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cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme · 9 days ago

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Revolver Riot-Don Quixote X Reader

I'm going to be honest, this Fic has completely taken over my life over the last week or so and I really just want my life back.

With that said, I must pay my dues and thank the absolutely wonderful Simply Vivian who, without the help of, I probably would've ended up putting my skull into a blender before coming close to finishing this. I am so sorry that you had to deal with my ramblings and borderline insane behaviors, but I am also glad to call you a friend. The same goes out to my dear friend @tragedy-of-commons whom is always a joy to plot and scheme mad ideas with even if they never leave the drawing board. With all of that said, it is time for the fic at large to take center stage. Be sure to grab some popcorn and a drink, this will take a bit for you to get through.

You found it sticking out from under a dumpster.

It smelled like death, the metal was pitted and corroded, the wood was chipped, scratched, and covered in a substance you really didn’t want to know the origin of.

And yet, it called to you. It felt natural in your hand. Cold steel, a cylinder that holds six bullets, a hammer that locks back with a resolute click, a trigger that moves with only a little bit of pressure… it felt like a part of you. Like you just realized you had an extra limb.

So you took it to your home. You painstakingly scraped off the rust, polished the metal, replaced the wooden handle, cleaned the cylinder, repaired the ejector, the trigger mechanism, and replaced the springs, fixing it up and polishing it until it almost looked like new, until even the Identification Markings became legible again.

You did all of this, and you didn’t even have a single bullet to fire.

At least, you didn’t until now.

The distortion growled, its maw filled with white foam and its red eyes boring into you as its twisted arm crushed the skull of its latest victim. A Full-Stop Office Fixer.

And yet… you couldn’t truly focus on that. The only thing that held your eye right now was the round that rolled into your shoe after the Fixer’s weapon was sliced in half.

“.44 Magnum F/S Issue” was stamped into the bottom of the brass casing.

The round was the same caliber that the revolver took, and just like the revolver, it was calling you. Urging you to load it, to fire it, to let death fly through the air.

Before you had even realized it, the revolver was already in your hand and the cylinder opened. All that was left was to choose the path. Load the gun, fire, and then probably die or try to run, get caught by the monster, and then die.

Placing the bullet into the chamber was the easiest thing you ever did.

You slowly raised the barrel of the old, scarred gun with the single bullet you found loaded into it, its weight in your hand feeling both alien and familiar as the monster rushed towards you. The barrel was aimed squarely at the head of the beast as you raised your thumb to the hammer and pulled it back with a heavy, solid click that seemed to reverberate throughout your entire body and to the depths of your soul.

Then, the world turned still as a smooth, amused chuckle reverberated from the base of your skull, its voice worming its way into your brain like a cancer and yet… they were like honey to your mind, drawing you into the deep.

“Do you know what that is? It's something made to kill. Don’t you know that's the only thing it can do? If you pull that trigger, you and that gun will be one in the same. Only good for filling gutters with bodies.”

The voice continued to speak, the sound echoing and reverberating throughout your body as the voices began to overlap and crush each other, doing their best to drown out your thoughts.

However, you managed to force your own voice above the noise, to answer its jabs, questions, and barbs.

“Maybe, but sometimes the only path requires violence to be met with violence. Besides, you don’t pull a trigger, you squeeze it.

This made the voice quiet and the writhing in your brain disappear as something else made itself known, its own voice saying nothing but its presence making something shift in your heart as the world began to move, the monster resuming its charge.

Now however, the apprehension and fear in your heart was no longer there as you closed your eyes and wrapped your finger around the trigger, the shift in your heart beginning to spread across your body and into the gun.

Then you opened your eyes and you squeezed the trigger, making the gun fire with a sound like thunder and the monster being torn to bloody shreds of meat from the power of the bullet fired.

It was now, as the meat and blood rained down with squelches and splats, that the name of the gun flittered into your mind.

“Prepare A Coffin: Django”. You muttered to yourself, speaking the name of this power as you gazed at the gun in your hand.

No longer was it the beat up and scarred weapon you had found and slowly, painstakingly repaired.

Its metal was as black as sin, the wooden handle’s you had replaced were now bone, the entire weapon was decorated with silver baroque-esque engravings, and for each chamber in the cylinder a word was engraved on it.

“Strike True, Strike Powerfully, Strike Mercilessly, Strike Relentlessly, Strike Justly, Strike Endlessly”

Silently, you flicked open the cylinder, revealing that each of the six chambers were now filled with what could only be described as pure energy.

Then, just as silently, you closed it before spinning the revolver on your finger backwards, grabbing it by the frame and then flinging it into the holster on your side as you walked away from the carnage as, for the first time in several days, the sun began to rise and shine through the smog choked sky.

The very next day, you applied for your Fixer License.

By the end of the month, you were a Grade 9 fixer.

Two months later, you jumped up to 7.

Then 6.

Then 5.

It was at this time that you first encountered them.

The LCB. Limbus Company Bus Division.

Specifically, “The Valorous Fixer, Don Quixote” when she tried to run you through in the middle of the transit point between the Backstreets and K Corp’s Nest after you were sent here to see what in the world was making such a racket on the K-Corp Security Channel.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As soon as you stepped onto the scene, a K-Corp Security Guard was sent flying right at you.

In response, you simply stepped to the side before grabbing the guard by the collar and, by using your body as a turntable in tandem with the guard’s momentum, flung them to the side and away from the main battle.

After that was dealt with, you turned your attention to the main event.

What was before you could only be described in one way.

A clusterfuck of ungodly proportions.

One man was swinging a bat, cracking skulls with glancing blows and crushing limbs with barely a sweat.

Another was simply hurling guards through the air and into the walls, ceilings, windows, and other guards with ease despite the metal gauntlets on his hands.

A woman was cutting guards to ribbons, seemingly delighting in the way her victims would fall to pieces before an HP Bullet was administered.

At the same time, an older lady was guarding a being with a clock where their head should be that was making loud whistling noises alongside ticks and tocks.

Alongside the woman guarding the Clock headed person, there was a blonde young man that looked as if he was about to collapse from stress, a man with a what looked to be the leg of a bug in place of his arm that seemed to be trying to calm the Clock person down, a tall and strongly built woman with an axe that was chopping down anyone who got too close with a smile, and a dark haired man who looked like death warmed over.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the battle, there was a red headed woman with a shield and a mace that was absolutely tearing through the guards, batting some to the side with her shield before sending several of them flying with a powerful swing of her mace.

And right in the middle of it all was her.

She was an exceptionally short blonde woman, but the presence and energy she exuded with her ear rattling laugh and the ease with which she swung and impaled with her lance more than made up for it. Her coat was glinting in the light from all of the well polished pins on the poor piece of clothing, at one point her shoes might have been a color between tan and yellow however the accumulated grime, muck, blood, and viscera gave it a rather diluted hue akin to the one you would occasionally find on barrels alongside labels like “HAZARDOUS MATERIAL” or “DANGEROUS SUBSTANCE”.

In hindsight, you probably should’ve listened to that connection and saved yourself the headache of what was to happen over your working relationship with this crew of madmen.

In the moment however, you simply let out a muttered curse before looking to the sky as if something was going to save you from this mess and then when nothing did you began your march into the mosh pit before you.

The tile floor was growing slick with blood and every step you took towards the battle was accompanied by a squelch and a splash as you drew your revolver, reflexively spinning the weapon on your finger until you grabbed it by the frame, allowing you to use the handle of the gun to crack the skull of anyone who came to close if needs be.

As soon as the action was completed, you began to muscle through the crowd, narrowly avoiding wild baton swings from the Guards, bodies being flung through the air by powerful blows, and just managing to barely slip past the swing of the bat that, if it had hit you solidly, would’ve most definitely sent your head and body on separate vacations.

However, before you could count your lucky stars, you were forced to stumble back lest you were crushed by the Mace that just pulverized the tile floor where you stood a split second before.

“I don’t get paid enough for this!” you grumbled as you stomped on the head of the mace before its wielder could pull the weapon back to a ready position.

It was here that you then swung the handle of the gun upwards like a club and into the red haired woman’s chin with the unpleasant sound of bone breaking, stunning her. Capitalizing on this, you grabbed the woman by the collar and then slammed your forehead into her nose, breaking it and sending blood streaming down her face as she stumbled back and you spun the gun on your finger, catching the hammer with your thumb and then swinging the weight of the gun down, cocking it and then firing it twice, both bullets landing cleanly in the woman's gut and making her falter for a split second before she raised her shield to block the blow of another Guard and then crushed his rib cage with her mace, seemingly unbothered by the fact she had two new holes in her gut and her attention now focused on the guards instead of you.

Briefly, you were put off by this as most people tend to be shocked when they have new holes bored into them.

However, you didn’t have much time to focus on this as an ear ringing cry echoed through the building from the center of the crowd.

“COME FOUL VILLAINS!!! THE VALOROUS FIXER, DON QUIXOTE, SHALL VANQUISH THEE!!!”

“Well, that makes my job much easier…” you mumbled to yourself before shoving and pushing guards out of the way, reaching the center of the battle where it was surprisingly calm despite the fact that more than a dozen guards were being dragged away from the woman in the center of it all.

You didn’t have much time to observe her before she noticed you and promptly leveled her lance directly at your center mass.

Realizing her plan you raised your gun and fired twice, forcing her to raise her lance to block the shots or have her brain matter exposed to the open air. Using this to your advantage, you rushed forwards and then dropped to the ground in a slide, aiming your gun at her exposed midsection and firing twice once more. One of the bullets bounced harmlessly off the lance, the other landed cleanly and shot through her causing a cry to escape her as she attempted to crush you with the heft of her weapon by swinging downwards but missing, which left you in a position behind her that you used to scramble to your feet and then kick her in the back, sending her stumbling forward.

You attempted to fire off three more shots at the woman, however she used the momentum you imparted on her to thrust her lance into the ground and use its haft to sling her upwards and away from your shots. However, she didn’t let go of the weapon, quite the opposite in fact as she used her own weight and momentum to bend the haft of the weapon the opposite way she came from.

By the time you realized what she was doing, it was a split second too late as the tile floor and the concrete under it gave way around her lance, launching the shards towards you as you raised your arm to cover your head.

The feeling of the shards piercing your flesh was not one you would ever be keen to repeat, especially seeing as before you could even acclimate to the sudden feeling of large swathes of your flesh being cut open, you had to jump to the side in order to avoid being impaled.

With that said however, you still managed to get two more shots off, both of them landing. One in the calf and the other in her side.

Quickly rolling to your feet, you aimed your gun at the woman and she wheeled around towards you, her lance aimed at you in the same way.

You needed to put an end to this before she got any actual hits off on you, and so you focused, letting the power in your chest flow through to the gun.

This was your EGO. This was your soul made manifest. This was what would decide this fight.

“Prepare A Coffin: Django” you muttered to yourself as you pulled back the hammer with a deafening click, a bandolier of spectral bullets wrapping around your arm and floating over your shoulder, as your eyes focused in on the head and heart of the target before you.

Unfortunately, it seems that your target had the same idea, her clothes shifting and morphing to a red and white uniform with a cuirass and cape over the shirt and her lance changing form to that of one made from blood in a twisted form.

It was going to come down to this, your gun against the target’s lance. Your aim against her speed.

Or, that's what you thought at least.

For better or for worse, it was now that Siegfried made his presence known.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You sat on the curb outside the transit point, your wounds slowly closing with the help of an HP Ampule that the commanding officer of the guard gave you as thanks for keeping her from being flung out into the streets when you first walked in.

Unfortunately, it seems that the Ampule’s didn’t regenerate clothes.

“Oh well, I guess that's why people from other agencies say to buy outfits in bulk.” you muttered to yourself, sure that this was not going to be the last time you said that as you leaned back and looked skywards to the scant few stars that poked through the clouds and the smog.

Unfortunately, your peace was soon shattered by the very woman who was responsible for destroying your clothes.

“HARK GOOD FIXER!!!” the woman shouted as she approached you alongside the rest of the group that Siegfried had just eviscerated, including the person with the Clock Head.

Before you could even stand up, the woman was upon you, her face a few inches from yours and her excited eyes seemingly glowing with energy as she took in a deep breath that, alongside her predilection for shouting, made you realize that you really shouldn't have taken out your ear plugs.

Thankfully, before she could start shouting loud enough to wake the dead, she was pulled back by the man with the bat.

“OI! You ain’t s'posed to run up on folks like that! And don’t be yellin’ like a daft idiot!” the man hissed at the woman, annoyance clear on his face.

“Ah! Right! My apologies good sir Heathcliff!” the woman, finally quieting down, apologised.

This exchange gave you enough time to stand up and, although it was probably rather rude, place your hand on your gun in case things came to blows once more.

“You don’t need to worry about us starting something. That clown in the body suit gave us enough of a trouncing for today.” the red headed woman stated before pointing to her face and saying “Also, you’ve got a mean headbutt.”

“Thanks.” you responded to the compliment blankly, your focus still on the blonde woman who seemed like she was ready to speak once more.

“Good Fixer! My name is Don Quixote and I would like to apologize for my actions! I would also like to apologize for the wounds I inflicted on you during our duel!” The woman named Don Quixote exclaimed, her cheery tone slightly muted in what seemed to be her attempt at a serious apology.

“Meh, no one died or, in your group’s case, stayed dead so I say all's well that ends well. Besides, I got my fair share of shots off on you as well so… let's call it even, yeah?” was your response to the apology as you removed your hand from your gun and held it out in a gesture of goodwill.

Needless to say, Don Quixote reciprocated that gesture, shaking your arm with enough force that you felt like it was going to pop out of your socket.

Following this, the rest of the LCB introduced themselves, or in the case of Dante, was introduced seeing as they could not communicate their own words to you without an intermediary.

However, despite the colorful cast in their little band of misfits, your eyes continued to fall on Don Quixote and her rather charming nature.

That and she was continuously asking questions about your being a Fixer and requested that you signed a page in her book despite your protests of you only being a Grade 5 Fixer that she seemed determined to ignore, leading to you signing your name right as their ride pulled up

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Don Quixote was happily swinging her feet as the bus rattled off to its next destination, her gaze firmly placed on the newest signatures in her book.

To think, not only would she get to meet The Red Gaze on this journey, but Siegfried as well! Not to mention the interesting person she exchanged blows with in the terminal!

Fixers really were amazing!

At the same time, Dante’s voice rang out.

“All right everyone! That’s enough for today. I hope you all sleep well tonight!”

Instantly, Don hopped to her feet, still full of energy despite the battle that just occurred.

“Oh how excited I am for the next leg of our journey!” Don happily thought to herself.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It was quite a long while before Don met you again.

It was also in a place that a valorous fixer like herself should NEVER be held in.

A prison. Complete with iron bars and chain handcuffs that, inexplicably, had bite marks on them.

They most definitely did not come from her, and she most definitely did not chip a tooth by trying to chew the chain off.

She was a valorous fixer. She was above such actions.

“They’re just over here.” The voice of a guard grumbled out as he and another person approached the cell but stopped in front of the door with the face of the other person just out of sight.

“I can see that.” a familiar voice stated with an obvious strain in their tone as the familiar sound of a hand being placed on the weapon at their hip reached the sinner’s ears.

“What I CAN’T see is WHY they are in this damn cell!” the voice hissed to the guard, making him take a few steps back.

“T-their division of Limbus Company owes a total of 10,040,000,000 Ahn to T Corp.” the guard explained quickly, obviously looking uncomfortable with the situation he is now in.

In response, the other voice simply let out a deep, frustrated sigh before speaking.

“Of course they do. It wouldn’t be a day in the life of these guys if they didn’t have some sort of mischief going on!”

It was then that the person stepped around the guard.

“Oi! You're that person that broke the bird’s face!” was the first thing Heathcliff exclaimed, earning a swift punch to the gut from Ishmael.

“Oh! Heroic Fixer! You must help us! We are being held here unjustly! They refuse my pleas of release! My pleas of being allowed to join our wonderful and valorous Manager in their escapades of seeking justice upon a foul evildoer! Oh the inhumanity!” Don cried, the back of her hand on her forehead in a dramatic gesture.

“Now that’s a face we haven’t seen in awhile. Any chance you can bust us out of here old buddy old pal?” Gregor asked with a grin while sitting down and leaning against the wall.

A smile graced your face at Don’s dramatics as you moved to lean against the bars but was stopped when the guard put his hand on your shoulder. That was quickly solved when you shot him a look over your shoulder and started drumming your fingers on the handle of your gun.

Now, freely leaning against the bars, you began to speak.

“While I’d love to help you all out, I pulled all the strings a Grade 3 Fixer like myself could to just get down here since I was in the area and heard about a “Group of crazies” that “Lives in a big red bus”. Do you guys have any clue on who THAT could be?” you asked, shooting a glance into the group behind the bars.

Heathcliff made a face before looking away, Outis bit the inside of her cheek, Gregor all of the sudden became very interested in the ground, Yi Sang hadn’t even noticed your arrival and was having a conversation with a mouse, Sinclair had the presence of mind to look embarrassed, Meursault was completely unbothered, and Don Quixote was-

“WHEN DID THOU BECOME A WONDROUS GRADE 3? I THOUGHT THOU WAS A VALOROUS GRADE FIVE!!!”

-Don Quixote.

“Well, times change and promotions get handed out. Especially to people who have enough skill to keep themselves from being killed and specialize in containing distortions like yours truly. That and apparently Siegfried gave me a glowing review of my “Heroics” during that scrap we had back in K-Corp”. You answered with a wince, your ears ringing from Don’s sheer volume.

And yet… you couldn’t find it in you to be irritated with her. Could what they say be true? Does absence actually make the heart fonder?

You quickly batted the thought down, focusing on the issue at hand as opposed to the fact that every time you heard about the exploits of this little group you always kept your ear out for anything about the absolutely wonderful Don Quixote.

“Really? Congrats!” Gregor exclaimed as he started to stand up, a yawn escaping him in the process before he began walking towards the bars, briefly stopping to tap Yi Sang on the head, alerting him to the fact that they had a visitor.

“With all that said though, I think it's time we get down to business. Sorry bout that.” the brown haired man said with a lopsided smile.

“Don’t worry about it. I assume your main concern is how Dante and their investigation team is doing?” you asked, casting your gaze to the group at large.

“At the moment, yeah. I don’t think I was meant for prison life…” Gregor joked rather horribly but still elicited a chuckle from a few of the sinners and yourself.

“Well, last I heard they just talked with someone from the Yurodiviye and that they’ve narrowed down their suspect pool quite a bit, but…” you began to explain before drifting off mid sentence, your fingers tapping on the handle of your gun, this time because you were thinking.

“But? But what! Curse thine vague statements!” Don Quixote wailed in frustration.

“But… something isn’t lining up quite right to me. For example, none of the victims were actually murdered, only their time. If it was about vengeance it would be bloodbath after bloodbath but this… it feels like a statement.” You clarified, your fingers still drumming away on the handle of your gun.

However, before the Sinners could question you or you could further explain your line of thinking, the sound of boots crashing against the floor in a sprint reached your ears.

A split second later, you were surrounded by Dante, and three people dressed in almost comically stereotypical detective outfits that you had a sneaking suspicion Don Quixote was responsible for.

It took you a moment to realize that the three other people with Dante were Ryoshu with a fake moustache, Hong Lu holding a Magnifying Glass, and Rodya without her trademark grin.

Unfortunately, that is where your understanding of the situation ended as each and every one of them were speaking (or whistling in Dante’s case) absolute gibberish.

Thirty seconds of madness later, the sinners were out of their cage and most of them were already running down the hall.

The one exception being the ever unique and energetic Don Quixote.

“Hark! Typically one sends a knight off with some wish of good luck!” the short fixer exclaimed, a sparkle in her eyes.

“I- uh… good luck?” you managed to stammer out, your mind still not quite caught up to the whirlwind of information and craziness that just occurred.

This, apparently, was not the wish for good luck Don Quixote wanted as she immediately began to pout and the sparkle in her eyes switched to a look of mischief that put you ill at ease.

However, before you could act on this, Don grabbed you by the collar, pulled you down towards her, and kissed you.

By the time you realized what just happened, the blonde woman was already running off, and she had the gall to be blushing as well.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It wasn’t until Dante and Co. were walking back to the bus that Don realized what she did.

Really, it's a miracle she figured it out this quickly.

Though, the fact she dropped her lance and promptly curled up into a ball on the street as she covered her face with her hands definitely earned her a few strange looks from both the citizens and the Sinners.

And so, here she was, being hauled around under Heathcliff’s arm as Meursault carried her lance as he was the only one actually capable of picking it up.

“Good grief lass, what’s got you in such a state?” Heathcliff muttered as he adjusted the extra deadweight he was carrying.

“I hath done a horrible thing!” the blonde woman wailed, her face still red from embarrassment.

“Eh, I doubt that lass. You might be a right headache sometimes, but you ain’t the type to do somethin mean or bad on purpose.” Heathcliff mused, twisting his head to the side, forcing several cracks out from his neck.

“Thine compliments are appreciated good Sir Heathcliff! Alas, mine sin is one of not adhering to the correct procedure!” Don Quixote exclaimed, sorrow and an uncharacteristic shame clear in her voice.

Heathcliff raised his eyebrow, turmoil and apprehension clear in his eyes as he thought over his next words very carefully.

“Well, I know I’ll probably regret offering, but how bout’ this. If you start walkin on your own all the way back to the Bus, I’ll listen to your problems for a tick.” Heathcliff offered despite the voice in the back of his head that was telling him this was NOT a good idea.

“Oh? I… No, the offer is appreciated, good Sir Heathcliff! but I cannot add my own troubles to yours!” Don Quixote declared her desire to speak of her own woes being overtaken by the care she has for her dear comrades.

“You’d be doin me a favor, Don Quixote. Really. I need to take my mind off things for a bit to get my thoughts in order and helping you sounds like a good distraction.” Heathcliff quietly whispered to Don, his own tone becoming ever so slightly haggard as the events that led up to now continued to take their toll.

Don briefly looked like she wished to argue before shaking her head in agreement.

A few moments later, Don had weaseled out of Heathcliff’s grasp and took her lance from Meursault’s care with a heartfelt thanks.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Within the hour, Don and Heathcliff were sitting on the floor in the blonde fixer’s room, a thermos of tea in Heathcliff’s hand and two cups in the other alongside a collection of sugar packets and a stirring straw..

“Sorry to intrude on your flat, but my spot isn’t… pleasant for visitors at the moment.” Heathcliff muttered as he placed the thermos and cups on the floor.

“Worry not! Mine own accommodations are rather messy as well! Fear no judgement from me!” Don happily exclaimed, gesturing to her eclectic collection of objects around the room.

“That’s not-” Heathcliff began before letting out a chuckle and speaking once more to say “Thanks lass, that means a good deal more than you think.”

“Thou art welcome!” Don said with a smile as she popped open the lid of the thermos to pour the tea into both cups with a level of care and concentration that was rarely found on her face before she grabbed the sugar packets and dumped them into her cup and then used the straw to dissolve the sugar.

“Now then, time to get down to business. What in the world had you so down in the dumps earlier?” the scarred man asked as he picked up his own cup.

At the same time Don held her cup with both hands as she mulled over her thoughts before speaking.

“There is someone I wished to court. However, I… was rather forward when I saw them last and kissed them unprompted…”

Heathcliff had to fight down the chuckle that formed in his throat before he spoke.

“That’s all? A snog? To me it sounds like you didn't do anything too wrong.”

“I… perhaps. Still, one typically sends poems and flowers before a kiss do they not?” the blonde woman asked, her voice a great deal more timid and unsure than usual.

“Well, yeah but… sometimes it's better to do away with stuff like that and just come out and say how you feel. Sides, courtin is for folk with not a whole lot goin on between the ears. Trust me, I would know better than most bout’ that.” Heathcliff mused before taking a sip of his tea and letting out a hum.

Don went quiet for a long moment as she thought of Heathcliff's words, looking down into her half finished cup of tea.

And in response, Heathcliff simply waited and drank his tea, refilling his cup as needed.

Then, Don Quixote came to a decision.

“I think you are right, good Sir Heathcliff! Come the morrow I shall ask our valorous manager for the day off and seek out the one my heart is set on!” she exclaimed, her energy and joy returning.

And, though he would suffer the pain of death thousands of times over before admitting it, seeing this brought a smile to Heathcliff’s face.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“In light of recent events with T Corp and the Time Killer alongside the fact that Vergillius is in a good mood, we have the rest of today off!” Dante declared joyously

At the same time, Charon looked back at the bus and said “Be quiet Tick-Tock. Verg is in a big bad mood.”

“In light of recent events with T Corp and the Time Killer, alongside the fact that Vergillius is in a bad mood, we have the rest of today off.” Dante quietly corrected themself.

However, by the time the words left Dante’s clock, a certain member of their crew was already out the door and running towards the heart of the color drained piece of the city.

“Ha! Looks like the lass is keepin true to her word.” Heathcliff of all people said with a chuckle.

“Love is a truly beautiful thing. Fleet of foot it may be, those who grasp its form and hold tight are blessed eternally.” Yi Sang mused as he looked towards the slowly disappearing form of Don Quixote.

“What?” Dante muttered, confused not by Don’s sudden flight, but by the fact this seemed to be something Heathcliff was expecting.

“Nothin. Oi! Bird! I’m guessin you're gonna be headin’ off to the hair salon?” Heathcliff jabbed at Ishmael, ignoring the Manager of their little group.

“Fuck you Heathcliff! At least I didn’t put us all in the Middle’s shit list by stealing coupons.” was all Ishmael said in response.

Briefly, Gregor looked as if he was going to correct Ishmael by pointing out their scrap with the Twinhook Pirates but was stopped with a glare from the red headed woman.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Don soared through the streets, her feet finding themselves more in the air than upon the ground as she sought you out.

In the process she… may or may not have had to run across the roof’s of a few cars, nearly trampled some poor citizens, and almost ran face first into a pole…

Still, it was all in service of a good cause!

She just… needed to find a certain Fixer!

Don rounded a corner, her noble steed skidding on the sidewalk from her haste.

Then she was off, slipping through the crowd and towards the place she saw you last.

Had she thought about what she was going to say?

Not a single letter.

Had she considered your confusion at her actions?

Briefly.

Had she mused over Heathcliff’s advice?

Most definitely.

Had she wondered if what she was going to do was right?

She had agonized over it.

But now was not the time for second guessing or hesitation.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Why am I letting you lay on my nice office carpet?” the collector asked, his eyes peeking over the file in his hand.

“Because you're a good person?” you mumbled, your arm over your eyes as you lounged on the floor.

“That is most certainly not it.” the collector said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, it sounded wrong as soon as I said it out loud.” you sighed before reaching up to the desk and pulling yourself up.

You then promptly flopped into the chair opposite of the collector.

A quiet moment passed before either of you spoke.

“So… any chance T Corp has figured out how to rewind time?” you asked as you massaged your left temple, exhaustion clear on your face.

“That is above my pay grade. If you wish to make an inquiry about such subjects I recommend speaking to R&D.” the collector answered simply and succinctly.

“Meh, I probably shouldn’t. If I went through that again I might actually become a vegetable.” you muttered in response.

“Hmm. I agree. You have taken up my office floor for the past ten hours.” The Collector stated, a slightly irritated edge clear in his voice.

“Yeah… thanks for that.” you grumbled before standing, your joints popping and cracking as you did.

“Thank me by getting out of my office and not wandering the prison blocks like a concussed lemming.” was all the mechanical man said in response.

In turn you simply said “Fair enough.” before walking towards the door and leaving the rather irritated collector to his devices.

Still, it wasn’t the worst place you had spent a night in. A solid 7 out of 10. The carpets were surprisingly soft.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Ugh, I could murder a plate of breakfast right now, some Orange juice would be nice as well.” you grumbled with a yawn as you stepped out from the artificially purified air of the T-Corp office to the exceedingly polluted air of The City.

Stretching your arm over your head as you walked down the steps of the office, you began to consider where you should stop for a bite.

“I remember hearing that there was a good diner somewhere around here. There’s also that bakery I passed on my way over, mix that with a quick run to the market and I should be able to cobble something together that could pass for food. Then again, I could probably find a HamHamPangPang with a bit of looking…” you muttered to yourself as you stepped off of the stairs and onto the sidewalk.

However, before you could further deliberate on your choice of meal, you heard a shout.

“HARK GOOD FIXER!!! I REQUIRE THINE EARS!!!”

You turned to look at where the noise came from just in time to see a blur of yellow before being knocked off your feet when something crashed into you.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Don, for her part, had the decency to at least look a tad embarrassed in the booth across from you as she held the ice pack over her bruised eye.

“You and I really need to stop meeting like this.” you said with a chuckle that you immediately regretted when the bruise you received from Don crashing right into your chest was jostled by the movement.

“W-what dost thou mean?” Don asked, confusion and a little bit of apprehension in her gaze.

“Every time we meet one or both of us always seems to get a little banged up after the fact.” you responded, the grimace on your face turning to a grin.

“Oh! I see.” Don muttered, going quiet once more and just in time for the waitress to walk up to the table.

“Anything I can get you two? We’re doing our breakfast special today, a breakfast crescent ring with syrup.” the waitress asked, raising her notepad and pen.

“Oh! That sounds pretty good! I’ll have the breakfast special with OJ, some extra hashbrowns, a stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, a few muffins, french toast, and some breakfast burritos with chorizo on the side. Thanks.” you responded, earning an eyebrow raise from the waitress.

“You… are… welcome!” the waitress said as she speedily noted down your order before turning her attention to Don and asking “What about you miss?”

“I-i will have the same as my compatriot here! but please change the Orange Juice for milk and you need not worry about an accompanying dish of chorizo for me!” Don exclaimed, her mind being slingshotted down from the stormy clouds she had it stuck in and right back into her still nervous form.

“You got it. Also… if two of you don’t mind me asking… are the two of you Fixers?” the waitress asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Yes ma’am. I’m curious, what gave it away?” you responded with a smile.

“Well, you are walking around with a gun and not many folk do that. That and typically it's only Fixer’s and highly augmented people that make big orders like this.” the waitress responded truthfully, a smile forming on her face before saying “With that said, I better hand your order off to the kitchen.” and walking away from the booth.

Unfortunately for Don, this also meant that your attention was now solely focused on her poor blonde head.

“So then, I… think you and I need to have a talk while we’re waiting on the food.” you told the blonde haired woman before you as you shifted around in your seat, trying and failing to get comfortable.

“I… concur. However, before we begin, I would like to speak my reasoning for seeking thou out so early in the morn. Is that agreeable with thee?” Don asked, nervously fiddling with the pins on her coat.

You nodded, allowing Don to have the lead in this conversation neither of you were truly prepared to have.

Don began to speak, or attempted to at least, as instead of words it came out in the form of stuttering gibberish that she stopped right in the middle of before taking a deep breath and trying once again.

“I do not regret the action I took last night. What I do regret is that I was unable to spend the time after with you to explain why I did it. So, using the time I have with thee now, I shall begin to do so.” Don began before sitting up straight and looking you in the eyes for the first time since last night; taking on a far more elegant and composed appearance than you had ever seen from her.

“If I may be so bold, I would like to say this. I think quite highly of thee, not just as a Fixer, but as a person. You have been exceptionally understanding of not just my fellows, but my own self as well and that has felt… nice. Nay, not just nice, it has felt wonderful. Many people find me to be far too much of… everything. They try to hide it as best they can, alas, I can always tell. Yet, of the times we have met, not once have I seen the look that most others have when they meet me. Quite the opposite in fact, you seem to welcome my presence and that is something I am truly astonished by. That astonishment has, over time, transformed into admiration, and then… into the thing that made me kiss thee last night. Something I believe to be genuine attraction.” Don explained, a nervous smile forming on her face as she spoke.

In response, you had to ask yourself a question before you could speak to the woman before you, one you had labeled as a force of nature.

The question was this.

“Do I feel the same?”

Near instantly, your mind supplied dozens and dozens of instances where you’ve caught yourself thinking about her, or listening for any scrap of news about her, or seeing something that made you go “That reminds me of Don Quixote”.

You had your answer.

And saying it would be far easier than loading that bullet was.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As you walked out the door of the Diner, Don right next to you, you realized something.

You had no fucking clue to do next.

Should you try and hold her hand? Should you play it cool? Should you ignore that strange feeling in the pit of your stomach?

Thankfully, before you continued to spiral into choice paralysis, Don swooped in to save the day by wrapping her arm around yours with a massive smile.

And so, with Don Quixote’s arm wrapped around your own and your wallet a fair bit lighter, the two of you were off to nowhere in particular, simply allowing your feet to carry you along the path Don was dragging you.

“Y’know, if you smile any bigger your head will probably fall off.” you joked with a small chuckle in your voice.

“Truly? Tis would be a pleasant death in my eyes!” Don exclaimed, entirely serious despite the joy in her voice which only served to elicit a laugh from deep within you.

After that, the two of you began to chitter and chatter about everything and nothing.

Don seeing shapes in Ishmael’s hair, you wondering if Dante’s flames could be considered hair, Don mentioning the time Yi Sang tried to eat a poisonous potato, you telling Don about how you ended up as a fixer and dozens of other things.

However, in the middle of it all, Don stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked right into a store window before bolting into it, leaving you stunned and confused.

A minute later, the living whirlwind returned, a bag in hand that she handed to you.

Inside of it?

A pair of iron spurs.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Your every step was now paired with a metallic clink, courtesy of the spurs Don had gifted you.

“It seems mine eyes were true! You do look quite dashing with those spurs!” the blonde fixer declared, her arm still wrapped around your own.

You could feel your face grow a little bit hotter at Don’s words.

“I… thank you for the compliment Don.” was your response to her words while you fought against the urge to wear a proud smile on your face.

“No need for thanks, I am simply speaking the truth!” Don exclaimed as Mephistopheles appeared on the path, the rest of the Sinners either returning to the bus such as Rodya and Gregor who she seemed to have dragged along to carry bags at the same time as Heathcliff and Dante who were returning from the mansion or sitting out in front of the bus such as Yi Sang and Sinclair who were playing chess while Hong Lu read a book, Ishmael played solitaire, and Outis and Meursault were silently guarding the door as Ryoshu brushed up on her more traditional art skills with paint and canvas as Faust tinkered with random pieces of Mephistopheles. At the same time, Vergiillius was sitting in the front passenger seat next to Charon who was quietly snoozing as the Red Gaze looked at the slowly setting sun.

It was a… peaceful sight and most definitely not something you could ever associate with the band of mad bastards in the LCB unless you saw it for yourself.

It was also at this time that Don stopped walking, a pensive expression replacing her massive smile.

“It seems… that our day must come to an end…” Don muttered sadly, the arm that she had wrapped around you all day moving down so she could hold your hand.

“Yeah… welp, I guess we’ll just have to have twice as much fun on the next day we get together.” You responded, gently squeezing her hand.

This returned the smile to Don’s face and movement to her feet as, once more, you were being dragged along by the living tornado that was the small blonde Fixer before you.

And… you couldn’t say that you disliked the feeling.

“HARK!!! HARK MY DEAR FRIENDS AND COMRADES!!! I HATH RETURNED!!! WE SHALL HAVE A MOST HONORED GUEST AT DINNER TONIGHT!!!” Don shouted, waving her free hand in the air as her walk became a run that you had to keep up with unless you wanted to actually be dragged across the ground.

“EVENING EVERYONE!!!” You shouted alongside her, doing your best to keep in tune with Don’s pace.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Aww… Little Chiquita looks so happy.” Rodya whispered with a dramatic sniffle as she looked out through the window and at you and Don saying your goodbyes.

“You're probably not supposed to spyin on em, Rodya.” Gregor stated, punctuating his words with a nudge.

“The lass’s got someone she fancies, y’all don’t gotta be all shocked about it.” Heathcliff muttered with a roll of his eyes and a slight smile on his face.

“You say that but you were the one to look the happiest about her partner in crime.” Ishmael jabbed, making Heathcliff stutter and stumble over his words.

“Hmm… G.J.D.Q.” Ryoshu whispered to herself, a slightly less sadistic smirk on her face than usual.

Sinclair, of course, heard this but decided it was in his best interest to not translate.

At the same time, Rodya suddenly dropped from her position at the window, startling poor Gregor.

A few short moments later, Don walked back on the bus and she was practically glowing.

“That was sickening. But… congratulations, Don Quixote.” Vergillius muttered as she passed his seat, earning a few shocked looks from the sinners.

“gasp Is there actually a heart underneath that prickly shell?” Rodya exclaimed, earning a dirty look from Gregor that seemed to say “Don’t be a smartass to the guy who can turn us into meaty jello”.

“Oi! Bird! Is the world comin to an end?” Heathcliff shouted at Ishmael and received a shrug in response.

“One who wraps a heart in stone often-” Yi Sang began before receiving a glare from their guide that made him become exceedingly interested in the seams of the seat he was sitting on.

“I… Thank you! Sir Vergillius!” Don exclaimed with a wide smile.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

After that wonderful day, You and Don come up with a schedule.

Every day at the same time, come rain or shine, you would receive a call from Don or she would receive a call from you.

Neither of you had much free time due to your jobs, but you both carved out a little bit for each other.

The two of you would talk about the little things, about the interesting things seen, about the minor annoyances that alway seemed to pile up on the worst days.

It went on like this for a while, and every so often you would hear the others give a greeting, or cause some sort of chaos.

It was needless to say which one you heard most often.

But then, one day, after one of those shifts where nothing seemed to go right and the City itself was out to make you slam your head into a wall out of frustration, you received a call a fair bit earlier than usual.

Assuming that Don had gotten off early, your heart soared and you could feel the stress begin to fall off of you.

However, when you picked the phone up, the stress was nearly instantly replaced by fear and concern as, before a single word could escape your mouth, Don spoke.

"Allow me to ask… if I became a monster that eats others… could you find it in your heart to still love me?" Was the first thing you heard from Don’s voice over the phone.

"I… of course I would still love you, but I would also have to try and stop you and… that would break my heart." you answered truthfully, the pit in your stomach only growing.

"I see. Thank you, that was the answer I was hoping for." was all that Don said before the call disconnected, making your unease grow into fear.

Something was wrong.

Deeply wrong.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

As Ishmael’s head was separated from her neck by Sancho’s arrow and Yi Sang was split and half by her sword, Dante was contemplating taking a brick and smashing their clock face into it.

The urge to use all of the nasty and unpleasant words they had learned from Ishmael, Heathcliff, and Ryoshu was becoming stronger and stronger with each passing second and with each sinner that was dismembered.

It was obvious that they had no hope of managing to fight her off, especially considering how she shredded through even the strongest of the Identities with ease.

Dante returned their gaze to the battlefield and wanted to sob at what they saw.

Only two sinners remained, Hong Lu and Heathcliff, both of whom were one strong breeze away from keeling over.

Heathcliff’s left arm was a mangled mess of bone and his entrails were being kept from falling out by what Dante assumed to be sheer force of will.

At the same time, the right side of Hong Lu’s face looked as if it had been next to an explosion and considering the fact that shard’s of Gregor’s spine was lodged into it, that might as well have been true. Thankfully, his arms and legs were still functional, but the hole through his torso that was roughly the size of a Billiard Ball and the labored breathing that was slowly turning to a gurgle told Dante that Hong Lu was currently drowning in his own blood.

If they managed to survive this, Dante would be sure to do something nice for him.

However, with every passing second that If was becoming bigger and bigger.

Especially when Heathcliff charged in and was promptly sliced into four pieces, leaving Hong Lu alone.

A split second later, Sancho had ripped Hong Lu’s spear arm off before tearing his head off with the same ease typically reserved for opening a cabinet or grabbing some leftovers out of the fridge.

And then, only Dante was left.

Needless to say, they were doing their best to come up with some form of last words that weren’t some variation of “Fuck My Life”.

Then Sancho raised her lance and pointed it at the crimson clad manager of Limbus Company.

In response, all Dante said was “Oh! It gets worse. Yay.”

At the same time, Dante could swear they heard some form of metal clinking from behind them, however, more pressing events were holding their attention such as the lance that was about to run them through in a few seconds.

And so, Dante closed what they called their eyes to make their peace.

But then, a sound that could only be described as screaming reached their ears.

“Sorry Dante, your show isn’t over just yet. You and your clowns got a few stops left on tour.” you told the clock headed being as you held back Sancho’s lance with your gun, sparks flying as she tried to pierce through your weapon.

Dante was, understandably, shocked by this.

“I- wha- how!?” Dante screeched and ticked and whistled.

“Sorry. Don’t speak clock. Get out of here while you can. Bring back up if possible.” You grunted as you continued to try and hold Sancho back, but being pushed back in the process.

A split second later, Dante was running as fast as their legs could carry them.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Now, it was time… time to try and fight D-

No.

Not her.

This isn’t anyone you know right now, this is a target and you are on a job.

Primary Objective: Keep the target from killing Dante.

Secondary Objective: Live to tell the tale.

The target placed its second hand on the lance, further increasing the pressure you were holding back and, although you knew Dante had yet to fully get out of the target zone, you were being pushed back and were about to be overwhelmed.

“Desperate times, desperate measures.” you muttered to yourself before enacting your half baked plan that would have any Fixer moderately concerned about their well being taking a mental facepalm in shock of your stupidity.

However, before you could realize how absolutely mentally deficient your next action was, you slipped to the side and under the target’s lance and, at the same time, you raised your gun over your shoulder and towards the head of your opponent before firing twice, not truly expecting the bullets to find their targets but hoping that it would return control of the longer range towards yourself for a moment in an attempt to get your bearings. Not to mention you were hoping that it would keep the target focused on you instead of Dante.

At the same time, the bullets you fired at your target only managed to slip through its hair and so, in response, it swung its lance in a wide arc towards you that you only just barely managed to avoid having your eyes carved out by but, unfortunately, not the tip of the weapon slicing open the area from under your left eye and to under the right being sliced open down to the bone.

You barely even felt the wound open, your skin just gave way like paper before a sharp pair of scissors.

“It would be best to avoid getting hit unless I wanted to give my entrails some heavily polluted air.” you briefly thought to yourself as the familiar but unpleasant taste of iron reached your tongue.

However, for better or for worse, your target was now focused on you due to your retaliation.

Strangely though, it did not press the attack. It simply looked… not at you but past you.

Then, it spoke.

“I… do not wish to fight you.”

You let out a sigh before responding, your gun lowered to your side.

“Neither do I but… someone quite dear to me asked me a question a few hours ago. She asked me “If I became a monster that ate others, would you still love me?” and in response I told her that I would, but I would have to stop her and that it would break my heart to do so.”

Then, with a speed one would only typically find in lightning, you raised your gun and fired three shots.

Surprised, the target raised its lance, deflecting two of the shots but taking the third straight into her gut and forcing it to stagger back in shock at your sudden assault.

Pressing this advantage, you rushed forward, your free hand grabbing a handful of dirt, rocks, and other pieces of debris that you then threw into its eyes, blinding her for a moment that you used to fire your knee into the fresh wound before blasting three more shots into it all of which connected and sent it further backwards until it stabbed its lance into the ground, stopping the momentum you had forced onto it.

Then, it spoke once more.

“I see. It seems neither of us will be swayed.”

The target then raised its lance and stood up straight, the wounds you had inflicted slowly closing before your very eyes.

This was all the warning you received before, in the blink of an eye, the head of its lance was a split second from piercing your skull.

With less than no time to spare, you managed to avoid the blow. Receiving a new gash on your cheek in the process.

However, this was exactly what the target wanted as blood flowed into its empty hand, forming a sword before swinging it upwards, cutting a deep gash from your hip to your shoulder that immediately spouted blood onto the face of your attacker.

However, the look in its eyes told you all that you needed to know.

It had meant to slice you in two, but for some reason it couldn’t follow through.

Intending to rectify this mistake, it swung the blade down onto where your neck was a microsecond before.

Unfortunately for it, you had already leapt back and aimed your revolver, firing off several shots in quick sucsession. All of which it simply sliced out of the air with its sword.

Landing on your back and rolling back into a crouch, you raised your revolver as you placed your free hand over the deep wound you had just been gifted.

“Damn it all. Things are already going blurry.” you thought to yourself as you removed your hand from the wound and briefly hazarded a glance at your hand which, to your perspective, seemed to be multiplying.

Blood loss is a real bitch.

However, before you had much time to contemplate your next move, you heard the target speak.

“La Aventura Ha Terminado…”

You could feel the world change and the blood seeping from your wound being drawn away from you. Not to mention that the already dwindling and limited supply of blood in your body was being pulled in as well.

You forced your eyes to look up despite the fact that things had stopped going blurry and were now actively fading into black.

However, you still retained enough of your sight to see what was occurring before you.

What could only be described as a tornado of blood was forming in D- the target’s hand. Blood was being drawn from the earth, from the corpses of the sinners strewn about the battlefield, and from your own body into the singularity.

And so, despite the fact thoughts themselves were becoming difficult, you forced yourself to speak.

“Prepare a grave: Django…”

The spectral bandolier of bullets wrapped around your arm and over your shoulder once more for what you were sure to be the final time as you lined up the barrel of the gun with the heart of the target.

Every single fiber of your being was shutting down now.

You could feel your heart attempt to pump what was not there. You could feel your lungs try and oxygenate blood that, quite simply, didn’t exist in your body.

And yet, you still had strength for one more action.

One more pull of the trigger.

No hesitation could be had, no mistakes can be made.

“Farewell, my dearest love.” the target stated as the tornado took its form, a lance more than double her-

Damn it all.

“Adios, my most beloved knight.” was all you had left in you to say.

She leveled her lance at you, and charged.

You allowed your eyes to close, and pulled the trigger.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Things were dark for a long, long while.

You could catch snippets of words and conversations every now and then.

Half were technical gibberish you couldn’t understand, the others were so divorced from the context behind them they might as well be in a different language.

Eventually though, you managed to find the strength to open your eyes.

And the first thing you saw… were a pair of blood red eyes.

“So then, the dead have finally awakened.” Vergilius grumbled, doing his utmost best to mask the miniscule amount of relief he felt with a massive amount of irritation.

“Where-” You attempted to sit up but a wave of dizziness that made you feel like the entire world was on spin cycle put a stop to that.

“Where’s Don?” you asked after the world stabilized.

“She’s more than likely still locked up in her room. She hasn’t left since the mess in La Manchaland was put to a stop.” Vergillius answered before standing up from his chair.

“Rest for a moment. I’ll send one of the others to guide you to her later on.” the Color Fixer ordered, leaving no room for argument or retort before walking out of the room.

And so, seeing as the slightest movement currently made your whole world spin and shake, you did exactly what you were ordered to.

Lay down, and rest.

Sure, your mind was moving a million miles a minute, and you really wanted to have the comforting weight of your Gun right now, but there was nothing you could do.

It took all of five minutes for you to try and stand up again despite the world feeling like it was in a fucking blender.

Briefly, you mused that Don’s nature rubbed off on you.

However, before you had much time to think on that, you felt your legs give out from under you and you mentally prepared yourself to eat a nice helping of the floor.

Instead, you fell into someone that smelled faintly of sea, smoke, and iron.

“Outis?” you mumbled drearily as she guided you to sit on the edge of the bed you had woken up in.

“It seems it was a good thing the Manager asked me to check up on you. Yi Sang and Faust would be unhappy if all the hard work they did to keep you stable long enough for more extreme measures to arrive were tossed to the wayside.” the older woman told you as she pulled up the seat Vergilius was previously sitting in and reaching into her jacket, eventually pulling out a gun and offering it to you.

Your gun.

“Thank you for keeping an eye on it.” you said in thanks as you took it from her hand.

“Thanks are not needed. In the Smoke War those firearms were issued to officers but you seem a bit young to have served. I assume you found it somewhere?” Outis explained as she straightened her uniform.

“Yeah… under a dumpster about a year ago. Then the White Days And Dark Nights happened and… boom, an EGO by the name of Django for me. All thanks to this gun, and a single bullet.” you briefly recounted as you turned the gun over in your hands, earning a hum from Outis.

However, before the conversation continued any further, you heard a knock at the door.

“Come in!” you shouted, much to the aggravation of your still recovering body.

A moment later, Yi Sang stepped through the door.

“Good evening. Vergillius asked me to be your guide to Don Quixote’s room. He also told me to not make any puns lest I wish to suffer the pain of a thousand deaths.” Yi Sang declared with a stone face before smiling slightly and saying “Kidding.” which earned him a nasty look from Outis.

“I appreciate the thought, Yi Sang but…” you began before trailing off.

“A strong wind would be the death of you, much less supporting someone else’s weight.” Outis finished the thought, making Yi Sang’s shoulder’s droop slightly.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Three minutes and much headache later, you were being guided by Outis as Yi Sang struggled to help you along, his already pale face growing paler with every step.

You were pretty sure that by the time he got to Don’s room he would be about ready to keel over.

This prediction turned out to be true as, the second he had you propped up against the wall, he collapsed into a heap, taking in deep and ragged breaths.

Outis knocked on the door and received no response before trying the door, only to fail in the process of opening as it was locked.

Outis then gestured at the door, inviting you to attempt opening it.

A few moments later, you stood in front of the door and fired your gun before pounding on the door and shouting “Hey! You’ve got a visitor!”.

A split second later, as you were part way through pounding on the door, it opened and you fell into the room, chased by the shout of Outis and the wheezing screech of Yi Sang before they were blocked by the door slamming shut.

“Ugh, hello there Don.” you groaned as you rolled onto your back to face the woman who had put you in the infirmary, and the woman you had a great deal of affection for.

“W-why are sniff you here!?” Don attempted to shout, but her voice was far too hoarse from crying to attempt that.

“Well, someone exceedingly dear to me was in immense trouble and-” you began before being interrupted.

“NO! Why are you HERE!? Why did you come looking for me!? I nearly KILLED you!” Don screamed, tears now continuously streaming down her face.

You summoned all the strength you had left in you and forced yourself to your feet with a smile on your face before answering.

“Like I said, someone dear to me was in trouble. Besides, I promised her that she and I would have a nice day out when we got the chance.”

Don balled up her fists and looked down at her feet as she let out another body shuddering sob.

And then, in the blink of an eye, you were tackled to the ground, all of the air in you knocked out as Don screamed and sobbed into your chest.

And in response? You did the only thing you could.

You held her close, and you let her scream, and sob, and cry, until she couldn’t anymore.

And when she’s ready, you’ll help her up as many times as it takes because…

You know that she’d do the same for you.

Hell, she probably will one day.

And when that day inevitably comes, you know that she’ll be infinitely better at this than you are.

Why?

Because she’s The Valorous Fixer, Don Quixote.

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