#reader needs therapy

Kaiser left your room with a dumb grin plastered across his face. Each step down the stairs was light, almost bouncy, like a boy who’d just won himself a prize at the county fair. He adjusted his hat, still slightly crooked from your drunken hug, and ran a hand through his tousled hair with smug satisfaction.

He pushed the saloon doors open with both hands, boots clicking dramatically on the floorboards as he stepped back into your father’s bar. The place was a little quieter now, the late-night crowd thinning into smaller clusters of card games and quiet drinks. Your father glanced up from his seat behind the bar.

Kaiser tipped his hat and gave him a lazy smirk. “Your daughter’s been delivered, safe, sound, and sleeping like a baby. Can’t say the same for your liquor cabinet, though.”

Your dad snorted, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Good. Don’t let her catch you braggin’ about it.”

Kaiser chuckled, but just as he turned to walk toward his crew, still gathered around their table like outlaws plotting mischief, your father’s voice cut through the din.

“Kaiser.”

He stopped and glanced back. The grin faded a bit.

“Yeah?”

“Office. In twenty minutes. Bring the boys.”

Kaiser’s expression shifted into something colder, more collected. The lightness drained from his face, and he gave a quiet nod. “Yes, sir.”

He turned on his heel and made his way to the table. As he approached, his men perked up. Ness leaned back with a grin, Lorenzo clapped once like they’d just hit a jackpot, and the others raised their drinks in mock salute.

Kaiser ran a hand across the back of his neck and smirked, eyes closed in overplayed glory. “Boys,” he said with a dramatic breath, “I gotta tell you, I’m the luckiest damn man alive.”

Ness whistled. “What’d she do, marry you?”

“Not yet,” Kaiser replied, falling into the seat with a thud. “But hell, she don’t hate me anymore. That’s progress.”

“Careful, boss,” said Shidou of the others with a grin, “sounds like love.”

Kaiser laughed, but there was a strange quiet to it. Like something in him had shifted, just a little.

“Wait for me!” The boy’s voice echoed joyfully behind you as your bare feet padded fast over soft grass. You laughed, glancing over your shoulder. He was trying to keep up, blond hair messy from the wind, cheeks flushed with energy.

“Don’t go to the water!” your mother’s voice rang out from the garden. “We won’t!” you both yelled back, giggling in unison, already lying through your teeth.

The two of you ran hand in hand toward the river that glinted like silver under the sun, the air thick with the scent of honeysuckle and wild mint. Your dress, a soft purple one with hand-sewn flowers stitched by your mother, fluttered behind you like a ribbon. He wore suspenders over a dusty linen shirt and trousers that were a tad too short for his legs.

You arrived at the riverbank breathless, grinning. The water trickled and rushed over smooth stones, cool and alive. The trees above swayed with a lazy breeze, dappling the ground in speckled light.

The two of you sat and started skipping rocks. “What’s your grandma makin’ today?” he asked, adjusting the bandana around his neck. “Pork with beans and carrot soup, I think.” “Ummm.” He grunted as he flung a flat stone across the water. It bounced three times. “I won.” “You did not!” you protested, grabbing a stone. You threw—one, two, three, four bounces. “I WON.” “Oh…” he mumbled, pretending to pout before laughing again.

Later, you both wandered into the forest nearby, a place that felt like it belonged to just you two. You filled a basket with odd treasures: bright yellow wildflowers, dried snail shells, rocks shaped like hearts and faces, even a patch of moss that felt like velvet. He handed you a crown made of weeds and violets he’d clumsily tied together.

“For the princess of the forest.” “I’m not a princess.” “Then you’re just pretty.” You rolled your eyes at him, but the truth was, your cheeks were warm. Both of you ran back to the river, the golden sunlight still dripping through the treetops, but something in the wind had begun to change. Your house wasn’t far, just beyond the hilltop where the old willow tree leaned, and your grandma always said she liked to keep an eye on you from the porch.

Now, with a new “member” of your daily adventures, she seemed happier than ever, her warm eyes always following your games with a knowing smile, her hands never idle as she knitted, or snapped peas for supper.

You dropped to your knees by the riverbank and started arranging your treasures. You were sorting the rocks by color: grayish-blue ones in one pile, honey-yellow ones in another, and some pinkish stones with stripes in a third. He sat cross-legged beside you, naming every dried snail shell and flower he picked like they were magical creatures.

“You can have this beige rock,” you said quietly, holding it out to him with both hands. He looked at it, then took it with a small grin. “Thanks. I’ll keep it forever.”

Together, you wrapped your shared bounty in a soft, hand-stitched towel your grandma had given you, covered in faded sunflowers, and gently tucked it into the basket. The sound of the river, the birds, the wind in the trees…it was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Screams, sharp and sudden. Agony.

You both froze. Then- PIM! A gunshot cracked through the air like a whip.

Your heads snapped toward the house. The porch was empty. Your grandma had vanished.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

You turned to the boy beside you. His expression was pale, confused. “We should check what happened,” you whispered, fear curling in your throat.

He nodded silently.

Still clutching the basket, you reached for his hand again, tighter this time, and started toward the house. Each step up the hill felt like it echoed. There were no birds now. Just silence…and a distant voice. No, voices.

Men. Muffled. Low.

Not your father’s.

Your fingers trembled as they gripped the wooden door handle. Slowly, ever so slowly, you pushed the door open. It creaked, too loud. Your heart thudded in your chest like it was trying to warn you. The first thing you saw was blood.

It was pooled on the wooden floorboards, thick and dark, smeared like someone had tried to crawl. The second thing you saw were two men descending the stairs, heavy boots stomping down as if they owned the place.

“There you two fuckin’ are,” one growled.

Before you could move, he grabbed a fistful of your hair so harshly it yanked your head back. You squealed in pain, tears springing to your eyes. The other man had already seized the boy, clamping his hand over the back of his neck and shoving a rag or cloth into his mouth, muffling his protests, keeping him from biting.

You both struggled, but it didn’t matter. You were just kids.

You were dragged to the living room like livestock. Your little feet scraped against the floorboards as the man holding you grunted, and then, he shoved you forward.

And that’s when you saw it. You froze. Your whole body locked up.

Your grandmother, the one who always waved from the porch, was slumped against the wall, struggling for breath. Her dress was soaked in blood, her hands pressed to her gut, trembling as she tried to hold herself together. Next to her, your auntie lay unconscious, her head bleeding where it had hit the corner of a cabinet, blood slowly streaming and joining the pool on the floor. And your grandfather. He was dead, his body slumped in his wooden chair like a puppet with its strings cut. His head tilted back, eyes wide open, a gunshot wound square in his forehead.

You stood in silence, blinking, shaking, trying to understand what you were seeing.

But the sound that pierced everything-

Was your mother’s sobs.

She was on the floor. On her knees. Begging. One of the men had her by the hair, yanking her face upward like she wasn’t even human. She was praying. “Please don’t… not my kids-” You broke.

“MAMA!” You shrieked and lunged forward. The man holding you caught you by the back of your dress and yanked you back hard, knocking the air from your lungs.

The boy beside you was thrashing now, trying to kick his captor, but he was smaller and couldn’t do much. “Found you,” another man muttered. He was carrying a canister, something that smelled sharp, acrid. Gasoline.

He set it down and reached for the boy, grabbing his face roughly. But you didn’t care. Not about that. Not about yourself.

All you could see was your mom’s terrified face, blood on her cheek, eyes swollen from crying. Her arms reaching toward you.

“Sweetie, don’t move, everything’s going to be-”

CRACK.

She hissed in pain. The man yanked her hair tighter and brought a gun to her temple.

Your legs buckled. You screamed again. Your voice cracked as your world collapsed around you. The man in red stood tall and quiet, towering over everyone like a phantom from a storybook turned nightmare. He wore a long, crimson coat and a white cowboy hat pulled low, casting a shadow that hid his eyes. He didn’t speak, just raised a gloved hand and gestured toward you.

One of the men grabbed you hard by the arm and shoved you toward the stairs, forcing your small body against the banister beam that supported them, thick wood, worn and smooth from age. Your little wrists were yanked forward and bound to the beam with coarse rope, the fibers biting your skin as they tied you down.

Outside, through the door, you saw the blond boy being dragged away, fighting in silence, muffled by the rag in his mouth. Your mother followed behind, her arms bound behind her back. She kept looking over her shoulder, at you.

“MAAAAA!” Your voice broke, raw from screaming. You thrashed in place, legs kicking wildly, rope scraping your skin, but you were too small and too weak.

Your mother turned her head again, tears soaking her cheeks. “Y/N, please-” she sobbed. “Don’t look-”

You didn’t listen.

You couldn’t.

You looked right at her.

“I love you, Y/N! Please, take care of-”

PIM. The shot cracked through the air like lightning. And then your mother’s body crumpled, boneless and silent, hitting the dirt outside your front door.

You stopped. Everything stopped.

The screaming caught in your throat, choked and strangled by the force of your grief. Your eyes went wide. Your mouth hung open, no sound coming out. Your breath hitched in jagged stutters.

Dead. She was dead.

The smell of blood. The buzzing of flies. The way your grandma’s head lolled against the wall. Your aunt’s weak, pitiful little whimpers. Your grandpa’s eyes still open, staring at nothing. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

You wanted to die too.

The men around you didn’t stop. They moved quickly, methodically. Pouring gasoline across the floorboards, across the tables and rugs and shelves, but they avoided the bodies, stepping carefully around them, like keeping them intact was part of some cruel plan.

“Everything done? Got the money?” a voice asked.

Another man came down the stairs holding bags of jewelry, coins, your grandma’s sewing box. “All of it. Let’s move.”

The man in red turned to look at you one last time.

You stared back, still gasping silently like a fish out of water, your hands trembling against the wood beam.

He lit a match, small, bright, flickering between his gloved fingers. He held it there for a moment, stared at it and then at you… then tossed it to the floor.

The flames spread fast, faster than you thought possible. The moment they touched the soaked wood, the room lit up in a flash of orange and crackling heat. The fire ate everything in it’s path, the curtains, the couch, the walls. Smoke rose in plumes, thick and choking, filling your lungs, blinding your eyes.

You screamed. You cried.

Louder than ever.

“HELP! PLEASE!! MAMAAAAA! SOMEONE-!”

The fire roared back in response.

You yanked against your bonds, legs flailing, feet slipping on the wooden floor. The air got hotter and heavier by the second. The smoke burned your throat and made your eyes water until you couldn’t see anything at all. All you could do was scream into the chaos. The minutes felt like hours.

The last thing you remember before everything turned black-

Was the sound of the door opening. GASP.

You shot up like you were being yanked from underwater. Your chest heaved, breath ragged and broken, pulling in air like it might save you from drowning. Your fingers clutched the sheets with a grip so tight your knuckles turned white. You were shaking, all over, your arms, your knees, even your jaw.

Your head throbbed. Your stomach twisted. You felt sick. Too sick.

“It’s just another nightmare, Y/N… just another nightmare…” you whispered, but your voice cracked, like your throat was raw from screaming, like you really had been screaming.

You blinked fast, trying to focus on your surroundings. The moonlight leaking through the window barely illuminated your room, but you recognized the shape of your dresser, the edge of your bed, the chair where you left your boots. You were home. But you didn’t feel safe.

“Dad…?” you croaked. No answer.

You tried again. Louder. Desperate. “Daaaad!” Still nothing. The silence pressed down on you like a weight. You needed him, needed his voice to shake you out of this fog like he always did.

Panic crawled up your spine like cold fingers. You dragged in another breath but it felt shallow, as if the air couldn’t get all the way to your lungs.

“Dad...please,” you muttered again, a whisper this time, choked by panic and nausea. You swung your legs off the bed, feet touching the wooden floor, and you swayed. The room tilted. Your body felt like lead, frozen, trembling, aching from within. Your skin was cold, your clothes stuck to your back with sweat.

You gripped the banister at the top of the stairs like it was the only thing tethering you to the earth. If anyone saw you, they’d think you were a ghost, pale, hollow-eyed, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

“Last night…” You whispered it to yourself, trying to remember.

You closed your eyes, images swimming in... Laughter. Music. His hand on your waist. The swirl. The shot-

You gasped again, this time from clarity hitting you like a blow to the stomach. “Kaiser… the dance… then-”

It blurred. The nightmare had bled into your memory. You couldn’t tell what was real for a moment.

Your hands gripped the banister harder as you descended, step by step, your bare feet nearly silent against the wood. Anxiety clung to you, sharp and biting, like you were being watched. Every creak of the floorboard sounded like a gunshot. Every shadow looked like blood.

You needed your dad. You needed answers. You needed to feel safe again. Because right now, your whole body was telling you, you weren’t. 7 Hours Ago — 1:27 AM, Bar’s Office

The office was dimly lit, clouds of cigar smoke swirling lazily under the flickering ceiling lamp. The air was heavy, not just with smoke, but with something else. Tension. Coiled and ready to snap.

Ego stood at the head of the room, sharp-eyed, impatient. The boss of them all. He wasn’t just a strategist; he was a war machine in a suit. Every man in the room listened, or pretended to. Kaiser sat slouched, legs stretched, arms crossed, blue eyes glazed over like he was somewhere far away. His mind wasn’t here. Not in this suffocating room.

Kaiser’s group was there:him, Rin, Shidou, Ness, Aiku and Lorenzo, but they weren’t the only ones. A few other crews were gathered in the corners of the room, quieter, less recognizable, but clearly summoned for the same reason. All under Ego’s command tonight.

“Kaiser,” Ego snapped. No answer.

He tried again. “Kaiser!”

The blond didn’t flinch, didn’t move. He was thinking about the way her smile had finally cracked through that frozen wall she wore like armor. About the way she had laughed, leaned against him, looked up with wide, trusting eyes that didn’t know the half of what was coming.

“We’ve received word,” Ego continued, pacing slowly like a predator, “that he’s returned.”

Silence blanketed the room. Even Shidou stopped grinning for a second.

“That man, he's wiped out a town, Copperbend. Estimated thousand bodies, barely any survivors. No traces, no hesitation. Same M.O. from twelve years ago.” He turned to face them fully. “This is not just revenge. He’s sending a message.”

The temperature seemed to drop several degrees. Rin’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing. Aiku exchanged a glance with Oliver, their jaws set. Ness swallowed hard.

“What’s the plan then?” Lorenzo asked with a smirk that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “We storm hell and shoot the devil in the face?”

“Something like that,” Ego said flatly. “I want eyes on him, on his people, on his routes. We draw him out with what he wants. And I think we know exactly what that is.”

The room stirred, and with it, the sharp snap of tension. Shidou laughed suddenly, leaning back with his boots up on the desk like this was comedy night. “Let him come. I want to see if he burns like the rest of ‘em.”

Noel Noa, silent until now, finally spoke. “This isn’t a job. This is suicide. I’m not sending anyone into a slaughter.”

“You think you get to say no?” Ego asked, voice deadly. “He won’t stop. Not until everything she ever touched is ash.”

Shidou clicked his tongue. “What a shame. I was starting to like the bar.”

Arguments broke out. Voices clashed, Shidou and Lorenzo loud and unbothered, Ness clearly on edge, Rin stone-cold silent. Oliver leaned forward like he was ready to throw punches. Even members of the other groups shifted, some whispering, others muttering curses under their breath. One of them stood, ready to argue back before-

PIM-

A shot rang out.

Silence.

Everyone turned. Kaiser stood, gun still smoking, eyes dark and fixed on the floor. Slowly, he looked up, finally meeting their gazes.

“You’re all yelling like drunks,” he said quietly, a sneer barely hidden beneath his voice. “We’re not going to argue about her. If he wants a war, we’ll give him one.”

He holstered the gun, stepped back, and walked toward the door like none of this was out of the ordinary.

“I’ll handle my part.”

And just like that, he left the room, still thinking about her.

Current time: 8:49 AM

You were in the kitchen, still shaking and trembling. The air felt heavier now, like something had latched itself to your skin. Your eyes scanned the counter until they landed on a small note folded in half.

You reached for it with hesitant fingers and unfolded it.

“Hi sweetheart… I won’t be home today, got some important things to do, will probably be back tomorrow morning. I left some money for you upstairs and Kaiser to take care of you.”

“Kaiser?” you murmured, confused. “What?”

You continued reading.

“He needs your help for something if you don’t mind. He will be there around 9 AM.”

Your gaze snapped to the clock on the wall.

8:53.

Your eyes widened a little more.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You jumped, heart skipping.

Your gaze slowly traveled to the front door. The knocking wasn’t loud but in your state it felt like thunder. You took a deep breath and tiptoed toward it.

“Who’s there?” you whispered, barely audible.

“Kaiser.”

You froze.

You hadn’t brushed your teeth. You hadn’t brushed your hair. You were in yesterday’s clothes. Your skin felt clammy, your stomach was still twisted in knots. You hated it. To everyone’s knowledge, you never left the house looking unkempt. Never.

But you had no other choice.

You turned the handle and opened the door.

There he was.

Kaiser. In his usual relaxed stance, arms loosely crossed, smirking like he had no idea your whole world had flipped upside down last night.

“Oh wow, good morning sleeping beauty.”

His tone was teasing at first, but then he stared a little longer. His smirk slowly faded, replaced by something more careful. Observing.

“Is everything ok?”

Your mind snapped back. You were so lost in your own head you forgot to even pretend to be fine.

“I-y-yes.”

He hummed, clearly not convinced, and stepped inside without another word. “Looks like someone woke up from a nightmare.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

“Did I hit the mark?”

Still, silence.

“Come on, throw me a bone here.”

“No,” you said quickly, sharper than intended.

He pouted exaggeratedly. “Ouch. And to think last night you were spilling secrets like I was your diary.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t remember?” He chuckled, brushing it off. “Guess that’s fair. You were kinda gone.”

His smile lingered, lighthearted but curious. You offered a weak smile in return, the kind you gave when you didn’t want to explain too much.

“I think you should get ready for the day,” he added, more gently this time.

You nodded and excused yourself upstairs, still feeling the weight of the dream clinging to your skin like smoke. Despite your trembling hands, you tried to compose yourself. You brushed your teeth with soda water, ran a comb through your tangled hair, and changed into something a little more put-together, simple but elegant, like your mother might’ve dressed you once.

Walking down the stairs, your fingers gripped the banister a little tighter than usual. Memories clawed at the back of your mind, vivid and cruel. You blinked hard, steadying your steps until you reached the last one.

Kaiser was lounging on the couch, a journal in his hand, your father’s, from the look of it. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned when he saw you.

“There she is,” he said, eyes flicking over your outfit. “Looking like she just stepped out of a painting.”

You didn’t react. Not even a twitch. Your face was calm, but your eyes betrayed the hollowness inside.

His smile faded just a little. He watched you, more carefully this time. His voice dropped into something warmer, quieter.

“Hey… come here, Y/N. You don’t have to be afraid.”

He opened one arm out for you, an invitation. Not a command. Not a tease. Just something real. To you, his soft voice didn’t quite fit. It felt strange, unnatural, almost eerie, like watching a wolf try to wear sheep’s wool. Still, what other choice did you have?

Your dad wasn’t here. The one person who always knew how to bring you back when the dreams dug their claws in, gone for the day. And Kaiser… well, he was trusted. At least, by your father. That had to mean something, right?

Even if he was just another slick-talking cowboy with too much confidence in his step.

You moved to the sofa slowly, quietly, as if your bones were made of glass. Kaiser’s eyes followed you, not hungry, not amused. Just… watchful. Studying.

He didn’t move when you sat, only shifted slightly to rest his arm along the back of the couch. You noticed how he did it deliberately, leaving a space between you. A silent gesture of awareness. Respect, maybe.

He glanced sideways at you. “So,” he said lightly, “what was the nightmare?”

You turned your head toward him, furrowing your brow. “How do you even know it was a nightmare?”

“Your dad’s mentioned them,” Kaiser replied simply. “Said you look and act just like this when they hit.”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure what to say. The weight in your chest was still too heavy to lift into words.

He let out a quiet breath, then said, with a kind of careful edge, “Was it about that day?”

Your heart stuttered. You blinked, like your brain couldn’t process the question fast enough. “What…day?”

Kaiser kept his eyes forward. His tone turned even, serious. “When those men came. When they, killed your family.”

The words hit like a slap. You froze. Your eyes widened. For a second, the breath in your lungs turned to ice.

How does he know?

Of course, he works under your father. But still...hearing it spoken so plainly made the air feel thinner.

“What?” Your voice cracked.

“Don’t overreact,” he said quickly but firmly. “I’m not here to poke at scars. Just trying to understand you better.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your thoughts tangled, dragged by the sudden flood of memory, blood, smoke, screams.

“Y/N…”his voice was quieter now, almost gentle. “Hey.”

You blinked hard. “Huh?”

His eyes finally met yours, calm but searching.

“Can we talk about it?”

You froze, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. Your heart pounded so loud it echoed in your ears, sweat pricking at your brow like tiny warnings. Then his hand came up, gently, slowly, to cup your cheek. The contact made you flinch, just a bit, just enough for him to notice.

“Y/n,” Kaiser murmured, voice lower now, softer. “I need you to talk to me… please.” His eyes searched yours, not with that usual playful glint, but something steadier. Realer. “Was it about that day?”

You didn’t move. Seconds passed like slow-burning matches. Then, finally, you gave a small nod.

He exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment as if to rein in his thoughts. “I actually came here today to talk to you about it… but I didn’t expect to see you like this. Shaken to the bone. That part wasn’t exactly in my morning plans.”

Your head throbbed like someone had taken a hammer to it. The nightmare still lingered, its sounds, its smells, the heat, the fire. You weren’t sure if now was the time to talk, if your voice would even come out right. But somehow, his calm pushed you a little closer to the edge of trust.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked quietly.

“Um…”

“How did it start?”

He waited. No teasing, no jokes, just silence held open like an invitation.

“I used to live in the forest,” you finally breathed, the words escaping all at once. “A little far from here… There was no dust. No gunshots. No death. Just… life.”

He didn’t interrupt, just nodded once to show he was listening.

“I lived with my parents, my auntie, and my grandparents. We had a garden. A river nearby. There were birds in the morning, frogs at night.” Your voice cracked and you looked down, eyes catching the glint of the jewelry hanging from his neck. So many pieces. Gold, silver, a couple leather strings. Like trophies, or maybe charms. One pendant in particular caught your eye—it was oval-shaped, reflective, elegant in its simplicity.

“And?” he asked, his voice barely louder than a breath.

Your eyes returned to his, heavy with memories you couldn’t fully grasp. You blinked slowly, your voice quiet but steady.

“There was a boy too… my parents kind of adopted him. I don’t remember his name or his face. Just that he had blond hair.”

Kaiser’s brow lowered slightly, his gaze soft but curious. “You don’t remember his name? And the others…?”

“I don’t remember my aunt’s face. Or my mom’s. Or my grandparents’,” you murmured. “The pictures… forget it.”

“No no, tell me,” he said gently, his voice grounding.

You hesitated, then let the truth fall.

“My house burned down. I lost everything,” you said, your tone hollow. “Some men… they did it.”

He listened in silence, every part of him focused on you. You opened your mouth to continue but your voice cracked.

“I…”

Kaiser leaned in just a little, his tone softer now. “Do you want to stop here?”

You nodded, and the moment you did, it all broke loose.

Your body trembled as tears poured down your cheeks. You brought your hands to your face, trying to hide, trying to hold it in. But it was no use.

Kaiser looked unsure for a second, like he didn’t know if he should move. His hand hovered, waiting, almost asking.

And something in you gave him the answer without words.

You leaned in, and that was enough.

He pulled you gently into his chest, arms wrapping around you with quiet care. One hand moved slowly along your back in a calming rhythm.

You cried against him, sobs wracking through your chest, sharp and breathless. You hated how broken you felt, how much you needed this. But you couldn't stop it.

He didn’t speak. He just held you, firm and warm, his chin resting against your head like he was grounding you to something real.

And for the first time in a long while, you let someone hold your pain with you.

You lowered your hands from your face and gripped the fabric of his coat, expensive under your fingers. The crying had quieted, but every breath still trembled, every sob felt sharp in your chest. Your eyes drifted down again, drawn to the shine of his jewelry like a moth to a lantern in the dark.

That same piece caught your attention, oval-shaped, smooth and polished, a warm beige that seemed to glow in the morning light. Your fingers reached out, barely brushing it at first, the texture cold but comforting. Kaiser didn’t notice right away, but when he felt the soft graze of your hand, he looked down.

“Hm?” he murmured, his voice low.

His eyes lingered on you. And for a second, the world stilled for him. You looked like something fragile and faraway, like a memory made of glass and sunlight, all quiet pain and soft edges. There was something about the way your lashes were wet, how your gaze stayed fixed on the necklace like it held a piece of your past. You were silent, except for the shaky sniffles that slipped out of you.

“Caught your eye?” he asked, voice quieter now.

You swallowed thickly, then nodded, eyes never leaving the piece. He watched you for a moment longer before reaching up, fingers gently brushing the tears from beneath your eyes.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” he said, honest and serious in a way you hadn’t heard from him before.

You blinked, his touch light against your skin. And then your thoughts started turning. Why are you trusting him? A cowboy. A man. The kind of man you swore to keep away from. Why are you letting him hold you like this, touch you like this? Why are you letting his voice be something that makes you feel okay for once?

You didn’t know the answer. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like you weren’t broken. Maybe it was the silence he kept instead of forcing empty words.

Or maybe it was because, just for a moment, you didn’t want to be alone. He glanced down at your hands, still fidgeting with the smooth beige stone resting between your fingers. “Why are you so drawn to it?” he asked softly.

You kept your eyes on it, brows slightly furrowed. “I don’t know, I just...get a feeling from it.”

“What kind of feeling?” he murmured as he leaned closer, resting his forehead gently against yours. His warmth sank into your skin, steady and grounding.

“Like I’ve touched it before,” you whispered, “like I’ve held it a long time ago... it feels familiar.”

He let out a small smile, brief and faint. “Hm,” he hummed, then pulled back slightly, his face becoming more serious again.

“You don’t remember anything else about that boy?” he asked.

You shook your head slowly. “No, just that we were really close, like… almost siblings.”

He paused for a second, watching your face. “And you know it’s not your fault, right?”

Your eyes lifted to his. “What?”

“That you don’t remember his name, or his face. Same as your mom, your auntie, your grandparents…”

“I know…” you replied, but your voice was low, unsure.

“Do you know why?” he pressed gently.

You hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“Your dad, or a doctor, never told you?” he asked again, voice quieter now, steadier.

“Told me what?” you said, confused and a little tense.

“That what happened that day,” he began, “left scars on your life. The kind no one sees. That kind of trauma… it steals things from you. Your memories, your sense of time, your childhood. You didn’t forget because you wanted to, you forgot because your mind had to survive.”

His words sank deep. You looked at him, heart stinging.

“It’s not your fault,” he said again, firmer this time. “And it’s okay that you don’t remember. You lived through something no kid should ever see, let alone carry with them. The fact that you’re still here… that means something.”

You swallowed hard, eyes starting to burn again. But this time, the tears felt different. Not just from sadness. But from the weight of being understood. He gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers light and careful, like he didn’t want to startle you. The gesture felt more than just comforting, it felt like a message, something he wasn’t saying out loud.

“Why does it sound like… like you’re trying to hint at something?” you asked quietly, eyes searching his.

He didn’t look away. “I’ll be honest,” he said, voice low, “I am.”

You stared at him for a few seconds, unsure of what he meant, then slowly turned your gaze back to the rock resting in your hand.

“You can have this beige rock,” “Thanks, I’ll keep it forever.”

Your breath hitched as something shifted in your chest. Suddenly, the line between past and present began to blur. You saw the river again, the trees swaying in the wind, the little boy’s laughter in the distance. That same beige rock, your purple floral dress, your hand holding his. Everything began piecing itself together like a puzzle that had been missing too many pieces for too long.

You looked at him again, a tremble in your voice. “You’re… the boy? You were that boy?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes gentle but unwavering. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s me.”

You blinked, the tears building again. You looked down at the stone in your hand for what felt like the hundredth time, heart pounding, memories clawing their way back to you.

“I missed you,” he said softly, almost like a confession, “a lot, actually.” You shifted back, eyes wide, breath ragged. Your body felt too hot, too heavy. Everything was spinning, your memories, your thoughts, your reality. It was all bleeding together.

“Yn?” he stepped forward cautiously, but you shook your head, backing away like a wounded animal.

“No,” you whispered, voice cracking. “No, no, you’re not him…”

“Yn, where are you going?” Kaiser called after you, confusion and worry climbing up his throat as you almost tripped over the edge of the carpet. You could barely hear him.

“You’re not him,” you repeated again, louder this time, your voice trembling. “You’re not…”

Your hands clutched at your head, your breath shortening into sharp gasps. He moved to get closer, but you flinched away.

“Yn, dear, I would never lie to you,” his voice was softer now, pleading, but it only made it worse.

“Stop,” you whimpered, stumbling further. “Stop, stop, stop!”

“Please,” he begged, voice cracking now too, “just listen to me-”

“I don’t want this!” you screamed, eyes brimming with a fire that was born out of pain. “I don’t want this!”

“What...what do you mean?” he reached for you again, and your hand flew to the nearby vase. Without even thinking, you hurled it across the room. The shatter echoed like a gunshot, like the shot from that day.

Your nails clawed at your cheeks, desperate, wild. You couldn’t feel anything but heat and terror crawling under your skin.

“Yn!” Kaiser rushed to you, alarm written all over his face. He grabbed your wrists gently but firmly, trying to stop you from hurting yourself. You thrashed under his grip.

“Let me go!” your voice broke into sobs, and then you collapsed, legs giving in beneath you. You fell to the floor with a thud, your body folding in on itself.

“Goddamn it, Yn,” he dropped to his knees beside you, trying to hold you, trying to pull you out of whatever storm had just swallowed you whole. “Please, please listen to me-”

But you couldn’t. You were shaking, whimpering, your mind caught in a loop of pain and disbelief, too full, too loud. You weren’t even sure where you were anymore. It all hurt too much.

Kaiser could only stare at you, frozen in his own helplessness, his thoughts screaming.

"What did I do? What did I do? God, what the hell did I just do?"

You haven't used Overkill in a very long time and for good reason. If you summoned it, and used it against the enemy, it would no doubt take out not only the Stand user, but the other Crusaders, yourself, and half of the town. For most of the trip, you'd managed to do just fine without it. You really, really didn't want to have to summon it unless you absolutely had to.

The enemy suddenly turned to you.

"You there," he said. "What exactly are you waiting for? All the others have revealed their Stands to me and I would very much like to see yours. I'm a bit of a collector you see. Got a photographic memory, I do. My favorite thing in the world is to commit to memory my enemy's Stand's appearance and abilities right before I send them to Hell. So come now, don't just stand there looking all scared and useless. Let's see that Stand of yours. If its user is any indication, I'll bet its positively adorable!"

"I--I can't!" you stammered.

"Why are you hesitating!?" Polnareff gasped from where he lay injured in the dirt. "Can't you see we're in trouble over here? Just reveal your Stand and kick his ass already!"

"No, don't!" Joseph's shout was slightly muffled from the fact that he was lying face down in the dirt. "If you attack him you'll just end up like us! You've got to get away from here! Go find Jotaro and tell him what's happening!"

The enemy scoffed at the old man.

"I don't think so," he said. "No one's going anywhere."

He gave his Stand a nod and it sauntered over to where Avdol lay, struggling to break out of the paralyzed state he was in. He stopped struggling when the Stand placed its foot on top of his throat. It applied a little pressure to his throat, causing the Egyptian man to sputter and cough and then glare over at the Stand's user.

"Stop it!" Kakyoin shouted. "You're going to kill him!"

The enemy sneered.

"That's the idea, you little waste of space." he said, giving the red head a vicious kick in the side.

Kakyoin yelped. as one of his ribs cracked.

"Stop!" you shouted.

"Now then," the enemy began. "For every moment you hesitate, I'll kill one of your friends. I was going to kill you all anyway, but at the very least you could die knowing that the death of your friends wasn't all your fault. So, for the last time, REVEAL YOUR FUCKING STAND!!!"

You flinched as he bellowed out the last part. You wanted to protest, but poor Avdol's face was starting to turn blue.

"Fine." you said at last. "But just remember, you asked for this."

And with that you summoned your Stand.

Within moments of Overkill coming into existence, the sky went black and the normally blazing sun dimmed and took on a strange, gray color. You watched as Overkill's monstrous form took shape, towering over everything within a hundred miles. It stood on four long legs attached to huge, stomping hooves. Its hunched body was lined with glaring eyes and snapping mouths. The head, if you could call it that, was little more than a mass of writhing tentacles.

All around your Stand, chaotic events took place. The fountain in the middle of town began spewing blood. A little old lady morphed into some kind of creature and began rampaging through the streets. A group of thugs suddenly found that they had sprouted wings and took flight against their will. They screamed as they were pulled into the sky, forced into a flight formation like a flock of birds.

You glared at the enemy, despising the fact that he'd pushed you this far. He was staring up at your Stand looking like he was having several crises at once.

"This is Overkill," you introduced.

Your Stand let out a low bellowing roar as if in greeting.

"Well you've seen my Stand. Are you satisfied or do you need more time to commit it to memory?" you mocked him.

"In DIO's name!" he cried, finally finding his voice.

"So do you still want this fight?" you asked.

The enemy looked at you, horrified.

"My Lord said nothing about this! It was assumed that you didn't even have a Stand! I was just testing that theory! I didn't... I never realized.... I-I-I have to report this!!"

The enemy turned on his heel and ran face first into Star Platinum's fist.

Jotaro had seen the massive abomination of a Stand from the marketplace. He was hoping to grab some oranges for a snack for later, but that was before all the food in the stalls started screaming and pleading for him not to eat them. That's when the sky darkened and he looked up to see the monster towering overhead. Suspecting an enemy was attacking the rest of the group, he ran to investigate, leaving Iggy to cower under one of the stalls. The canine wanted NO part of THAT THING!!

Jotaro had assumed that the monster Stand belonged to the enemy, but now that he sent the bastard to dreamland he realized that wasn't the case. And since he knew what everyone else's Stands looked like, that meant that it could only belong to one other person.

He looked over at you, stunned.

You gave him a sheepish, uncomfortable look in response and dismissed Overkill. Once the Stand was no longer present, everything returned to normal as if nothing had ever been amiss. Even the flying thugs had been returned to the ground and they went about their day as if nothing had happened. Not a soul remembered the insanity that transpired only moments ago. Fortunately no one was killed, but the looks your friends were giving you bothered you.

Were they afraid of you now?

They were all looking at you as if trying to figure out what part of your soul or psyche caused you to have a Stand like THAT.

You averted your gaze, unable to take the shocked, questioning looks they gave you.

"I, um... I have some issues..." you mumbled.

----

Meanwhile, Polnareff: