Chapter Text
In a skin-tight catsuit, Skylla slinks down from the skylight, leaving a rope hanging from the cracked open window. He lands on cat’s feet, breathing through his nose, and sticks to the walls as he prowls to the Sun Yee On’s boss’ wife’s closet.
The entire mansion is an exercise in extravagance, but Skylla guesses that if you’re one of the largest families in China, you could spare to spend a little money.
Reborn sedately follows him, letting him take the lead as a reward. The wife and husband have an entire wing, and her closet takes up an entire room. Skylla waits, pressed up against the corner as he escapes the notice of a patrol. The guardians and the rest of the famiglia rest in the west wing.
Just when Skylla sets foot in the closet and finds the diamond-encrusted choker and starts lockpicking the display case, a mass of red crashes through the window and sets off the alarm.
It’s Fon.
Fuck.
Immediately, green flames spark and create a cage around the intruders. Reborn is trapped in by bars of lightning flames, and any attack against them electrocutes the hitman and crowds the electrified bars of green tighter.
The acrid smell of burnt clothing and hair fills the closet. Heavy rhythmic footsteps and shouts echo through the hallway. The guards are getting closer.
Skylla ignores the cage that encloses him and Fon for now and punches through the glass display case, grabs the choker, and slaps a post-it note to it right as Fon grabs him by the back of the catsuit collar.
Sorry, dad! Perhaps Skylla can test his newly acquired lock-picking skills on a different heist.
2/10 , the cheery, neon purple note says. Could use a better ambiance. Also, invest some money into less pretentious decor. Cool necklace, though!
Below the scrawl is a cartoon cloud.
Reborn aims a chaos shot at Fon, who dodges neatly, drops the boy in another evasion from a double chaos shot, and flings a half-burnt piece of paper at Skylla.
“You.” Fon plasters on a smile. “You’re the one who burnt HQ to the ground and left this mocking note.”
“Yep!” Skylla chirps, not even bothering to deny it. He closes his eyes, changes the frequency of his flames to match the green ones, opens up his pores, and drinks in the electric flames. He keeps a small sample of it in his core so he can identify the person who put these traps here later. Slowly, the bars fade transparent, then disappear into wisps. “What’s up, dude?”
These are pretty interesting traps, he’s got to admit.
“Who the fuck are you.” Reborn grits his teeth, fedora angled to darken his eyes. “This is your first and last warning; Stay away from my kid.”
Boots thud outside the door, and Fon leaps out of the way of a guillotine blade coming down for his head. “Apolo-” The man in red rolls under a volley of senbon coated in poison that quickly melt the upholstery it embeds itself in. “gies. It was rude-” Fon twirls, dodging dual ax heads that swing for his neck. “Of me. I’m Fon, Neutral Enforcer of-” The tile Fon stands on crumbles, and Fon clings onto the table leg and hauls himself up. “The Triads.”
Fortunately, Reborn shoots the traps Skylla activates as he makes his way over Skylla chuffs, then guffaws as he drains the electric green of Reborn’s cage and fills himself full to bursting with soul energy. “I don’t care who the fuck you are. Get away from my kid .”
The instant the cage dissolves, the closet door is kicked open, and Reborn shoots five chaos shots at Fon, who dodges neatly. Skylla pockets the collar, rolls his eyes, and drags Reborn by one hand and Fon by the other as he runs to the window and crashes through glass, tumbling into the meticulously maintained grassy knoll outside, ignoring their protests by augmenting his grip strength.
Shouts of alarm and uniformed men pour into the empty but ransacked closet, just in time to witness the three of them hop on an enlarged Oblako and abscond into the night.
“Why did you crash our daddy-daughter date night, Fon?” Skylla yells, glaring at Reborn to put his gun away. Reborn clenches his jaw, but Oblako snorts and jostles them all as a warning.
Get along, or I swear to god I’ll curb stomp y’all , Oblako’s flames threaten.
“I believe we should listen to the pony.” Fon smiles while he’s dragged along the side of Oblako like a particularly muscular flag.
Reborn chuffs, yellow emanating from his olive skin. Fon’s smile gets strained as the martial artist layers storm flames from his skin.
“Lay off the dick measuring contest until we get to the safehouse, geez!” Skylla smacks them both on the back of the head. Reborn dodges, but Fon just takes it, grinning his stupid smile.
“But then how would I have the opportunity to ask you a favor, child?” Fon finally throws them a bone. A clue of why he crashed their date.
Skylla throws his head back and screams. Literally, he cannot make this ridiculousness up. What is it with him and attracting chaos? He swears he doesn’t ask for it.
They make it to the safe house, in relatively one piece. Unfortunately, although Reborn isn’t shooting Fon (small mercies at that), he isn’t giving the other man any leeway, either. Skylla pats a sleeping Lup on the head, takes the encrusted collar out, and puts it on the wolf’s neck.
He steps back and admires his friend. Lup cracks an eye open, bares his sharpest canine, then rolls over for belly rubs.
From Lup, that’s tantamount to raucous applause. Skylla would consider this a job well done.
“Is that a Gray Wolf?” Fon whispers, serene smile cracking like the roof Skylla caved in. “That you flame bonded to?”
“He’s a Dire Wolf, thank you very much.” Skylla scratches Lup’s fluffy neck and rubs his belly at the same time. Fluff puffs up in the air as Skylla really gets into the belly rub. “He doesn’t appreciate being demeaned like that.”
Although Lup can defend his honor himself, Skylla knows it feels good to have friends defend each other sometimes. Lup doesn’t mind this time, probably because he’s too busy rolling his tongue out and slapping his tail on the floor in pleasure.
Reborn appears from the kitchen with an expresso in hand and an ‘I can’t take anymore of this shit’ expression. “Fon. Tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you where you stand.”
“Daaaaaddy!” Skylla whines, rolling his eyes. He grabs a change of clothes and shimmies the pajama pants up, then tears off the dirt-streaked (but not glittered!) catsuit off and tosses on a sleep shirt and raids the fridge. He’s hungry, sue him! “Don’t yell at him, he's the sixth husband!”
“Pick up after yourself, brat! I won’t live in a pigsty.” Reborn grumbles, but doesn’t do anything about it. “You’re telling me he’s the sixth husband?”
“You’re a pig, daddy. You had sex with so many people you don’t even remember my mom!” Skylla calls out, but snatches the catsuit from the floor and tosses it in the trash as Fon watches, transfixed. “And Fon’s not that bad. I can call him baba because you’re number one, and he’s number six.”
“Oh.” Fon’s smile is as stiff as a board as he sits on the couch. “You have such a low opinion of me. Is there any way to make up for it?”
“Nope!” Lup rolls over again to watch the drama unfold. Oblako follows him to the kitchen, as Skylla fishes out a takeout container of calamari and some ants climbing a mountain. He rubs his hands together, humming the song his mom would sing while she would take out the trash, stomps his foot as he turns in time to the music, and propagates the heat through his fingers with purple flames.
The friction of his hands spark enough warmth that he can diffuse heat through the food given a generous but precise use of his cloud flames, and in a few seconds, the food steams, ready and fragrant. He could have just popped the leftovers in the microwave, but it’s so much more fun being the microwave.
“Wao.” Fon gapes. “I am honored that you have chosen to show me a ritual, child.”
“Explain yourself why you’re obsessed with my kid , or get out.” Reborn threatens, fingering his gun, looking marginally less murderous after he’s downed his dose of caffeine. Whatever gypsy flame rituals his kid does or shows to outsiders is his to decide. It’s his cultural heritage, even if it should be protected family secrets. Secrets that should be enforced with murder, in his opinion.
“Yeah, Fon. Explain yourself how you fucked my mom and then killed her.” Skylla says between mouthfuls of noodles. He feeds some calmari to princess Oblako, who daintily takes the offering and primly sits before eating.
“Excuse me.” Reborn grits his teeth. “I must have misheard. What was that, Fon? ”
Fon gulps. “I know not-”
Oblako promptly transforms into an eight-armed creature on the floor, using his tentacles to take pieces of calamari into his hidden beak.
Skylla laughs. “Ob-!” He snorts. “-lako!” He tries to say through a stuffed mouth, but it comes out more like Odakoo .
The octopus waves his tentacles angrily and then he transforms back into a mini-pony daintily eating fried calamari.
Fuck off! The pony pulses with his cloud flames. I have a proper name. Use it!
If Oblako can transform into anything he eats Skylla wants to try feeding him horse meat or camel milk. That’ll be interesting.
“You’re princess Odakoo, now.” Skylla taunts, voice sing-songy. “You’re so cute as an octopus!”
“Just explain.” Reborn sighs, waving a hand, tilting his fedora over his eyes like if he sees no evil, there is no evil. He puts his gun away. Fon stops smiling.
Oh shit. Fon stops smiling. Skylla smiles as a stress response, eyes crinkling.
Reborn looks at Skylla, then at Fon, then at Skylla again.
And then reaches for his gun.
**
“So. Um, sorry, daddy?” Skylla shrugs as they’re running away from a green-haired man who has tracked them through three safehouses and five cars so far.
“You shouldn’t be sorry.” Reborn’s voice is dark as they swerve into an alleyway, dodging a robot hell-bent on killing them. “If your other dad hadn’t crashed through the window in excitement to see you, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Fon grimaces. “It’s my fault. To be fair, I was feeling a lot of pressure, you know.”
“Enough pressure to stalk us and ruin our daddy-daughter date?” Reborn hisses as he hotwires a car and they all scramble in. Skylla somehow gets the driver’s seat, but he’s not complaining. He injects some cloud flames into the engine, and then slams on the gas.
Fon bites back a yelp as they’re all flung back from the momentum. Skylla swerves past vespas and cars, building speed and zipping past more robots.
A giant robot marches out from an alleyway to block them, so Skylla drifts the car, tires squealing, and stomps on the accelerator again. He cranks down the window to shove his middle finger at the drone camera struggling to keep up.
“Think you can catch me?!” Skylla whoops, feeling the wind in his hair. In the back, Reborn retches into his fedora. Fon’s smile is glassy and thin as he mutters prayers to Amitaba.
“Stop being dramatic, daddy, baba!” Skull blows his cheeks, pouting. “Cheer up! We’re going over the water, soon!”
“That what?!” Reborn manages, wiping his mouth in time to watch as Skylla drives up stairs, heedless of the tourists scrambling out of the way, foot firmly on the gas. Every time the poor car engine sputters out, Skylla forcefully and cheerfully pulls it back to the land of the living with a judicious application of cloud flames. A streetcar is not supposed to go three hundred kilometers an hour, but this one is!
“Hey! Some help, here?” Skylla complains, slapping robots away by clipping them with a car going four hundred KPH. They swerve past buildings and stands and somehow now they’re jumping from roof to roof, crushing slate and chimneys.
Reborn nudges his fedora to the window and cracks it open. His poor, loyal hat is vacuumed into the void. Reborn prays it finds a better life in the next life.
Soon, there are no more roofs to jump, and they’re weightless in the air, hundreds of feet above a raging river.
Skylla whoops, arms outstretched, using cloud flames to lower their mass and keep them in the air longer, not that anyone else knows.
Fon grips the hand rail for dear life. Reborn’s eyes are bloodshot as he sees nothing.
And they land on the other side of the yellow river, tires burning as they crash and pivot into circles until they stop.
Fon and Reborn’s heads are thrown back from the momentum and all Skylla can hear are the labored breaths of his two dads.
"You are not driving again." Reborn finally manages without feeling like he's going to puke. "I love you, but no."
“So. You think we outran that lightning guy?” Skylla grins.
Someone knocks on the window.
Skylla punches through the window in reflex, and a green haired man in a lab coat collapses on the dunes of the yellow river.
“Oh. Um. Sorry, Mr. Scientist Guy!” Skylla unlocks the doors and opens the driver's side to check on the guy. It was his fault to be standing there like a weirdo, so Skylla doesn’t feel too bad for punching him, but maybe he can be salvageable. Skylla could cook him up as a present for Reborn and Fon. They didn’t look too happy in the car and they could use some cheering up.
The green haired man drags Skylla down in a heap and stabs a needle into his stomach.
Reborn and Fon don’t take too well to that.