Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Somewhere on the American frontier…

A lone cowboy rides on through the brush under the beating sun. Two well-loved silver six-shooters and a single knife dangle from his sides, and he leans forward to stop resistance from the wind barreling at his body. Flashes of salt and pepper hair curl over his ears, and his eyes sparkle under the sun allowed beneath the brim of his Burns. The bounty hunter Silent Night traverses the plains, rushing home post receiving news of a strange death and an even stranger series of events leading to it. 

He touches Georgia, where his life re-started and almost ended, he meets Alabama and the pub that belonged to an old friend. Gone but never forgotten. He downs a pint of Budweiser and nods to the newest owner, his once partner in crime.

He raises the empty bottle and shakes it while smiling, and Tim pops the cap off two more. The man saunters over and slides one beer across the table to Aspen and nurses the second himself. 

“My favorite bastard. Nice to see you.” 

“Same here. How you been keeping? Must be hell trying to run this old place.” 

“Not as hard as you think once you get a groove going. But I’m getting old and I won’t lie—it’s starting to get difficult.” Tim grips his bottle. “I know you see it.” 

“Yeah. We ain’t spring chickens no more.” Aspen chuckles.

“I been thinking. You and Soundman were closer than me and him were. He liked me, but you and him were like brothers from another mother. I think you should have the pub once the Lord takes me home.” 

“You serious right now?” 

“On my honor as a man and as your friend.” 

“You sappy bitch.” Aspen puts his elbow on the table with his hand outstretched, and Tim clasps their hands together. They press their foreheads to their hands and squeeze, knowing that regardless of who they were or whether they were alive or dead, they’d always be partners in crime. 

They laugh and cry, and Aspen is left with a bittersweet feeling in his heart. He finishes his beer and smiles at his friend, grateful for all the years they’d spent together.

The bounty hunter leaves the establishment in a flash of black and silver, petting his horse absently as he watches the slow-growing town of Montgomery. He felt like if he blinked, it would be a megacity. The times were changing, and he felt it. But still, he would not change with them, still opting for a horse instead of those new automobiles and suits and whatnot. His chaps, boots, and leather suited him just fine, and so did the signs of wear on his face and body. 

His cheekbones and crow's feet had become a little more pronounced, his eyebrows and mustache a little bushier, and he’d lost the plump cheeks of his youth. He takes his hat off to reveal almost entirely gray hair. He hates looking at it in the mirror on most days— hell, his husband is older than him, and gray has barely graced his dirty blonde mane. But he kisses him, then the top of his head, and tells him he looks as striking as the moon. Sometimes he told him he looked like a silver fox. Those were usually worse days, but his husband's gentle encouragement and sweet words helped the ache that age brought upon him. He couldn’t move how he used to, evident in how he struggled to mount his horse and winced as his bones popped. But he wasn’t ancient yet. So on he rode, through Texas and Oklahoma, and all the way to New Mexico, dashing through the states like a shadow. His real name, which not many knew, still managed to strike fear into the hearts of seasoned criminals from back in his ranger days. But his new moniker did just as well for the newbies on the scene–He was an urban legend. 

But like most legends, he was just a man.

He reaches home, tired and yearning. The lights are on in the modest little ranch house, and he smiles to himself. His horse, Cold Air, whinnies in protest of standing just on the edge of the property, and the bounty hunter promptly swings off his horse with an ‘oomph!’. The early spring air kisses his cheeks as he desaddles Cold Air and sets the bundle of leather on a stand in the barn. The wood of the haphazardly built thing creaks under his boots, and as he looks down at them, he considers getting a new pair. These were a little too broken in for his liking. He shrugged, finally, and entered the house, taking off his hat and setting it on a stand by the door. 

“Dear?” He calls. A beat passes, then two.

“Here!” Says a deep and muffled voice from another room. “I was trying to set out some lounging clothes for you before you got back. Seems you beat me to it.” 

His husband steps out the hallway in his full glory, dressed in only a wife beater and a pair of Levi’s. Wavy blonde hair littered with silver streaks cascades down his shoulders, tied up only at the top in a half bun. He sets a hand on his hip and watches his bounty hunter from afar. 

“You just gonna stand there and ogle me, or you gonna give me a kiss, cowboy?” 

His cowboy did kiss him, bringing him closer by the waist and leaving pecks all over his face. 

“You know how much I missed you?” Aspen breathes into the kiss, sliding his hands up under Gyro’s shirt. 

“You should show me.” 

Gyro lets Aspen guide him to the kitchen where he hoists the man up onto the counter, holding his thighs and bringing Gyro in close. The blonde tangles his fingers in Aspen’s hair and stifled a moan as Aspen brung one of his hands to the side to rub the inside of his thigh. 

Aspen kisses at Gyro’s collarbone and plays with the fly of his pants, flicking the little zipper up and down. 

“ Please, ” Gyro pants out, not really knowing what he’s asking for. His body is hot and he wants Aspen’s hands and mouth all over him. 

He brushes a strand of hair behind Aspen’s ear and his eyelashes flutter as Aspen finally unzips his pants. 

“Tell me what you want, big boy.” Aspen’s voice is husky with desire and he pulls out Gyro’s dick, hard and dripping precum. He uses a calloused thumb to stroke the tip and studies Gyro’s face from under dark lashes. 

Gyro hiccups on a moan and tries to discreetly grind into Aspen’s hand. The touch is teetering on too much and too little and Gyro doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

He hasn’t touched himself at all since Aspen left this last time, opting to take cold showers and try and force the thought of masturbation out his mind until he returned. He knew after particularly long excursions Aspen would be pent up, and he let that fuel him this last month or so. 

But that left him touch starved, and it took everything in him not to melt immediately once Aspen came in the door. 

“Use your words.” 

“Touch me. Please. Anything.” 

Aspen gives him a sly smile and dances around Gyro’s torso, running his hands along disappearing abs and giving his hips a squeeze. Gyro hisses and whines as Aspen helps him out of his shirt, stepping back and admiring him while Gyro breathes heavily. His skin was flushed a pretty pink and he gripped the countertop with his legs spread, pants zipped with his still leaking cock hanging out of them.

“Maybe I should just leave you like this?” 

Gyro whines again, feeling like he was about to cry. He couldn’t believe Aspen had made this much of a mess out of him and had barely touched him. He starts blabbering, not being able to find the words to tell Aspen what he wants—no, needs . 

“Sweet baby,” Aspen kisses his lips, then his cheeks and neck. “You did it again, didn't you? You wanted me to be the first one to touch you when I came back?” 

Gyro nods pathetically. 

Aspen cooed. “I think you should show me just how much you missed me.” He rubs the inside of Gyro’s thigh, guiding the blonde’s hand to his crotch. “Go on, touch yourself.” 

Gyro hesitantly grips his length and strokes himself slowly, looking to Aspen for reassurance. Aspen kisses his jaw and Gyro lets out little breathy moans as he speeds up, wincing when he’d feel the cool metal of his pants zipper on him every so often. 

His thighs trembled and he let out a long groan, getting closer as Aspen pulled and bit at his nipples and rested a warm hand on his navel. 

Just as he got close to finishing, Aspen took his hand off his dick. 

Gyro sputtered and coughed out something between a whine and a moan, bucking up into nothing. 

“Go on.” Aspen smiles innocently. “Keep going.” 

“Please let me come,” Gyro sighs, shivering. 

“You’ve waited this long. What’s a little longer?” 

Aspen cupped his hand along Gyro’s length and gave it a few pumps before removing his hand, watching Gyro blink back tears. 

“ Please, ” Gyro says, and Aspen tuts. 

Gyro begins blabbering again as Aspen repeats this a few times, turning to mush and only chasing the high that was just out of reach. 

Aspen finally decides he’s been good enough and gives him slow, languid pumps. He doesn’t want to overwhelm him, especially with how many times he’s brought Gyro to the edge. 

“Tell me how you’re feeling, baby.” He kisses at Gyro’s collarbone, a dull heat that he’s just now noticing flickering in his stomach. 

“ Real good, ” Gyro slurs out. His head falls back and he lets out pathetic, breathy moans as he feels his orgasm crash into him like a wave against raw rock. His toes curl and his brow furrows, and he lets out a long whine when the feeling begins to dissipate. 

Aspen runs the pads of his fingers along Gyro’s scalp, helping him come the rest of the way down from his high. He covers his face in kisses and helps him onto wobbly feet and cleans him up, taking him to the living room where Gyro happily sits next to the fire. 

They spend the rest of the evening catching up, telling old tales and talking about old friends. Aspen has his feet crossed by the fire and clean, worn jeans on with a cotton tee tucked into the waist. Each time he smiles his eyes crinkle at the corners and it pains Gyro that he has to tell him such bad news after such a good evening. 

After Soundman’s death and Johnny going back home, Gyro had taken up his father’s profession in his own way and opened up a practice in the middle of nowhere in the west. For cowboys and the like. Soon enough the little place became his own hospital, and he set a precedent for medicinal practices in New Mexico. He helped immigrants, Natives, anyone who could pay and even those who couldn’t. This kind nature (as always) had gotten him into trouble again–and this time with the law. 

“Aspen.” He says seriously after a long silence. It had been comfortable, and Aspen was getting ready to fall asleep, but the tone of his husband's voice knocked the sleep clean out of him. 

“This about that dead guy?” Aspen is half serious, opening his eyes to stare Gyro in his.

“Yeah. Texas Red is dead.” 

Aspen flies out of his reclining position and leans in. “You’re pulling my damn leg.” 

Texas Red was an infamous bandit, and had killed every man that had come after him. He had been lording over a small town and left notches on his pistol for every man he’d killed, and they would’ve numbered twenty-one if he hadn’t been killed. Aspen had been stalking out the town for a while, nervous to try and stop him because of the amount of people who’d tried and failed. The best he could do was help smuggle people out, but even then he feared he may not come home. 

“Right hand on the bible. That man is as dead as they get. And it was Joe Long who did it.” 

“You’re not serious.” 

Gyro raises his eyebrows, daring Aspen to doubt him again. 

“Well how in the hell! I’ve been trying to catch that bastard for almost a decade and that damn Joe just guns him down like that!” Aspen shakes his head in disbelief. “Maybe I’m losing my touch.” 

“Red had been sleeping with his wife. You know how much he loved that girl Charlene. Like she put the moon in the sky and hung the stars or somethin’. But he killed her too.” Gyro let out a long huff of air. “We got to Red before he died, one of his lackeys brought him in and you know we can’t refuse nobody. So we’re trying to save him, give him a blood transfusion. I do a test, he’s got two different blood types in him. Weird right?”

Aspen nods, leaning in further. He claps his hands together and furrows his brow, trying to figure how someone can have two blood types. 

“I know what you’re thinking: How can someone have two blood types? We ain't never come across nobody like that. Well that's because the man that Joe killed was half Red and half somebody else.” Gyro raises his hands. “I can’t tell you how I know, it’s a gut feeling. He died mid-surgery, and I did some post-mortem poking around to make sure he didn’t die because of us and it was really because of Joe. I got to looking at that man’s eyes and taking his fingerprints and the whole shebang, it’s two different eyes pressed together. It’s two different fingerprints on both hands. There’s no other way to explain it.”

“I believe you. But I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.” 

Gyro sighs. “The other guy that was also Red…he’d gone missing prior to the murder. The police were looking for him and came to question me because they thought Red might’ve fessed up to where he was. They found the fingerprints I took and apparently they were that guys. Now they’re tryna arrest me and saying I killed the kid.” 

Aspen folded his lips into a hard line and shook his head slowly. Gyro’s entire body seems to wilt, and he holds his head in his hands. “I’m not built for jail.” 

“You aren’t.” Aspen agrees. “Did they tell you who the kid was?” 

“Nah they won’t. They just keep saying something about some fruit. I don’t know what it has to do with anything, but they were saying something about Japan too. You know Johnny’s out there. Maybe he knows something. I don’t know, I’m rambling.” 

Aspen slides off his chair and sits next to Gyro, hugging him by his shoulders. 

“We’re gonna figure this out. We’re gonna find out why that kid is so important and we're gonna prove you aint kill him. Cause anyone who knows you knows that’s not true.” Aspen thought for a moment and stood up, going to the closet in the kitchen. When he walked back the familiar weight of a shotgun accompanied his gait, and he set the big silver thing down right next to the door. 

“Cops here are sideways. They don’t know what we are yet, but they’ll figure it out. You know how to use this.” 

“Johnny’s old gun. Yeah.” He blows out a huff of air and runs a hand through his waves. 

Aspen sighs. Johnny had given everyone trinkets some five years after they all went their separate ways and fled to Japan. He had given Aspen his favorite spurs, giving up his cowboy ways and fleeing to the East. They had shared a look as he handed him the spurs, and it was then that Aspen understood why him and Gyro had been torn apart for all those years. Gyro had been oblivious, but Aspen knew Johnny was in love with Gyro. He was so in love he couldn’t stand it. Aspen pitied him as he gushed about his wife and all the things they were going to do in Japan. He handed Gyro his shotgun and smiled. Aspen figured it was because he’d finally learned how to quit him and made peace with the fact that he couldn’t have him. Hoped, maybe. 

But he sailed off across the sea and was never seen again. Gyro and Aspen got the occasional letter, but hadn’t heard much from him in 20-odd years. 

Gyro got up and started writing a letter to him right then, asking if he knew any about bodies merging, how he had been keeping all this time and telling him how scared he was. 

Aspen and Gyro retired after a long while of anxiously staring out of the windows and Aspen pacing the kitchen. Gyro couldn’t get the man to even think about going to sleep before setting his silver six-shooters down on his nightstand, and before he turned out their lights Gyro watched him lay stiff as a board on their bed. His eyes were blank as he stared at the ceiling and thought. His hands were crossed over the other, and held in place with a firm grip. As Gyro turned out the light finally, he knew the other man wouldn’t sleep at all until he figured out a way to fix this issue and Gyro knew he’d get next to none. He kisses Aspen right on his hairline, where yet another patch is fading into gray and falls into a dreamless sleep. 

He wakes to a headache and the sound of metal clinging together. The sun streams into the dark room in lines through the blinds and Gyro throws the comforter off of him, realizing Aspen is no longer in the bed next to him. He climbs over the bed to the window, and there Aspen is, saddling up Cold Air and packing the horse's saddle full of necessities. His wedding band glints in the sun and in different circumstances Gyro would’ve left him alone and admired him from afar. But he threw the window open and the cold morning air hit his face as he leaned out of it. 

“Where are you going?” He calls. 

“To talk to someone who can help us. I need you to hold it down here.” Aspen pauses to rummage through a bag. “They can’t enter the house without a search warrant, and if they trespass you use your second amendment right. I called up that man who looks like a lizard and he says he got answers.” 

“Diego? Ask him about Johnny too. I’m worried.”

“I doubt that fucker knows much about Johnny’s whereabouts. They ain’t care for each other much.” 

Gyro chuckled. “That’s what you think.” 

Aspen checks his horse's saddle and thinks for a moment, and when it hits him his eyes go wide. 

“You saying what I think you are?” 

Gyro smirks. “Couldn’t stay away from each other apparently. Put on all that fighting and rivalry mess so the press ain’t suspect nothing. And when they did, Johnny packed it all up and went to Japan. Figured he couldn’t fuck up anymore there than he already had.”

“Christ.” Aspen ran a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah. Don’t leave me for too long?” 

Aspen smiles and gently grabs Gyro’s face and kisses him. “I’ll try.” 

“You better. Or I’m coming after you.” 

Aspen shoves on his Burns and hoists himself over the side of his horse and rides off into the morning, kicking up dust and rocks. 

Gyro watches him, an ache settling in his stomach and flying through his chest. It pours out of his eyes, and for the umpteenth time he knows how Aspen must’ve felt all that time when he was young and stupid. 

He pulls on one of his husband's denim jackets and grabs the shotgun from in front of the door, sliding it in the backseat of his pickup truck before riding into town in it. Every time the car rolls over a rock or through a divot in the road, Aspen’s scent is kicked up into his nose. Gyro sighs and fishes his letter to Johnny out of his pocket, pulling into the parking lot for the post office. 

He dumps the little thing into the blue box outside for postage and hops back into his car. He rubs his face and slumps in the front seat of his pickup. 

Gyro had written many-a-letter to Johnny over the years, and he had sent many-a-letter without receiving a reply. But they’d always come after a while. Johnny couldn’t forget him. But he did stop getting a reply after a while, and he’d been putting off and putting off sending one, just so he wouldn’t have to confirm a truth he felt gnawing at him. 

His best friend could not— would not , be dead. 

He said it out loud, and it was real. So he rode back on down the road, to roll around in misery and eye the window waiting for the familiar hoofbeats that signaled his husband being home, 

He was left as minutes turned to hours, hours to days, until they began to blur together. But all the while, he lets the thought of his husband’s rough hands and charming smile keep him going. 

Chapter Text

Leo felt like he had ridden Cold Air for about a century.

His back ached (as if his sway back wasn’t bad enough) and he was tired. But he was going to find answers even if it killed him.

Right now, he was in the middle of nowhere. The sun beat down on his back and sweat dripped down his brow. He brought Cold Air to a trot and inspected the scenery around him.

He had taken this route before, and though most wouldn’t, he knew exactly where he was. But the picture was not right. He felt like something was tugging at him. At his soul, even.

The Arizona Desert had never made him feel like that, and yet, there was a divot in the ground in front of him, seeming to call out to him.

There were piles of sand surrounding what he could better describe as a crater in the ground as he got closer to the thing, and he could’ve sworn they looked something like fingers.

He gets off Cold Air and comes closer, looking around for no one in particular. He hopes no one sees him do this dumb shit. Who in their right mind examines strange holes in the ground?! Leo rolls his eyes at the thought and continues on.

Just as he does he feels a pang shoot through his chest, and he whips around to see someone quickly hide behind one of the ‘fingers’.

Without a second thought, he whips out his gun, pointing it at the finger.

“I saw you, damn it. Come out where I can get a good look at ya.” He half yells.

There is no answer, and he readjusts his grip on his gun.

“I’m giving ya ‘til the count of three. One. Two-“

The person steps out from behind the finger, a seemingly normal-looking guy. But Leo can tell there’s something off about him. He feels a headache build in the back of his eyes.

“I advise that whatever you’re looking for you stop.” The person calls, making their way towards the middle of the crater in the ground. They slide down the side, and Leo takes in an oddly dressed man (?) with blue hair and strange bright green markings along his face. He wears black and white striped clothes and has beady little eyes, and when he speaks his lips purse, emphasizing blue lipstick on his lips. His feet are bare, and Leo winces.

“Who are you?” Leo asks, lowering his gun only slightly.

“I don’t have a name. I live here though. A normal human like you shouldn’t be here.”

“A normal human?” Leo tsks. “ Boy, what the hell are you goin’ on about?” Leo lowers his gun completely, thinking the guy looks rather young and might just be a lost teenager. He might be hungry. He thinks of what food and drink he can offer.

“You haven’t died yet. So you’ve gone through the change. Do you have it?”

“Have what?”

The boy sighs and then a strange apparition appears beside him. The thing is only a head and part of a torso, and appears to glow white. It looks similar to the boy and Leo raises an eyebrow.

“I must be going crazy. There’s a ghost or some shit next to you.”

“It’s a Stand. You’re a Stand User. That makes this even worse.” The boy sighs. “You need to run. Run far. What you’re looking for is not worth what you think it is.”

“How do you know what I’m looking for?” Leo glances to the side mumbling under his breath about what a stand user was.

“I don’t. But I know it’s not worth it. If you’re coming from the east I know you know something about Texas Red. And who Texas Red was is something he needs to take to his grave. There is nothing that can save you from the fate that awaits you once you start looking. You will die.”

Leo’s brow furrows and he raises his gun again.

“What happens if I don’t?”

“Then come back here and tell me your name. I’ll be able to tell everyone I know that I met the luckiest man alive.”

The boy seems to ponder something, sizing up the bounty hunter all the while.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with that Tooru anyway. See if you can find a doctor named Satoru Akefu. Should lead you straight to him and the answers you want. Don’t say I didn’t warn you about what might happen. I’ll be waiting.”

“What-“

The boy disappears behind a finger, and Leo runs up the side of the crater to interrogate the boy some more. He finds nothing but a large oblong rock, and sighs, looking out onto the horizon for any signs of the boy with blue hair. If he had looked just a bit more carefully before riding off on Cold Air, he would’ve seen the etchings of a face in the stone with the exact same markings as the boy on it.

Leo feels like something powerful has been set in motion as he leaves the strange place, and he tries to shake off the feeling, pushing on to finish what he started.

~

It was a much further ride to northern Arizona than Leo anticipated, but he reached the address Diego gave him on the phone without much difficulty. It’s a big house on a nice plot of land, and if he could ignore the heat, he would bask in the beauty of it.

He hops off his horse, finds a stable in the back to put her in, and walks up to the house with a limp. Leo sighs. He needs to take more breaks between rides, he thinks. Maybe he really is getting old.

The steps in the front groan under his boots, and he knocks on the door, taking his cowboy hat off and holding it in his hands. He is greeted by a tall, strong-looking older woman with a choppy fringe and the rest of her hair tied in a halo. It’s a hot pink sort of color and her dark, thick brow curves into confusion.

“Diego, are we expecting anyone?” She calls behind her, still staring down at Leo. Her voice has a little more bass than he expects, but he brushes it off as nothing more than the way she talks.

He is still trying to process how much of her there is as Diego hobbles into view, only a little rounder than Leo remembers him in all the papers from his derby days.

“Yeah. That old ranger I was telling you about just the other day.” He ducks under the woman’s arm to extend his hand.

“How’s it go, Diego?” Leo grips his hand firmly and they shake once, both smiling.

“Y’know, it’s goin’. Not much to say there I’m afraid.” He chuckles. “Get in here, we got breakfast on the table. Courtesy of my lovely wife.”

The three of them join together at a large blue table, and as Leo tucks his knees underneath one side, he scans the house. It’s cluttered in an organized way. Everything inside is a faded baby blue, and all the wood is a dark, rich oak. It compliments the blue in a haunting way, and Leo bows his head in thanks and in respect–the longer he studied Diego’s wife, he noticed a rosary peeking between her fingers. He takes a bite of the food set in front of him, just simple bacon and cheese over grits. He sprinkles the salt and pepper on the table over it generously and waits for the couple to also get settled at the table before he continues eating and talking.

“Got a strange case out my way, thought you could help some.” Leo starts, taking a bite of food and swallowing. “Stays between us though.”

“‘Course man! What do you take me for?” Diego lifts a finger, furrowing his brow and using his other hand to cover his mouth. “Lay it on me, brother.”

“Patient come into,” He looks between Diego and his wife. “Do y’all know? About Gyro Zeppeli?”

“Your unofficial-official husband? Yeah. Johnny told me all about it. We’re like y’all. Aint nare one of us gonna tell your business.”

Leo’s shoulders dropped with relief. “Alright then. Patient come into my husband Gyro medical facility. Gyro, he tells me that this is that Texas Red, struck down by someone we know for getting cozy with his wife. Gyro gets to ‘im just before he croaks, the fucker dies during surgery right? Gyro’s poking around to make sure the police won’t be coming onto him for murder, he finds that the man got two blood types. He got strange DNA. His eyes is like someone cut them apart and glued them together real bad.”

Diego blinks and his wife grips her rosary.

“...You certain of that?” Diego gets a real serious look on his face, leaning over in his chair.

“I believe anything Gyro Zeppeli tells me. And he don’t lie to me.”

“It’s that fruit of temptation. I know what it is.” His wife speaks up and Diego’s lips draw into a tight, thin line.

“Fruit of temptation?” Leo asks slowly.

The sun streams in to the room in a way that seems as though its lit a fire in Diego’s wife’s eyes.

“I am Hot Pants. I did not introduce myself properly. I apologize.”

Hot Pants looks to Diego for assurance, and he nods.

“That fruit…there is an evil man who uses it to make deals with the Devil. He proclaims it a product of modern medicine. There is no medicine, only an exchange. You get whatever your soul desires, but you must sacrifice something of equal or greater value. It is only the work of the devil.” Hot Pants speaks slowly, but surely and Leo hangs onto every word.

“Do you know this man?” Leo asks, and Hot Pants shakes her head.

“I have a feeling you know his name. I cannot speak it. It invites the Devil into this house. You need to leave. You will have us all killed.”

Leo thinks back to his encounter with the boy in the desert…he said to search for someone…the name…?

“Akefu? Satooru…?”

“You have started it!!” Hot Pants exclaims, exasperated. “Leave. Let the Devil chase you. I have had enough of that evil. I have enough weight on my heart. Take your plate, take your horse, get off my property. I wish you godspeed.”

Hot Pants stands from the table, and Diego seems something like frightened as she grips Leo ’s shirt and looks into his eyes. “Do not die.”
He does not notice, but she slides the same rosary in her fingers from before into his shirt pocket and ushers him out of the door, and as Leo puts away the food and starts to begin his way down the Brando’s driveway upon Cold Air, he sees a man dressed up extra dapper, in a suit with a monocle at the end of it.

He just stands and stares at Leo for a long while, and finally, Leo blinks and he disappears. He figures it has to do with the something he started. His heartbeat picks up and he begins to head home to report to Gyro.

The sun was especially cruel, and the whole way he felt as though someone was watching him. There, in the distance somewhere but wouldnt– or couldn’t–get close. He rolled the thought of an evil fruit around in his mind for a long, long time. He let that carry him home.