Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aether has no idea what the goddamn hell is going on anymore.

After their pitiful attempt at dueling Scaramouche in the delusion factory - after being rescued by Yae Miko and learning she gave him the Gnosis (terrible idea, but okay, not their business) - after seeing Signora get straight-up murdered and facing Baal-who-was-actually-Beelzebul and getting the Vision Decree reversed and all that jazz - they decided it was time for some light exploring. You know, to take their mind off the shitshow Inazuma turned out to be.

Except Yashiori was as much of a shitshow as the rest of Inazuma, and Aether, as usual, found a lot of things they needed to fix.

Well. They didn't need to. But it's just sort of what they do, isn't it? Travel around, solve people's problems, get showered in treasure before leaving for the next place. They might not have felt compelled to stay on Yashiori so long if it weren't for the little boy they met on the island.

It was bewildering that Chouji was still alive, and Aether suspected early on there were things he wasn't telling them. He kept chattering about making money and getting off the island, but when Aether offered to give him a lift on the Waverider to the next island, Chouji gave them a long look and then confidently declared, "That won't work."

Aether and Paimon were at the point of practically begging him to let them evacuate him. It was taking a long time to figure out how to reverse the evil miasma on this place - longer than usual, as evil miasmas went - and it badly stressed Aether out knowing Chouji was fending for himself. Supposedly the kid had a brother, but Aether'd never seen him. And what sort of big brother would let the kid run around on this death trap of an island by himself? They were pretty sure it was a lie for their benefit.

Eventually, their search of the island turned up a letter from Chouji's mother, as well as evidence related to his father. Also, a man called Yasumoto who was supposed to help Chouji but did nothing, and then - appeared to get himself killed in a last desperate attempt to remedy his mistakes? There was no body, but considering the trend of how things had gone so far in Inazuma, Aether kind of had to assume.

Guiltily, they kept all these things to themself. They didn't see what the point would be of sharing. Maybe the information would give Chouji some closure, but Aether selfishly didn't want to dampen his spirits. They didn't want to tell the kid that both of his parents seemed to have left him on purpose.

They were near their wits' end when their exploration finally turned up a helpful document that provided enough pointed hints that Aether could figure out how to re-seal the Tatarigami. If it looked a bit less worn than the other documents they'd been finding on the island - well, Aether didn't pay it much mind in the moment.

And then, the real kicker. Chouji's mysterious older brother did exist, but this whole time, it had been Scaramouche.

Aether's not exactly proud of trying to kill the guy in front of the kid, but to be fair, they assumed at the time that Scaramouche was just using and manipulating Chouji. Any affection Chouji had for him could be discarded once the illusion was shattered, right? Aether gets berserker rages every once in a while, so sue them, okay! Lumine has them way more often than Aether does.

They did not expect Chouji throwing himself in front of Aether's blade, then receiving an honest-to-God Vision. Aether- not being beholden to the religious traditions of Teyvat, and having recently been informed that the Archons don't actually hand out Visions personally- didn't particularly take it as any sort of sign, but it was enough to shock them out of their rage. They began to grow very uncomfortable as they watched the two interact before Scaramouche passed out.

Scaramouche's care toward the kid didn't look fake. In hindsight, he was trying to steer Chouji away from danger the whole fight. And in Aether's experience, it's not really possible to fake that kind of emotion on the verge of death. They began to have the unwelcome suspicion that they were the bad guy in this situation. They hadn't come to Teyvat to tear families apart. The way Chouji yelled that his aniki was all he had, it-

Goddamn it. It reminded them of themself and Lumine.

So when Chouji tearfully demanded that they fix it, help him, Aether gave in. They didn't think it wise to bring Scaramouche to Ei; though she seems to hold no ill will toward her erstwhile creation, Aether is still a bit wary of dealing with her in general, and they don't like to imagine what sort of tantrum Scaramouche would throw upon waking. That leaves them with only one real idea; if there was anyone else who could help Scaramouche, it would be Albedo, a fellow artifical human and a master of Khemia. Albedo probably wouldn't balk at helping a Harbinger if he trusted Aether had a grip on the situation, and for the alchemist, sheer scientific curiosity would be motivation enough.

Aether still doesn't trust Scaramouche as far as they can throw him. After smuggling him aboard, they keep the gnosis and delusion strictly on their person. They considered returning the gnosis to Yae Miko, but frankly they don't trust her to keep an eye on it, and Ei seemed to want nothing to do with it. If nothing else, it could be a useful bargaining piece in the future... Aether doesn't like thinking in such a mercenary way, but the longer they go with no further leads on their sister, the more they're willing to bend.

But personal feelings aside, it's impossible not to feel bad, seeing how upset Chouji is, knowing some of the puppet's tragic origins, and having to look at the grievous wound they caused. Sure, yeah, they were trying to kill him, but- but cleanly. They had no idea his fucking chest was going to explode. They've never been one to cause unnecessary suffering.

If Albedo is able to heal him... after the Balladeer wakes up... Aether doesn't know what they'll do. They can't just coldly put him down after all this, but their conscience won't allow them to let the person who caused so much death and destruction wander free. Can they hand him into Mondstadt's custody? Does Mondstadt even have jails? Could they even jail him for crimes committed in another nation? In hindsight, maybe they should have gone to Ei. If anyone could safely contain the Balladeer, it would be her.

Perhaps, the crux of Aether's decision to go to Albedo comes down to this: they are sick of Inazuma and its tragedy.

*

Albedo is not sure what he expected out of his day, but this was not it.

It's been some time since Aether has been in Mondstadt, and they're a welcome surprise. Their cargo... perhaps less so.

There's a scrawny, wary-looking boy with them - foreign, likely Inazuman given his manner of dress and Aether's last known whereabouts - who isn't so much hiding behind the Traveler as hovering protectively over the large crate they've dragged into Albedo's lab. The boy looks prepared to fight someone with the Dendro vision clipped to his belt and the chipped shortsword on his back. This is highly unusual; the Traveler isn't one for taking in strays, despite their general goodwill towards the people of Teyvat. Albedo is fully ready to be occupied unraveling this mystery, only for several others to blow it out of the water.

"Chouji," Aether tries, "You don't have to stay. You can take a look around the city."

"Yeah!" Paimon exclaims, zipping toward the boy. "Paimon can show you around! We can grab a bite at The Good Hunter, and-"

Chouji glares, puts a hand on the hilt of his sword, and says, "I'm not leaving."

Paimon looks hurt. The Traveler deflates a bit. Albedo wonders how in the world they've earned this child's ire despite being apparently responsible for him.

Turns out, the answer is more complicated than Albedo could have imagined.

In the crate is the comatose body of an artificial human. Archon-made, rather than Khaenrhian- a puppet, not a homunculus.

He is a war criminal, a Fatuus, a creation abandoned by its creator. He is the boy's adoptive brother. Albedo, they want to know, can you fix him?

"If anything could do it, it would be Khemia," Albedo says absently. He drifts closer to get a better look, already entranced by the shape of the problem.

It's a rather gruesome sight. The puppet's chest has been torn apart from the inside out by Electro crystals and Dendro vines- evidence of an elemental reaction gone disastrously wrong. He isn't breathing, but it's clear he is in a state of deactivation rather than death. Albedo frowns, already beginning to work out a plan for triage in his head. First, though-

"Chouji," he says, and the boy twitches, surprised to be addressed by name- he'd been staring grimly at the body in the box. "It'll take me some time to operate on your brother. Perhaps in the meantime, you'd like to play with my sister, Klee? She's always excited to meet other young Allogenes, and-"

"You can't treat me like a little kid," Chouji spits, squaring his stance. "I'm staying right here."

Separation anxiety, Albedo notes. "I won't be able to focus properly if I'm worrying about his family while I work," he says more gently, trying to channel everything he's learned about children from looking after Klee. "I know you want him to recover well, so please, let me do my job."

Chouji deflates a little, scowling and scuffing at the crate with his toe. "Fine!" the boy barks finally, rubbing at his eyes with the back of one hand, "But- But if you do anything bad to him, I won't let you get away with it!"

That declaration made, Paimon quickly volunteers to help him find Klee; the child leaves, stiff-backed and clearly unhappy. Albedo sends an inquiring look to the Traveler.

Aether sighs heavily, then looks morosely down on the Balladeer. "It's my fault," they say. "Chouji doesn't want to leave me alone with him because I'm the one responsible for his current state."

Albedo's eyebrows go up. From the short explanation they gave, it's clear that the puppet is the Traveler's- former?- enemy, but he's never known them to dish out such vicious wounds.

Aether hesitates for a moment, then says, "I didn't know it would happen, when I fought him. I think it has something to do with these." They put a hand into their pocket, and draw out two items that shock him once more. A Dendro delusion, and then- twinkling and deceptively small, but with an aura of elemental power that can be felt from across the room-

Albedo sucks in a breath. "Is that-"

The Electro Gnosis.

"You know," says Aether, smiling ruefully, "I'd better just start the explanation over."

*

By the time Albedo is preparing to begin operating, he still feels short some important pieces of information.

What will you do with him after, if he poses such a threat? - The Traveler doesn't know.

Is he "turned off", so to speak, or merely unconscious? - The Traveler doesn't know.

Can he feel pain? Do anesthetics work on him? - Yes, he seems to; no, the Traveler doesn't know.

"Are you sure you're alright with helping him? I know it's quite the imposition. It could even get you in trouble. You don't have to feel obligated, just because..." Aether trails off.

"Don't worry. I'd want to do this even if it weren't you who brought me the request," Albedo tells them sincerely.

The truth is, Albedo is not impartial in this. There's the pure scientific fascination of examining a fellow artificial human, but beyond that-

He can't help but think of Subject Two and Durin, abandoned and set up for failure by their shared Master. He still deeply regrets how things had gone with Subject Two. Perhaps it's selfish to think this way, but faced with another abandoned creation, Albedo can't help but want to find a different outcome this time.

It does not matter to him much if the Balladeer is destructive or antagonistic. Albedo is a creation of the so-called Great Sinner and has little room to judge. His own siblings brought untold destruction to this world. Still, Albedo would have liked for them to have lived. He would have liked to be able to get to know them. The fact that this person has connections- a little sibling- waiting for him only strengthens Albedo's resolve.

Before he begins, Albedo administers a common sedative and anesthetic, hoping it will keep the Balladeer comfortable throughout the procedure.

Of course, that would have been too easy.

*

Albedo has only cleared out about a third of the debris from the puppet's chest cavity when Scaramouche wakes up, choking, the whites of his eyes rolling with panic.

It becomes immediately evident that the medicines were not effective, and he is feeling this very, very well.

His limbs jerk, uncoordinated and lacking the strength to pick himself up from the table. He tries to breathe, then gags, chest falling still. His violet eyes well up with tears and overflow. His entire body begins to tremble minutely.

Albedo must make a terrible choice.

Now that he's started, he can't easily stop. The balance of elemental forces inside the puppet's body is unstable; already, Albedo has triggered several small aggravate reactions as he removes debris from the wound. If he were to stop now that he's disturbed the equilibrium, it's possible that things could shift further, worsening the damage to the Balladeer's body. Worst case scenario, if a severe reaction occurs, he could be damaged badly enough not even Albedo would be able to put him back together.

Albedo has a reputation as rather cold and distant, but he has always disliked causing unnecessary pain. The prospect of continuing without anesthesia reminds him of his earliest experiments with Khemia under his Master's tutelage, when not every result was perfect. It reminds him of even older, hazier memories; the screaming from adjacent rooms - full-throated and neverending - when Albedo's consciousness was still untested and new.

Albedo leans over his patient, studying the puppet's hazy eyes. "Do you know where you are?" he asks. No response. "You are in Mondstadt. I am Albedo Kreideprinz, Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius. You were brought here by the Traveler. I am attempting to repair the damage done to your body by the interplay of your Delusion and your Gnosis. Nod if you understand." No response.

Albedo takes a deep breath, and makes his decision. Discreetly, he forms a butterfly in one hand and sends it fluttering off to find Sucrose. Then he says, "I am afraid this is going to hurt. I apologize, but for your benefit, I cannot stop the surgery at this stage. Do you have any knowledge of an avenue of pain relief that works on you?"

The puppet tries again to take a few failed, hitching breaths. His eyes dart from side to side. Albedo cannot tell how much he understands.

"I am looking into other solutions," Albedo says, feeling his artificial heart beat in his chest. "I am going to continue. I am sorry."

He lowers the forceps. But the moment he tugs at another section of crystal, Scaramouche makes a choked sound, and one of his arms shoots out, grabbing Albedo's wrist with a surprisingly strong grip. He locks gazes with Albedo, eyes wide and frantic. He looks terrified.

Albedo feels... Bad. Hm. Yes. He feels bad. In fact, he thinks he feels awful.

Albedo has learned that experimenting on sentient beings without their consent is generally frowned upon, especially if the experiment involves pain or bodily harm. This is not a rule his Master strictly kept to, but it is one Albedo has found he prefers to follow himself. More than not causing the puppet harm, however, he does not want the puppet to die.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, and pries the Balladeer's hand away.

Surprisingly, Scaramouche tries to lie still as Albedo continues- gritting his teeth and turning his face to the side, eyes scrunched shut. But he can't help flinching and crying out, the garbled noises emerging even without lungs to furnish breath, and Albedo can't help flinching in response. When he removes a particularly long vine, snarled around shredded lung tissue, Scaramouche screams and jerks away violently. He nearly falls off the table- Albedo has to grab him to prevent it. The crystals spark ominously at the sharp movement- a vine aggravates, curling up and out of newly vacated space, and Scaramouche chokes, what little color remains in his face draining away. He trembles badly under Albedo's hands.

Then, for the first time since regaining consciousness, he speaks. His voice is thin and raspy, barely there. "Just- just tie me down and get it over with, Dottore," he says.

This is concerning for several reasons.

It implies that Scaramouche is not fully conscious of his present situation. It implies he is used to being restrained during medical procedures, and, perhaps, used to being operated on without anesthesia.

Albedo, as a Knight of Favonius, is privy to briefings on potential threats to Mondstadt. He recognizes the name Dottore. He knows of the cruel experiments the man performed on the children of Mondstadt some time before Albedo came to the city.

As a fellow Harbinger, the Balladeer should not have been at the Doctor's mercy. But it seems likely that, at some point, he had been.

This does not make Albedo feel better about continuing the operation. If anything, he feels worse. But he takes Scaramouche's advice in the end. If Albedo cannot sedate him, then restraining him to prevent further such damage is the only option that remains.

Albedo, of course, does not have lab tables lying around with restraints on them. He uses alchemy to form cuffs around the puppet's limbs. Scaramouche lets out a stuttering sigh and lets his head fall back to the side, violet eyes dull with resignation.

"I am sorry," Albedo repeats, uselessly.

He makes another incision.

*

Sucrose arrives what feels like an eternity later, but realistically speaking was probably only twenty minutes.

"Albedo, are you alright?" she asks, frowning, when he meets her at the door.

He doesn't know what expression must be on his face. It's possible this is affecting him more than he realizes, emotionally speaking. For as long as he's lived, his own emotions have been hard to grasp, and he's not sure whether this is due to his being a homunculus. His Master was never a very emotional person either.

"I'm fine, Sucrose," he says. "I'm sorry to bother you on such short notice, but your expertise in plant-based bioalchemy is unmatched. Could you attempt to synthesize an anesthetic for this person? It's rather urgent."

He hands Sucrose a set of papers- all the notes he'd manage to take on Scaramouche's unusual physiology before the puppet awoke. Her eyebrows go up as she gets a glimpse at it, but Albedo knows that Sucrose is both discreet and capable of restraining her curiosity if the situation calls for it. Sure enough, she nods, expression firming into determination.

"I'll do my best, Mister Albedo!" she says. As she leaves, she's already mumbling a set of possibilities under her breath.

When Albedo returns, Scaramouche stirs at the sound of his footsteps. His eyes slit open. Weakly, he groans, "How much longer, Doctor...?"

Albedo picks up his tools, then frowns at his own hands, which seem to have developed a tremor. He tries to will it to stop: steady hands are a necessity for this endeavor. "I don't know," he answers honestly. "I've removed about three-quarters of the debris from your chest cavity, but I have reason to believe there may be fragments embedded deeper in your system."

Scaramouche doesn't respond to the words, gaze sliding absently off to the side. It's highly unnerving how little he reacts given the amount of pain he must be in. He stays mostly quiet, and though the noises he does make are gut-wrenching, his voice rarely rises to the level of a scream. It would be enough to make Albedo question whether the Balladeer perceives pain the same way humans do if it weren't for all the other clear indicators that he is in agony.

It's truly cruel that there's nothing Albedo can do about it. Once he deems the steadiness of his hands acceptable, he begins again, navigating around shattered ribs, mechanical components, and the pulpy remains of biosynthetic organs. It's not the gore that disturbs him, but the bitten-off whimpers he does his best to tune out. It's not exactly a reasonable task he's given her, but he'll have to trust in Sucrose's skill- and hope she will hurry.

*

Albedo regrets remarking to himself on the infrequency of the Balladeer's screams. When he reaches the center of the crystal growth, knotted around the space where a human's heart would be, Scaramouche screams until he passes out.

The puppet wakes again with a horrible, hoarse keening sound when Albedo cuts down the line of a faded scar on his stomach to look for fragments that have migrated elsewhere.

"Please, Dottore, no more," Scaramouche croaks, voice thick around the start of a sob.

"I'm sorry," Albedo says yet again, his own voice strangely unsteady. It's all he can say.

*

Sucrose's first effort does not seem to anesthetize the Balladeer so much as make him sluggish; an incomplete sedation, not enough to put him under. He continues to whimper as Albedo roots around in his gut cavity, delicately untwining the last tendrils and removing the last shards. Her next three attempts have even less effect.

Finally - mercifully - just as Albedo prepares to begin reconstruction, Sucrose reaches a breakthrough. She runs to the labs breathlessly, nearly barging in on the scene before he can intercept her.

She bumped into the Traveler, from whom she was able to procure a variety of foreign plants. The successful formula involves a distillation of naku weed along with several other compounds. When it proves helpful, Albedo tapers the Balladeer onto it gradually, knowing that an overdose of this type can easily be lethal in humans and unsure whether the same would be true for him. Finally, finally, the puppet's agonized expression smooths over and his body falls slack.

He could hug Sucrose. He could weep. He does not, but Albedo is not sure he has ever actually felt this much relief. Sucrose- not allowed in the operation room proper but lingering outside the door for his report- is beet red from the praise he heaps on her before she leaves.

"And don't worry, the Traveler told me," she assures him. "Top secret!"

Although it would have been welcome at any point, this is lucky timing indeed. From now on will be the most experimental of Albedo's efforts. It will be a true miracle if it proceeds without any hiccups.

At least, now that the Balladeer is truly unconscious, Albedo can sink into the buzzing hyperfocus of encountering a truly fascinating problem. It became clear to Albedo fairly quickly that Scaramouche's design was at least partially based upon the homunculi of Khaenriah, which he finds encouraging in regards to his prospects of successfully healing him, and which on another level he finds darkly amusing. To think that an Archon would deign to use the research of her sworn enemies in such a way...!

However, he does mean it when he says partially, and herein lies the problem. Albedo is not a mechanic or an engineer. He has a passing familiarity with ruin mechanisms, but it is far from his realm of expertise. For every close-to-human organ the Balladeer has, it seems, there is also a delicate construction of twining metal and wires. The mechanical parts seem to integrate flawlessly with the biosynthetic ones. The purpose of some of them is easy enough to guess, but many are complex enough it would likely require months of research for Albedo to hope to understand. Scaramouche's body is a true marvel of craftsmanship, and if the situation were not so dire, Albedo would be much more thorough in his notetaking.

As it is, Albedo cross-references his Khemia research thoroughly before he proceeds. He gets his materials together, using the closest analogues he has- things that should integrate well with the Balladeer's body.

Albedo works all night and into the next morning before he is done. Even now, he is not certain of his success; much of the puppet's inner workings remain opaque to him. For those parts that mimic a human's biology, he is fairly confident in his efforts. He had to reform the puppet's lungs entirely, and reconstruct much of his ribcage. A half dozen other organs required repair, though the puppet's body lacks the place for a number of organs that would be vital for a human; most notably, the heart.

It's the damaged mechanical components that give Albedo more worry. He carefully reconnected wiring where he could, but in some cases, although the mechanisms didn't look quite right, Albedo could do little more than leave them alone. The device at the heart of the electro crystal growth in particular was so mangled- its pieces melted and half-fused together- Albedo had no choice but to cut it out.

Finally, though, Scaramouche has been put back together, skin smooth and unmarred. All there is to do is wait for him to wake. As he surveys his enigmatic patient one last time, a crashing wave of repressed stress and fatigue seems to hit Albedo all at once. "Huh," he remarks to himself, watching dispassionately as his own hands, once again, begin to shake.

He decides he'd better sit down before he falls.

*

When Aether returns the next morning to check on Albedo, hoping nothing has gone majorly wrong, they find the chief alchemist sitting on the ground outside his lab with his head in his hands. He is splattered with reddish-purple blood that he doesn't seem to have even noticed, and when he raises his head to greet them, there's a harrowed look in his eyes.

"Please," says Albedo, "Do not ever ask me to do something like that again."

Chapter Text

Chouji unhappily follows Paimon onto the streets of Mondstadt.

He doesn't think the Traveler is going to do anything - they honestly seem pretty sorry about the whole thing - but that doesn't mean he wants to leave Zushi alone with them.

And he hates being talked down to. He's gonna be twelve soon! He was on his own for months before Zushi showed up! Zushi didn't patronize him, that's why they got along so well. After their bumpy start, anyway.

Chouji's anxiety twists and turns inside him like a snake, and it's hard to listen to Paimon as she rambles on, much less appreciate the sights. But he supposes it makes sense, that the alchemist would need focus to work on such a vicious wound. Finally, grudgingly, the pull of his curiosity makes him look up from his feet, right before Paimon halts midair, announcing, "And heeere we are!"

Chouji frowns. "Where's here?"

It's an ornate building, much grander than anything he's seen before - but then, he never left his rural island in Inazuma, and this is the capitol of a nation, isn't it?

"The Knights of Favonius headquarters, silly!" Paimon exclaims. "Weren't you listening? Klee is a Knight of Favonius! Paimon's, uh, not really sure how that works, but-"

"Who's Klee?" (Why should he care?)

Paimon pouts. "Wow, you really weren't listening, were you? Cheer up, Chouji! Sc- the B- your brother will be fine. Probably. Albedo's the best there is! And Klee's his little sister."

"So I'm... babysitting," Chouji concludes.

"Paimon knows you're really serious about the whole 'being a grown-up' thing, but you gotta remember you're a kid sometimes too, Chouji," Paimon says. "And anyway, don't underestimate Klee! She's pretty small, but she packs a punch! And- Oh, here she comes now!"

There's a shrill, high-pitched noise:

"Paimooooooooon!"

It's... a very small little girl, all in red. Her clothes are fancy, and her ears are pointed. There's a plushie clipped to her backpack, and when she spins excitedly in a circle, he sees a Pyro Vision attached to it, too. Self-consciously, Chouji grips at his Dendro Vision on his waist. How did such a tiny girl manage to obtain one? He's never heard of someone so young having a Vision - he thought he was pretty young for it himself.

"Paimon, Paimon," the little girl is saying. "Where's the Traveler? Did you bring presents? Is Albedo with you? Ooh, who's THAT?"

"Whoa, whoa! One question at a time, please!" Paimon protests.

"Um," says Chouji. "I'm Chouji. Zushi Chouji." He gives a shallow bow in greeting.

"I'm Klee!" the girl shouts, waving her arms in excitement. "You're funny." Then she grabs his hand.

"Um," says Chouji, again.

"Oh!" says Paimon. "In Mondstadt, when you meet someone new, you shake hands."

Klee giggles and grabs his hand with her other one too, shaking it up and down. "Where are you from?" she demands. "I bet my Mama's been there before!"

"Inazuma," he says, feeling a bit overwhelmed. He does not feel Paimon warned him sufficiently.

"Oooh!" Klee's eyes go round. "I've never met someone from there before! But I think Mama's been there. Klee's pretty sure..."

"Is your mother famous?" asks Chouji, frowning.

"Yeah!" Klee exclaims. "She's Alice! She's the super-best adventurer there is! That's why she had to leave me with Big Brother Albedo, so she could keep going on awesome adventures... But it's okay! I'm not lonely! I have Dodoco!" She grabs the plushie and brandishes it as if it could dispel any notion of being lonely without her mother.

Chouji glances at Paimon, who has a slightly awkward expression. Unwillingly, Chouji feels a little bit of kinship forming with this strange, hyper child. Her mother left her behind too, huh? And for something frivolous - not even for an important reason, like her life being in danger. There must not be a father in the picture either, or else Klee wouldn't have mentioned her brother as her guardian.

"So, you only have your brother?" Chouji asks- and then, a bit embarrassed to have phrased it so indelicately, rushes to add, "Me too."

"Ohhh," Klee frowns, "You don't have Dodoco, though." Before Chouji can begin to question the importance of this, she brightens up to say, "But big brothers are the best!"

Paimon cuts in, taking control of the conversation once more. "Actually, Klee, that's what Paimon was trying to say! Your big brother is busy helping Chouji's big brother today. Chouji is new to Mondstadt, so Paimon was hoping you could show him around!"

"Me?" She seems surprised to be given such responsibility. "Okay! Klee will give him the best tour ever! Yayyy!"

And without further ado, she grabs Chouji's hand and starts dragging him down the street, leaving Paimon in the dust.

*

For a long while he just follows her around, listening to her babble on about the city. Chouji admittedly becomes distracted drinking in the unfamiliar sights, his distress beginning to fade into the background. The massive statue of Barbatos in the center of the city is awe-inspiring, and if he thought the Favonius headquarters were impressive- well, that's nothing compared to the towering opulence of the Church of Barbatos' cathedral. He finds every detail of the foreign city interesting, from the two-story houses that line the streets to the stately city walls to the huge windmill that spins on the lower level. Even the foreign mushrooms clinging to the buildings catch his eye.

Unfortunately, when Klee tries to make conversation with him about cool places in Inazuma, Chouji doesn't have much to say. Orobashi's remains are the only really interesting things on his own island. He tries to tell Klee about the Tenshukaku and the Sacred Sakura, even though he's never seen them in person. She listens raptly, though Chouji's never thought of himself as a storyteller.

Chouji's heard that Mondstadt is a lot more carefree than Inazuma, and it quickly becomes clear this is true. When Chouji asks if Mondstadt has a lot of enemies - eyeing the impressive fortress-like walls that surround the city, which surely must have been built to keep something out - Klee looks at him funny. "Well, the Treasure Hoarders and Abyss," she says. "And the Fatui, I guess."

"You need walls like this for that?" he asks skeptically.

"Um-" Klee looks stumped. "I don't know why the walls are there. It was a really, really long time ago. We could ask Miss Lisa?"

"No, it's okay," says Chouji. "I was just curious."

He also remembers hearing Mondstadt called a godless nation, and it's true he doesn't hear Barbatos mentioned all that much in the lively conversation of the city, except for by the nuns on the steps of the cathedral. In Inazuma, the Shogun's ever-present eye lies heavy over everything, and she's invoked at the start of most conversations.

Chouji's not too sure how he feels about the Shogun anymore though. Maybe Mondstadters are able to be so relaxed because they don't feel the eye of their god ever on their backs.

Eventually, Chouji's stomach growls loudly, and Klee drags him to a place called The Good Hunter. He insists on paying for their meals - he is, at this point, what would have been considered "loaded" in Yashiori's pre-disaster economy, having managed to pawn off at least some of his Crystal Marrow stock. On Klee's advice, he tries a fried vegetable known as "potato". His eyes go wide when he takes his first bite and he's scarfed it down before he knows it. Klee looks proud of herself.

"You'll have to try dango one of these days," he pauses to tell her seriously.

Klee beams at him. "Okay!"

How odd, to be back in civilization again. Throngs of people, none of them sick or dying. No one possessed or raving from street corners. Delicious, pre-cooked meals just an exchange of mora away. Smiles on people's faces. Cheer in the air. Soldiers- or, as Klee calls them, knights- but no war. It would be easy to become overwhelmed by it if he let himself.

"...Is it too loud out here?" Klee asks, looking worried.

...Maybe he's not doing a good enough job of not letting himself.

"It's okay, Klee knows what to do!" she whispers loudly. "This happens to Razor a lot."

She leads him to a quiet alcove in the city whose location she seems to know by heart. It's almost like a garden with its benches inbetween pruned pines. The bustle of the city fades, and Chouji lets out a sigh of relief.

"I've never been around so many people," he confides.

"You must be a country kid! Like Razor!" Klee giggles and kicks her feet. "Hey, what's Albedo helping your big brother with, anyway?"

Oh. Chouji didn't realize she'd take what Paimon said so literally. "He got hurt," Chouji says, and is unable to hide the wobble in his voice when he continues, "Bad. Your brother is helping him."

Klee tilts her head to the side in innocent confusion. "But Albedo isn't a doctor?"

Chouji pauses and considers. Zushi has always been cagey about his non-human identity, and this bouncy little girl probably wouldn't be very good at keeping secrets. Then again... He steals another glance at her long, pointy ears, which he's been sneakily doing all morning. He hasn't been able to figure out why she looks like that. Klee seems more like a human than a youkai, but then he doesn't think Mondstadt has youkai. That doesn't mean it doesn't have other fantastical creatures, though.

"Klee," he says finally, trying to be as polite about it as possible, "Are you human?"

"Mm? No," she lightly touches the tip of one of her ears. "Klee is an elf!"

"And what does that mean?" he can't help but ask. Chouji has never heard of elves.

"It means I'll live a really long time, and I'll be really good at magic when I get big," Klee answers readily. "Why?"

"Well," Chouji scuffs the dirt with his foot. "My big brother isn't human either. But don't tell anyone, okay? It's a big secret. A normal doctor can't help him. That's why we brought him to Albedo."

Klee's eyes go huge. "IS HE-" she shouts, jumping up on the bench, then seems to catch herself, glancing wildly around.

"...Yes?"

"Klee can't say!" she wails. Then, after several moments of silence, she bursts out with some force: "Do you think he'll be Albedo's friend?!"

"Um," says Chouji. Probably not. "Maybe?"

Klee nods to herself and sits back down, still thinking hard. Then she says, "Will it be a long time until Albedo is done helping him?"

"Seems like it," Chouji admits. He thinks the Traveler would send Paimon to come get him if something happened. Probably.

"Then," Klee asks, "Wanna go fish blasting?"

*

Fish blasting is something that Klee is, apparently, strictly prohibited from doing. It involves her Vision and must be done outside the city limits. So into the wilds of Mondstadt they go. They cross the bridge, startling a flock of fat pigeons who didn't take flight until Klee and Chouji were almost on top of them. (Good place to catch dinner later, Chouji thinks, until Klee tells him they're a boy named Timmie's pets.)

They cross into Springvale, a smaller village whose pace feels much more familiar to Chouji. Klee seems well-known in these parts; a number of people give her cheerful greetings as they pass by.

"Aren't they worried about you going off on your own?" he asks. He was never allowed in the woods by himself, but maybe the woods in Mondstadt are simply less dangerous. No youkai, and at least you wouldn't have to worry about stumbling upon a group of soldiers and trying to fake loyalty to whichever side they're on.

"Klee's not alone. I'm with you!" she chirps happily. "But don't worry. I'm the Spark Knight. I'm strong!" Then, like she's telling him a secret, she giggles and leans closer to say, "Klee's got lots and lots of bombs."

Chouji stares for a moment. "Bombs?" he asks. "You mean, like this?" And he rummages in his pack, pulling out a handful of the miner's charges he always carries with him.

Klee freezes. She takes in a huge breath, and Chouji swears he can see stars dancing in her eyes. "You're going to be Klee's bestest friend EVER!!!" she shouts. "Come on come on come on, you have to fish blast with Klee!!"

*

Fifteen minutes later Chouji is having the time of his life.

"Fish blasting" turns out to mean fishing. With bombs.

Klee cackles maniacally as she generates bombs from her Vision and tosses them into the water. They're in a secluded spot a ways out from Springvale, "where Jean can't catch us".

"DODOCO, DODOCO, GO! BA-BOOM!"

The explosion is glorious. Fish go flying, and a few geese take to the sky, honking in panic. Chouji whoops with excitement. Her blast radius is impressive.

"Okay, okay, your turn!" she insists.

Chouji feels giddy getting to finally light a bomb after all this time. He considers maybe he shouldn't be wasting them on something so frivolous, but then, he can always buy more. Klee has already offered to show him how to make them. He strikes a match with practiced ease, and waits until he sees the shadow of a fish stirring under the water before he tosses it.

"WOO-HOOO!" Klee loyally cheers, though Chouji's explosion isn't anywhere near as big and flashy as hers.

It takes a couple tries before he properly hits a fish. He runs and catches it as it falls from the sky, then takes a big bite out of the crispy scales.

"WHOA!" Klee gasps. "Are you sure you aren't f- fee-"

He cocks his head to the side, chewing and swallowing. Honestly it wasn't very good- charred in parts and near-raw in the rest- but the texture was fun.

"Are you sure you weren't raised by wolves?!?" she exclaims. "Razor did the same thing!!!"

"Well, why do you blast them all if you're not going to eat any?" Chouji asks, frowning. He's really starting to get curious about this 'Razor' person she keeps mentioning.

"Because it's fun?!?!"

Well. He can't argue with that.

"And," says Klee sagely, putting her hands on her hips, "Klee does eat them. But Albedo says I have to cook them more evenly first. For safety."

She shows him how she makes a spit and roasts them a little more with her Vision. As they sit around enjoying their afternoon snack, Chouji asks, "Have you ever gone rock blasting?"

"Mmm? No." Klee touches a finger to her lips. "Sounds dan-ger-ous. And maybe boring?"

Should he be offended? Chouji feels a little offended. "Not if you know what you're doing! Do you know if there are any valuable ores are around here?"

"Mmm... I think I saw some last time I was in Wolvendom..."

So off they go again. Klee helps him locate some gleaming teal crystals deeper in the woods. It's different from any kind of ore he saw in Inazuma.

"Okay, okay, watch!" he exclaims. He sets up his charges around the weak spots in the bases of the crystals, then drags Klee behind a big rock to watch them explode. There's a BOOM, and then tinkling and clattering fills the air.

"YAY!" shouts Klee. She runs out from behind the rock to help him gather up the shards.

"How much do these go for do you think?" Chouji asks as he stuffs them in his pack, always on the lookout for opportunity.

"Umm... Klee doesn't know."

Chouji's warming to the subject. "Does Mondstadt have any special ores that people look for? Stuff that's not found outside the country?"

"Mm... Oh! There's Starsilver. It's on Dragonspine. That's the big mountain over there!" She flings out a finger to point, and Chouji squints at the horizon. "But Big Brother Albedo says-" She lowers her voice to imitate him- " 'you absolutely must not go to Dragonspine alone'."

"Maybe we can visit it together someday," Chouji says optimistically.

"Yeah!" Klee beams.

When they get done sweeping up the ore shards, she stands there pondering for a moment. "What kind of special stuff can you do with your Vision, Chouji?" she asks.

"I don't really know," Chouji admits, his mood dampening a bit as he remembers how he received it. "I only got it, like, a week ago. I haven't used it very much."

"WHAT!!!" Klee gasps in a huge breath, and he braces himself for the volume. "You have to test it with me Chouji!! You have to you have to! Let's go find some hilichurls!"

"Wh-"

*

This girl has no natural fear.

Chouji is forced to conclude that after she runs full tilt into a hilichurl camp on her own. He runs in hollering after her, his shimmering green shield springing up again to protect her from harm. Turns out he didn't need to worry. Her explosives easily topple their towers. The last of the creatures are running from her by the time she's done.

"Ooh, you can do shields! Let's see what else!" she exclaims.

The next time they jump into combat, a mitachurl charges at him and he nearly panics, before managing to summon vines to trip it over. It's similar to the few times he caught a glimpse of Zushi using his dendro vision- err, delusion- in combat. It doesn't feel all that impressive, but Klee cheers him on. He has to admit that discovering his own power is exhilarating.

"You use a sword like Albedo, that means you need to infuse," Klee tells him.

"In...fuse?"

"Mhm! Put your energy on the sword," Klee says.

It takes a few tries before he starts to get the hang of it. He can't really do it consistently, but when it works, it makes his swings much more powerful. He thanks her sincerely. Shortly thereafter, they discover the Burn reaction.

After that, none of the hilichurls they run into stand a chance.

It's the most fun Chouji's had in ages. Maybe in his entire life. His cheeks hurt from laughing. It's surprising how bloodthirsty a little thing like Klee can be, but he can't judge. He's having as much fun exploding things as she is. Watching her flames spread like wildfire up the vines he provides, eating up hilichurl towers and shields alike, never gets old.

...Until the moment it starts to spread into an actual wildfire.

"...Uh," says Chouji. "That looks bad."

"Oh no no nooo," Klee whimpers. "We have to fix it before Jean sees!"

"Do you know anyone with a Hydro vision? What should we do?!" Chouji demands.

"Mmmnnrnnm," Klee whines, apparently too stressed out to speak. Tears are gathering in her eyes.

Chouji's starting to panic. His mother always taught him to treat nature with respect. He feels like a criminal watching another two trees go up in flame. Are they gonna toss him out of Mondstadt for this? What would happen to Zushi then? What if Chouji becomes a pariah and no one will sell him anything? He doesn't want to go back to living off fruit picked from trees! What if he angers the nature spirits and they all try to kill him whenever he goes looking for things to eat?!

He's about ready to tear his hair out from stress. Then a series of resonant howls break out from deep in the woods. A chill runs down Chouji's back and he straightens, gripping his sword. But, strangely, Klee seems to perk up.

Moments later, at least a dozen wolves come running out of the woods. Running with them is a boy with long, messy grey hair and a claymore strapped to his back.

"Klee! Klee, we have to run!" Chouji hisses.

But Klee breaks from him and actually runs toward the group. She throws herself on the strange boy, who catches her with an oof. "Razorrrrrrr!" she sobs. "You have to help us! We didn't mean tooo!"

He frowns, looking down at her. "Burny girl," he says. Then he looks up at Chouji, who goes stiff under the intense gaze. "Burny girl's... friend?"

"Chouji and me didn't mean to, Klee promises," she blubbers, clinging to him.

Chouji is starting to gather that when she mentioned being raised by wolves she meant it literally.

Razor sighs. "It's okay. Guardian of this land will help."

...Uh. Chouji doesn't like the sound of that.

Turns out he was right not to! Because shortly after, an absolutely massive, clearly sacred wolf spirit comes bounding into the open. It obliterates the burgeoning wildfire in one gigantic, swirling icy blast.

Then it turns toward them.

Chouji quakes in his boots.

Even Klee is silent, clutching Razor in fright.

"Razor," the wolf spirit starts. Its voice is tolling and inescapable, undeniably canine yet intelligible all at once. The smaller wolves start to gather and flop down around its paws. "Your human Lupical has disturbed the forest."

Razor shuffles awkwardly. Klee tries loudly to sniff the snot back up her nose. "It wasn't Razor's fault!!" she wails. "Klee was bad. It was Klee!"

The spirit's great head swings slowly toward Chouji. "What of this one?" it asks.

Oh, god. Chouji is only eleven!! He doesn't want to die!!! He feels the otherworldly sensation of its gaze and immediately drops to the ground, prostrating himself in dogeza. "Great Wolf Spirit, we meant no disrespect!" he stammers. "We will- will do whatever we must to pay off our debt!"

He hears the spirit pad closer, feels its supernaturally cold breath as it lowers its snout to sniff at him. Chouji feels like he's going to pass out. It could bite him in two with no effort at all.

The wolf spirit raises its head. "Hm," it says, sounding... a little smug? "I don't dislike this one." Then it announces, "Razor's Lupical. Stay out of Wolvendom until after the new moon. Do not play with your fire here again."

"Okayyyy!" sobs Klee.

The wolf spirit pads away, then vanishes with an echoing howl. Chouji sits up slowly, still trembling. Then he squawks and nearly falls over backward. The wolf-boy Razor is crouched on his haunches right in front of him, looking him over appraisingly.

"Never heard him say that about human before," Razor grunts. Then, "Razor bring you back to city."

Chouji picks himself up, feeling frazzled. "At least we didn't burn down the forest after all," he says faintly.

Klee trudges after them, her little face still red. "Klee is so grounded," she mopes.

*

Personally, Chouji doesn't think it counts as solitary confinement if two people are locked in the same room together, but that's still what the tall intimidating blond lady calls it before she shuts the door on them and turns the key. The room is small, and has no furniture. There's a light, and a rug on the floor, but that's about it. It's probably a cleared-out supply closet.

"Is this jail?" Chouji asks. "Are we in jail?"

"Mondstadt doesn't have jails," Klee says from the floor, where she has thrown herself dramatically.

"But we're locked up and can't leave. Isn't that basically jail?"

"Barbatos banned jail," insists Klee. "I think."

"You should tell that lady she isn't a very good disciple of Barbatos then," Chouji says grumpily. From outside the room, he thinks he hears a sneeze.

They didn't even have time to get dinner before they were apprehended. Razor, having found the "purple teacher" he wanted to talk to, just watched them be marched off and didn't do anything, the traitor.

Klee pats him comfortingly on the arm. "It won't be tooo long," she says, trying to put on a brave face. "Albedo will come get us soon." Then she seems to remember he's busy and amends, "By morning."

By morning?!

"Here," she says. "Let me tell you Kaeya's rules. We can try to remember them better next time."

And she starts rambling off the weird little poem her brother's friend taught to her to help her avoid being thrown in jail.

Mondstadt is weird.

*

In the morning, it isn't Albedo who comes and gets them.

Chouji didn't sleep a wink. Now that there was nothing to distract him, he couldn't think about anything but his worry for Zushi.

Klee seems to think very highly of her big brother. He really, really hopes it works. He hopes they won't do anything to harm Zushi, even though it was him who did all those awful things.

When the door creaks open, Klee shifts sleepily, making a "Muh?" noise from where she's curled up against Chouji's side. She yelps in displeasure as Chouji scrambles to his feet, ready to demand an answer from the alchemist.

Only, it isn't the alchemist. It's the Traveler. They look over Chouji and Klee with an inscrutable gaze. Almost impassive, if it weren't for the hint of stress Chouji can see in their face.

"Scaramouche is awake," they tell him. "And he's asking for you."

Chapter Text

Consciousness returns to Scaramouche in fits and starts. He's lying on his back, staring at a starkly lit ceiling. He's in... a lab. Yes. His most recent memories are fractured and confusing. He remembers Dottore. Being with Dottore. Remembers being in a very great deal of pain.

So Dottore came for him, then. Retrieved his useless husk from...

From...

That train of thought runs into a wall. In the haze of waking he assumed this was the aftermath of any regular failure in his line of work for the Fatui, but very suddenly he remembers he has deserted the Fatui.

He remembers the gnosis. Yashiori. Chouji.

Scaramouche tries to lurch upright and is shocked by the ability of his body to accomplish it. He overbalances and nearly throws himself off the edge of the table, forced to catch himself on its edge. The motion was unhindered and painless, and this is wrong on two fronts: first, he isn't being held in any form of restraints, and second, his body is unmarred even by the usual aftermath of surgery.

This, he concludes, is not Dottore's lab, and the thought should be a positive one but his anxiety rises anyway. The situation becomes an unknown.

The Traveler could have done anything, taken him anywhere. They could have done anything to Chouji for that matter too. From what he knows of the Traveler, they should have shown kindness to a child, but with humans you can never tell. Did they think to profit off his mangled body? Is he to be someone else's test subject, now?

Truly naive not to shackle him, if so. Scaramouche will prove it was a mistake to take him so lightly.

First things first - what did they do to him while he was out? It seems they fixed him, but he's not naive enough to think they didn't extract a price. He's dressed in a simple blue medical shift, and he pulls it back to see-

See-

Alright, he has to admit, that's not what he expected.

His wound is gone, his breathing unhindered. He could've guessed at that. The truly startling part is-

His breasts are also gone.

Scaramouche has wanted this for centuries.

He spends a moment just staring at the flat and masculine plane of his chest, mind stalling out, before logic kicks in and reminds him sharply just why he's never had it done before.

The gnosis. The fucking gnosis. His mother's stupid fucking design sensibilities in which some of the vital wiring went through the boobs. And suddenly Scaramouche is furious.

So. Did they think to cripple him this way, then? Assure he could never ascend to godhood? Rage wins out over gender euphoria. He struggles with his breathing, mind spinning as he tries to process the enormity of what has just happened, until the sound of approaching footsteps cuts through his thoughts. Adrenaline surging, Scaramouche lunges for the scalpel on the table beside him.

By the time the door opens, he's perfectly poised to strike. He lunges at the person who walks through, swiftly grappling them against the wall. One hand clamps over their mouth, the other pressing the scalpel to the soft juncture of their throat.

"Who do you work for?" Scaramouche spits, lifting his fingers. "Scream and I'll slit your throat."

"The Knights of Favonius, I suppose," says the person. "Though this commission was given me by the Traveler." He sounds almost entirely unbothered by his predicament, voice soft and mellifluent, and that only infuriates Scaramouche further.

"I might have guessed," says Scaramouche with an ugly laugh, digging the tip of the scalpel deeper into the scientist's throat. "You better hope to have already learned whatever it was you wanted from digging around in my guts, because you're going to fix what you took from my chest, and then we're parting ways permanently."

"I-" starts the stranger, with a woefully confused undertone that shatters whatever remains of Scaramouche's self-restraint. The scalpel clatters to the floor as he whips the man around to look him in the eye while he throttles him.

He's blond, with stupidly luminous teal eyes that remain flat and unconcerned as a doll's even as Scaramouche's fingers lock tight around his throat with a vigor that's evaded him for months. Scaramouche distantly recognizes that it may not be a great idea to choke out the person you are demanding an impromptu surgery from- but at this point he is well past reason.

"Thought you could take out the Balladeer, hah," he rants. "Thought you could toy with me- lock me up in your lab-"

A hand reaches up to grasp gently but firmly at his wrist, which is when Scaramouche realizes there has been none of the usual gasping and struggling he'd expect from someone deprived of breath. The man submits calmly to the rough handling, simply waiting Scaramouche out and not even attempting to breathe. Scaramouche's fingers loosen from sheer surprise, and the stranger draws in a breath.

"I appreciate you must be feeling threatened," he says, "but I believe we've gotten off on the wrong foot. I am Albedo, Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius, and-"

"Threatened?!" Scaramouche screeches, "Oh, I'll show you threatened-" And then he reaches back out, fully intending to fry the alchemist with Electro, but-

Nothing happens.

It's not the painful rebound he's been experiencing ever since the incident with the Gnosis. It's much worse: nothing happens at all.

Like- like his powers have been sealed all over again. Like he's back to being that useless, defenseless-

While Scaramouche is staring at his hands in mute horror, Albedo stands back up, delicately brushing the dust from his coat. Scaramouche puts several pieces of information together very quickly. Mondstadt, he is in Mondstadt. This is their Chief Alchemist, who has long been on the Fatui's list of persons of interest for his flagrant use of Khemia, obvious to anyone who knows how to look. His origins remain under dispute, but from his behavior just now it's likely he may not be human. Abruptly, Scaramouche veers from anger toward fear, and he dives for the discarded scalpel. Scrambling up, he holds it in the air between them. "What have you done to me," he chokes.

It feels a pitiful weapon without the element of surprise, especially as the alchemist surveys him with impassive eyes. It's the detached and analytical gaze of a scientist, the kind Scaramouche knows can turn cruel at a moment's whim. "I am not an expert in mechanics," Albedo says. "I did my best, but it would not surprise me if some of your systems are functioning suboptimally. There's a chance I may be able to assist if you describe the symptoms precisely, but-"

"God, shut up. Shut up," Scaramouche hisses. "You know what I mean, my electro. You fucking- you sealed my electro-"

"Your elemental systems were the most damaged by the reaction," Albedo says, frowning. "Any further change to them was not my intention. It's unlikely I would be able to-"

Scaramouche advances another few steps when Albedo makes no move to stop him. "Don't give me that," he growls. "You're going to open me back up right now. You're going to fix what you broke-"

Albedo looks alarmed. "Now? We're running low on sedative."

"Sedative?" Scaramouche's nose wrinkles. "Sedatives don't work on me."

"Do you not remember?" Albedo asks, then answers his own rhetorical question. "I suppose it makes sense. At the beginning I was forced to operate on you without, but after Sucrose was able to synthesize one-"

"What," says Scaramouche, with a degree of rising hysteria he doesn't understand. Sedatives don't work on him. Anesthetics don't work on him. That's the unfortunate truth. If it were that easy to just- figure something out, wouldn't Dottore have done it at any point in the past several hundred years?

...No. No, he wouldn't have. The answer comes easily, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. Dottore likes to watch his patients squirm; the occasional inconvenience caused to the experiment doesn't weigh that out.

With valiant effort, Scaramouche rallies in order to spit out, "I don't need them. You're going to unseal my power, you're going to put the gnosis compartment back in my chest-" hopefully without the readdition of boobs this time, thanks to the power of Khemia-

"Oh," says Albedo, "is that what that was? I might have guessed."

The alchemist's gaze lands on a counter nearby, and when Scaramouche follows his line of sight he feels his blood freeze in his artificial veins.

A deformed and melted lump of metal, fused to the electro crystals poking out of it on all sides.

"No," Scaramouche chokes out. "No, no, no-"

"It was too badly damaged," Albedo goes on. "There was nothing I could do but remove it-"

One of Scaramouche's hands flies up to claw subconsciously at his chest. "Put it back," he demands, the words coming out in a wheeze. "You can fix it, you have to be able to fix it- you with your- your fancy Khemia-"

The alchemist's eyebrows shoot up at the mention of the forbidden art he practices, but he doesn't budge. "I'm sorry," he says with what could be gentleness, "I didn't know it was so important to you. But its craftsmanship is beyond me. Even with time to study, I doubt I could-"

He is looking at Scaramouche with what is very distinctly pity.

Scaramouche feels something in him break.

"GET OUT!" he screams, and grabs something off the nearest table to throw at the alchemist's head. Albedo dodges, and the glass beaker shatters on impact with the wall. Scaramouche feels his eyes burning, his hands beginning to shake. He reaches for another object. "Get out, get out, get out-"

He loses himself, for a bit, but when his vision clears, the alchemist is gone. Scaramouche doesn't know if he locked the door behind him, but he doesn't care to check. He sweeps delicate instruments from counter after counter. He overturns tables and chairs, breaks everything he can get his hands on, as if that could drown out the cataclysm of his emotions. He stands there heaving for breath, surrounded by destruction, barely registering his actions above the devastation unfurling inside him.

Scaramouche walks on shaky limbs to the broken lump of steel. He takes it into his hands, heedless of the sharp edges, and sinks to his knees.

Scaramouche curls around the mangled remains of his life's purpose, and he weeps.

*

He would have been more careful with it if he'd known that was the one chance he would ever get. He would have taken precautions. He would have waited. (Wouldn't he?)

It isn't fair. Like the useless, hapless creation he once was, he keeps thinking to himself: it isn't fair.

The gnosis is surely back in his mother's hands by now. It was an unfathomable twist of luck to negotiate it from Yae, and now-

Surely, he thinks. Surely, surely, surely this isn't the end. This can't be the final result of hundreds of years of suffering and struggle. Every time he laid himself willingly down on Dottore's table, telling himself it would all be worth it in the end. Every time he heeled to the Tsaritsa and unfeelingly carried out her will.

If Dottore were here, he thinks, could he fix it? Even now, even now he'd throw himself at the man's feet for just a chance of being made complete.

If Scaramouche were to go back -

The Fatui wouldn't accept a traitor, but self-involved Dottore- maybe he would-

No, he thinks. No, stop being pathetic. When has Dottore ever made something better? (Oh, countless times, but not without taking his pound of flesh first.) Dottore was the one who was supposed to unseal his power anyway, unlock his potential- So if it didn't work, maybe it's because Dottore didn't do his fucking job. Maybe the Doctor was a failure too, or maybe- maybe, he sabotaged Scaramouche on purpose. Why would he want to make Scaramouche strong enough to run away? Why would he, when he had a perfect plaything so long as Scaramouche stayed bound to the Fatui?

He doesn't have a reason, not really, to blame this on the Doctor. But the alternative-

He chokes on his tears, down on his knees, hating, hating, hating-

Dottore. Yae Miko. Beelzebul. The alchemist and the Traveler and Niwa and his fledgling and-

(Himself. Himself. Himself.)

Albedo, he thinks, feebly. The alchemist said he wouldn't, said he couldn't, but surely he just doesn't- understand what he's being offered yet. Doesn't understand what Scaramouche is willing to give him. He's never known a scientist not to pounce on the opportunity to study him. Principles of Khemia were used in his creation- if there is anything in this wretched world that could restore his ability to seek his purpose, surely, surely it would be Khemia-

(It's a fiction he's told himself, all these years, that he is so far separated from the desperate crawling thing left abandoned in the dirt. He'll beg if he has to. He will.)

But he knows he's grasping at straws. Cut of all his strings, now tumbling in freefall. He should've known. Should've expected he'd amount to less than nothing by himself.

Please, he thinks, not knowing to whom he prays, because never once has there been a god who has answered his prayers. Please.

(He feels like he's burning up from the inside out. He already knows there'll be nothing left in his ashes.)

*

Aether goes looking for Chouji that evening and learns from a frazzled Jean that Chouji and Klee nearly burned down Wolvendom only to be bailed out by Boreas Andrius himself. They've always thought "solitary confinement" is a bit harsh for a child Klee's age, but if there's anything that calls for it, it's... probably this. It's nice to hear Chouji had fun, though. That kid has been desperately needing an opportunity to act like an actual kid.

Aether tosses and turns in their hotel room all night, and the next morning, they go to check on Albedo with the sun barely risen, dragging a sleepy, grumbling Paimon behind them.

...They didn't expect to have outright traumatized Albedo with their request. Or to hear that Scaramouche was awake for much of the surgery. Or that he has almost definitely been torturously experimented on by a fellow Harbinger...

(Should Albedo really be sharing that with Aether, anyway? What happened to doctor-patient confidentiality? Is that even a thing in Teyvat?)

It's all a bit much for a still-groggy Paimon to hear, who is now cowering behind Aether's shoulder.

"So, so wait-" Paimon squeaks, "You're saying you just, uh- left him in there? Not tied up or anything? And let him destroy your stuff??"

"...Well," says Albedo, mildly. "He seemed to need the time to himself."

Aether has to admit it's a relief, personally, to hear that they don't need to worry anymore about the Balladeer frying them with lightning or stealing the Gnosis and ascending to godhood. They can still remember the crushing weight of his power in the delusion factory. He was the Sixth, after all- halfway up the ladder from Tartaglia. Becoming powerless is kind of the least that could happen to Scaramouche after all he's done, and it makes Aether feel a lot better about Mondstadt's lack of jail cells. (Newfound knowledge. They asked Jean.)

Anyhow - they could hardly be so heartless as to keep Chouji away, but that doesn't mean they won't vet the situation first.

Aether is swiftly reminded that lacking his powers doesn't make the Balladeer harmless. Albedo's workshop is a disaster zone - no part of it was spared the puppet's wrath.

The Balladeer himself...

Yet again, Aether feels taken aback.

Scaramouche has wedged himself in a corner, knees scrunched up to his chest. Like a kid throwing a tantrum, sitting in the mess he caused. Fresh blood drips purple-red from his hands, clutched tight around a twisted lump of crystal and metal. The gnosis compartment, from what Albedo said. Aether can't see his expression from here, but he looks small without his ostentatious clothing and wide-brimmed hat. His medical shift is askew, baring one pale shoulder, though he doesn't seem to care.

Slowly, he lifts his head at the sound of their footsteps. Aether nearly flinches at the sight of him. The Balladeer's eyes are swollen and red. Clearly, he's been crying, but he isn't anymore. Now, his eyes are merely-

Flat. Lifeless. Dull.

For a moment, he is truly indistinguishable from an inanimate puppet, and it's chilling on a level Aether doesn't know how to express. Then the corner of his mouth twitches up, and he chuckles weakly, a far cry from his usual sardonic laugh. "Come to kill me?" he asks.

"Um, no?!" Paimon pipes up. "Why would you think that?!"

"You should know I can't stop you," he continues, like Paimon hasn't spoken. "That alchemist must've told you."

His voice is different, too. None of the bravado or simmering tension Aether is used to. It's soft, but only because it's utterly empty. Aether thought Scaramouche would be furious when he woke, and, well, he must have been- Albedo's lab bears the scars. But that rage seems to have burned itself out, and now...

"Why do all this? Why not just kill me while I was out?" Scaramouche asks, casual and unfeeling in a way that feels wrong. "Did you want to see me suffer?"

Aether isn't above taking some amount of satisfaction in seeing an enemy brought low, but this... feels like something else entirely. They get their throat working, finally. "I'm not going to kill you."

A twitch in Scaramouche's expression, there-and-gone-again, as if Aether has denied him something he wants. "No? Am I to be your prisoner?"

Silence.

"The Fatui won't bargain for me, you know."

Silence.

"Am I going to be a lab rat, then? A punching bag? Please, enlighten me, what worth you see in me to keep me alive-" And finally, as he sneers out that last sentence, there's a break in the emptiness, and Aether begins to feel sick.

Paimon stamps her foot in the air. "Would you stop going on about us killing you! What would we tell Chouji then?!"

Scaramouche freezes. His throat works, but nothing comes out. For the first time today, Aether sees a flicker of life in his eyes.

"...Chouji?" he asks, barely above a whisper.

"Don't tell Paimon you actually managed to forget about him!" the fairy screeches incredulously.

(...Aether doesn't think that's quite what this is.)

"...Is he..." Scaramouche's lips quiver. He can't seem to make himself say 'alright'. There's a frightening amount of vulnerability in his indigo eyes, and he tries quickly to shore it up with anger: "You didn't leave him there, did you?"

"What do you take us for!!!" Paimon yells.

"Paimon," Aether warns, and the fairy grumbles, ducking back to hide behind their braid. "Chouji is the one who insisted we get you help," they explain. "He's waiting in the city. He's been beside himself with worry."

Scaramouche stares up at them uncomprehendingly, no sign of the cruel and overbearing personality he wore as a Harbinger. He looks, quite simply, lost. Finally, he bows his head again, slumping over the bloody scrap metal in his hands. When he speaks, his voice is wavering and quiet.

"...Can I see him?"

*

Chouji all but runs to the alchemist's lab when the Traveler comes to get him. His heart beats overtime from the mingled emotions buzzing inside him. Relief, anticipation, worry, anger, dread- he hasn't forgotten what he was told about Zushi being the cause of the disaster on Yashiori Island, but he's been shoving it aside because his life was more important. Now that he knows Zushi is going to be okay-

Some of that angry, nauseous feeling is returning. It mixes horribly with the fierce, possessive care he feels for the person he's claimed as his brother, and yet, he can't stop feeling both at the same time.

Chouji doesn't know what to say to him. He doesn't know what's going to happen next at all.

"He didn't... seem very happy," the Traveler warns him awkwardly.

Well of course he didn't, you half-killed him and kidnapped him to another country, Chouji thinks.

When they arrive, the alchemist is guarding the door, looking exhausted. Chouji flings it open before anyone can try to dissuade him.

It's... a disaster zone inside. Chouji glares at Albedo and the Traveler, certain for a moment that they went back on their promise and started a fight with Zushi.

"He did all of that himself!" Paimon protests.

"Go away," Chouji seethes, but the Traveler follows him in anyway, not affording them privacy.

Whatever. They're not important right now. What's important is...

Zushi. The Balladeer. Scaramouche. He's huddled up in the corner. His hands are covered in blood, trickling down his wrists, dripping slowly to the floor. Chouji gasps at the sight. "Aniki!"

Zushi lifts his head, and Chouji freezes, a chill going through him from head to toe. Zushi's expression is distant in a way that's as familiar as it is unfamiliar. He's never seen it before on this face. But he saw that exact expression so many times on his mother. On her bad days, when she couldn't get out of bed. During the weeks of calamity, before she left without a word. For a moment, Chouji's anger shrivels into a terror that he cannot fully explain.

"...Aniki," he says again, hushed and urgent. Please, don't ignore me. Please, don't turn your face away.

Zushi blinks once. Twice. An unidentifiable emotion ripples across the still surface of his face. "...Chouji," he breathes. "You came." His grip tightens on whatever it is he's holding, fresh blood trickling down the dried tracks.

Chouji winces, beginning to pick his way across the destroyed room, carefully avoiding the scattered broken glass. Somehow, Zushi looks more fragile now than he did when Chouji dragged him home and stitched him up. Zushi's head tips back a little to stare up at Chouji as he approaches. He's dazed, but still reacting to his presence. That's good. That's... good.

"Aniki, what are you doing with that thing," Chouji starts crossly. "Let go of it. You're bleeding."

Zushi's gaze drifts dully down toward the object he's holding, but he doesn't make a move. Chouji sighs and crouches down, gently prying Zushi's fingers away. The object is slick with blood, and appears to be... amass of metal and electro crystals? Chouji holds it up to the light, morbidly fascinated. "Are these the crystals that were inside you?" he asks. Zushi's fingers twitch for a moment like he's going to reach back out for it, but in the end he does nothing.

"...It's no use now," he mumbles finally.

Chouji sets it aside, then grabs Zushi's hands to inspect them. They're covered in scratches from the sharp edges; most are shallow, but there are a few deeper gashes in his palms from clutching it tightly. Chouji looks around for something to treat them with and finally spies a roll of bandages on a counter nearby. Again, he has to tiptoe over, nearly tripping on an overturned stool. "Did you really wreck this place all by yourself? They're probably gonna charge me for the damages, y'know..." he complains.

There's no reaction but a snrrk of laughter from Paimon, which Chouji does not appreciate. Soon, he's kneeling back down to wrap up Zushi's hands. He tries to clean them off as best he can first, but that doesn't amount to much more wiping the blood off on Zushi's smock.

As he ties off the bandages, Zushi speaks again. "...Chouji. Why are you here?"

He bristles. "What do you mean?"

"They... told you, didn't they?"

He sounds so hollow. Chouji's shoulders hike up, wishing the Traveler wasn't in the room to hear this. His mother always taught him to keep family disagreements private. He knows what Zushi means, and his anger and betrayal well back up like blood from a cut. "Did you really do it?" he asks, glaring down at Zushi's bandaged hands, which he hasn't let go of fully.

Again, Zushi twitches like he might pull away, but remains eerily compliant. "...Yes," he says at last.

Chouji expected it, so he doesn't know why it feels like a blow. He remembers Zushi waking him up from nightmares and holding him when he cried. He remembers Zushi killing Tatarigami husks around the island so Chouji would be safe. But it was Zushi's actions that unleashed the Tatarigami in the first place, turned Yashiori into the purgatory of madness and despair that gave Chouji all those nightmares.

"...Why?" he asks. His voice goes hoarse on the force of that one word.

Desperately, he wants the answer to make sense. Wants it to be somehow forgivable.

This time, Zushi does pull his hands away. "...It doesn't matter," he says.

And Chouji-

Just for an instant, the anger erupts into white-hot fury.

There's an audible smack. Paimon gasps, and the Traveler starts forward as if to do- something.

Because Chouji has leapt to his feet and slapped Scaramouche across the face.

Chouji's never struck someone in anger like that. It was impulsive, compulsive, a moment outside his control. His chest heaves, tears stinging his eyes. Zushi doesn't do anything. Doesn't curse, or fight back, or glare or sneer or do anything at all. His eyes are glassy, lips parted slightly in shock- but that's all.

"Doesn't matter?" Chouji spits. "Did you know what- Do you even know how-!"

But he does. Chouji knows he does. He was trapped down there in the mud with Chouji for months. In the crisis of his very own making.

Slowly, Scaramouche hangs his head. "...I was angry," he confesses, voice almost a whisper.

"Angry at us?" Chouji demands. "At Higi Village, and Jakotsu Mine-?"

"No," Scaramouche forces out. He lifts his head, a little. Laughs, but it's bleak and hopeless, his gaze sliding off over Chouji's shoulder. "And you know, it was completely pointless. I don't think... I don't think she even noticed."

Chouji is at a loss for words. He looks at Zushi, more pathetic and lifeless now than he was when Chouji first found him.

All the suffering he and his family and the rest of the village went through - completely, utterly meaningless. A pointless sabotage to get the attention of a god who didn't care to answer the prayers of hundreds of her worshipers dying together, let alone those of her own son.

Pointless like a plea in the night. Pointless like scraping together hundreds of thousands of mora, as if any sum of money in the world could bring Chouji to his mother if she's decided she doesn't want to be found-

And just like that, the winds in the sails of his anger go out again, because there isn't any monster here to hate. Everything about it is just so sad.

He startles a bit when he realizes Scaramouche is looking at him, now. Directly into his eyes, for maybe the first time this whole conversation. Dull indigo eyes like unpolished gemstones. Dried tear tracks on his porcelain face. "Are you going to leave me?" he asks.

His voice is calm in the way the wind is calm blowing over a grave.

"...No," Chouji says, and a stuttering breath leaves Zushi's mouth. He begins to blink rapidly. Chouji can't take it any longer. He drops back down to wrap Zushi in a fierce hug the way he wanted to since the moment he walked in the door. A good, proper hug, the kind he's never been able to give him, always having to be mindful of the injury to his chest. "Don't be stupid," Chouji mumbles against him. "Where would I even go?"

And yeah, maybe that's a jab as much as a reassurance. Zushi of all people should know Chouji doesn't have anywhere else to go.

Zushi's arms lift to hug him back. He's shaking, a little.

"I'm sorry," he says. Low and to the shell of Chouji's ear, like a shameful secret. A lump rises in Chouji's throat. He doesn't know if this is forgiveness, exactly. He doesn't know if it's something he'll ever be able to quite forgive. But love is mysterious like that: it persists, and persists, and persists. His bruised heart beats loud enough for the two of them, and as the last of his resistance gives Chouji squeezes even tighter. And then, as if the apology was the first trickle from a dam, Zushi babbles quietly: "There's nothing left. There's nowhere to go. I'm useless like this. I ruined it- I can't give you anything-"

"What?" Chouji draws back, deeply disturbed. "Aniki, what are you even talking about?"

Zushi stares in mute despair, already back on the verge of going distant.

"Just- stay with me, okay?" Chouji demands.

"You don't need me," he says, stupidly, like an idiot.

"I need you for plenty!" Chouji protests hotly, throwing every hard-won argument about his independence to the wind if only he can have this one thing. "Who's gonna make me lavender melon stew, huh? Who's gonna teach me how to use this thing?" He brandishes his Dendro vision. "You were awesome with that- that- I don't care if it was a Delusion. You can still tell me how. And I need to make you Imported Kondo Cuisine now that there's actually chicken to buy, and- and- You have to come with me to Snezhnaya someday! You promised."

He didn't, actually. At this point Chouji's making things up whole cloth. But Scaramouche looks up at him, something horribly, openly vulnerable in his face, and then he breathes, "...Okay." The air shivers with the weight of that word, a significance Chouji can't fully comprehend. Zushi's expression firms again as he looks over to their observers, acknowledging their presence for the first time as he murmurs, "But I don't think the Traveler is going to allow that."

Chouji turns with his fiercest expression, just daring them to get in his way. The Traveler holds up their hands in appeasal, as though Chouji actually poses a threat.

"We can't just... let you go unsupervised," the Traveler says.

"Oh?" Scaramouche sneers, though it carries only about one-tenth of its usual haughtiness. "Will you hold the boy prisoner too? Take him to account for my sins?"

Paimon sticks out her tongue. "Mondstadt doesn't have jails, lucky for you. We checked."

"Tell that to the bossy blond lady," Chouji mutters.

"Hm?" Zushi's glare sharpens. "What happened?"

"That was just solitary confinement," protests Paimon, exasperated.

Scaramouche bristles. "Solitary confinement is a Fatui torture tactic," he spits.

"...Ah," says Albedo, who at some point silently let himself in through the open doorway. "Did you get into trouble with Klee?"

"They've been in there since last night," the Traveler says apologetically. "I think Jean expected you to go by and get them sooner. She's gone out on an apology breakfast with Klee."

"Locked us in there without dinner," Chouji grouses.

"You've been starving him too?" Scaramouche demands, indignant.

"Y'know, Paimon's not sure how to feel about being scolded by you!" the fairy exclaims. "It wasn't that bad of a penalty! For almost burning down Wolvendom!"

"...Of course they did," Albedo sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Chouji ducks his head in shame, but Zushi pauses, looking down at him with a newfound respect. He chuckles, weary but genuine. "...One day after reaching the city? You might be more of a threat to Mondstadt than I am."

"Aniki!" Chouji whines. "It was an accident!"

"You two really do act like siblings," Paimon remarks. "It's weird." They both turn to pin her under withering glares.

"...Well?" starts Zushi sourly, after a moment of silence. "Don't keep me in suspense. If you won't execute or imprison me, what'll it be?" When he gets no response, he starts pontificating. "Are you going to be my personal warden? Is keeping your ideals pure really worth hampering your journey like that? You know, you could always extradite m-mmpfh."

Chouji has slapped a hand over his mouth, incensed. "Don't give them ideas," he hisses. Zushi shoves his hand away with a wordless snarl. (Chouji knows his bark is worse than his bite.)

"It's... a tough decision," the Traveler admits, slightly wide-eyed as he watches their interaction. "But I don't want to separate you. I suppose, on a trial basis, I could-"

"I can supervise him," Albedo interrupts.

Everyone turns to stare at him. Chouji clutches at Zushi a little tighter. The alchemist is an unknown quantity to him, aside from being supposedly a good big brother to Klee. He can't gauge anything about his intentions.

Albedo is back to looking unruffled aside from his still-evident exhaustion. He speaks directly to Scaramouche, who is staring up at him with a startled, almost hunted expression. "Would I be correct in presuming you have no intention to rejoin the Fatui?"

"Correct," Scaramouche grinds out.

"Then, if you intend to turn over a new leaf-" Several people scoff or snort in response to this, but Albedo pays no mind- "Mondstadt has no reason to turn you away. There's a spare bedroom in my apartment with Klee, since Alice is rarely in the city. If he turns to wrongdoing again-" This is directed to the Traveler- "I'd be more than capable of subduing him. Would this be acceptable to all parties involved?"

The room is silent.

"Err," says Paimon, "That sounds okay, but Paimon doesn't get why you'd want to-"

"I accept," Zushi declares, standing abruptly. The wariness has gone from his eyes, now burning with an ember of the fire he's so eerily lacked.

The Traveler glances between them, surprised and perhaps a bit suspicious. "I think I'll stay in the city for a few weeks anyway," they say, "But thank you, Albedo. I'll be counting on you."

Well, Chouji thinks- at least I'll have more opportunities to hang out with Klee.

Chapter Text

Scaramouche has difficulty understanding the sequence of events that have led him to the ludicrous situation of sitting in the Acting Grandmaster's office, filling out paperwork to apply for residency and asylum in Mondstadt. But if he were paying more attention to his life, he should have concluded long ago that this world is a farce, and he is not a member of the audience. He figured this would probably be a below-the-table sort of arrangement, but no, Albedo is apparently the most law-abiding mad scientist on the surface of Teyvat.

Jean Gunnhildr sits behind her desk, fingers steepled, surveying them with a dubious expression. Scaramouche and Chouji sit before her as Albedo and the Traveler give their tepid endorsements. Klee- a little blond elf girl whom the alchemist claims as his sister, and who has apparently already befriended Chouji- is doing cartwheels in the hallway out of excitement.

"Mondstadt welcomes all who come to our gates with no intention of harm," Jean finally says. "But given your history, the knights will need to be briefed about the situation, and you will likely be placed under surveillance for some time."

"Great," Scaramouche says flatly. This woman does not impress him. She is the one who locked Chouji and his friend in a glorified closet without dinner. "Where do I sign?"

Jean clears her throat apologetically. "I'm afraid the paperwork is a bit more complicated than that."

Scaramouche narrows his eyes at the papers she slides across the desk. Out of all the questions, there are around three he doesn't mind answering, and half of them he couldn't answer even if he wanted to. Legal name, birthday, birthplace, age. Familial relations. Reason for seeking asylum.

Chouji picks up his pen, then stares at the paper with a constipated expression. "I can't write in Common Teyvatian," he announces.

"What are you talking about," says Scaramouche. "Those instructions to the Traveler were written in Common. You couldn't have sneaked reading them if you couldn't read Teyvatian."

Chouji is not chastened by the reminder. "I can read it, but I've never tried to write it," he protests.

Coming from a small, isolated village, that's impressive enough. "So your handwriting will be shitty. Just do your best," Scaramouche tells him. "It's not that hard. Also," he taps the page, "swap first and last name. They do it backwards in Mondstadt."

Chouji grumbles and starts painstakingly scratching on the page. Scaramouche continues to glare at his own.

Legal name. He's supposed to give both a first and last. If he's accepting that his Fatui days are behind him, he has no actual claim to the titles Balladeer or Scaramouche anymore. And neither comes with a surname. If he's going to be declaring himself Chouji's legal guardian... But Zushi Zushi sounds stupid. The Mondstadters won't understand that the words are written with different kanji. And he doesn't particularly want to imply that he's related to Chouji's shit parents.

After staring blankly at the paper for five minutes straight, Scaramouche fills out the whole thing in about thirty seconds and slides it back across the desk to Jean. Coincidentally, he gets done at around the same time as Chouji.

The Acting Grandmaster examines their paperwork and her lips press into a thin line. "No jokes, please," she says.

"Where do you believe I was joking," Scaramouche responds coolly.

Jean exhales harshly. "Do you honestly expect me to believe your legal names are Zushi Chouji and Chouji Zushi?"

Chouji whips his head around to stare at him. Scaramouche keeps his arms crossed and his expression neutral. "You asked for a first and a last name, and I obliged. This can't be the first time someone has had to improvise. Do you honestly believe that his last name has always been Kreideprinz?"

It was a shot in the dark, but it seems to hit its mark. Albedo twitches, and Jean casts a startled glance at the alchemist. But she compartmentalizes quickly. "Putting that aside-" Jean sighs. "You've listed your birthday as a question mark and your reason for seeking asylum as..." She squints. "An 'Inheritance dispute'?"

"Take it or leave it," he says.

"We need a birthday to allow the paperwork to be filed at the very least," she says patiently.

Scaramouche stares her down. "Get a better filing system."

"Come on, Aniki, just pick something," Chouji groans. Then, parroting him: "It isn't that hard."

"Fine, you pick," Scaramouche snaps.

Chouji squints at the paper for a bit. Finally, he marks down, 2/3. So... about three months ago? Isn't that around when Chouji dragged him out of the mud? Scaramouche does his level best to experience no feelings about this whatsoever.

Jean accepts the papers. "Misters... Zushi and Chouji," she says, already sounding exhausted by them. "Welcome to Mondstadt."

*

Albedo and Klee have a rather spacious apartment in the heart of the city. Klee is an energetic little sprite, bouncing around from heel to heel and jabbering away excitedly. She looks like she could be biologically related to Albedo, if it weren't for the fact that that is impossible.

As soon as all four of them are inside, she spins around, takes a deep breath, points at Scaramouche, and shouts, "Are you a homm-uncle-us?!"

"Klee!" snaps Albedo, scandalized.

Chouji starts sidling away from them, twisting his head to and fro to examine the apartment in an exaggerated show of innocence.

Scaramouche is having a difficult time deciding between anger at how loose-lipped everyone here apparently is and sadistic glee at how immediately uncomfortable the alchemist has become. He's sure it puts a very interesting expression on his face.

"Why do you ask?" he inquires in his 'unassuming citizen' voice, which immediately causes Chouji to stop feigning disinterest and look at Scaramouche with the amount of concern he might expect if he'd announced his intention to commit a murder. Come to think of it, he's never put on that mask of pleasantness in front of Chouji, which probably makes it come across as lethally sarcastic.

This goes over Klee's head, although she picks up on their collective discomfort, shifting from side to side in the way that guilty children do.

"Um... umm... 'cuz Chouji said so!"

"I did not," says Chouji, indignantly; then, he glances quickly to Scaramouche and away (the way that slightly older guilty children do). "I just told her you're not human. I mean, it's kind of obvious anyway. Sorry, Zushi-nii."

It's not obvious to people who don't spend an extended amount of time around him, though. Which... well, he supposes this child was already going to do.

Deflect. "I'm surprised she knows what you are," Scaramouche remarks to Albedo.

"She wasn't supposed to," says Albedo, "but it became... unavoidable, living in such close quarters." He gazes down at the girl with a stern expression. "Klee. You know that that's a very, very important secret."

Klee slaps her little hands over her eyes as though this will hide her from her mistake. "Klee knows!" she squeaks. "Klee never told anyone else! I thought they already knew! Like Alice! I'm sorryyy!"

Barely out of trouble with the Acting Grandmaster, and now in trouble with her guardian. Scaramouche rolls his eyes, taking pity on her. "I did already know," he says. "And you were almost right. I'm a puppet."

Klee peeks out from between her fingers, peering up round-eyed at Albedo for approval.

"I'm not mad, Klee," he sighs. "But please be more careful. You know if the wrong person heard, I would have to leave the city."

She nods, dejected. "Like Mama. Except you wouldn't even get to visit."

Loudly, Chouji cuts in, "Well, I didn't know." He has his arms crossed, looking between them. "What's that word mean?"

Albedo hesitates. He clearly doesn't like to address his true nature openly. Happily spiteful, Scaramouche repeats, "Homunculus. It means he was created artificially. Like me."

Chouji blinks owlishly, staring at Albedo with new interest. "By who?"

Yes, Scaramouche is rather curious about that as well. He's not an expert on Khaenrh'ian history by any means, but he certainly knows more than the average person, and there have probably only ever been a handful of alchemists skilled enough to create something like Albedo.

But Albedo clears his throat and sidesteps the question entirely, not even bothering to provide a refusal. He turns to Scaramouche and asks, "Do you require sleep?"

What a hypocrite, so bluntly digging for information like that. With a mean smile, Scaramouche says, "Strictly speaking, no."

"Ooh! Ooh! Chouji can share my room!" Klee shouts.

"No!" Chouji yelps, and throws himself into Scaramouche's space to grasp his elbow. "I'm sharing with Zushi. You sleep all the time, you liar."

Yeah, when he was injured. That's different from actually requiring it. But Scaramouche doesn't have the heart to correct the kid when he's clearly feeling anxious.

Klee looks a bit crestfallen. "It's very kind of you to offer," Albedo reassures her. "If they prefer not to be separated, they can share the guest room."

Chouji's fingers tighten around his elbow, and Scaramouche sighs. "Fine by me."

"Can I show him my room at least?" Klee pipes up, red eyes round and pleading.

"Um. Okay-" Chouji starts, and that's as far as he gets before the girl cheers and grabs him by the hand, dragging him bodily across the apartment to show off her things. Chouji's startled glance backwards quickly turns to resignation. Seems he's used to this treatment from her already.

That leaves Scaramouche alone in a room with the alchemist. Which is perfectly fine- they have a few things to clear up, he thinks.

*

Albedo is half-expecting it when Scaramouche turns to him, crowds into his space, and says, "Okay, cut the crap. What is it you really want? I'm sure we can come to an agreement." He wears a smile, but it's an unpleasant one, half a shield and half a knife- not unlike the dishonest smiles Albedo's often seen on Kaeya.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Albedo says. Truthful, but in a way he knows is infuriatingly vague. He had thought Scaramouche's easy agreement was suspect, but he needs more information before he can defuse this situation.

"You're a scientist, aren't you?" Scaramouche says, the word a curse in his mouth. "You know what I can offer. I'll cooperate, so long as you work to restore my power in return." He leans in, searching Albedo's face intently. He speaks casually, almost airily, but his body language is tense and urgent.

Albedo resists the urge to physically retreat. "I think there has been a misunderstanding," he says delicately, with a peculiar sinking feeling in his stomach.

Scaramouche scoffs. His dark eyes glitter. "Don't pretend. Why else would you bring something like me into your home? I'm sure you've noticed I don't have the same limits as a human. I won't break, no matter how many times you-"

Albedo makes a faint choking noise. "Stop," he says firmly, finally breaking contact with that electrifying gaze.

The velvety tone of persuasion drops from the puppet's voice, warping into wrath. "Is your loyalty to the Traveler so great?" he snaps. "You'd overlook everything you could learn, just because it would mean helping me-"

"I didn't enjoy it," Albedo blurts.

It doesn't sound like Scaramouche is trying to ask Albedo to help him. It sounds more like he is trying to persuade Albedo to torture him. I'll cooperate, he says. I won't break, he says- The same person who was screaming just a day ago beneath Albedo's trembling hands, now so carelessly boasting of his ability to endure suffering, a bitter twist to his mouth and a manic gleam in his eyes-

"Excuse me?" Scaramouche asks, sounding genuinely offended.

"I didn't enjoy it," Albedo repeats, stealing a look at him. He clears his throat unnecessarily. "Operating on you. It was a highly unpleasant experience, in fact. One I'd rather not repeat."

Scaramouche stares at him, disbelieving. "You have to be joking," he says, slowly. "You- as a practitioner of Khemia. You must have a stronger stomach than that."

"I have my own preferences in the way of conducting experiments," Albedo says archly. "In fact. I was meaning to apologize-"

"That wasn't in the top ten worst medical procedures in my life!" Scaramouche snaps. Albedo's hope that this is a wild exaggeration is immediately dashed by the addition of, "Probably not even top twenty. Listen- you don't even know what I can do yet- what I can offer-"

"Have you considered," Albedo interrupts him, "That as a homunculus, I may already be well-informed about artificial lifeforms, and have no need of studying you?"

Scaramouche is the one who takes a step back, reeling as if slapped. His face wheels through emotions: shock, anger, the sting of rejection. "That's - no," he insists, but there's something a little too pleading about it. "I don't believe that."

He's right, of course. To an extent.

Albedo would love to study him. He's been captivated since the moment he saw him, even moreso since the puppet properly woke. As such a unique being, his life must have been similarly unique. How would he measure up to Albedo in all the little things that make them more or less than human?

It would be a lie to say that Albedo's all-devouring curiosity did not factor at all in his offer to take Scaramouche and Chouji in. With proximity comes the opportunity to find answers to some of his questions. And yes, he'd be happy to run a few experiments, like the ones he did on the Traveler- perhaps a little dangerous, but not cruel.

But given all... this, Albedo can recognize it would be wiser to shelve that notion for now. Albedo does not want to study him in the way it seems Scaramouche is used to being studied. Until they can establish at least that modicum of trust, they will get nowhere.

"I have serious doubts about my ability to restore your power, even if I were to try," Albedo reminds him. "I have no intention of operating on you unnecessarily. It would be ethically unsound. And forgive me for saying so, but yes, I'd prefer not to help empower you given you've previously used that power to make an attempt on the life of a friend of mine."

"Then what I am doing here?!" Scaramouche snarls. "Answer me that, alchemist!"

"...I don't think you would believe me if I told you," Albedo admits.

He was curious about the puppet from the moment Aether brought him in, yes, but it was Scaramouche's devastated reaction when he realized he'd lost the ability to use the gnosis that cinched Albedo's decision. It was a very particular kind of despair and wounded rage, a kind Albedo has encountered before, staring into his own face on a howling ridge of Dragonspine. The anguish of being unable to fulfill one's sole purpose, of being denied the meaning of your existence. Albedo himself has danced along the edge of that chasm as he struggled to come to terms with the fact that Rhinedottir had left him.

Albedo does not know whether his assistance is worth much of anything, and it seems highly unlikely that Scaramouche would even want to accept it. But Albedo, witnessing that, could not very well leave him in such an abyss.

"Try," Scaramouche grinds out.

Albedo takes a deep breath. There is no way to say this that would not be embarrassing. "...It was," he begins, with great reluctance. "An empathetic response-"

"You're right, I don't believe you," Scaramouche cuts in flatly. "Try harder."

But Albedo has no other answer.

Scaramouche's teeth grind together. Eventually, he says, "What do you want me to do? Beg? Pull my guts out for you myself? So you were dissatisfied. That wasn't typical. I was disoriented, next time I-"

Do you mean that? Albedo wonders for a moment with a sort of sick fascination, the intrinsic part of him that always needs to know. Then the horror kicks in, unhinging his jaw to make him harshly say, "Stop talking." It doesn't make him feel better that Scaramouche inexplicably listens to him. Running out of ideas on how to get it through the ex-Harbinger's head, he states, bluntly, firmly: "There won't be a next time."

There's a crazed and desperate glitter to Scaramouche's eyes as he leans again into Albedo's space, demeanor flipping in an instant from obedient to threatening. "Oh really?" he sneers. "Because it seems to me you've let slip some information you shouldn't have. If you don't feel like assisting me, I might be tempted to let the Knights of Favonius know what exactly they have in their employ."

For a split second, a spike of ice forms in Albedo's gut. He reminds himself that he is in control here. "You wouldn't," he says, forcing his voice to come out level, "Not while your ward is under my supervision."

True rage sparks in the depths of the puppet's eyes; the two of them are almost nose-to-nose. "Is that a threat?" he snarls.

Albedo holds his gaze and dispassionately says, "That's a fact."

(Albedo has no intention of mistreating Chouji, no matter how things turn out with the Balladeer. But there are times when force must be met with force.)

Scaramouche leans back with a flicker of begrudging respect at the alchemist's display of teeth. "You really think you can keep it up forever, huh," he scoffs, and there is something deeply, personally bitter in the way he says: "You think no one will ever notice? You think it's not just a matter of time before your little life blows up in your face? Trust me; that's not how this story ends."

The words are chillingly close to the anxieties Albedo has held since the day he came to Mondstadt. Still, he skirts past the broader implications to coolly respond, "You would not be believed even if you brought it to their attention. They wouldn't trust the word of a former Harbinger."

"...So that's it, then," snaps Scaramouche, looking away. "You won't do it no matter what I say."

"No," says Albedo, nearly gentle, "I won't."

Scaramouche's jaw ticks, his breathing harsh. His hands are curled into fists. He seems absolutely furious to find that Albedo has not, in fact, lured him here to experiment on him under the pretense of giving him a fresh start.

(A Fellflower, an avalanche, weeks of careful observation before a narrowly unsuccessful infiltration. Yes, Albedo is well-acquainted with the kinds of lengths one can be driven to in pursuit of a purpose lost.)

"Then," Scaramouche ekes out, still not looking at him. "What am I supposed to do."

...Somehow, Albedo thinks just try to live a life would not be a helpful response. Hmm. Concrete examples... "Well," he says. "It's hard to keep up on things with my work for the Knights of Favonius. I could use some help getting groceries, keeping track of Klee-"

"Are you serious?!" Scaramouche explodes. He's looking at Albedo now, nose wrinkled with disgust, fingers in an odd clawed position that makes Albedo suspect he has once again tried and failed to electrocute him. "You brought me, a Fatui Harbinger, into your home just to- to- order me around like a servant?!"

"Those were not requirements," states Albedo mildly. "You asked for ideas, so I provided some. And, you're not a Harbinger anymore, are you?"

Though Albedo says this with an absolute lack of malice, it seems to make Scaramouche angrier anyway. "Fuck you," he snaps.

"I'll decline," says Albedo politely.

(He doesn't mistake the meaning. Due to his flat delivery, most people take him at face value when he employs sarcasm, but that's their loss.)

Scaramouche's nostrils flare. "Are you joking? Am I a joke to you?"

Maybe it's that the tense conversation has gone on too long already, that Albedo's not the best with confrontation. Maybe it's a moment of honesty, brought out by their back-and-forth. Maybe it's just a slip-up after too long stepping carefully. Nevertheless, he says a little too much when he quickly denies, "No. You're fascinating-"

"AH-HA!" Scaramouche crows.

Albedo curses himself. "I don't mean it like-"

Scaramouche jabs a finger at his chest. He bares his teeth in a grin, but the lingering anger and uncertainty makes the expression look at least as nauseous as it does triumphant. "Can it, alchemist. I'll get your damn groceries, but you can't deny yourself forever. I'll wear you down. You'll see!"

With that, he stalks away, effectively ending their conversation. Albedo stands there in an empty room and stares at a wall for longer than is reasonable.

He has no intention of backing out, but this may prove even more troublesome than he thought.

Chapter Text

"School?!" Chouji demands. "What do you mean, I have to go to fucking school!"

"Language," scolds Albedo.

Scaramouche has to admit the swearing is probably something Chouji picked up from him. He's never heard the kid swear before, but Scaramouche sure hasn't been policing his language.

Klee stares, open-mouthed. "You're gonna hafta go in the corner."

"No he doesn't," says Scaramouche immediately.

Chouji pivots, pleading gaze locking onto his aniki. "I don't have to go to school, right, Zushi? Right?!"

Scaramouche opens his mouth. Closes it. Glances at Albedo. Says, "I probably shouldn't encourage you to break the law."

"How is that a law!!" demands Chouji, incensed. "Isn't this the City of Freedom? That sure sounds like infringing on children's freedoms!"

Ooh, he's bringing out the big words. He must really be mad.

"The principle of freedom doesn't mean it's a lawless land," Albedo explains. "If that were the case, the Knights of Favonius would have little reason to exist. Freedom is represented moreso by the citizens' relationship to their god and their personal philosophies. The governing bodies of Mondstadt do set laws, although you'll notice the legal codices are significantly slimmer than those of Fontaine or Liyue-"

"I don't care!" Chouji cuts him off. "That's stupid! I've been taking care of myself for ages. I'm not a kid anymore, I can get a job. Ask Zushi, I was working the mines every day, it would be idiotic to expect me to sit around in school."

Albedo casts Scaramouche a slightly judgmental look, as if he was supposed to somehow stop Chouji from doing this whilst largely bedridden. Scaramouche looks into Chouji's reddened face and refrains from saying, Yes, that went so great, you almost died and I had to drag you out from the bottom of a canyon. Instead he says: "You're going to need to learn to write Common Teyvatian better before you can set up any of your crazy entrepreneuring schemes here."

Honestly, Scaramouche thinks Chouji should have the opportunity to be a kid again. Relaxing and making playground friends would probably be the best thing for him, if possible. But Chouji's circumstances have forced him to mature quickly, and it'd be stupid to act like that's not true. It's also, in his experience, really not possible to make this kid do anything he doesn't want to do.

(He'd feel better about Chouji being out of the house most of the day, after Albedo made that threat. Fair's fair, Scaramouche threatened Albedo first, and the way the alchemist dotes on his own sister makes Scaramouche suspect he may not have the guts to follow through with a threat like that - But. You can never be too careful. Centuries in the Fatui, and even beforehand, have taught Scaramouche that his paranoia is usually justified. You can never know for sure what someone's like on the inside.)

"Well-!" Chouji snaps. He can't seem to find a way to argue with this. "Maybe- Maybe I won't en-tre-preneur at all," He sounds the word out carefully so as to not admit it's unfamiliar to him, "Maybe I'll just mine Starsilver on Dragonspine."

"You will not go to Dragonspine," say Albedo and Scaramouche at exactly the same time, and then they pause to glare at each other.

(Well. Scaramouche glares. Albedo looks vaguely amused if anything.)

"You can go with me!" says Klee brightly.

Albedo turns on his sister, suddenly stern. "Klee. What did I say about going to Dragonspine without an adult."

Klee scuffs at the floor with the toe of her shoe. "T'not to..."

"I'd be happy to take the two of you up the mountain on a supervised expedition some weekend, but you are not to go on your own," Albedo says. Then, turning to Chouji: "Mondstadtian child labor laws prohibit employ before the age of thirteen, in any case. Only a few years of formal schooling are compulsory. You may even be able to test out of some of it."

Chouji crosses his arms, thinking hard. "...Will Klee be at school?"

Klee looks bashful now. "Um. No... I'mma knight."

This is more than Chouji can take. "Why is she allowed to get a job! She's like five!" he explodes.

"Klee is a special case," Albedo sighs. "She's a bit young for formal schooling, while her Vision and... personality in general mean she requires supervision from people who possess a similar scale of power."

"It's cuz I'm too awesome," says Klee, recovering from her brief bout of humility. Then, shrinking back a bit from her friend's frustration, "That's what big brother Kaeya says anyway."

Chouji stews for several moments more. Then, "You'll regret this," he says darkly. Scaramouche awards him points for ominous phrasing and delivery. But it's immediately undercut by the way he stomps off childishly to sulk in his room.

*

The Knights work fast. Chouji is officially enrolled in school within three days, and Scaramouche accompanies him to the gates to drop him off. Chouji glares glumly at the ground.

"It'll be over before you know it," Scaramouche says. "I'll pick you up at three."

"Bet you never had to go to school," Chouji grumbles.

Technically, no, he did not. Reading, writing, and all the many little things in life one must know to live among humans - he learned those things directly from Katsuragi and Niwa and all the others at Tatarasuna. He stifles those memories with great force of will and says, "At least the alchemist isn't sending you grocery shopping."

Chouji looks up at him with puppy eyes. "Pleaase let me come grocery shopping with you? I wanna go grocery shopping."

Scaramouche pinches the bridge of his nose. "Chouji. I can't let you skip your first day of school."

"You were cooler when you were a criminal," Chouji mutters.

Coming from anyone else, the audacity would be shocking. Coming from anyone else, he wouldn't tolerate it at all. But, "I'm still a criminal, just nonpracticing," Scaramouche tells him flatly. "Get in there and learn or whatever. I'll see you later."

Chouji squints up at him, though Scaramouche isn't sure what he's searching for. Finally he says, "Yeah. Okay." And he turns and trudges into the building like he's going to his execution.

What a weird kid. Honestly, he's probably too smart for school. But as long as he's safe and... not entirely miserable, Scaramouche approves of the situation. He spins on his heel to get started on his own sorry task.

*

You sure you wanna trust me with your shopping money, Scaramouche asked Albedo this morning, squinting at the sack of mora on the counter.

How do you mean? Albedo asked.

You don't think I'll, I don't know. Buy a seat on the first carriage out of here?

The alchemist was bemused. You are not a prisoner here. I'll not stop you if you want to leave, but I doubt you'd go without your brother.

Scaramouche wonders if the Traveler knows Albedo's keeping him on such a loose leash. And he's still trying to figure out if Albedo was joking or not about him watching Klee. That's an insane amount of trust to put in him. Then again, as he is now, Klee - with all the Vision-enhanced bombs she runs around with, no wonder she gets along so well with Chouji - is probably more of a threat to Scaramouche than the other way around. What a depressing thought.

Today, though, she's being pawned off on a friend. Scaramouche goes to the markets alone.

He examines the handwritten grocery list Albedo left him. Though he was briefly in Mondstadt during the meteor incident awhile ago, he's not particularly concerned about being recognized. He didn't venture much into the city proper during that mission, and his Fatui outfit didn't survive Yashiori, forcing him to borrow a set of Albedo's rarely-worn streetclothes. His hat survived, at least, but he can reluctantly admit that it's too recognizable, although he feels bereft without it. He looks ridiculous in these clothes, like some Mondstadtian schoolboy. Maybe if he's frugal with the grocery money, he can sneak buying himself something respectable.

Not that Scaramouche wasn't going to be frugal in the first place. A number of his fellow harbingers don't know the value of money, but the Kabukimono learned to haggle from Niwa's wife, trailing her through the markets like a duckling. Kunikuzushi relied on the skill for decades (along with the occasional petty theft) before getting access to the Fatui's coffers, and Scaramouche, too, indulges in aggressive bargaining when the opportunity arises. Regardless of the bitter aftertaste of nostalgia he's left with, there's a satisfaction in "winning" at it, and anything worth doing is worth doing properly.

So when he approaches Mondstadt's merchants, it's with an attitude somewhere between "friendly citizen" and Balladeer proper.

"You call this fresh?" he sneers, "This cabbage is wilting, I won't pay more than eighty mora a head."

"I can't simply knock a third off the price, sir!" the merchant protests, "These were straight from the fields of Springville, I assure you. A little wiltage is avoidable this time of year in our lovely sun! One-hundred mora, that's the best I can do."

"Are you soft in the head? This one's turning brown!" He shoves the offending cabbage at the merchant's face, "I'm sure there are other vendors who take better care with their produce. Ninety mora. Final offer."

In the end, he walks away with his ninety-mora-per-head cabbage. The merchants in Mondstadt are pushovers, he thinks smugly to himself. In Kannazuka, that exchange could've dragged out twice as long. He consults the shopping list again, turning onto the main street. Apples, sunsettias, sweet flowers... are they feeding a horse? Of course, there are also the staples of flour, meat, and eggs, but rather less than he would expect for a household this size.

"Do you require food?" Albedo asked him the night before while drawing up his list.

"What," said Scaramouche, "Wanting to see if you can get away with starving me?"

Albedo should have observed him eating with Chouji a few times by now, since it's been a couple days in the apartment. The alchemist has been giving him a surprisingly wide berth, but he likely wouldn't have managed to miss that.

Albedo shot him a weary look before turning to Chouji for help. But the boy only shrugged. "Sorry," he said. "Ask Zushi."

Scaramouche felt a fierce surge of affection which manifested as a smug smile. In the past couple days Chouji somehow picked up on the fact that Scaramouche has decided to stonewall even the most basic of Albedo's inquiries. If Albedo truly wants to satisfy his curiosity, Scaramouche thinks, he should be prepared to offer something in return. Perhaps it's not the smartest decision to antagonize the person actively providing them protection and lodging, but Albedo is too interested now, he thinks, to toss them out over minor annoyances. Scaramouche could push the envelope a lot further than this, he bets- he knows how these science-types think.

In any case, once he noticed the pattern, Chouji came stalwartly down on Scaramouche's side of the "argument" despite knowing nothing of the context, and is now refusing to answer any questions about Zushi either.

"I myself require a lower than typical caloric intake," Albedo said finally, "I ask because it would be pertinent to know for budgeting."

"Zushi likes black tea I think," said Klee, the traitor. Yesterday, Scaramouche asked her if Albedo was hiding the good stuff away somewhere after trawling through the entire cupboard and finding only sweet Mondstadtian blends.

(She picked up the habit of calling him that from Chouji, which- whatever, it's technically his legal name right now anyway. He doesn't know what Chouji must have told her about him, but she has very little fear of Scaramouche and has already started pestering him for attention like he's just another of her brother's friends. It's... damningly easy to be patient with her. Chouji has made him horribly soft, he knows, but what point is there now in fighting it?)

"...I don't require it," Scaramouche answered finally, and then, before Chouji could call him a liar again, "But it helps replenish energy."

"Hmmm," said Albedo, which could mean fucking anything, Scaramouche hates how difficult it is to tell what he's thinking, and then kept writing his list in silence.

Black tea is on the list today. Scaramouche stands in the middle of the square for awhile wondering if this is some sort of bribe.

Until someone bumps into him. While he's standing perfectly still. In an unobstructed area. "Whoops!" they laugh in a high, fluting voice. Scaramouche rounds on the person, glaring viciously.

"I haven't seen you around before," says the Anemo Archon fucking Barbatos, grinning jovially out of his inhumanly youthful face. "How are you finding our city?"

"You-" he says, stupidly, stunned. Signora's mission report rendered the bard easily recognizable by the other Harbingers. His mind whirs a mile a minute, trying to figure out what the god intends by approaching him like this. Barbatos, weakest of the Seven, a pushover according to Signora, but as Scaramouche is now-

And sure, Barbatos is reputedly a frivolous god, but still he is a god. He took direct action the last time the Fatui threatened his nation. Scaramouche sure as fuck doesn't feel like much of a threat at the moment, but it would be easy to classify him as such-

They're in public, in the middle of the city, is this a power play? A veiled threat?

"Hmm? What's wrong, stranger?" Those falsely-innocent eyes glimmer, the exact shade of Vayuda turquoise. "Take a breath, the air's free!"

Scaramouche realizes that he has indeed stopped breathing. He takes in a forceful breath, his expression settling back into an even more vicious glare; he does not appreciate being mocked.

"What a frightening expression!" the bard exclaims cheerfully. "Do I remind you of someone? Actually, now that I think of it, you remind me soo much of an old friend of mine-"

Alright, that's it.

Confronted with a divine threat, devoid of protection in the form of either weaponry or elements, Scaramouche improvises. He grabs the bard's elaborate cape, flips it over his face, and shoves him into the fountain behind them. The god goes down with a sputter and a splash, and Scaramouche books it into a nearest alley before he can regain his bearings.

He doesn't make it more than a block away before the bard comes sailing down from a rooftop to settle gently on the ground in front of him, with a summoned breeze. He's sopping wet, the tips of his braids glowing blue from the power he drew on to cut off Scaramouche's escape. Barbatos dusts himself off performatively, heaving a sigh. "That wasn't very nice!" he says, though his expression still shows, insultingly, no sign of pique. "I may not be the most important figure around town, but I'll have you know I've been voted Mondstadt's favorite bard three years in a row. Bullying me isn't the best way to make a fresh start!"

Fine. Fine. No running. "What do you want, Barbatos," Scaramouche spits.

"Hey, shh, not so loud!" the Archon whines, despite the fact that there is no one else in the alley. "It's Venti, okay?"

"What do you want," Scaramouche repeats.

Barbatos - Venti - smirks at him mischievously. "Why so wary, nephew mine? Have you been getting up to anything bad already that I should know about?"

Scaramouche's fury skyrockets so quickly his vision momentarily goes dark. "Don't fucking call me that."

"Mmm, but what would be more accurate?" Venti bats his eyes, mock-innocent. "Little cousin? Kuniku-"

"Stop." Just flaunting his damn knowledge. Mondstadt is supposed to be the nation you don't have to fear the gaze of the gods. Yet another joke played on him by fate, he supposes. "Out with it. I don't have all day."

Venti nods sagely. "Yes, your shopping. Getting a head start on being a good roommate, I approve," he says, as if there is any world in which Scaramouche cares what he thinks. "Ehe, well, I just wanted to say hello! Welcome you to the city! It's not every day that I have, um, a friend of a friend visit here!"

Scaramouche's withering glare is of such a degree that the god actually wilts slightly under his gaze. Friend of a friend his ass; Venti's somehow found the one term of address more offensive than nephew. It implies a positive relationship between him and Raiden Ei, for one, and for another- Barbatos surely knows her better than Scaramouche ever did. All his mother granted him was a measly five days. "If you're going to put me out of my misery just do it," he says testily.

Venti's shock looks genuine, though he plays it up, reeling back to place a slender hand on his chest. "Heavens, no!" he exclaims. "You wound me. I honestly wanted to wish you luck." His ever-present grin drops into something softer and more somber, making him sound horrifically earnest as he says, "Mondstadt is a lovely place for new beginnings. The winds will be kind to you, if you let them. You'd be far from the first person to drift here and find a home; why, the Chief Alchemist found this out a few years ago himself."

Scaramouche's skin crawls; he has no idea what to do with all that. It boggles the mind to think this god could look at him and make such a benevolent judgment, but no matter how he turns it around, he can't find reason for suspicion. What would such a lackadaisical god gain from misleading him? "I'm not here for a 'new beginning' or 'redemption' or any of that, and I'm certainly not looking for a home," he sneers finally. "I'm here because I have no other option."

"Mm. And because you want a good life for that little sprite of yours, right?" Venti says, the corner of his lip twitching up fondly.

"Don't talk about him." Scaramouche shoves past the god, now confident in his judgment that the Anemo Archon is an idiot and means him no harm. Venti has to flatten himself into the wall to avoid being bumped into.

"Come to the tavern with me sometime!" Venti hollers after him, "I have all kinds of stories to share! Oh and if you ever do act up, there're about eight people in line to stop you before I ever have to lift a finger okaybyye!"

*

Once he's looped back around to actually buy the meat, flour, and tea, Scaramouche makes the reasonable but erroneous assumption that he will be able to proceed back to the apartment unimpeded.

Instead, he finds himself trapped in another alley, this time being menaced by a nun with fishnets, an ashen complexion, and an attitude problem. He was just minding his own business when she yanked him in here, nearly making him drop a carton of eggs in the process.

"Hey!" he snaps. "You could've broken those-"

He is effectively shut up by the blade of a polearm resting on his neck.

"Fatui," she intones, low and dark, "What are you planning with the chief alchemist?"

Scaramouche straightens up, sneering at her down his nose- at least as much as that's physically possible when she's taller than him. "Ex-Fatui," he corrects.

The nun snorts. "I doubt that," she says. "What are the two of you scheming?"

Fascinating. It seems Albedo is not as trusted in his beloved Mondstadt as he believes. The thought has a bitter twinge to it, rather than the satisfaction Scaramouche would have expected. Perhaps it's for this reason he bites out, "Nothing, unfortunately." The woman looks taken aback, and Scaramouche takes the opportunity to rant: "Do you have any idea how hard it is to tempt him into wrongdoing? As far as I can tell, Albedo's the most morally upstanding mad scientist on Teyvat. It's a crying shame. Now get out of my way, I need to bring his little sister the groceries."

The woman does not get out of his way. "But you have tried to involve him in a scheme," she says frostily.

"Key word: tried," he snaps, and attempts to push past her, but she is not nearly so easily cowed as her archon. The blade of the polearm, which had faltered slightly, nips warningly at his neck, on the verge of breaking skin.

"I'm watching you, Fatui," she swears. "I'll be the first on your trail if you move against Mondstadt, long before you catch the attention of the Knights."

"Duly noted," he says, dry. The polearm finally goes down to allow him to retreat, and Scaramouche gathers up his bags and marches off with what little dignity he has left, fuming silently.

One could forgive him for thinking that would be the end of it.

But lo and behold, Scaramouche climbs the stairs to the apartment and finds yet another shady figure loitering around, waiting to bother him.

"What is this?" he says incredulously, "The cryo inquisition?"

The man has dark blue hair and a sharp smile, lounging casually on the railing by the door. "I couldn't help but notice our Chief Alchemist has made a very interesting acquaintance," he begins, as if Scaramouche hasn't spoken. He looks up, making eye contact, and that's-

-Oh. Well that's something you don't see every day. Khaenrh'iah's four-pointed star shines right out of the man's one visible pupil. Scaramouche has seen it often enough with the kind of company the Fatui keeps, but it's certainly unexpected to find on an average-seeming person not presently embroiled in any grand schemes. Scaramouche abruptly decides he doesn't have the energy to deal with whatever this is.

"Blah blah blah, if I hurt him or Mondstadt or whatever you'll kill me, I've heard it already," Scaramouche snaps, elbowing past the mysterious stranger and ignoring his splutter. He throws the door open and stomps in, hollering, "Klee! I'm back-"

Only to freeze with a surprised splutter of his own.

He didn't know who it was that Klee had been pawned off to.

She is seated in the lap of a very familiar astrologist, kicking her legs and humming happily as the young woman braids her hair. At the sound of Scaramouche's voice, Mona drops the braid and whips around with an outraged expression. She flings a finger out in accusation, shouting, "You!"

Scaramouche sets the grocery bags down on the floor, whirls on his heel, steps back out, and shuts the door behind him, leaving him on the landing with the shady Khaenrh'ian. "I've changed my mind," he says, "Threaten away."

The stranger stares for a moment, speechless. "Yes, well," he says. "I'm Cavalry Captain Kaeya Alberich, of the Knights of Favonius."

Oh, so this one's actually bothering to introduce himself. "Zushi Chouji," he replies flatly.

A Knight of Favonius, huh. It really is suspicious that Kaeya's embedded in Mondstadt and Scaramouche has never heard of him. Just existing with his heritage should have landed him on the Fatui's persons of interest list with Albedo. In fact, Scaramouche would wager that if it hasn't, it's because someone is deliberately obscuring Kaeya's presence here. His first guess would be that the Jester has something to do with it. Luckily for them both, Scaramouche no longer has anything to do with that banquet of fools.

"I might as well get right to it, if that's what you prefer," says the Cavalry Captain with a cold glimmer in his eye, "What are your intentions with our Chief Alchemist?"

...But, that doesn't mean he's not going to needle him about it.

"Checking up on your shared interests, are you," Scaramouche says.

"Albedo's a friend of mine, you see, and I'd be ever so displeased to see his generosity taken- What do you mean, shared interests?" Kaeya's eye narrows, the jab only registering halfway through his prepared speech (and really, what is he on about, it's not like Scaramouche and the alchemist are fucking dating).

Scaramouche is about to open his mouth to dig a deeper hole for himself with a probably ill-advised, Or should I say shared origins, when the door bangs open again behind them. Mona has finally managed to extricate herself from Klee, who follows after, pattering barefoot into the entryway.

"You!" Mona seethes, "You're Albedo's new roommate? Has everyone in this city gone out of their minds?"

"Mr. Zushi! You're back!" Klee cheers, and darts past Mona to attach herself to his leg like a limpet. Resigned to his fate, he does nothing to dislodge her, though his lips press thin. "Will Chouji be- Oh!" She gasps, noticing the fourth member of the group. "Kaeya! Did you come to visit TOO?!"

Kaeya glances between them. He looks taken aback; whether because of the affection Klee is showing a Fatui Harbinger who took up in her house three days ago or because said Harbinger is allowing it, Scaramouche cannot tell. After a moment, his features crinkle into a rueful smile. "I'm afraid not, my little clover," he says. "I can see things are busy here. I'll see you at headquarters tomorrow, Klee, hm?"

"Okayyy," she says, hugging Scaramouche's leg tighter in her disappointment.

"Oi," Scaramouche snaps as the Cavalry Captain ambles away, "Get back here! Tell the crazy woman you're monitoring me, so she doesn't think I'm about to burn down the city!"

Klee giggles. "Of course you won't. Burning things is Klee's job!"

"Klee, honey," Mona interjects, looking moments away from a migraine. "Is this really the person you were telling me is super nice?"

Scaramouche shoots the child a withering glare for her slander, but Klee is undeterred. She stays clinging to Scaramouche's leg even as he starts walking into the apartment, forcing him to drag her along. "Mmm-hm!" she chirps, giggling as he pulls her dead weight across the room. "Zushi, Zushi, you got the stuff? Now will you make the- omomo- okomono-"

"Okonomiyaki," he says, finally managing to shake her off. "And no. We're waiting until Chouji gets back."

It will be the first time he can cook something for the kid other than the thousandth variation on lavender melon and rice, after all. He had scanned the grocery list that morning and declared that he could make okonomiyaki with that, which apparently stuck in Klee's mind all day.

"Aww," she whines from the pile of pillows she flung herself into on the floor.

Mona stands there, the wind taken out of her sails. She glances between them, at a loss. "Why are you acting like this is normal," she says. "This isn't normal."

"Oh, trust me," Scaramouche says, starting to put the groceries away. "I know."

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you!" she snaps.

He smiles at her, with teeth. "You shouldn't."

"Miss Monaaa," Klee pipes. "Finish Klee's hair?"

"Finish Klee's hair what?" Mona shoots back automatically.

"Finish Klee's hair please?"

With a long and put-upon sigh, Mona sits down and begins re-braiding Klee's hair, doing her best to ignore the (nonpracticing) war criminal puttering around in the kitchen. She winds up staying until Albedo gets back, perhaps not wanting to leave Scaramouche alone with Klee.

"Albedo, you can't trust this guy," she tries to tell him. "When the Traveler and I ran into him during the meteor incident, he was here to stir up trouble."

"Truly?" Albedo asks, "I wasn't aware he was in Mondstadt at the time. But everything's perfectly fine, I assure you. He's not here for nefarious purposes. In fact, he arrived here with the Traveler; you should speak to them if you're still worried."

'Arrived here with' is a funny way to say 'got dragged across the sea by them half-dead', but whatever. Mona stammers, bewildered. "Well, maybe I will!"

"I hope this won't prevent you from visiting," Albedo calls to her hopefully as Mona storms out of his apartment. She hesitates in the entryway.

"Yeah! Come back soon and play!" Klee adds.

She sighs again. "Sure, yes, I'll be back. But I thought you had better judgment, Albedo!"

The door slams.

Albedo turns to him, puzzled. "Whatever did you do to make her hold such a grudge?"

Scaramouche crosses his arms. "Told her the stars were fake."

"Ah," says Albedo, in a tone that implies he finds this understandable given his knowledge of Mona, and then, with a cutting edge of inquiry, "Are they?"

"Yup," says Scaramouche, and doesn't elaborate. It takes only about five seconds for Albedo to break.

"Do you have proof of this theory?" he asks, sounding fascinated. "I cannot accept such a hypothesis on its face, but if true, it would revolutionize our understanding of-"

"Nope," Scaramouche cuts him off, pointing at him accusingly, "No science stuff. You lost your chance. I'm gonna go pick up Chouji."

Albedo sighs.

(Not that Scaramouche has a concrete way of proving it anyway. But he knows what he saw.)

Having somehow survived his first shopping trip in the city despite all the forces conspiring against him, haggles successfully made, a couple of new enemies under his belt, and freshly under the attention of a meddlesome god to boot- he bravely departs again into the Mondstadtian public.

Chapter Text

Scaramouche ends up running into Chouji only halfway to the school. "What're you doing?" he asks.

"Walking back," says Chouji, grumpily, which okay, yeah, Scaramouche can see that. He probably shouldn't be surprised that the kid both remembered the route and decided to walk home on his own- he's always been doggedly independent like that.

But it does make Scaramouche feel a bit redundant. He crosses his arms. "What, couldn't stand to be there another minute?"

"They're all stupid and no one can pronounce my name," Chouji grouses.

"You may just have to get used to that," Scaramouche says dryly. Chouji is easier to pronounce than, say, Kunikuzushi, but most of these kids have never been outside of Mondstadt. He spins around to at least pretend he's leading the way, calling over his shoulder, "Come on, I got the stuff for okonomiyaki." Chouji brightens, scurrying after him through the streets.

In the kitchen, everyone hovers curiously around Scaramouche as he sets out the ingredients- flour, water, eggs, cabbage, pork. Even Albedo is there, round-eyed like this is as worthy a mystery as any of his alchemical experiments. Or maybe he's just trying to ensure Scaramouche won't poison them? The kitchen's not cramped, but it's not big enough to comfortably fit four people while cooking. The third time he nearly elbows someone in the face, Scaramouche snaps, "Alright, I can't focus like this. All of you get out!"

"Aww, but Klee didn't get to do anything!" Klee protests, sticking her bottom lip out in a truly artful display of childish petulance.

Scaramouche eyes her, undecided. He supposes it doesn't really matter. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he grumbles, "Fine. Albedo, help her crack in the eggs, then everyone out."

"Me?" says Albedo, startled.

Scaramouche eyes him. "Yes, you, do I look like I'm your nanny?"

Albedo moves forward and dutifully picks Klee up around the waist so she can reach the counter, but he says, "You're not entirely averse to watching her sometime though, are you? You do well with her."

"He's fun!" Klee giggles agreement, kicking her legs against the cupboard. She cracks the eggs messily into the batter, getting her fingers covered in goop.

"That's- ugh! If you're stupid enough to leave her with me, that's your own prerogative!" Scaramouche snaps, wishing dearly for a hat to tug down over his face.

It shouldn't be funny at all. It should be taken as an obvious threat, an unforgivable declaration of intent from the criminal they're housing. It definitely shouldn't cause Albedo's lips to quirk up, like he already knows Scaramouche is all bluster.

Scaramouche leans forward and sees several bits of eggshell decorating the batter. "You can eat that one, you varmint," Scaramouche tells Klee. "Now what did I say? All of you out!"

"Even me?" Chouji protests.

"...Don't you have homework to do or something?" Scaramouche checks. "Literally anything better to do than stand there watching me cook?"

Unfortunately, this activates Chouji's stubbornness. "No," he declares.

"...Then what do I care," Scaramouche scoffs, and Chouji grins.

The result is not quite traditional okonomiyaki, because Mondstadt markets don't carry the right sauce. But it's still pretty good; Chouji's face lights up when he takes his first bite. Klee and Albedo seem to like it too, though Klee- assuming it was some kind of pancake- screws her face up in surprise after the first bite and exclaims, "It's salty!"

Chouji idly swirls his fork on his empty plate as the meal draws to a close. "Do you think we could get lavender melon here?" he asks.

"Doubtful," says Scaramouche. "Why, haven't you had enough lavender melon for a lifetime?"

"It's just-" Chouji hesitates, staring down at the table with a look so pensive it's almost a scowl. "There was a dish Mom used to make. It was a Fontainian spin on an Inazuman classic... I wanted to make it for you when you were sick, but I could never get a hold of the chicken."

...Scaramouche, with a funny feeling in his chest, immediately changes his mind on the feasibility of finding lavender melon. He knows the Traveler carries around odds and ends from every nation. He'll shake it out of them if he has to.

*

Turns out, he doesn't have to. Albedo, listening to the conversation, has the same idea, and two days later invites the Traveler over for dinner.

There is a bit of a standoff in the hallway.

"...Why are you here?" Scaramouche demands.

Paimon zips out from behind the Traveler, putting her hands on her hips. "What, is Albedo not allowed to invite people over to his own house anymore?!"

Albedo emerges from a side room, unruffled. "Hmm? I thought you wanted to ask the Traveler for Inazuman cooking ingredients. Was I wrong?"

This leaves all three of them speechless for a moment.

"I said no such thing," Scaramouche snaps.

Paimon yelps, "Wait, so when Albedo asked us over for dinner, it was to eat... the Balladeer's cooking?! Won't he poison us or something?!"

Scaramouche glares at her viciously despite the fact he considers this a perfectly reasonable suspicion. It's at this point that Chouji and Klee appear, summoned by the noise. Chouji, only half-overhearing, protests, "Zushi wouldn't poison someone for no reason!"

Scaramouche and the Traveler exchange a glance, for once sharing the same thought: "for no reason" is doing the heavy lifting in that sentence.

"I'm not going to be the one cooking anyway," Scaramouche says at last, crossing his arms. "Chouji wanted to make something tonight."

Paimon is surprised. "Chouji, you can cook??"

"Yeah," he says, and then insists, "Zushi can help. If he wants."

Paimon shoots Scaramouche a look of such skepticism, like she can't possibly imagine him helping someone of his own volition, that Scaramouche proclaims out of spite, "Of course I'll help."

Chouji turns out to be an excellent cook. The Traveler gives up their lavender melons, then sidles out of the room to play with Klee. Scaramouche begrudgingly appreciates this because it keeps her from getting under their feet, but he remains peeved that the Traveler is going to get to try Chouji's special dish, too. This was supposed to be their thing.

Chouji does a lot of the work himself, but when he gives Scaramouche tasks, his instructions are serious and precise. "You little shit," Scaramouche remarks eventually. "You were letting me cook for you all the time when you could do this?"

Chouji reddens. "Well it was nice having someone cook for me for once! I thought maybe you'd stop if you knew I could do it!"

Scaramouche wonders what Chouji's mother has ever done to earn her title, since Chouji has apparently long been parenting himself. "Well I'm not gonna stop," he says, rolling his eyes. Assuming Albedo doesn't chase him out of the kitchen, but he's shown no inclination to do so yet. "Gotta keep myself useful somehow. But you could take a turn now and then."

Chouji ducks his head to hide his smile, then blurts, "Okay, now flip the chicken, it's getting golden."

Scaramouche does so. It sizzles satisfyingly.

Soon enough, the dish is plated up: Imported Kondo Cuisine with authentic lavender melon. Everyone crowds around the table, with Albedo and Klee sitting in the middle to provide a buffer between the two groups of guests.

"Whoa!" Paimon exclaims. "This is really good!"

"It's yummy!" Klee agrees.

Chouji smiles, but their approval isn't quite what he's seeking. He looks to Scaramouche with shiny eyes, round and expectant.

...Really. Really. He's making Scaramouche be genuine in front of his enemies? Is there no end to the indignities he must suffer? Scaramouche clears his throat, unwilling to look up as he ekes out, "...It's delicious."

Chouji beams.

The meal does takes a turn for the worse when Albedo and the Traveler begin to casually discuss their plans. "Why haven't you invited us up Dragonspine yet, anyway?" Paimon wonders. "You did as soon as we got back from Liyue."

Albedo stills with the next bite halfway to his lips. "Ah," he says. "Well. I have been a bit... preoccupied."

Because you dumped a notorious criminal on me for safekeeping, he is too gracious to say.

"...Are you managing everything okay?" the Traveler asks, as if Scaramouche is not sitting right there.

"They've been excellent houseguests, really. I have nothing to complain about," Albedo claims, straight-faced.

"Really..." Paimon says, skeptical.

"Klee has very much enjoyed having someone around to play with," Albedo continues.

"Uh, Chouji wasn't the one we were worried about here!" Paimon exclaims.

Albedo, nobly, takes a sip of his tea and does not respond outright.

"Oh, I'm fine," Scaramouche cuts in, light and airy because he suspects that will frighten the floating nuisance more than hostility would. "I've been doing the groceries."

Sure enough, Paimon makes an eep! and darts back toward her golden-haired guard dog for comfort.

"Things are starting to settle down here, so I'd be happy to meet up with you on Dragonspine for the usual activities sometime soon," Albedo says to the Traveler after a pause. "That is, if you're still amenable."

"Amenable to what," Scaramouche asks, suspicious now that they're talking around something.

The Traveler then says, with barely a moment's hesitation, "Oh, Albedo likes to run tests on me, especially after I obtain a new element."

Albedo, ever-so-slightly, cringes.

Scaramouche slowly lowers his fork, the joints of his hand creaking from the strength of his grip. "Oh," he grits out with a tight, terrifying smile. "Is. That. So?"

The Traveler has the absolute gall to raise their eyebrows and go, "Is that a problem?"

Scaramouche is about to lose the last of his self restraint and fling his fork at the Traveler's stupid skull or something when a sad little voice pipes up, "Zushi..."

Unwillingly, his gaze drifts to follow it. Chouji's eyes are round and anxious. Klee looks alarmed too, leaning toward her brother with a small hand clutching at his sleeve.

Inexplicably, Scaramouche's anger simmers down from its boiling point, leaving in its place a deep, vindictive bitterness. "Oh, it's no problem," he says, falsely sunny again. "I just find it really fucking interesting how you choose your test subjects, Kreideprinz. I'm going to go do the dishes."

He stands, stiffly, and snatches his plate from the table. Since that's all you'll let me be good for, he thinks very loudly as he goes.

"What was that all about?" Paimon wonders, nosy as always.

Scaramouche takes some satisfaction in the fact that he can hear Albedo's oncoming headache when he answers, "Just... don't worry about it. I have it under control."

*

His purposelessness is a tough pill to swallow, especially when there's someone who could do something about it but won't. Every morning when he wakes, it's to a hollow feeling, sticky and despairing. But then he rolls over and sees the kid in the other bed and thinks, Right. Right, I made a promise.

He tries not to think too much about human fickleness or their infinitesimal lifespans or just how far he's fallen in so little time- from the Balladeer, able to threaten whomever he pleased, feared and imperious and with full belief in a glorious future- to a pathetic shell of himself, his birthright ripped out of his grasp, clinging to a human's affections for the strength to go on. He tries not to think too much about the toil and suffering of centuries, rendered meaningless in an instant's folly-

It's easier when he can keep himself busy. It's easier when Chouji is around. The first week drags by with very little fanfare as Scaramouche takes care of domestic little chores and keeps an eye on Klee, falling into the trappings of another life with frightening ease for all that he gripes and snarls when the opportunity arises. Albedo takes the hint, or maybe he's just a coward, because it seems like he's trying to avoid Scaramouche despite the fact that he's living in his house.

Or maybe he's never spent more than a few hours in his own home a day? Klee doesn't seem to find it unusual. It gives Scaramouche ample opportunity to snoop, but Albedo must keep all sensitive documents in his office or lab- the search doesn't turn up much more than a box full of Klee's old drawings, which must have been replaced by the ones currently pinned up in the kitchen.

And, well, Klee's bomb-making material. There is that.

"Does your brother know about this?" Scaramouche asks, staring at the little workstation crammed innocuously into the child's room alongside a mountain of cheerful plushies and art supplies. He already knew she could make them with her Vision, but... proper, non-magical explosives feels like another level entirely.

"Umm, duh!" Klee exclaims. "He even helps me come up with new ones sometimes!"

Scaramouche breathes deeply and tries to come to terms with the fact that Albedo has left him here, alone, with every resource needed to start his own personal terrorism campaign across Mondstadt.

Not that he's going to, but he could.

"Have you shown it to Chouji yet?" he asks, and his voice comes out sounding bleak more than anything.

"Yeah! Klee's gonna help teach him to make 'em too!"

Well, it's really no surprise Chouji never mentioned this to him, since the last time he caught Chouji with bombs he forced the kid to devote all his afternoons to sword lessons for the next month.

"You better not get him blown up," Scaramouche says, with possibly an inappropriate amount of bite to use with a child her age, but Klee only sobers up, giving a serious little nod.

"We'll be careful," she promises. "Mama showed me how."

(...Archons help him, she's adorable.)

*

It takes until that first weekend for Chouji to notice one very specific change to Scaramouche's physiology. The lessened dysphoria whenever clothing settles over his frame, the lack of need to fiddle around with wrapping and rewrapping the bindings- that's one positive to this whole situation, at least. Albedo still hasn't realized his "mistake", and if it's up to Scaramouche he never will. But Chouji, out of everyone, has a unique piece of knowledge from that first time he dragged Scaramouche in from the rain. He'd undone the bandages on Scaramouche's chest, trying to help him with his wounds.

Well. Scaramouche wouldn't have been changing while Chouji was in their shared room if he didn't truly think the boy was still asleep, snoozing late after his first week of school. Unfortunately, this is not the case, and Scaramouche nearly jumps out of his skin, shirt half-on, when Chouji pipes up, "Uh. Didn't you used to have... like..."

Scaramouche pulls the shirt on the rest of the way in a jerky, violent motion, then turns to Chouji with a withering glare. Chouji, still very much eleven years old, shrinks back with a stammer and doesn't finish his sentence.

"Not anymore," Scaramouche says, and despite his bitterness about the whole gnosis situation it comes out sounding rather smug.

"But... like..." Chouji is starting to look distressed. "Did Albedo cut them off??"

"I didn't want them anyway," he replies, blase.

Protectiveness is a funny look on a scrawny eleven-year-old. "But did he, like?? Ask you??"

"Chouji," Scaramouche states. "Albedo just put me back together. I'm pretty sure they exploded." Chouji is starting to look a little green in the face, so Scaramouche adds: "Listen, getting rid of those was the best thing that came out of this whole disaster." That and you, he thinks, and then wishes he could strike himself with lightning for having such a sappy thought even in the privacy of his own mind. "So don't mention it to anyone, I don't want them getting the wrong idea!"

Chouji rolls his eyes. "I wasn't gonna mention your boobies to anyone."

Scaramouche throws a shoe at his head with maybe a little more force than necessary. Chouji yelps so sharply that Klee comes running to investigate. She looks at them- Chouji rubbing his head, still in his pajamas- and lights up, exclaiming, "Are we having a pillow fight?!"

Scaramouche doesn't have time to object before she's zooming over, throwing herself on the bed and whapping Chouji with a pillow. The kid looks stunned for a moment, but then he responds in kind, and they go wrestling around on the bed and thud to the floor like a pair of puppies. When Klee runs around the bed and starts viciously bapping Scaramouche's legs with the pillow, Chouji freezes a step behind her, like he's not sure what Zushi will do. Klee starts to pause, too, looking up at Scaramouche uncertainly when she notices he hasn't reacted.

Scaramouche sighs. He picks her up in a sudden movement, swinging her into the air and tossing her carefully back onto the bed. Klee bounces on the mattress, giggling, "Again! Again!" When Scaramouche only gives her a long-suffering look, she whips the pillow at his face with startling speed.

It lands. He stands there, unimpressed, letting it fall to the floor. "How does Albedo keep up with you, you little imp," he grumbles.

Klee giggles again, for all the world like she has nothing to fear. "Dunno!"

Stalking forward, he hoists Klee under one arm like a package. She lets herself go limp, still laughing as he drags her out to breakfast.

...It really is too easy, to be patient with Klee. Yet another thing Scaramouche tries not to think about too much. It feels like soil overturned inside him, revealing the seed of something that was only sleeping. He can't quite bear to rebury it with his own two hands, not now when there is so little left to him anyway.

*

He knows it isn't all easy going for Chouji either, adapting to this life. It's barely a week before the teachers start reporting him for tardiness and truancy - not to mention the "bomb scare" that Albedo had to go to the school and sort out on pain of possible expulsion. Apparently it's not a good idea to carry around explosives in day-to-day life, who knew? Scaramouche smiles his way pleasantly through the latest complaint from the teachers when he's pulled aside upon picking Chouji up. He plays up the refugee angle and keeps his sharpness limited to pointed questions and by the end of the conversation the teacher is nodding along woefully and promising to support Chouji better. Scaramouche may not enjoy this kind of maneuvering, but you learn it in the Fatui.

"Truancy?" Scaramouche demands, whirling on Chouji as soon as they're alone. "What do they mean, truancy? Where are you sneaking off to?"

Chouji gets a hunted look on his face, eyes darting to the side as he grumbles, "None of your business."

"You better believe it's my business!" Scaramouche says, incredulous. "We're legally tied together at this point!"

"So?" Chouji crosses his arms, chin jutting out mulishly. It's not like Scaramouche hasn't modeled this for him, but it feels unfair to be subjected to such teenager-ish behavior from an eleven-year-old.

"Are you doing something dangerous?" Scaramouche demands, which is not an unreasonable question, given the things Chouji has historically gotten up to in his free time.

"This is Mondstadt, what's dangerous here?" Chouji mutters.

"Anything!" Scaramouche erupts, at a total loss as to how to impress the totality of human fragility on this kid, especially when he should be well aware of it after the disaster on Yashiori. "There are Fatui all over the place, for one!"

Chouji rolls his eyes. "There's a Fatui right here-"

"Don't be smart with me-"

"Quit telling me what to do, you're not my mom!" Chouji stamps his foot.

A chill settles over both of them the moment the words are out, both pairs of eyes widened in surprise before a scowl settles over Scaramouche's face.

"Alright," he says frostily, "Fine. Get yourself abducted, see if I care."

The rest of the walk back to Albedo's apartment proceeds in stony silence. Finally, as the building draws into view, an unpleasant feeling starts to gnaw at Scaramouche, and he pauses, staring fixedly into the distance as he says: "If you're really so miserable there, I'm sure I could strike some sort of a deal with Albedo to get you out of it. Hell, we could be out of the whole city by tonight if you wanted to, he doesn't keep us on that short of a leash-"

"No," says Chouji suddenly, catching his elbow- "No, that's okay. You don't need to-"

Scaramouche bares his teeth, ducking his head down now to glare at the ground. "I will, if I have to-"

"You don't!" Chouji bursts. "I'm fine here, really. I like Klee. And school is interesting, sometimes," though this he says dubiously.

It has been nice to see him actually act like a kid, playing with Klee. "I know you're too smart for it," Scaramouche grumbles, "Just don't get yourself in too much trouble, okay? I don't-"

I don't know if I would have the power to save you. The thought chokes suddenly in his throat. Even back on Yashiori, half-broken, he still had his Delusion, and that was enough to bring Chouji home safe. Now he doesn't even have that curdling power to rely upon.

Mondstadt is a gentle land, mostly. He knows that. But misfortune can befall anyone at any time. There's no such thing as true safety in this world.

Chouji, on the other hand, is focusing on another part of that sentence. "...You think I'm smart?" he asks, oddly shy.

Scaramouche is scowling at him again. "What are you talking about, of course you are. Did you not know that?"

He scuffs at the ground with his shoe. "I dunno... Some people say I talk funny."

"Yeah, cause they're stupid. Come on, let's go-"

Home.

He strangles the treacherous word before it can leave his mouth. Somehow, the question of where Chouji has been sneaking out to is dropped.

Chapter Text

Chouji likes it in Mondstadt. Chouji is very unimpressed by Mondstadt. Both of these things can be true.

There are good things about Mondstadt- of course there are.

No leaky roof. Three square meals a day. These alone are cause for celebration, and it’s going to take awhile before they stop feeling like luxuries. Chouji likes the cheerfulness of the city and how free the citizens are with coin. He likes how friendly Mondstadters are, though they tend to be a little loud. He likes the weather, gentle and breezy and often part-sunny.

He especially likes Klee. It’s a little odd, how quickly they bonded, but she feels kind of like the little sister he never had. She has more energy than anyone can keep up with and is delighted to bombard him with it after school and on the weekends. Their shared interests definitely help- he’s already made a lot of progress learning to wire explosives! Zushi warmed up to her in no time too despite trying to act standoffish; as usual, he’s all sharp exterior and soft, gooey core.

Albedo’s a little more complicated. Chouji is inclined to like him, since he's clearly a good big brother to Klee, who idolizes him. And he really is grateful to Albedo for all the help he’s given them. But there’s definitely some kind of disagreement going on between him and Zushi, and Chouji feels duty-bound to take Zushi’s side.

Overall, he likes the lively home he's wound up in. His complaints about Mondstadt are more about how people here feel compelled to be so lawful, and how the laws in question insist on treating him like a child.

Everyone in Higi Village knew you only really had to follow the law when the guys from the Shogunate were watching. Some of them were just against common sense. And the Shogunate, as Chouji remembers them, were too preoccupied with the war to poke their noses in the villagers' business for anything but the most dire offenses. In Mondstadt there are knights everywhere, and public opinion lacks the quiet contempt Chouji is used to encountering toward law enforcement. No, they’re all grateful to the knights for keeping them safe. And maybe there’s something to that, because Chouji is certainly the safest he’s been in a while. But it comes at a price.

In the two days of speculation he had before his dreams were crushed, Chouji figured he’d find a way to keep up his business from Yashiori, or something like it. He imagined a wonderland of opportunity where he could sell things to people who mostly aren't armed and dangerous and who actually have money.

Instead, he’s expected to go to school. And he doesn’t like it. Inazuma had school, of course, but in Higi it was just a one-room classroom all the kids got corralled into a few months out of the year to make sure they could still read and do their sums. Chouji always did pretty well without even trying. His mother used to tell him she was proud of him for that, sometimes. But that was before. He hasn’t thought about school in months and months, and he’s pretty sure he's already learned everything he needs to know. Surviving on his own for so long should’ve proved that he’s basically an adult and doesn’t need it anymore.

School in the heart of a capital city is weird and he doesn't like it. It’s much larger than the dingy schoolhouse in Higi Village. Every grade is split up into its own room. Chouji is surrounded by other kids for the first time in forever, but even if they’re all the same age, the others might as well be babies.

They don’t know anything about the world. They can’t pronounce his name right, mangling its simple syllables in their mushy mouths. At first, they think he’s incredibly cool, flocking around him and pestering him for his story. He’s an outlander with a Vision, surely he has great tales of adventure to tell!

But Chouji doesn’t want to tell.

He was never the shy type, but he knows these kids could never understand. He’s not even allowed to bring his sword to class, because it’s “dangerous”, because it’d “frighten” them. He brushes off their questions with flat, one-word replies, until they start complaining he's stuck-up and boring. Chouji doesn't care. He thinks they’re boring, with their little lives, their little problems, their little schoolyard games.

They stop pestering him so much after the first week or so. Most of them decide they're scared of him instead. He still doesn’t know why someone was rummaging around in his backpack, and spends most of the emergency “parent-teacher meeting” too annoyed about that to focus on offering a defense for having bombs in his backpack.

“They’re really useful, you know,” he insists, arms crossed.

“Please allow me to speak for you,” says Albedo in the chair next to him, a pained expression on his face. That’s another thing Chouji’s annoyed about, that Albedo’s here and not Zushi - neither of them are his parents but Zushi’s his “legal guardian”, except once Zushi got done snickering and saying "I told you so" he agreed that Albedo should go, since Albedo can throw around his weight as a knight.

“Must you phrase it that way?” Albedo sighed. “I merely think that as a known factor, my presence will be more productive.”

“Yeah,” said Zushi, staring, “That's what I said. Corruption is everywhere, you just have to use it to your advantage. Remember that, kid,” he added, leveraging a finger at Chouji.

“Do not,” said Albedo.

“I will!” Chouji chirped.

In the principal’s office, he grumbles mutinously and fiddles with his Vision while Albedo lays out a painstaking defense that basically boils down to “he’s a country bumpkin and didn't know any better. Chouji supposes he can’t be too mad about it since it works, and he is not expelled.

Or, no. Maybe that should make him more mad about it. Since he kind of wanted to be expelled.

Either way, he's now being avoided by most of the class, which he tells himself is a relief. None of this matters. He’s just here as long as he has to be and then he can go back to doing something meaningful with his life.

He tries to be patient, but he hates it. He does. Sitting in this classroom makes him want to crawl out of his skin. It feels so pointless, so idle, and he’s not allowed his bombs or even his sword, and he feels like a sitting duck trapped in these stupid brick walls.

He starts skipping school by the second week

Not all of it! Not all the time. He starts small at least.

Fueled by righteous indignation and a shaky grip of the Mondstadtian script, Chouji uses recess to make fliers protesting his situation. The “situation” being the injustice of the Mondstadt school system.

“Mondstadt, City of Freedom? NOT FOR KIDS, IT ISN’T!” he writes in big block letters, with some helpful drawings to illuminate the problem. The next day he skips out on school to plaster a half dozen posters around the cathedral plaza, the whole time glancing constantly behind him, half-convinced he’s about to be arrested for blasphemy. He’s not entirely sure what he’s trying to accomplish with this, but he can’t just do nothing. The disillusionment is killing him. He was really starting to warm up to the lack of tyranny around here before learning he was still barred from doing most of the things he wanted!

When Chouji skips class again a few days later to put up more posters, he finds a small cluster of nuns already on the scene, appraising his work. He stands there nervously, the new posters rolled up under one arm, and wonders if this is the reckoning. They’ll probably throw him in solitary way longer than he got for (nearly) burning down Wolvendom; criticizing the gods is no small thing.

But the nuns turn to him with bright smiles. The oldest of them exclaims, “Oh, it’s him! The one I was telling you about. This is the lovely young man who made the posters.”

“Um,” Chouji stammers, not sure he heard right. “What?”

The nun clasps her hands tightly in front of her, eyes shining. “Oh, it just warms one’s heart to see the youth so filled with passion for the spirit of Barbatos,” she says, and she seems to really mean it.

“What?” he says again, and then, “Um, ma’am, I think there’s been some misunderstanding. I’m - I’m criticizing him.”

The nun nods sagely. “Barbatos would never forbid such a thing,” she says. “In fact, it’s only greater testament to your faith that you hold the archon so highly to his own ideals! Truly inspiring! You understand the doctrine better than most of the young ones these days.”

“Would you like to join the service?” the nun to her left pipes up. “There’s one starting in under half an hour, why don’t you come inside?”

They gather around him hopefully like a gaggle of hens. Chouji, sweating, takes a half step back unconsciously. When one seems to reach toward him, he spins around and flees. He goes flying down the plaza steps like all the youkai of Chinju Forest are on his heels, running headlong through the city with nary a thought in his head of where he is going. Finally Chouji pauses by a fountain, doubled over and panting for breath with his hands braced on his knees.

“What are you running from so desperately, my young friend?” comes a cheerful voice from nearby.

Catching his breath, Chouji straightens up and spies a green-clad bard practicing his tunes. “The nuns," he admits.

The bard seems surprised. “What have the good sisters done to spook you so?”

“They’re trying to recruit me,” Chouji wails. “They’re crazy! That wasn’t the point of the posters at all! They think I’m some kind of mega-believer, all because I said Barbatos sucked!”

“Ah-ha!” the bard giggles. “That was you? You made some interesting points.”

“You think so?” Chouji mumbles, eyeing the bard’s proudly displayed Anemo vision with suspicion.

The bard strums his lyre with a contemplative hum. “Barbatos has never been above the criticism of his people. He was friends with that stuffy old fogey over the sea, but that doesn’t mean he agreed with her way of doing things.”

Chouji chokes, because that really sounds like the bard is referring to-

“But of course, that means he won’t tell his people what laws they can and can’t make either!” the bard goes on, winking. “If you have a problem with the school system, you’ll have to take it up with the Grandmaster, not the god.”

Chouji sits down on the rim of the fountain with a huff. “I’m pretty sure it’s even harder to get a politician’s attention than a god’s,” he says.

“Too true,” the bard sympathizes. “And let me tell you something: now that you’ve caught Sister Victoria’s attention, you’re probably never going to get rid of her. That lady has the memory of an elephant. She still hasn’t forgiven me for my little attempted theft a few years ago.”

Chouji stares at him. Slowly, he asks, “You robbed the church?”

“Ah-hem!” The bard clears his throat. “Tried to. I told her it used to belong to me, but, well… she just wouldn’t believe me!”

“And you didn’t get thrown in jail or exiled or anything?” Chouji demands, feeling increasingly like the only sane person in this city.

“Eh-he, well… I am the three-time Best Bard in Mondstadt champion-” the bard prevaricates.

“I mean, if I start breaking the law, what are they gonna do even if they catch me?” Chouji mumbles to himself. “If they’re not gonna kill me or put me in jail or take my Vision away, is there really a reason not to do whatever I want?”

“H-hey, uh-” The bard sounds nervous now. “I don’t think that’s… really what you should be taking away from this conversation, young man-”

“Thanks for the chat,” says Chouji, standing abruptly and flashing a smile. "I feel better now."

(“Aiyah,” the bard sighs to himself, standing alone by the bubbling fountain after the boy dashed off as quickly as he came. “I will not be scoring points with Zushi for this one.”)

*

If nothing else, Zushi finds the nuns’ fixation on Chouji hilarious. The next weekend, Chouji accompanies him on an errand which just so happens to take them past the cathedral. The sisters stationed by the door brighten at the sight of him, waving enthusiastically and trying to beckon him over. Chouji squeaks and ducks behind Zushi, demanding ”Hide me!”

“Wh- From what?!” Zushi is instantly on alert, scanning the plaza for threats. Chouji’s hands ball up miserably in the back of his shirt.

“From the nuns,” he admits, embarrassed.

“From- has that fucking goth nun been threatening you?!?” Zushi demands, seething. He whirls around quickly enough to rip the fabric from Chouji’s grasp, and Chouji stands there with his hands still uselessly in the air, bewildered.

“Th- What?” he splutters. “There's a goth nun?”

“Okay,” says Zushi, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Clearly there’s  a misunderstanding here.” Obligingly, he grabs Chouji by the wrist and drags him to the side and out of the nuns’ field of vision before demanding an explanation of him.

And Chouji can’t really not explain it when he’s spooked Zushi like this. He stumbles through the story, red-faced, and by the end of it Zushi is wheezing with laughter, propping himself on a nearby pillar to keep on his feet.

And it’s… yeah. It’s humiliating. But hearing Zushi laugh so deeply without having to break into a cough somewhere in the middle-- hearing the genuine amusement in his voice, not a trace of bitterness, the way Chouji’s only heard a scattered handful of times before-

Yeah. Yeah, it’s probably worth it.

He has to treasure those moments, because his least favorite thing about Mondstadt isn’t school or the nuns or even Barbatos’ hypocrisy. The worst thing, the thing that inspires a slow-sinking dread in his stomach, is this: there is something wrong with Zushi.

He thinks Chouji hasn't noticed, but it's getting obvious. And it scares him.

Nothing's physically wrong with him. Zushi's right as rain now, finally. What's going on is something much more difficult to fix. When he first saw Zushi awake again after the battle with the Traveler, he seemed lifeless. Drained. But he- perked up, got himself together. At first it seemed like it'd be fine.

Instead, it seems to be getting worse. Sometimes Chouji gets home from school and finds Zushi laid out on the couch or in bed like his strength has failed him, like he's still the invalid Chouji dragged in from the rain. His eyes will take on that dull sheen that reminded Chouji so much of his mother. He'll become distractible, none of that sharp wit and wicked humor, none of that embarrassed joy or sparking anger. Just stilted replies and hazy blinks, less lively even than when he was bedridden from his injuries.

He can tell that Zushi's trying to keep Chouji from seeing that anything's wrong. Sometimes he surfaces from it suddenly when Chouji gets back, like coming up from underwater, and is pretty much fine the rest of the day. But sometimes he just keeps drifting around like a ghost, and Chouji can't stop the sour nostalgia and deep-seated fear from striking like a nail hammered into his heart.

If Klee’s home, she warns him about it: “He’s being boring today,” she’ll sigh. She’s too little to understand there’s a deeper problem going on.

Chouji doesn't know what to do, what to say. When his mother got like this, all he could really do was wait until she came back from wherever she went in her head. Trying to interfere and being rebuked- or worse, ignored- hurt a lot more than simply keeping out of the way and trying to be as helpful as he could in the meantime. She didn't remember to eat when she got like that, so- so he'd cook for both of them, and do the laundry, and usually Dad got home so late he barely had time to notice something was off, but she'd usually brighten a little for him at least-

And. And usually it only lasted a few days, and she'd praise him for the help when she felt better. He just had to wait it out. She'd snap out of it eventually.

(Until she didn't. Until they lost Dad and she wandered their falling-apart village like her soul was lost with him, and she never looked at him and really saw him ever again and then she left. She left him.)

Zushi doesn't ever ignore him at least. Not completely. When Chouji takes him by the hand and drags him into the kitchen or out onto the street, he allows it. But Chouji can still see that ever-so-familiar numbness, the way he won't rile even to bicker-

And it terrifies him. It does.

Chouji has won against hunger and sickness and death, has survived Fatui and ronin and the Traveler- but he can't fight against this.

He feels horrendously guilty for even thinking it, but it's... a little bit of a relief that lately he's had reasons to be out of the house. After his conversation with that weird bard, Chouji felt emboldened to just... launch his entrepreneuring (as Zushi calls it) regardless of whether it's legal or not. It's not like school is doing him much good, anyway.

Sure, he can’t do business with reputable establishments at his age, but that's not something he ever actually did on Yashiori, either. And treasure hoarders, it turns out, are way easier to work with than Fatui or wandering ronin or the rare traveler who made it all the way out to Yashiori. Against all logic, this actually does wonders for his grades. Chouji finds it a lot easier to sit through school when he can wear away the time thinking of next moves and stratagems. It's easy to sneak out of class if he has to, but he gets a lot done after school, telling Zushi he’s joined a club.

Chouji’s not entirely sure what he's hoarding the money for this time. Maybe to move into their own place. Maybe to travel the world? Some part of him has never entirely given up on the idea of looking for his parents. The idea that they’re gone forever is too much to accept, even if he knows there would be no going back to the life they used to have.

...It makes him feel sick to his stomach, though, lying and doing something that feels entirely too much like avoiding Zushi. They're all each other has, and he knows Zushi is different from his mom. Knows that he'd rather Chouji stay close than draw away. Knows (tries to make himself know) that Zushi isn't going to leave. And when they do still get to hang out together, it's great! When they all eat a meal together or they hike out with Klee and Albedo to the woods for supervised Vision practice, or even just go around the market shopping... it's really, really nice. But then there's another grey day, far too familiar, and Chouji feels like he's going to throw up.

Possibly even worse is the look on Zushi's face when Chouji has to turn him down on a trip out to Starsnatch Cliff because there's a really important business deal he cannot miss... (which he again writes off as a club activity). Chouji thinks maybe he'll call him on the lie, or get huffy about Chouji not wanting to spend time with him, but he doesn't. He looks surprised and hurt, his response to the refusal almost a flinch, and then he has no expression at all. "If that's what you want to do," he says quietly, and Chouji wants to take it back- really he'd been wanting to go out to Starsnatch for awhile, and it's so rare for Zushi to be the one who comes up with something to do- but he can't. It's worse, he thinks, that Zushi was nice about it. He'd feel less guilty if he would've got nasty.

Chouji doesn’t know what to do. It feels like things are sliding out of place in the life they've just barely managed to scrape together. Finally, reluctantly, he turns to the only other adult he vaguely trusts in this situation: Albedo.

*

Zushi doesn’t seem to trust Albedo's motive for taking them in. The Traveler and Paimon seemed baffled about it too, and Klee’s too young to have a reliable opinion on such things. But it seems obvious to Chouji, if no one else:

Albedo is lonely, and he wants to be Zushi’s friend.

They’re both human-shaped, but not quite human. They both like to keep their secrets. Albedo has many friendly acquaintances - Chouji’s already met quite a few - but he holds a distance between himself and every living thing. It’s only around Klee and, interestingly enough, the Traveler that the cold politeness thaws, revealing someone who's bold and single-minded and often awkward, but kind and patient too.

Those walls also come down to some extent around Zushi and Chouji, but Chouji doesn’t think Zushi’s even noticed. He has a lot of other things to worry about; Chouji still doesn’t entirely understand the business with the gnosis, but what he does understand is that Zushi burnt down his old life and can’t go back (much as he burnt down Chouji’s).

Zushi could stand to have a few more friends. Maybe it would help pull him out of this frightening slump. But if Albedo is going to keep being patient and polite in the hopes that Zushi will someday warm up to him, they’ll get nowhere. Chouji only managed to worm his way in because Zushi really had no other choice.

“Aren’t you going to do anything?” Chouji finally asks Albedo one day, frustrated.

“What do you mean?” asks Albedo, looking up from his notes with a slight frown. He has a vague look in his eyes, only half paying attention.

“About Zushi,” Chouji stresses.

Albedo’s frown deepens. “...I’m not sure what he’s said,” he begins, delicately-

“Pretty much nothing,” Chouji interrupts. “But he needs help. And,” he ventures boldly, “I know you want to be friends with him.”

“That…” Albedo’s gaze drops, seeming embarrassed, and he clears his throat. “I’m afraid… he may not accept any help I can offer.”

“Of course he won’t,” Chouji says. “That’s why you’ve just gotta help him anyway. How do you think he and I got to be friends?”

“I have no idea,” Albedo admits.

“I found him in the mud,” Chouji tells him gleefully. “I pulled him in and took all his stuff. And then, I fixed him up.” Well. Sort of. Best he could.

“You…” says Albedo weakly. He’s fully turned away from his notes, attention all on Chouji now. “You took his stuff?”

“I was gonna sell it if he died,” says Chouji shamelessly. “But he didn’t! And he started helping me back. You can’t keep tiptoeing around him. He’ll always be grumpy, so just ignore that. And just… just… do something.” He hasn’t noticed that he’s started to wring his hands. “I can’t… I don’t know how to help him.” Much quieter, “I don’t know how to help people when they’re like this.”

Albedo’s expression softens. “He lost something very important to him,” he says gently. “I believe the mere fact of your presence helps him a great deal. Likely more than anything I could accomplish.”

Maybe, thinks Chouji bitterly, but it's not enough, it was never enough, I can't do it again-

“You still want to be friends anyway,” he bursts out, flinging an accusing finger at Albedo. “I’m not wrong. You have to annoy him into it, okay? That’s my advice for you. Take it or leave it!”

And Albedo thinks on it seriously for several long moments before telling him he’ll keep it in mind.

(Chouji is happy, at the time, that Albedo seems content to consider it.)

(He is less happy when, a week later, Scaramouche and Albedo join forces to break up the smuggling ring he's gotten involved with.)

Chapter Text

Quite against his will, Scaramouche finds himself settling into the daily cadence of life in Mondstadt. But it's wretched, what he's been reduced to, and not dwelling on it seems to be getting harder, rather than easier. When Chouji's away... when the alchemist is avoiding him and Klee's being watched by someone else, when there's nothing to do but stew in his uselessness and the bleak, black future unrolling in front of him, because Chouji is human and when he's gone I'll have nothing and what the fuck am I even supposed to do-

Well. It's hard to drag himself out of bed sometimes without an actual reason to do so. Easier to just turn off his breathing and pretend he doesn't exist until someone needs him again.

He's keeping it under wraps as best he can. No need for the kid to worry. But as time starts to drag on- Scaramouche suspects he's not been as successful with that as he'd like to be. Sometimes he'll blink alive to Klee sitting on his chest, poking him in the nose and asking, "Hell~oooo? Are you okay? Does Klee need to get Albedo?" Or he'll surface as if from underwater - right, get yourself together, at least pretend to be a fucking person - and when he blinks Chouji is staring at him like he's a stranger.

Chouji has been around a lot less lately, in general. He's joined a club at school, and he's been dodgy on what the details of the club actually are, but Scaramouche tries to be relieved that he seems to be settling in. Making friends. Kids need that, right? It would be... downright stupid for Scaramouche to be jealous of that. He's... really, he's lucky Chouji tolerates him at all after the kid found out what he did on Yashiori.

But that leaves him alone in the apartment all too often, sinking further into the void of meaninglessness and isolation. Trapped in a city that has made it abundantly clear it hates him (except for its archon, who is disconcertingly friendly toward him for some reason). Holding on to his reason to go on is a little difficult when that reason is... well... Is...

It takes entirely too long to come to the depressing conclusion that Chouji is avoiding him. One too many guilty refusals of eye contact when Chouji says he's "already got plans", though, and it becomes obvious.

If Scaramouche were feeling just a little more maudlin, he’d call this realization “devastating”.

As it is, he feels entirely justified in staring into space for ten-plus minutes and then abruptly standing up to go out to drink. When he loudly announces, "I'm going out," Albedo barely looks up from his journals.

"Hm? Alright," he says, easy as anything, and Scaramouche shoves down a flare of irritation he doesn't understand, stalking out the door.

Scaramouche doesn't drink often; he doesn't see the point in voluntarily inhibiting his self-control or his reflexes, and compared to those crazy Snezhayans he can barely hold his liquor at all. But if he's not going to drink after coming to the conclusion that his last remaining reason for existence is getting sick of him, well, when is he?

The Angel's Share is, he recalls, the most well-regarded drinking establishment in Mondstadt. Scaramouche tries to casually stroll in, only to look up and freeze mid-step through the door like a spooked deer.

The goth nun, the Khaenrh'ian captain, and the fucking Anemo Archon are all clustered together at the front of the bar. To say nothing of the bartender, who is none other than Diluc Ragnvindr, the infamous Delusion Thief, mass-murderer of Fatui troops. Scaramouche never personally had a run-in with him during his revenge bender through Snezhnaya, but it was big news at the time. Apparently, he really should have paid more attention to which specific establishments the guy manages.

Venti, of course, notices him immediately and lights up. "Heyyy! Zushi!!" he exclaims, waving enthusiastically and looking three sheets to the wind.

The Ragnvindr heir turns to Scaramouche with a startled, owlish expression that quickly becomes stormy as he stares in his direction. Diluc is surprisingly baby-faced for a man of his reputation, but then- Scaramouche supposes the same can be said of himself.

Promptly, he decides that this is an excellent time to make another 'dignified retreat' and ducks back out, slamming the door of the tavern behind him.

He's hardly a block away before a shadow leaps down from the rooftops and slams him into an alley wall with all the force of a raging mitachurl. (What was that people were saying about Mondstadt being a safe, low-crime city again?!)

The figure has him pinned before Scaramouche can recover from the briefly stunning effect of having his head knocked into the bricks, one arm twisted behind his back. Scaramouche snarls and tries to yank free, but the hand at his neck heats warningly as a voice growls in his ear, "Not so fast, Fatui scum."

"Oh, for the love of- I left your shitty bar! I'm not even bothering anyone!" Scaramouche shouts in frustration.

Diluc pauses. "My... my what?" He sounds unnerved.

"You're late to this, anyway," Scaramouche spits, resigned to yet another round of this humiliating farce. "Half the city threatened me before you did. The nun, the bard, even the Cavalry Captain - some Darknight Hero you are!"

"Ka-Captain Kaeya did?" Diluc mutters. Then, in a low growl, "I don't know what you're talking about, Harbinger. I-"

Scaramouche bursts into raucous, unkind laughter. "Come off it, Ragnvindr! Do you really think no one knows that you're-?!"

"Shut it!" Diluc snarls, yanking Scaramouche's arm further up behind his back. "If it were up to me, I'd have driven you out the moment I caught wind of you in our city. But someone has vouched for you, someone whose opinion I value greatly, so I'm giving you a chance. One chance. Don't waste it."

Finally he lets go, and Scaramouche stumbles to the side, scowling and rubbing at his shoulder. The Darknight Hero, with a high red ponytail and a half-mask over his [equally red] eyes- seriously, who does he think he's fooling- watches with an unimpressed expression before nodding as if to congratulate himself and vanishing back into the night.

Fucking asshole.

Well, no Angel's Share for him, then, but the encounter if anything has only increased Scaramouche's desire for a drink. He wanders the city until he comes across another decently sized tavern called The Cat's Tail, and stalks in with all the icy dignity he can muster.

There are no unfriendly figures waiting in this bar. Just a bunch of nobodies and a half dozen stray cats, reclining in out-of-the-way corners or getting attention from patrons.

Also, a fucking child serving the tables.

He knows Mondstadt's drinking laws are pretty lax, but... really? A child?

"A new customer? Hmph," the kid scoffs as she approaches, handing him a menu. "What will you be having tonight?"

She has, he notices, a cat's ears and a tail. If this were Inazuma, he'd assume she's a youkai, but she must be... Ugh. Every nation has some excuse or other to spawn animal-eared people onto the streets. He doesn't remember what Mondstadt's is.

"I don't care," he informs her. "Just give me the best you've got." It'll be on Albedo's tab anyway.

"Hmph," she says again, and flounces away. A few of the drunkards call out to her as she passes. What is she, the tavern mascot?

He finds a table tucked in a relatively quiet spot. A few minutes later, the cat-girl returns and slams a colorful drink onto his table. She glares at him intensely, tailtip flicking in challenge. Scaramouche doesn't understand this but decides he does not care. He takes a swig of the beverage, then sets it down again, his nose wrinkling. "Eugh," he says.

He's never cared much for the taste of alcohol- it's more about the experience than the taste really, and he's not entirely convinced that the humans who say otherwise aren't just lying- but this is... Worse than usual. Sweet, mellow, refined... a lot of people would probably like it, but the sweetness is cloying on his palate, mixing unpleasantly with the sharp tang of alcohol underneath.

Wham. The kid slams her hands down on the table, pupils dilating like a cat about to pounce. "You didn't like it?!" she exclaims.

Honestly, it's just medium-unpleasant, but Scaramouche is in no mood to coddle. Narrowing his eyes, he says, "No. It sucks."

Around them, the tavern goes quiet. The patrons start murmuring to each other in shock as if he's professed a heresy.

The kid's jaw drops. Then she lunges forward and grabs him by the wrist. "You're coming with me!" she declares, and starts trying to tug him through the tavern.

"Hey!" he snaps, slapping her hand away.

She pauses and looks him up and down. Her tail lashes furiously, and he can practically see the stars in her eyes. "Mister, this is important! There's free drinks in it if you come with me!" Immediately, patrons around them start clamoring to claim the opportunity, but Diona snaps, "No! Offer's for the new guy only!"

Is he being bribed with alcohol by... a child...? He stares at her for a moment longer, considering.

Then, "Sure, whatever," he drawls. He's just bored enough to see how this plays out. He follows her behind the bar, into the employees-only area. A couple of other employees are in the back preparing drinks and food, but they only spare a glance.

"Sorry for grabbing you," she mutters, pausing to tap a foot on the ground. "I don't like being grabbed much either."

Scaramouche pauses, eyes narrowing. "Who's grabbing you?"

"Boozehounds mostly," Diona replies, rolling her eyes. "Everyone wants to pet my tail. But I am not a cat!"

He crosses his arms and mutters, "Sounds like a hostile workplace environment."

"Really it means they like me," Diona says. "I bring in allll the crowds apparently. I'm allowed to bite them though! And I do."

Right, well, it's good that she's allowed to defend herself, but she gets that saying it like that is worse, right? That makes it sound worse. "How old even are you," he asks, following her across the room. This whole thing can't be legal.

Her back stiffens. "I'm fourteen!!" she insists.

Scaramouche would bet on that being a lie, but he doesn't know her well enough to tell for sure. (And, he reminds himself, he doesn't care.) They reach a low counter in the back that's absolutely covered with jars of various shapes and sizes, the contents of which are brightly-colored and mostly appear inedible. This must be... what, her personal workstation? He sits down cross-legged on the floor as she starts rustling through her ingredients, intent on starting her next mixture.

"...So? Why am I back here?" he prompts her eventually, chin propped lazily in hand.

"Because! You didn't like my drink!" she declares triumphantly, pouring frog guts in with swift, sure hands. "That's never happened before. No matter how hard I tried. Never ever! What makes you so different? Can I do it again? You- Hey! What's so funny?!"

Scaramouche is laughing, low but full-throated to himself. It goes on and on until he has to double over where he sits.

He's found himself a scientist.

What depressing times indeed, when the only one who wants to experiment on him is a child...

Sure, he decides, quite gallantly. He'll humor this.

At least someone in this fucking city thinks he's good for something.

*

One hour later he has learned that her mom's dead, her dad's a drunk, and she works at the Cat's Tail part-time to pay the bills while hunting and trapping wildlife in her spare time. Quite a bleak story all around. Seems Mondstadt's child-protection laws are not airtight, but then, people slip through the cracks in every nation.

She also wants to destroy the wine industry, a lofty goal worthy of the Cryo vision he eventually notices clinking at her waist.

"Kid," he says, words slurred slightly on the fourth or so drink she's whipped up, "if you really wanted to do that you'd have to start assassinating people."

Diona pauses like she's considering this, and then her tail gives an agitated lash. "I don't have that kind of money!" she wails. "And also, I don't wanna kill people. I want it to be destroyed because everyone sees that I'm right!"

Good luck with that, he thinks. The people of Mondstadt are so addicted to alcohol- and Diona's drinks in particular- that she's had to yell to her manager three times so far that she's busy whenever she pokes her head in and tries to get her to go back out to serving guests. She does keep sending out copies of the drinks she's making- rave reviews for every single one, despite the disgusting things he's watched her put in them. Scaramouche has not rated any of them more than "so-so". Her talent (curse?) defies all logic, and although she's excited at the breakthrough she's had with Scaramouche, she's getting a bit frustrated that she can't replicate it.

Honestly, the explanation is probably as simple as the fact that Scaramouche isn't human and probably has a somewhat different flavor palate than the other customers. He could tell her that, but at this point he doesn't... particularly want to crush her hope, and anyway then he'd have to go back to the lonely, silent apartment and the kid who's finally grown the sense to start to hate him after all.

(Well. He's seen no direct evidence that Chouji hates him now. But it always would have been more logical if he did.)

"Are you risking your job for this?" Scaramouche asks idly. He takes a sip of the newest drink she hands him and shoves it back. "Oh, blech. That's your worst one yet."

Diona stares at him in open fascination, then grabs her notepad and starts scribbling down the list of ingredients she used in this particular concoction. "No, I'm way too important for them to ever fire me," she answers belatedly. "I'm practically their mascot."

He rolls his eyes. "They're taking advantage of you, kid."

"Well, someone has to pay the bills!" she says shrilly, and shakes her cocktail shaker with violence.

*

The night goes on. Scaramouche is starting to feel nauseous, and his vision is beginning to blur. But Diona hasn't gone all the way down her list of ideas yet, still rambling in satisfaction to herself, and anyway, Scaramouche is not that fragile. He's not about to concede. Admit that he can't hold his alcohol. Is less helpful than she expected. Whatever.

(Distantly he questions why it even matters to him whether he is helpful to some random child, but he brushes the pesky thought away with ease.)

Finally, on the nth cocktail (he's long since lost count), Scaramouche blindly thrusts his hand out for the newest concoction only for Diona to pause and look him up and down. She leans into his space, nose wrinkling. "You're drunk," she declares with displeasure.

"'m not," he slurs, leaning away from her and immediately almost toppling over backward. He flails to regain balance. Fuck. With pure force of will, he draws himself up straight and enunciates clearly: "I'm not."

Diona looks supremely unimpressed. "I'm cutting you off," she says. Then, increasingly agitated: "Why didn't you tell me you were hitting your limit? Was this all just some ploy to get wasted? Do you- do you even actually think my drinks are disgusting at all?!?" Her tail puffs up, clearly distressed by this train of thought.

Fuuuuuck. Scaramouche wants to remind her that this whole thing was her idea anyway and she practically dragged him back here (and also that she maybe should have questioned his motivation to drink things he didn't like a lot sooner). But he can barely feel his fingertips, let alone his tongue, and those concepts feel too complicated to articulate.

"I meant it," he insists. "They sucked. I can keep going. Don't-" He frowns. Don't what?

(Why was he doing this again? Does it really matter if he gets tossed out of the Cat's Tail?)

His stomach roils. He doesn't really want to drink any more alcohol. Actually the very thought is repulsive. But there was a point to this. He knows there was.

"Oi, are you going to be able to get home okay?" Diona seems to be growing alarmed. "Do I need to get someone for you? I'll- I'm gonna be in trouble if I let you get alcohol poisoning!"

"Don't be stupid," Scaramouche says. "That doesn't affect me, I'm-" A puppet.

Wait. She's not supposed to know that. She doesn't even know.

Abruptly, Scaramouche feels absolutely pathetic.

He's just a random curiosity to this kid, who is, it must be reiterated, a literal child. A bubble seems to pop in his mind as he comprehends that there was no reason whatsoever to push himself this far. He isn't getting anything out of it. On the contrary, his housemates are probably going to be annoyed that he came back wasted.

It's just- he was being useful again. Finally fucking useful to somebody, anybody, for what he is. Ignoring the protests of his body is just second nature. He didn't notice he was getting in over his head he until it was too late.

"You're not making any sense, mister!" Diona exclaims anxiously. "I- I can heal with my Vision, but-"

"I'll be fine," Scaramouche snaps, and shoves himself to his feet. His stomach rebels, and the world tilts badly. He holds very, very still and doesn't blink or breathe until it stops spinning so much. Then he walks to the side door, staring blurrily at his feet to help place them in a straight line. It takes monumental effort, but it has its desired effect, because Diona appears to stop panicking. Though still doubtful, she stops threatening to call for help.

"C-Come back again sometime, okay?!" she calls after him. "But drink responsibly, you boozehound! My Vision can't cure hangovers!"

Scaramouche makes a grumbling sort of response and continues to put one foot in front of the other, stiff-backed and teeth grit, until he makes it around the corner and out of sight. Then he stumbles to the nearest wall and slumps against it, swearing viciously under his breath.

If he passes out in some random alley, he'll be fine; he's not immune to hangovers, but the alcohol will work its way out of his system. He won't die.

Chouji is the bigger problem. Scaramouche stayed out way longer than he meant to. If he's not there in the morning- Given the way the kid reacted the last time Scaramouche wasn't at home when Chouji expected him to be...

(Would Chouji even care, anymore?)

...

Well, either way, it's just humiliating. What did Scaramouche think he was proving? No, he decides, he'd better not let himself pass out.

This is easier in theory than in practice.

To his credit, Scaramouche makes it a couple of blocks before he decides to take a break. Just a break, he tells himself. Even though his body is numb and his vision is an indistinguishable smear of colors by now. He's not this weak. He'll get up in a minute and make it the rest of the way to the apartment. Wherever that is.

But time blurs and he drifts in his body and never seems to pull himself back together. At some point he turns and vomits all over the pavement, which makes him feel a bit better, but not enough to get back to to his feet. He only has the energy to twitch when, eventually, a pair of boots stop in front of him. Mugging, kidnapping, whatever this is- he's forced to concede he doesn't have the power to stop it.

"...Scaramouche?" a familiar voice asks, mellow but deeply concerned.

Scaramouche squints blearily up at the owner of the boots. "Bedo?" he mumbles.

"...Are you injured?" Albedo inquires. Kneeling down by him, the alchemist winces. "...You smell like a tavern," he says delicately. Probably also puke, but he's kind enough not to mention that.

"You c'n say it," Scaramouche grouses. ""M wasted. Why're you- you..."

Albedo maneuvers Scaramouche's dead weight, slinging Scaramouche's arm across his shoulders, then hoists the pair of them inelegantly to their feet. Scaramouche stumbles and they nearly both go down, but he manages to control his limbs enough to stay upright with Albedo's support.

"You didn't come back," says Albedo neutrally. "So I went looking for you." The sidelong glance he gives Scaramouche is more worried than judgmental, but Scaramouche is certain that deep down he's judging him for being an idiot. "...I don't imagine I'll get much explanation out of you in this state, will I," Albedo sighs.

Scaramouche doesn't bother answering that. He remains sullenly silent until a ways into their tottering trip home, when a passing thought starts him snickering.

"What," Albedo asks.

"I found - found..." He gasps for air. This is genuinely hilarious to him. "Found somebody to ss- epp- Fuck. Y'missed out," he declares proudly. "Someone else 'sperimented on me first."

Albedo grinds to a dead stop. "You what?" He is openly alarmed. Hah! Scaramouche bursts into another peal of undignified giggles. That's what he gets. Yeah, Scaramouche hopes he's jealous.

"Are you alright? Have you been drugged? Scaramouche, what exactly happened?" Albedo tries to demand, but Scaramouche just keeps laughing, unable to get a single intelligible word out. He may be slightly hysterical.

"Ffffuckin- Monstat," he wheezes, his weight falling heavily against Albedo as they round a corner, and that's-

That's about the last thing he remembers from that night.

*

His housemates are, indeed, less than impressed in the next morning.

Scaramouche's eyelids sliver open and the light stabs into his skull. Still half-awake, he groans. The fuck did Dottore do now, he thinks, usually a reasonable thing to think when he wakes up confused and feeling like shit, but he is reminded of his present circumstances by a light yet firm voice asking,

"Care to explain yourself?"

Disjointed memories return of his run-in with Diluc Ragnvindr, his ignominious retreat to the Cat's Tail, and the binge-drinking session he let himself get roped into by a ten-year-old. Well. Fourteen-year-old. If she's to be believed.

Why the hell is Albedo asking, wasn't he the one to scrape him off the pavement? Wasn't that self-evident enough? Bracing himself, Scaramouche cracks his eyes open again and is just able to make out the alchemist's golden locks through the increasing pounding at his temples.

"Not really, no," Scaramouche says. He's going for an unaffected drawl, but it comes out [as more of a surly croak through his parched throat. Fuck. He usually avoids alcohol for a reason. This is the worst hangover he's had in centuries.

Albedo inhales. Long, through the nose. "My bad," he says. "I'll rephrase. Please explain yourself."

"What is there to explain," Scaramouche growls.

Albedo's expression tightens; half concern, half frustration. He lowers his voice. "You said that... someone had experimented on you-"

Oh for the love of-

"I said that?!"

He doesn't remember saying that. Scaramouche struggles into a sitting position, a flailing upright motion that makes him feel as if a wagon of bricks was overturned on his head. His vision blurs out for a moment but he ignores it in favor of releasing a wheezy laugh. No dignity. No dignity left whatsoever.

"Where's Chouji," he asks abruptly.

"Skipping school until I'm sure you're alive again," says Chouji loudly, and snippily, from somewhere on the other side of the room.

Scaramouche glares at Albedo, who should've known better than to let Chouji catch on that something was wrong. Then again, Chouji is observant enough he'd probably have noticed no matter what. Great.

"It didn't seem likely he'd be able to focus," says Albedo, diplomatically. "You... can see why I'm concerned-"

Scaramouche interrupts him with a groan, dropping his aching head into his hands. "Nothing to worry about, okay," he ekes out. "It was just... Just-" Damn. Any lie he could make up to save face would probably be more damaging than the truth. "Just that little cat girl. At the Cat's Tail. Okay. She's not capable of doing anything actually useful so you don't have to worry about me regaining my power. Or whatever."

Albedo's lips purse. "...A Katzlein?" he asks. Then: "Were you harmed?"

"Other than the hangover? Which you're making worse? No. So shoo."

"...I really don't feel like I fully understand the incident-"

"And you won't. Now leave me alone."

Scaramouche drops back onto the couch cushions, deciding staying upright is not worth the effort. After a few moments, he hears Albedo sigh and move away.

Shortly later, Chouji's butt impacts on the couch with enough force to jostle his head, making Scaramouche let out a snarly little growl.

"Are you really okay?" the kid bites out.

"Yes," says Scaramouche. "You should've gone to school. Don't waste time worrying about me."

A pause. Then Chouji says, tartly, "You passed out. Again. You didn't come home!"

If Scaramouche was a little better of a person, he'd apologize. What he wants to do is snap back, say, What, you think so little of me you expected I'd break my promise already? Or, You've been avoiding me anyway, what do you care if I'm not here? But instead what comes out, reluctant and almost plaintive, "...Do you really see this place as a home?"

Chouji huffs. Then he moves and flops his full weight onto Scaramouche's legs. "What are you talking about," he says. "You're here."

Like that's the only criteria that matters.

Like they could be anywhere, and Chouji would consider it home as long as Zushi was in it.

(Even Scaramouche can admit it's a stretch to blame the moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes on the hangover.)

"So take care of yourself, you jerk," Chouji adds in a mutter.

You haven't been around. I thought you didn't care.

But that's a poor excuse, isn't it? He made a promise.

It's just... so easy to forget. It's been so long since Scaramouche had to worry about anyone other than himself. Now if he goes out and does stupid, self-destructive things, it's not only him who'll be affected. Is that a good enough reason to take care of himself? Is that a good enough reason to... try to care about himself?

(He supposes it'll have to be. There isn't any other.)

"...Okay," he murmurs. "Okay."

It's probably pathetic, just how much warmth kindles inside him when he sees Chouji search his face for sincerity, then lean back and nod firmly to himself. The kid's expression is still tight, still a little upset. Scaramouche doesn't feel good to have worried him. But it's proof to the starving, clinging thing shut up at the bottom of the well inside him - Chouji does still care. Whatever reason he has for sneaking around, for being evasive about his activities, for keeping out of the house - it's not because he doesn't care anymore.

Eventually Chouji does leave his side to get on with his day, and Scaramouche nurses his hangover until his thoughts can line back up in some semblance of order. It's only when the pounding in his head begins to recede that his suspicion creeps back in, loud enough to be heard above the overwhelming relief that he hasn't made Chouji hate him. Because. Because.

Chouji is still sneaking around, and being evasive, and spending a lot of time out of the house. He's up to something. And knowing Chouji, it's probably something dangerous, or illicit, or both.

Scaramouche groans, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes.

...He's going to have to investigate, isn't he.

And because what feels like half the city is out for his blood, and he doesn't have his electro or his delusion or even a goddamn weapon, he's probably going to have to... get some assistance.

(It'd be trivially easy to steal a weapon, or to make off with all the bomb supplies Klee keeps in her bedroom, but that probably wouldn't be... great optics for his continued custody of Chouji.)

And gods know he's not asking the Traveler for assistance, so it'll have to be Albedo.

This conversation is going to be annoying as fuck.