roni’s attempt at changing the topic. “I’m bipolar,” he said shortly.
Roni looked taken aback by his sudden honesty. At least he could be truthful about that.
“Oh—how… did they help you find a solution?”
“It won’t go away,” Ray adjusted Flare’s blanket, “but I’m on meds now. And therapy… therapy’s been really good.”
Roni smiled, and Ray knew it was genuine. “I’m happy to hear that, Ray.”
Ray exhaled. “Thank you… Roni.”