Chapter Text
Rean cleaves through the otherworldly monster with a clean swipe of his blade, and Crow feels that inexplicable surge through his combat link. He doesn’t think; he doesn’t have to with the ARCUS—he’s got the monster in his sights and fires off a volley of shots just as Rean finishes his attack.
The monster disappears in a puff of smoke.
“That was amazing!” Elliot remarks with his usual enthusiasm.
Crow spins his gun on his finger and shoots the rest of the group a wink.
“The two of you are always so in sync,” he continues. “It’s like a perfect harmony! I don’t know how you do it.”
Elliot’s not wrong; he and Rean are freakishly in sync when it comes to the ARCUS link. Alisa was so fascinated she actually made the two of them participate in some kind of experiment so she could study the phenomenon. Crow still doesn’t know what she did, but he’s confident it involves some degree of collecting proprietary data exclusive to the Reinford company, so he’s pretty cool with it.
Meeting Alisa’s mom made Crow grateful his own mother didn’t live long enough to disappoint him.
“Guess I’m just that good,” Crow replies, performatively blowing non-existent smoke from the tip of each gun before tucking them back in their holsters.
“I think we can safely rule that explanation out,” Alisa says, rolling her eyes.
“Well, we can stand here and speculate, or we can proceed onward,” Jusis reminds them, gesturing toward the Realm of the Great Shadow extending before them. “I, for one, did not endure those abominable rehearsals just for Principal Van Dyke to cancel the festival.”
"You know, that may be one thing I can agree with you on," Machias muses.
“Oh, come on. Rehearsal wasn’t that bad,” Elliot replies.
A sea of flat expressions stare back at him, and Crow has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing.
He hates to admit, he’s going to miss this.
This little band of naive idealists really have grown on him—Short Stack included. It festers this fondly nostalgic yet bitter thing he can’t explain or understand. There’s no point in understanding it, though; his role in all this was cast long before these well-meaning idiots had the misfortune of letting him into their lives, and there’s no way it doesn’t end with every single one of them hating his guts.
Still, he can’t fight the irrational urge to leave them with some good memories of him.
“Crow,” Rean’s quiet, concerned voice cuts through his melancholy, and Crow slaps a smile on his face. He didn't realize the rest of the group had started moving ahead.
“Yo,” he answers. “‘Sup?”
“Are you okay?”
Crow doesn’t flinch, but it’s a close thing. His eyes involuntarily widen, though; he can’t help his surprise.
Rean is always doing this: catching him in small moments of what is absolutely not vulnerability because any trace of vulnerability was brutally hacked out of him a long time ago with the grace of a battlefield amputation. Crow is stoic and cynical; he wouldn’t have survived this long otherwise.
He’s just thinking. It’s hard not to with everything converging and falling into place. Anyone else would dismiss him as slacking off or daydreaming, but somehow, Rean seems to sense the unease shifting within Crow.
“Me? I’m peachy. We’re in some kinda space-time pocket dimension thing that opened up in our school’s basement. Just another Saturday for us.”
Rean laughs. “That’s true. I guess we’ve gotten used to some pretty crazy things over the last few months. It’s just… you’ve always got my back, Crow. I hope you know I’ve got yours, too.”
Crow does not, in any way, have Rean’s back. With the way things have been amping up lately, Rean will figure that out sooner than later.
Why did it have to be Rean, he can’t help but wonder. But, of course, it couldn’t have been anyone else. Not really. He still has no idea what qualifies someone as an Awakener; Vita wasn’t exactly clear on that part. Hell, she didn’t even know that more than one person could complete the trials (he’s still trying not to be bitter about that, but Aidios almighty, he lost count of how many times he nearly bit the dust fighting through that shit on his own).
Even if Rean weren’t destined to become an awakener, he’d still hate Crow when everything is said and done. It’s just… really going to suck tearing down everything Rean’s built these last few months.
“I mean it,” Rean says firmly, with that almost palpable earnestness, as though Crow’s strange, protracted silence implies he doubts Rean and not himself,
“I know,” Crow replies with a cheerful grin. “C’mon, we can’t let the rest of ‘em get too far ahead. They’ll say I’m a bad influence on you.”
Rean falls into step beside him. “It’s not an unreasonable assumption,” he teases.
“Looks like they finally decided to join us,” Jusis says pointedly over his shoulder, standing at the edge of another shimmering portal.
“Last one through has to drink Millium's tea!” Fie calls out.
Jusis suddenly launches himself toward the portal, followed by a mad dash of Class VII as Fie cackles, charging to the lead.
He and Rean are too far behind to close the gap. Crow’s eyes flick to Rean as he briefly considers using his junior as a meat shield. Rean’s expression suggests he’s thinking about doing the same thing to Crow.
“Fie can’t make us drink it,” Rean says with an uncomfortable degree of uncertainty.
“Technically, no. But she can replace your morning coffee with that sludge when you ain’t looking.”
They eye each other for a moment.
Crow grabs his ARCUS and casts Chrono Burst just as Rean slips into Gale, and they charge ahead into the portal.
The world goes white and shimmering, then resolves as shapes and colors coalesce into a wholly unexpected image.
Until now, everything has been stones and sigils, that strange, almost palpable sensation of the higher elements humming in the air, and architecture that doesn’t so much defy gravity as spit in its face and stomp all over it.
This place looks… suburban.
There are green, neatly trimmed lawns and cute little houses accented with window boxes of colorful flowers, a clear, blue sky, and warm, brilliant sunlight. Birds twitter on the breeze, and Crow swears he can smell lino blossom.
Crow glances to his left and sees Rean beside him, wearing an equally confused expression.
“Well… I don’t think we’re in the Realm of the Great Shadow anymore,” Rean offers as he takes in their surroundings.
“No kiddin’,” Crow replies, still trying to assess the situation. “We the only ones here?”
Rean takes another glance around, scanning for any sign of their classmates, both physical and spiritual.
He frowns. “I can’t sense anyone else from Class VII. There are definitely people around, in the houses and such, so whatever this is, it's not an illusion."
Crow nods. He’s not sensing any magic or spiritual interference, either. He can’t say that to Rean, because Rean doesn't know he can sense that kind of shit, so he just agrees. “That’s what I’m getting, too. Doesn’t feel like we got monsters or anything like that around, either.” He checks his ARCUS, but the screen only displays a broken-looking ERROR message. “Is your ARCUS working? Mine’s toast.” He flips the device around to show Rean.
Rean’s concern slips into a furrowed frown as he checks his own. “Same thing here.” He sighs, placing the useless piece of tech back into his pocket. “Well, at least there are people around who can tell us where we are. Hopefully, we're not too far from Trista.”
Crow nods. “May as well start here,” he says, nodding toward the house in front of them. It's a sturdy-looking brick house with a white bay window nestled behind a white fence on an absolutely beautiful front lawn. Well-sculpted shrubs and bright, beautiful flowers make it clear that a lot of care went into it. It feels welcoming in a way that's not contrived, like it's not just a place where people live, but a home. “Maybe the portal dumped us out here for a reason. Plus, it’s got the nicest yard. I mean, I ain’t one for that sort of thing, but even I gotta say, that’s some pretty sweet landscaping.”
Rean chuckles. “We’re basing our decision on landscaping?”
“You got a better idea?”
“Nope.”
“Then let’s mosey,” Crow replies.
So, they head past the fence, up the stone path, and ascend two steps before Rean knocks on the door.
After a moment, they hear a series of footfalls, then the sound of a deadbolt sliding open.
Now Crow has seen some shit in his time: a guy who can pull a sword from another dimension, literal magic, giant robots, and people who genuinely respect Duke Cayenne, but absolutely nothing could have prepared him for this.
Looking at the man in the doorframe is uncomfortably like looking in a mirror. He's not Crow; he's older and taller, with longer hair and a broader chest, but he has the same ear piercings, the same color hair, the same eyes, and the same complexion.
“Goddess damn it,” the man with a frighteningly close resemblance to Crow sighs in a voice just barely different than Crow's own. “Here we go again.”
He’s also wearing an apron.
This bizarre facsimile of Crow is wearing a fucking apron.
There are words on it, but Crow’s brain can’t parse them. He can’t process anything beyond a man that looks uncomfortably like himself wearing a fucking apron.
“Come on inside and we’ll get this sorted out,” the impossible man says, as though this is a normal, everyday thing.
“You… um, y-you really look like Crow,” Rean finally manages. He sounds as dumbfounded as Crow feels, which, Crow admits, is a comfort.
"'Cause I am,” Not-Crow replies cheekily. "Crow Armbrust, at your service." He grabs the edges of the apron and gives a mock curtsy.
“L–Look, okay, I–I dunno what the hell is goin' on here, but you ain't me,” Crow insists. He can’t be! It’s literally impossible. This fucker with Crow’s face is wearing a goddess damned apron for starters!
“The resemblance is… I-I don’t think he’s lying, Crow,” Rean says, gobsmacked and stunned.
Rean is staring at the allegedly other Crow, utterly transfixed. Like he’s awestruck and can’t look away. His mouth is actually hanging open as he stares at the apron across the impostor's chest. Crow feels a surge of pride and jealousy so bizarre he’s nearly dizzy with it.
Apron Guy chuckles like he knows something. “Ah, Rean. Some things never change,” he muses, shaking his head. “Well, don’t just stand there, you two. Nothing’s gonna get solved on the doorstep.”
Crow bites back the urge to shout that he's not taking another step until someone tells him what the fuck is going on and why this stranger looks so much like him, but he's loath to admit that this guy does have a point. Their presence was as much a surprise to him as it was to them, though he's clearly been through something like this before.
He's got information they need.
They’ve got nothing to lose by going inside. Yes, it could very well be a trap, but at this point, springing a possible trap will at least shed some desperately-needed light on whatever the fuck is happening because it's well beyond the scope of their abilities.
Besides, he has to figure out what this guy’s deal is, and why he thinks he’s Crow.
Rean seems to have finally torn his eyes away and reached the same conclusion. Crow exchanges a glance with Rean and they share a mutual nod before following the stranger through the doorframe and stepping inside a normal entryway in a normal home.
Rean politely closes the door behind them.
“All right. So, as best I can tell right now, you guys are in the future,” Not-Crow says.
“Wha—t-that’s impossible!” Crow blurts out as ice-cold terror flashes through his veins. It's the kind of terror he's learned to instinctively sharpen into anger, an icepick as sharp and deadly as his saber to drive through the source of that fear. "Quit the act and just tell us what the fuck is going on already!" His voice is sharp and abrasive, commanding in a way that takes Rean by surprise.
“I know this must seem crazy,” Crow’s doppelgänger replies, patient and sympathetic in a way that chafes and rankles Crow. “But it ain’t any stranger than people getting turned into salt or a floating city appearing over Liberl, or a suit of armor that fights on its own. Zemuria’s a weird place, and things ain’t as absolute as they seem.”
“I’ve seen some weird shit, but this?“ Crow retorts, intractable. “You?” he scoffs. “There is no way you could possibly be me. No offense, but I’d die before I ended up in that.”
Before he can feel bad about the insult, even before Rean can scold him for his unkindness, a sharp, bitter smile spreads over the older man’s lips, cold enough to freeze both Crow and Rean into silence.
“Funny you should say it like that.” The man who cannot be Crow eyes him with a calculating shrewdness. “Let's see... your name is Crow Armbrust, you grew up in Jurai, your best friend was named Stark, you hit the trifecta at the track when you were eight and Pops bragged about it until the day he died. Quackers the duck was your favorite stuffed animal and you regret leaving him behind—Stark’s mom saved him, by the way. You’ll get him back when you see her again. Your childhood bedroom was blue with a sailboat border around the top. You hate flower arrangements, but mostly lilies and carnations because the smell reminds you that funeral parlor. Want me to tell the story about why you carry two boot knives or are we good?” The threat in that voice is real and utterly terrifying; it's one Crow uses when he has the upper hand and is absolutely not fucking around.
Crow nods vigorously in terror. “W-We’re good.”
Sure, Stark and his family know about Quackers and his bedroom growing up, but the other shit? Crow would die before he'd tell anyone about how he'd nearly been beaten to death because some asshole managed to grab his boot knife while he was asleep.
It's not possible. But what other explanation is there?
The friendly smile returns to the older Crow's face. “Glad we understand each other. Make yourselves comfortable while I get Rean. There are snacks in the fridge and the pantry, so help yourselves.”
Rean brightens beside him as the older Crow turns on his heel and heads down the hall, around a corner and out of sight.
“I’m so glad we stayed friends!” Rean says, relieved and excited, somehow unbothered by the fact that they’re in the fucking future and Crow has become some kind of domesticated house pet. “I’ll admit, I was kind of worried you’d forget about me after you graduated." The new note of shyness in Rean’s voice catches his attention.
"Forget about you?" Crow asks.
"You'll be out on your own, having all sorts of adventures, and... why would you waste your time hanging out with some second-year student?" Rean explains. He chuckles shyly, scratching his cheek. "I was hoping to use that 50 mira you owe me as an excuse to keep in touch.”
“Huh?”
Rean's expression shifts into concern. "This is really freaking you out, huh?"
"It's just... a lot to take in," Crow manages. He prays Rean won't ask about any of the things his future self went on about. Rean's pretty good about minding his own business when it comes to shit like that. At the very least, he probably won't ask now, and as long as they get back to their proper time, Crow can disappear before Rean gets around to following up.
Rean nods. "I don't think it's really set in for me yet, to be honest," he admits. "I'm trying not to think about how I turned out."
He can't hide the insecurity in his voice, and one look at Rean shows him just how truly nervous and unsettled Rean is by the idea.
"Well, if you're hangin' out with me, you must be pretty cool," Crow offers. He can deal with the weird mess of stuff in his brain later.
Rean chuckles. "I guess so."
"What say we go scope out the snack situation?" What Crow really wants to do is run the fuck away and burn this out of his memory, but distracting Rean will help settle both their nerves.
"He did say we could..." Rean muses thoughtfully. "I'm really curious to see what your house is like!"
Crow’s… house? Well, it must be his since he’s the one cooking in it.
Crow shrugs and follows Rean into the kitchen.
It’s a nice kitchen. Not opulent or anything, but bright, tastefully decorated, and well-loved. There’s a pot of something simmering on the stove and another pot of already-made pasta.
Crow opens the fridge and Rean excitedly peers inside. It’s well stocked. The variety of vegetables and packaged meats suggests he cooks his own meals pretty frequently.
"That's a lot of food for one person," Rean muses. Then, as if enlightened, "I bet someone else lives here, too."
The thought of cohabitating with anyone hits Crow like an orbal truck blowing through an intersection at top speed. Still, he manages to recover. "Told you I was good with the ladies."
Rean chuckles. "I'm sure someone eventually took pity on you."
"I can't believe I stayed friends with you," Crow huffs.
“Look! You have that yogurt I like!” Rean exclaims, almost giddy.
Crow cringes. “Ew, the one that tastes like sour metal?”
Rean rolls his eyes. “Either you started liking it, or we hang out a lot.”
“Sounds like we hang out a lot,” Crow replies, closing the fridge.
The pantry yields a trove of snacks.
“Gross, you’re still eating those prawn chips?” Rean laments, disgusted.
“You snack on seaweed. Willingly.”
"Better than prawn chips."
"You have no taste."
There are a few packages they don’t recognize, which, they assume, are probably things that haven’t been invented in their time.
"Do you think it's safe to eat?" Rean asks with intrigue and caution.
"We had to have eaten it for the first time once, right?" Crow replies, peeling back the package, grabbing a little sandwich cookie, and handing it to Rean before taking one for himself.
"Well... here goes, I guess," Rean says.
Crow taps his cookie against Rean's, as though clinking glasses, and they both take a bite.
It's fucking delicious. Whatever weird, spacetime shit they're caught up in doesn't matter because these cookies are damn good.
"You weren't kidding, were you?" Rean's voice says from somewhere behind him. It's deeper than usual, though, and when Crow's head whips around, his knees actually go a little weak.
Aidios almighty, Rean is hot. Crow's not blind, of course; the Rean from his time is a solid ten out of ten, but the man he's grown into... holy shit.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
He's so hot it's actually intimidating. All lithe, lean muscle and long, lethal eyelashes. And Goddess, that waist.
This new Rean laughs, and the sound is like slow, sweet honey.
"Look how small you were!" the older Rean says with an adoring smile, and Crow's not sure if he should be offended or flattered.
Older Crow scoffs. "Um, excuse me, have you seen yourself? You're all fun-sized and adorable. Just look at those cheeks!"
"Oh my goddess—you've even got the bandanna!" Older Rean's expression is so fond that Crow feels his ears get hot.
"Can somebody maybe tell us what's going on?" Crow asks, desperate and confused.
"What's going on is dinner's gonna burn if I don't get to it," the older him says, striding across the kitchen to the pot that's simmering on the stove and giving it a stir.
Yeah, sure, go finish cooking dinner. No big deal. Just the past version of yourself showing up in your present for no apparent reason. Dinner obviously takes precedence.
"Shouldn't this be a bigger deal?" Crow can't help but ask.
"Believe it or not, this isn't our first encounter with alternate timelines, different versions of ourselves, or people from the past showing up in the present," the older Rean replies. "Crow and I will need some time to observe the situation to figure out what's going on."
Well. That explains why they're so unbothered. But still... what the hell?!
Older Rean chuckles, and the sound is rich and full, this vast, warm thing that washes over him like golden light.
"It's a long story. We'll tell you once we're sure it's safe to share," Older Rean adds.
"Withholding information is a great way to get killed," Crow retorts, folding his arms.
For just a moment, the older Rean looks stricken. Something shatters in his eyes, revealing a pain so enormous that Crow's ribcage feels obliterated with guilt for whatever he said that accidentally triggered it.
Then, it's gone. It vanishes so quickly that Crow wonders if he didn't just imagine it.
But the thing is, he couldn't have imagined that. He's pictured what the look on Rean's face will be like when he finds out C's true identity, when Crow hacks their friendship to pieces and sets it on fire with the smile he's been practicing. Never once could Crow picture an expression like that.
“We just need to be sure you’re not a threat. If you were assimilating with us, we'd likely have felt it by now, being in such close proximity. You’re younger, and more confused than we are, so you're probably not simulacrum. Can you tell us what happened before you ended up here?" Older Rean inquires.
His younger self nods. "We were in the Realm of the Great Shadow. Something happened to the Old Schoolhouse and Principal Van Dyke was going to cancel the second day of the festival, so we decided to investigate. We went through a portal, and we came out here."
"Not Vestiges, either," the older Rean muses.
"The hell's a vestige?" Crow asks.
The older Rean sighs. "It's complicated."
"Dead people from the past started showing up in the present," the older Crow chimes in. "But we took care of that a while back."
"Did this happen to the two of you?" the younger Rean asks.
"No. And my memories haven't changed, so whatever's going on is probably new. Or localized. I've got some ideas, but before I can even start guessing at what might be happening, Crow and I will have to make some calls," older Rean answers. “This isn’t something we can handle on our own.”
Shit, Rean is asking for help? Wow. They really must be in an alternate reality.
Okay. Fine. Crow will accept that they're in the future. But not necessarily their future. He’ll accept that they share a history with their counterparts up until the moment the portal spat them out in suburbia.
But if that’s the case, how the fuck did the other him go through all the same shit he did and end up here?!
He puts a hand to his forehead. "I need a minute to think."
Older Rean gives him a caring smile. "It was hard for all of us the first time we dealt with this kind of thing. But we'll take care of you and get you both back where you belong." He says it like a promise, so much that Crow can't help but believe him just a little.
Crow nods.
Older Rean pats his head, which, at the very least, helps Crow’s brain go completely blank. Then, he turns toward the older Crow, who's busy stirring the pot on the stove.
"How much longer until dinner?" Older Rean asks.
"About fifteen minutes."
"Mind holding down the fort while I take a quick shower to clear my head?"
"Go ahead."
"Be back in ten," Rean promises, then disappears through the doorway, leaving both Crow and Rean to exchange equally confused glances.
What the hell? Is Rean really that comfortable here?! Like, he just uses Crow's shower whenever he wants?
His older self chuckles at something that most definitely isn't any noise Crow is making, because Crow isn't making any noises. And even if he were, he does not sound like a distressed kitten.
"Okay, what the hell?!" bursts out of Crow. "Seriously, why is Rean just using the shower like he owns the place?”
His older self blinks, then looks sympathetically at Rean. "I have no idea how you ever dealt with me. Didn’t you guys check the mailbox?"
He looks at Rean, who looks back at him, and they both sprint for the front of the house.
Armbrust-Schwarzer.
"I… guess we live together," Rean muses, scratching his head.
Crow is alive and living with Rean, both of them 30-something bachelors? Crow, sure; if he managed, by some miracle, to survive the civil war and its aftermath, he’d never be able to commit. He’s not made for it. But Rean? The guy everyone wants never settled down?
Then again, maybe... maybe it's not so strange. Why should Rean settle down when he’s got so many options? He’s such a damn prude, wasting his time helping people find their lost pets and missing wallets, that he’s never played the field. Figures he’d be a late bloomer. Heh, it’d be hilarious if Rean turned out to be one of those guys who went from essentially abstinent to insatiable. He wonders which lucky lady would have been the one to unleash the beast in his best friend. Crow likes to think he would’ve had something to do with it, setting up the date or hyping him up for it.
So, Rean being a bachelor at thirty isn’t as crazy as it seems.
It's just weird Crow wasn't executed. Shit, maybe Cayenne won the war, and Crow managed to avoid the chopping block.
He thinks he should be relieved, but there's just this weird, unsettled feeling in his gut instead.
"I guess it's not really that strange," Rean muses. "We pretty much live together at the dorm, don't we? And you'd definitely need a roommate to afford something like this."
"Hey, maybe I won big at the track and you're the one who needed a place to stay," Crow retorts.
Rean laughs.
"See if I let you be my roommate now," Crow huffs dramatically.
They head back into the kitchen.
"Can we help with anything?" Rean asks, ever eager to lend a hand.
"If you could set the table that'd be great," the older Crow replies.
He points out where everything is, and Rean bustles about setting four places. Crow just stands there, watching the scene unfold with a surreal sense of detachment.
"I hope us being here isn’t too much of an imposition," Rean says, an apology in his voice.
"No worries. I always make enough for leftovers," the older Crow replies.
"Guess I really was a gofer, huh?" the older Rean muses from the kitchen doorframe with a smile.
"What do you mean was?" Crow’s older self asks.
"I've gotten better."
Older Crow sighs. "Debatable. But we'll have to put a pin in it because dinner's ready."
He sets an enormous bowl of seafood pasta on the table, but rather than sit down, he heads back to the sink and grabs something from a small dish, something that flashes silver as he slips it on his left ring finger.
Rean lets out a little gasp beside Crow at the table. He's practically vibrating with questions as the older Crow sits down.
"Y-You've got a ring!" Rean blurts out. "Is it—are you—who—"
The older Rean lets out something that's part laugh, part groan. "Wow. You weren't kidding about how dense I used to be," he remarks.
Then, to Crow's horror, he holds up his own left hand and shows off a silver band.
Crow just stares as his thoughts come to an abrupt, screeching halt. Then, understanding involuntarily cranks the throttle to full speed, sending the entire metaphor careening into a brick wall so hard it splatters his brain to paste.
He's not just living with Rean—he's fucking married to him?!
"Like, actually married? You're—Y-You're us, and you're fucking married?!" It comes out as a panicked squawk.
"Duh. I locked that shit down," his older self replies.
The older Rean chuckles. “Took you long enough.
“Hey, the universe reset, so those two years don’t count.”
"U-Um, what?!" Rean manages, bewildered and red as an acerbic tomato.
The older Crow sighs. “Long story short: the sky isn’t real and there’s giant space cube that resets the world every 20,000 years or so.”
“You’re—You're fuckin’ with us. There is no way we—you—are married!” Crow insists.
“You’re… just going to ignore the space cube?” the older Rean asks. Strangely, there’s no disbelief in his voice, just curiosity. “Does me loving you really seem more insane than the space cube?”
The older Crow leans back on his chair, looking strangely self-satisfied.
“It’s all fucking crazy!” Crow somehow manages to contain his outburst, so he sounds more confused and exasperated than helpless and angry. “You say you’re us, but you can’t be! You could never—should never—” he breaks off, unable to even get the words out because the thought that anyone, let alone Rean Schwarzer, patron saint of perfect attendance and bastion of unimpeachable honesty, feeling anything but contempt for the real Crow Armbrust is unfathomable.
Rean deserves someone who can offer him the world, and he’s settled for the splintered, hollow shell of a soulless bastard.
How could any version of Crow be so selfish as to allow Rean to waste his life like that?
The older Rean’s expression softens with something that makes Crow feel vulnerable and exposed, like he’s been stripped bare. Rean is looking at him like he’s an open wound, except he’s not repulsed or afraid like he should be. He’s assessing it the way a doctor would. He can see how broken Crow is, knows the shape and size of the sharpest, ugliest pieces, and loves them despite how repulsive they are.
Crow hates it.
He wants to say something, anything to shift Rean’s focus, but he can’t muster up his usual bravado because he gets the sense that if he does, the older Rean might do something like hug him and tell him that none of it was his fault, and mean it.
The older Rean takes a breath. "Someday, you'll understand that I’m the only one who gets to decide what I want for myself. What you think I deserve is your opinion, and you're entitled to it, but you have no right to force it on me. Just because you can't understand something doesn't make it wrong or less real.”
Crow has no fucking clue what to do with that, so he just sits there like an idiot.
The older Rean just smiles, pleased. “I haven’t had to pull that one out in a long time.”
“You have the patience of a saint,” the older Crow replies.
“You were worth the wait,” the older Rean replies, turning to him with a tender smile. “Plus, your debt racked up a ton of interest in the meantime.”
“Joke’s on you: my debt became your debt the day you said ‘I do’,” the older Crow teases. “Should’ve signed a prenup.”
The older Rean chuckles. “So that was your master plan all along? Steal my mira, make me fall in love with you, then marry me so you can make me pay your interest with my own mira?”
“Yup. And you fell for it: hook, line, and sinker. Sorry, babe, but I came out on top.”
“Oh? Last I remember, you were under me.”
The older Crow laughs, but the sound is abruptly cut off by a choking sputter and a pitched whine of utter distress from across the table.
“Sparring!” the older Rean sputters with urgency in his voice. “I, uh, I pinned him during a demonstration in martial arts this afternoon. That’s what I meant."
The older Crow nods vigorously in agreement. “Today’s lesson was on escape maneuvers,” he adds for verisimilitude.
Crow is choosing to believe them because he cannot handle the implications in any other context. Besides, Rean is the last person alive who’d drop a sexual innuendo. Scratch that—Machias is the last person who’d do that, but Rean would be in either second or third place, repressed little prude that he is.
“We teach at Thors branch campus,” the older Rean says, offering context.
Crow gets stuck on the word we.
“I’ve never heard of Thors having a branch campus,” the Rean beside Crow replies, ears still red as he clings to this subject for dear life.
“It doesn’t exist for you yet,” the older Crow explains.
“So… I became a teacher?” Rean asks curiously, embarrassment mostly faded.
The older Rean nods.
“One of the best there is,” the older Crow chimes in.
“I wouldn’t go quite that far, but I‘ve got a knack for it,” the older Rean explains with a smile. “I teach history and martial arts, but I’m also in charge of homeroom for first-year Class VII. Crow works there part-time. He teaches combat tactics and assists me with martial arts. He does homeroom for second-year Class VII, too.”
Crow is... a teacher? Someone seriously entrusted him with shaping impressionable young people into responsible adults?
The Rean beside him chuckles. “Looks like you got your act together after all.”
“What idiot thought it was a good idea to put me in charge of a bunch of kids?!” Crow asks, his shock obvious.
“Aurelia LeGuin,” the older Crow answers like he’s enjoying it.
“It’s not really that surprising,” the younger Rean muses. “You’re really smart. If you didn’t slack off so much, I bet you’d be one of the top three second-years. You did a great job teaching me first aid, and you’re easy to get along with. Instructor Sara’s going to laugh so hard when she finds out.”
“I don’t think she’s stopped laughing, to be honest,” the older Crow muses.
“Yeah, but once she’s had a few, she gets all weepy and proud of her favorite reformed delinquent,” the older Rean says, then laughs abruptly. “Remember when you tried to outdrink her after the Twilight?”
“My tolerance went to shit after,” he just manages to catch the next phrase before it slips out, “everything. But I beat her at the drunken shooting contest, so it evened out.”
“You’re both idiots for having a drunken shooting contest to begin with,” the older Rean sighs. “But I have to admit, it was impressive, given that you could hardly string a sentence together at the time. Thank the Goddess we had some of Prince Olivert's medicine.” He shakes his head. "I still can't believe you did that."
"I can," the younger Rean chimes in, eyeing Crow accusingly.
"H-Hey! I swear, I've never had a drink before!"
Both the older Crow and Rean burst out laughing across the table. The younger Rean's stare hardens.
The look in his eyes makes Crow shiver in a way that's not entirely unpleasant, and it makes the entire situation that much worse.
“There’s no point in scolding him over youthful indiscretions,” the older Rean says, just to throw Crow for another loop. “He can’t change what he’s done, so it’s unfair to make him feel bad about it.”
“Yeah, listen to your future self, Rean!” Crow agrees.
“Does that mean you’re gonna take your own advice?” the older Crow asks with an undertone that makes clear he knows Crow has no intention of heeding anything his older self says, implying he’s a slimy little hypocrite for having the nerve to even make that joke at all.
“I trust Rean’s judgement,” he fires back.
Infuriatingly, his older self chuckles. “At least you’re smart enough to recognize that you’re full of shit.”
It’s so patronizing. What a fucking asshole.
“Don’t be so hard on him,” older Rean’s voice lectures mildly, looking at his partner. Something flashes in his eyes, something the older version of Crow recognizes and understands.
The older Crow releases a sigh. “It was a bad joke. Didn’t think it through. Sorry, kiddo.”
Damn, how fucking whipped is he?
Whipped enough to wear a fucking apron, apparently.
“And Crow,” the older Rean says, eyeing him across the table. “You knew full well that comment would cut, so don’t dish it out of you can’t take it.”
It takes him a moment to process that Rean fucking Schwarzer just put him in his place.
“Why don't the two of you take us through your semester so far?" older Rean suggests. "This way, Crow and I can find out if there are any other points of divergence in our experiences."
Crow leaves it to his Rean to explain. The seafood pasta is infuriatingly good, like it came right out of Stark's mother's kitchen, and Crow resents that, too. It's not the reminder of his past he loathes; it's that these closely guarded pieces of himself are given so freely. His history is just that: a recounting of factual events. There's nothing emotional about it. This stupid fucking pasta is something else, something that plays a game of Marco-Polo in his head, calling out to disgustingly soft and tender things he's long since buried, conjuring a muffled response around a mouthful of dirt.
He shouldn't feel this.
He focuses on the younger Rean's narration instead, throwing in a few comments to keep himself in the conversation. He watches his older self as Rean tells them about their encounter with the ILF at the summer festival, Gariella Fortress, and Roer.
All these years later, and it's still clearly a sore spot. It's not obvious; not to the younger Rean anyway, but Crow's pulse spikes just watching all the tells the older him is letting slip: the tightening of his jaw, the regret and shame in his eyes, the way he shifts in his seat and pushes the food on his plate around rather than eating it.
The younger Rean sighs. "Looking back on it now, it almost feels like everything C did was staged." He fidgets with his glass. "I wish I'd been able to talk to him just once."
"E-Excuse me?!" Crow interjects, mouth agape. "Talk to him? What the hell for?!"
"After what we learned about G and hearing V‘s story, I can't help but wonder if C's own was similar. V watched his whole team die around him just so the chancellor could prove a point. What V’s doing is wrong and there's no excuse, but... if someone made me watch Class VII die," he bites his lip, collecting himself.
"You could never bring yourself to stoop that low, Rean," Crow insists. "You'd never even consider something like that, no matter what."
Surprisingly, Rean nods. "I know. But if I’m honest with myself, I think I might,” he shrinks a little, strangely shamefaced, “let the thing inside me take over until someone put me down instead."
From the corner of his eye, he watches his older self take the older Rean's hand. What the fuck is that about?
"I'm not saying I believe in the what the ILF is doing," the younger Rean reiterates, recovering his composure. "But they're people. And C wasn't stupid—he sent those explosive crates to Roer three months in advance. What could push someone that smart so far over the edge?"
"Some people are just born shitty," Crow replies. "No rhyme or reason for what they do. They just want to fuck shit up."
Rean shakes his head. "C isn't one of those people," he says with bizarre certainty. "He protected the princess and my sister in Heimdallr. Nobody died. They made a mess at Garrelia Fortress, but we never heard about any casualties. Besides, C was on an airship; he wasn’t part of the attack. None of the miners got hurt in Roer. Plenty of chaos, but no death. It's so strange. Why would someone with such an aversion to killing people become a terrorist? It doesn't make sense."
"People died in Nord," Crow manages, his mouth dry as a bleached bone.
"Yeah, but C wasn't there," Rean reminds him. "That Gideon guy was."
"Tch. How do you know that he wasn't watching from the sidelines? And even if he wasn't there, the whole thing was still C's plan; that other guy just carried it out. Same goes for Garellia Fortress. Those people are on his hands, plain and simple. You're too damn forgiving, Rean. That shit's gonna get you into trouble."
"It does," the older Crow chimes in.
The older Rean shrugs. "I've come to find that there's some trouble that's absolutely worth getting into." He smiles at the aforementioned trouble as he squeezes the hand he's still holding.
"It's not important. I was just thinking out loud," the younger Rean says. “Guess it‘s been bothering me lately. Anyway, there’s not too much left to tell.” He continues to summarize their trip to Ymir and the events that led them to the Realm of the Great Shadow.
Crow doesn't even pretend to listen this time. He's too hung up on Rean's observations, on how accurately he's pinned C down. Rean is smart, but he’s more book-smart than long-game tactical. He’s just really, scarily good with people. Crow sometimes forgets that Rean’s pathological need to see the good in others doesn’t mean he ignores the full picture.
What makes ice seize his spine is that Crow missed the picture he was painting, but Rean saw it with perfect clarity.
"I know you can't tell us about the future yet, but... I was wondering. About the ogre power," Rean starts, hand involuntarily going to his chest like it always does.
"It's gone," the older Rean answers. "It's a long road, and it's not always easy, but you'll be able to find that strength within yourself someday."
The younger Rean brightens beside him, hopeful and happy.
"You won't be able to do it alone, though. You'll need to learn to rely on the people around you first," the older Rean adds before he stands and collects everyone's empty plates.
"You got the dishes, babe?" the older Crow asks, and Crow wants to gag at the pet name.
"Yeah," the older Rean answers, then turns to his younger self. "Would you mind giving me a hand?"
Rean blinks, then nods. "Of course. Again, I can’t tell you how much we appreciate you going out of your way to accommodate us, and we’re so sorry for making more work for you both."
The older Crow snickers.
"I do not sound like that,” the older Rean tries to insist.
"That's exactly what you sound like."
The older Rean rolls his eyes.
The older Crow relishes in his victory for a moment, then turns to Crow. "'Kay, mini-me. You're helpin' set up the guest room."
Rean can't help being intimidated by this older, hotter, more confident version of himself. He still doesn't totally believe they're the same person. How did he grow into this? He watches, trying to contain his awe, as the older Rean scrubs a dish clean. A door clicks shut in the distance, and the older Rean puts the plate in the sink, shuts off the faucet, and turns to face him with a shockingly grave expression.
"We said we'd keep the future to ourselves until we knew what was going on, but I don’t know how long you’ll be here. You could disappear as quickly as you showed up, and I can't risk that." He puts a hand on Rean's shoulder, and his eyes demand Rean's full attention. "If you find yourself in a place called the Infernal Castle, always keep your eye on Duke Cayenne. Do not ever let him out of your sight, not for a second. And if you end up fighting something called Testa-Rossa, watch for its tail. More than anything," he continues, voice so full of intensity it's almost oppressive, "do not let Crow make an opening for you."
"I-I don't under—"
"He'll die."
There’s grief in those words. The older him is trying to stay stonefaced and serious, but he can’t hide the traces that linger like vines of stubborn ivy, an invasive root you can never quite destroy. Rean swears he can see fissures splintering across the calm, collected surface of this well-composed man, evidence of breakage so deep it hurts to look at.
But it doesn’t make sense. Crow is here. He can’t be dead.
"But Crow is... how can he,” Rean puzzles, trying to reconcile the reality of this man’s grief with Crow’s existence. “He’s in the other room.”
"Thanks to a miracle. A literal miracle. One I know for a fact another version of me in a different timeline didn't get. And that miracle depends on a lot of other things happening exactly the way they did for me. Whatever’s happening to you right now means all of that is out the window. You can't count on any of it. You have a chance to change things, to save him if things come to pass the same way. So, I need you to promise me. Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll do what I told you if you ever have to face the Infernal Castle.”
Crow… really died?
Rean swallows around the molten steel lodged in his throat. Crow is his senior, the guy who shows up in the nick of time and has your back no matter what. He’s always seemed indestructible.
He thinks of Crow in Stella Garden, playing Blade and that Mishy game, riding a horse, holding onto his waist as they rode back from Heimdallr.
He doesn’t know if he shares this Rean’s feelings for Crow, but he’s certain that he can’t lose him.
Rean swears the air around his other self is crackling with energy. Like he could power a town with the aura he’s radiating. “I promise,” Rean agrees. “I’ll watch for Duke Cayenne, and if we fight that Testa-Rossa monster, I won’t let him make an opening.”
The relief on his older self’s face is like the sun peeking out after a storm.
“If things work out the way I’m hoping, you won’t have to face it at all. But if you do, just remember that the tail will come at you from underground, and it’s fast. Take out the tail, and you’ll be able to get in close to strike it down.”
Rean nods. "Can you tell me when it's supposed to happen?"
"December 31st."
A slow trickle of dread starts in his stomach, each unsettling drop rippling as it starts to pool. "Of what year?" Rean asks.
Some part of him knows what his older self is going to say, that he's going to confirm Rean's worst fears and tell him that he only has three months to get strong enough to defend Crow from the thing that's already killed him—and that's when it hits.
Crow died. It's past tense in this timeline; an irrefutable fact that can't be changed. He was dead. Gone. Whatever this Testa-Rossa is, it's already killed him—twice in two different timelines, if his older self is to be believed.
Can Rean really stop it?
His older self seems to read this revelation in his eyes, and his expression goes sympathetic. "You're strong enough. You always were."
"Then why couldn't you save him?" It's not accusatory; more despair than anything. How can he hope to do something that this superior version of himself couldn't?
The older Rean sighs mournfully, looking askance. "Because I didn't see it coming. I'd just won an impossible victory and we were fighting side-by-side again. Everything had finally worked out. There was nothing that could stop us. When he said he was going to make an opening, the consequences didn't even cross my mind because he was Crow, and Crow couldn't die. He knew I wouldn't understand it was a death sentence. He was counting on it." He takes a steadying breath. "I wasn't ready. You will be."
"Wait... what do you mean we were fighting side-by-side 'again'?"
The older Rean lets out a breath and picks up a dirty plate. "That's not my story to tell. All I can say is that Crow is more fragile than he lets on, and you should try to do better for him than I did."
The door to the guest room closes behind them.
“Your plan won’t work,” the older Crow says factually, so abruptly that Crow whips around.
“What?” he asks, a little indignantly.
“Your plan to kill Osborne. It won’t work.”
Crow makes an irritated sound. “Just ‘cause you couldn’t pull it off doesn’t mean I can’t.”
“Oh, I pulled it off. Got him straight through the heart. Kinda hard to kill somebody who can’t die, though.”
“The hell kind of shit are you talking?”
“He’s not mortal. According to Rean, he said he wasn’t even sure a headshot would do the job.”
Crow clenches his jaw. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
“What you’re involved in is bigger than you know, and it’s gonna get you killed.”
Crow’s anger flares. “I never planned to survive anyway.”
The older Crow's expression tightens. "It's not about you. It's about what your death is gonna do to Rean and your friends."
Crow crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.
"Did you know that Stark is looking for you?" his older self asks, and Crow feels the words slap him in the face. "He's been looking for you since you disappeared. He tracked you to Ordis, but Cayenne erased your existence there, so he's been at a dead end. In two years, he's going to travel across the country just so he can go to a school where one of the teachers might be able to tell him what happened to you, because by then, you'll be dead."
He keeps forgetting they're the same person separated by a decade and change. That this man knows all his secrets and every lie he tells himself. He knows exactly where to stick the knife to draw blood, but Crow doesn't have the same advantage.
"Look, whether you shoot the guy or not is moot. Do it, don't do it, whatever. Rean and I agreed we wouldn't say shit about the future until we know what's going on with you and mini-Rean, but I can’t let this slide."
"Good to know we're still lying to him," Crow remarks, and it hits exactly where he wants it to.
The older Crow's expression recovers. "Vita thinks she can keep Cayenne on a leash, but she can't. You know that better than anyone.”
The unspoken weight of what he doesn’t say crushes Crow's windpipe like iron chains pulled taut. They’re always there, and he’s learned to bear with their weight. Some days, he almost forgets they exist.
Thankfully, the older version of himself leaves it be. “Vita’s plan won't work because Ishmelga's already awakened. Raising the Infernal Castle is a mistake, and Cayenne cannot be allowed near Testa-Rossa. No matter what."
Crow blinks. “Who the fuck is Ishmelga? What’s the Infernal Castle and Tessa-whatever?”
“It doesn’t matter. Vita will understand."
"You really think Vita's gonna listen to me?" Crow asks, incredulous.
"If you mention Ishmelga, she sure as shit will. But if you decide to keep all this to yourself just to spite me and Cayenne somehow gets to the bottom of the Infernal Castle, don't let him near Testa-Rossa ’cause it’ll kill you."
"You seem to be doing just fine," Crow replies.
A brief look of frustrated disgust flashes over the older Crow's features.
Then, he takes his shirt off.
Crow is about to ask what the fuck he thinks he's doing, but the enormous, circular scar on his chest answers the question for him.
It looks like a puncture wound, but it's... the circumference is bigger than a softball. Holy shit, that's... there's no surviving something like that. He's so shocked by the scar that he doesn't even process the small bruises scattered across the older Crow's chest.
"The tail went straight through me and Ordine both," he says, turning around so Crow can see the matching scar on his back before he puts his shirt on again.
Crow hates the way his heartbeat quickens and icy fear breathes frost over the back of his mind. He doesn't expect to live much longer, has always known vengeance would be the death of him, but he's realizing for the first time that he doesn't actually want to die.
"It's lights out for you if Cayenne activates it. You'll die in Rean's arms, and part of him will die, too. You'll break him in ways he'll never recover from. And he deserves so much better than that."
"I don't understand," Crow replies. He's never been so confused. How can this other version of himself have died and be alive now? Why would Rean even give a shit about him after he learns Crow's true identity?
The older Crow's expression goes flat. "Big, pointy spear tail make big ouch," he says, like he's talking to a toddler.
Crow nearly snarls. "Don’t be fucking cute. How the fuck are you here if you died?"
"Long story short: somebody stole my corpse and used me as a brainwashed meat puppet to do their bidding. Then, Rean got a miracle."
Crow's anger flares. “Fuck off.”
"I'm actually not kidding. There's shit about Divine Knights Vita hasn't told you—they regenerate, and as long as the bond between them and their awakener isn't severed, the awakener becomes an incomplete immortal. My body eventually came around, but the people who had me wanted to use me, so they sealed my memories away while I was out. It's pretty fucked up. Worst of all is that you have to listen to Rean make fun of you for the outfit they put you in for the rest of your life."
The idea of being used like that, of having no control over what his body is doing, terrifies him.
"Personally, I think you should come clean with Rean about the C thing while you can. But if you're hell bent on ignoring advice from the guy who lived it, just make sure that you at least keep Cayenne away from Testa-Rossa."
"'Preciate the heads up," Crow replies tightly.
Come clean with Rean. Hah! That's a fucking laugh. Yeah, Crow's just gonna throw away the last six years of his life so Gideon's sacrifice becomes utterly meaningless. Let down all the people counting on him. Turn on fucking Ouroboros so he can burn his dignity and play housewife to Rean.
It's fucking insulting.
He'll be careful with Cayenne. But fuck the rest of that noise.
Both Reans are just finishing up the dishes when Crow steps back into the room. The older pair's eyes meet, and they read each other's silence.
"You told him," the older Crow says without judgement.
The corner of the older Rean's mouth curves in the barest hint of a smile. "So did you."
The older Crow exhales, a smile now pulling at his lips, too. "Couldn't help myself."
"Their timeline is going to change anyway," Rean replies. "Might as well save them what heartbreak we can."
Wait. Rean broke their agreement, too? Now that he thinks about it, the older Rean was the one who asked his younger counterpart to help with the dishes before Crow asked for assistance with the spare bedroom.
It might be the most surreal revelation he’s had all day: Rean Schwarzer deliberately broke a rule. He actively subverted his partner to go against something they decided together.
The older Crow isn’t surprised by Rean’s actions. He just crosses the room toward his partner with an expression so open and honest it's shocking. It's as though the older Rean is the only person in the room who exists. Without exchanging a word, he brings one arm around his partner’s waist, but instead of drawing him into a hug, he holds his free hand out, palm up, and Rean's fingers seek the pulse in Crow's wrist.
It's obvious the moment he finds it. The tightness in his face unwinds, and reassurance slowly seeps into the older Rean. After a few moments, he sighs. "I shouldn't need this anymore."
The older Crow gives his hip a light squeeze. "Says who?"
“You’ll break him in ways he’ll never recover from,” the older Crow said.
"We should call the others," the older Rean replies. "The sooner we have a plan, the better."
The older Crow nods. He looks like he wants to kiss Rean, and it's taking every ounce of his restraint to hold back.
He sighs heavily. "I'll grab some pajamas for the kids. Get 'em some towels and show them where the bathroom is?"
The older Rean nods, then turns toward the younger pair with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry about that. Talking about the past is one thing, but talking to it... is quite another."
The older Rean shows them the spare bathroom and acquaints them with the living area before he and the older Crow disappear into the study. Crow gives Rean the go-ahead to shower first; he wants a moment to observe this space and see what new details he can infer about the lives of the people who call it home. The bookshelf is a mixture of everything, though Crow snorts with disdain at the collection of cookbooks. There's a painting in what he recognizes as Gaius's style, and a watercolor portrait of Rean done by someone else. They have more photographs than art; it's not even a contest. There's the picture of Class VII they took just after Crow and Millium joined, the one with everyone together in front of the main building, Towa, Gelica, and George included. Beside it is another photo where everyone is posed exactly the same way, making the same expressions as they were in the previous picture, but they're dressed in different clothes and distinctly older. The building in the background is different, but still some kind of school, so they must have all met up at the branch campus to take it.
Ugh. How sentimental.
There's a picture of Rean with a group of kids Crow doesn't recognize, but one of them looks like a white-haired, greed-eyed carbon copy of Millium.
He doesn't linger too long at the wedding photos. In one, they have their foreheads pressed together, looking disgustingly in love. In another, they're dancing. His ears flush red at the picture of them kissing, and he wonders why the fuck anyone would put something like that on their living room wall, but apparently, future him has lost all sense of decency.
There's a record collection, which is the first cool thing he's seen in the room. Elliot has a ton of albums, and Crow smiles knowing that things worked out for him. His eyes catch on a chess set, and he forgets how to breathe for a moment because it looks so much like the one his grandfather had.
But it can't be.
Surely it's a replica of some kind. But the other Crow said that Stark's mom kept that stupid stuffed duck, so… maybe she kept the chess set, too.
Goddess, this is weird. It's so fucking weird.
He blows out a breath and collapses onto the couch, head in his hands.
What the fuck is happening? Is any of this shit even real? If it is, does that mean time is moving in the place he came from? What's going to happen to the ILF if he goes silent?
Crow doesn't have time for this.
"Hey," younger Rean's voice says gently. "I'm not going to let you die."
Crow looks over to see his Rean, hair still wet from his shower, dressed in a shirt that's just a bit too big for his frame and pajama pants he's rolled a few times at his ankles. There's a look of reassurance in his eyes, like he thinks Crow is freaking out over his impending future death.
"Thanks," Crow replies.
"I mean it."
There's that resolve again. That Rean Schwarzer brand of determination that pushes through impenetrable walls and makes the impossible a reality.
"I know," Crow answers.
"It... must've been hard to hear," Rean says, clearly trying to prompt Crow.
"All of this... it’s so far past batshit I don’t know what to call it,” Crow replies, finally allowing his exhaustion to manifest.
Rean nods. "I know." He sighs. "I certainly didn't expect this when I woke up this morning."
"You mean the dimension opening up under the school or meeting your future self?"
Rean laughs. "Both. I guess the hardest thing to wrap my head around is how I become someone like that.”
"What do you mean?
"Confident. Comfortable in my own skin. The other me… he knows who he is and what he wants. He even learned to control the ogre power."
"At least you’re not a lame-ass housewife who literally wears a fucking apron," Crow replies derisively.
"I don’t think he’s lame. And anyone who doesn’t want to mess up their clothes cooks with an apron, Crow."
Crow exhales. "Well, for your sake, I hope you got better taste in men than your counterpart."
Rean's cheeks flush adorably pink. "I guess I never really thought about my, uh… preferences."
"What they have doesn’t mean anything, you know. It’s not like we’re destined to be together or some shit," Crow reminds him.
Rean hums. “Didn’t you once say I was fated to be part of your life?”
This is exactly how a deer must feel with a car's headlights bearing down and an engine screaming in its ears.
"I'm just teasing," Rean explains. "None of this changes anything. But you're still a good friend, and I'll be there for you, no matter what."
To his credit, Crow manages not to snort out loud. He just shakes his head and sighs.
“I don’t know what you’ve been through. All future me said was that I need to do better for you than he did. I hate thinking I let you down in some way—even if I haven’t done it yet.”
“Rean, if one of us is gonna let the other down, I can offer you a 100% mira-back guarantee it’s me."
“Yeah, well, I still haven’t gotten my 50 mira back, so I don’t put much stock in that reassurance."
Crow isn’t sure how to react. “You’re way too trusting.”
“I know, I know: it’s going to get me into trouble,” Rean says, echoing Crow’s words from earlier. “Like future me said: some trouble is worth getting into.”
“Again, they’re not us.”
"All I’m trying to say is that you can tell me things. I never realized how little I actually know about you. I’m sure you have your reasons for that, but I won’t judge you. And I’ll listen.”
“Done with your speech?”
“That wasn’t a speech,” Rean insists.
“It was 100% a speech,” Crow asserts.
“Speech or not, I mean it.”
“Well, I dunno what trauma your future self thinks I’m carrying, but I had a pretty normal life. Raised by a parent who loved me, roof over my head, plenty of food, and good friends. I can’t figure what the hell he’s talking about,” Crow says with a casual exhale as he rises to his feet. “No more damage than the average guy.“
Rean watches him like he’s trying to see through him the way the other Rean does, and Crow takes some comfort in knowing that he can’t.
“… Sure, Crow,” Rean says, like he doesn’t want to argue the point but also isn’t convinced. “But my offer stands."
Crow gives him a smile and a thumbs up as he grabs the clothes and towel the older Rean left for him, and heads to the bathroom for a shower.
It doesn’t do much to clear his head, but he does manage to disassociate for a while.
He returns to find Rean studying the wedding photos. Crow considers running back to the bathroom under the pretense of having forgotten something just to avoid the painfully awkward conversation that will inevitably ensue, but Rean speaks before Crow can even turn around.
“Did you see these?” Rean asks, still examining them.
“Yeah. It's weird.”
“They look so happy.”
“Eh, all wedding photos are staged like that,” Crow replies dismissively.
“I don’t think it's fake, Crow. The way they're smiling... I’ve never seen you smile like that.”
“That’s ’cause you won’t let me take you to the races,” Crow replies, flashing a wink even though Rean can't see it.
Rean sighs, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “I know I’ve never been that happy.”
“Rean, gotta stop moping over shit,” Crow answers, flopping onto the couch. “You got the brains, you got the looks, and you got hot girls trippin’ over each other just to get a minute of your attention. ‘Scuse me for not joining the pity party.”
Rean’s shoulders sag and he finally turns around. “It’s funny. You’d think it would be comforting to see that your life worked out so much better than you thought it would, but it just feels all the more impossible.”
Crow takes a breath. He doesn’t want to lose his patience. He knows this is a sensitive subject for Rean, that Rean would probably rate his own value somewhere above disease-spreading ticks and below moldy bread because the bread could at least be used to create penicillin while Rean believes he can only be useful as a sacrificial meat shield.
"Look, man. Future you has like a decade more experience. You've grown a lot in just the six months I've known you. That's how life is: shit happens, and you either survive or you give up. Future you started in the same place you did."
Crow doesn’t really do motivational speeches, but it seems to suffice. Rean smiles, small but genuine, and it feels like winning one of those enormous prizes at a town fair.
“Thanks,” Rean offers. “I needed to hear that.”
He joins Crow on the couch, and they start messing around with what the older Rean called an orbal television. Movies have been a thing in Calvard for a while, but you can only see them in special theaters—not on a screen in the middle of your living room. It’s kind of amazing.
Sadly, they only get to watch a few minutes of some busty chick in a skin-tight catsuit before the older versions of themselves arrive. They look tired, but like they’ve got a much better grip on things.
“You guys watching Golden Blood?” the older Crow asks.
“You know, Judith’s outfit in that movie sure reminds me of something,” the older Rean muses with a smirk.
The older Crow exhales and shakes his head with a heavy sigh, cradling his forehead. “This is what you have to look forward to if you get revived the way I did,” he grumbles to his younger self. Then, he turns to his partner. “The jumpsuit was not open in the front!“
The older Rean seems to get lost in thought. “What a damn shame.”
“Anyway,” the older Crow picks up, turning his attention to the younger pair. “Emma is gonna come by tomorrow around ten. Gaius has to wrap something up, so we ain’t sure when he’ll get here, but he’ll drop us a line once he’s in the air.”
Crow cocks his head in frustrated confusion. He knows Emma is a witch, but what the hell can Gaius do to help?
“Emma has spent a lot of time studying the occult,” the older Rean offers.
Well, that’s one way to put it, Crow supposes.
“Gaius has dealt with artifacts and stuff like that. Hopefully, he’s got enough experience to tell if something like that is at play here,” the older Crow explains.
Crow hates being kept in the dark. All this would be so much easier if they just told him and Rean what they know.
“I’d offer to bring you along to the branch campus tomorrow, but you’re likely to draw far more attention than I think either of you are comfortable with,” the older Rean explains. “Crow has a short day, so he’ll be home around lunch. We have plenty of movies and shows to keep you entertained until Emma arrives.”
Crow nearly balks, incredulous for a moment at the thought of the older pair trusting two random strangers alone in their home, but they know more about him and the younger Rean than the younger pair knows about themselves, so they’re hardly strangers. From the older pair’s point of view, leaving him and Rean to their own devices for a bit will allow them to observe if physical proximity has any effect. From what the older Rean mentioned earlier, proximity was relevant in a prior situation similar to this.
Crow is too tired to care about the older pair’s reasoning. He just wants to be back at the dorms. He’s already trying to balance a coup d’état and a school festival—he does not need to add “time travel shenanigans” to that list.
“You’re welcome to stay up, but we’re gonna hit the hay,” the older Crow picks up. “The guest room is ready whenever you wanna turn in.”
“Um, you mean the guest room with one bed?” Crow retorts, his voice sharp and indignant.
“It’s a big bed. Put a wall of pillows between you if you’re that scandalized,” the older Crow replies, clearly biting his tongue.
“Yeah, no thanks,” Crow argues. “The couch is fine.”
The older Crow gives him a fake smile with clenched teeth.
The younger Rean awkwardly lays a hand on Crow’s arm. “Crow, we’re guests here. It’s not fair to—“
“No problem. Just point me to the nearest inn,” Crow says, digging his heels in.
“It’s been a long day, and everyone is tired,” the older Rean interjects before the older Crow can spit whatever insult is on his tongue. “You’re welcome to take the couch. We didn’t mean to suggest anything; I’m up early for practice, and didn’t want to wake you.” He turns to the older Crow. “Grab some extra sheets?”
The older Crow scoffs at his younger self, the disgust nearly palpable. It makes Crow feel weirdly ashamed even though he technically “won”.
Crow tries to shrug it off as the older version of himself turns and walks off toward the linen closet.
“We’re all doing the best we can under difficult circumstances,” the older Rean starts, trying to diffuse the tension. His voice grows more compassionate and understanding by the word as he focuses on the younger Crow. “It’s hard on all of us in different ways. I’m sorry if it seemed like we were pushing. That wasn’t our intention.”
Well, now he feels like an even bigger asshole.
“It’s fine,” Crow mutters, just as the older Crow arrives and unceremoniously dumps a pile of sheets, blankets, and pillows onto the couch.
“Try to get some rest, okay?” the older Rean says with a smile. "We'll see you in the morning."
With that, he and the older Crow head off and disappear into their bedroom.
Crow lets out a heavy exhale and starts making up the couch.
"I don't mind sleeping on the couch," Rean offers. "I'll probably wake up the same time as the other me, anyway."
It's a logical, reasonable proposition, but Crow made a huge deal about not sleeping in the guest room, and the older Crow will give him so much shit if he concedes. Crow just… can't deal with that.
"I'm cool here. I've slept in worse places."
Rean frowns. Crow doesn't think it's cute.
Okay, yes, it's fucking cute; that doesn't mean he's going to marry Rean or anything. He wouldn’t let Rean hitch himself to someone like Crow for the rest of his life on principle alone.
"Well, if you change your mind, just let me know," Rean replies. "Goodnight, Crow."
Crow gives him a wave. "'Night, Rean."
Now that he's finally alone, Crow can feel the tar pit of his thoughts rising to a violent boil, swirling and churning as it starts to spill out and engulf everything nearby.
He forces it down like he always does, sealing it off and burying it deep inside himself until his mind is clear again. None of it matters, anyway. The Crow from this timeline isn't him, and Crow is going to do things his way. He chose his fate a long time ago, and he'll see it through. Too many people are depending on him.
It’s not like he could bail even if he wanted to.
He lies down on the couch and closes his eyes.
That's when the noises start.
Horror creeps up his spine as muffled moans rise from the direction of the older pair’s bedroom.
They're really going to do... that now?
He remembers the scene from earlier, when the older Crow took off his shirt to show Crow his scar. He had bruises all over his chest. Crow hadn't really processed them, far too focused on the massive scar, but now, he knows exactly what they were and who made them.
It puts a whole host of entirely unhelpful images in his head, and he whimpers something that's part confusion, part arousal, and part abject terror. He shoves the pillow over his head and, thankfully, it mutes the sounds.
At least somewhat.
Goddess, he does not need this right now.
He'd ask what he did to deserve this, but Aidios has a long list of crimes to choose from, so he can't say it's not fair. He just thought his punishment would be more hellfire and meat hooks than listening to his future self and future Rean fuck.
He's not sure how long it goes on for, but he’s absolutely certain that it’s the most painfully awkward stretch of his entire life.