Fredrick wasn't sure how to respond to Joel's words, so he didn't, electing instead to stare, though not at Joel of course. He turned to stare out the window. Was he ready for whatever came next? Probably not. But it wasn't like he had a choice in the matter.
The next day, Fredrick was already awake when Joel came to rouse him and vhis roommate, though of course Cain was in a deep restful sleep. It wasn't his snoring—a sound soft enough not to leave the room but loud enough to annoy—that had kept Fredrick awake for most of the night, as he was used to it by now. This wasn't his first sleepover with the gang. What had kept Fredrick up were his own musings, and Joel's words from the other day.
Maybe. Maybe he'd get his ring back. It depended on him. His strength. Who he was as a person.
He kept getting stuck at that last point: who he was as a person. Who was he? It was a simple question, right?
Who are you?
And yet, each time he broached the question, he drew a blank.
Was he a Vongola? A gangster? Perhaps in name alone, but without his ring, he wasn't much of a Vongola. The "replacement" ring that Shaji the so-called alien—something he wasn't as quick as the others to buy into—had given him felt like a cheap mass-produced knockoff on his finger. Even the flames that emanated from the ring were highly impure and dull compared to the awesome output he could muster from the Vongola version. It was the ring that made him a guardian, right? Then, without it, he wasn't a guardian. He wasn't a real Vongola. He was just pretending.
Was he a pacifist? Again, perhaps in name alone. It was a contradiction he'd been averting his eyes from ever since Cain convinced him to join, and now it was staring him straight in the face. He would never be able to fight the Vongola's enemies, even if he did have his ring. Despite his staff box weapon, a pacifist is non-violent. A pacifist does not kill, or maim, or hurt, or injure. How, then, can a pacifist be part of a mafia hit squad? That's what the guardians were, right? The boss's personal hit squad. And that's who the Vongola had become—a gang of death dealers. Cain's dad tried and failed to change things, and Cain didn't seem like he'd be able to do much better, if he even wants to. The skirmish with the Rizzo was proof enough that Fredrick would soon have to choose: cling to pacificity and forsake his friends... or kill the Rizzo and betray himself. Even if it wasn't the Rizzo, one day the decision would have to be made. He'd be faced with the lives of his friends on one hand, and his moral convictions in the other... and he'd hesitate. He knew deep down in his being that he would. He'd cringe. Flinch back. Be unable to pull the trigger when it was most necessary. He'd hesitate. And those who were depending on him? They'd get hurt because of it. Or worse.
Was he a good son, then? A worthy friend? Fredrick found himself shaking his head at this one. He was neither. He wasn't smart like his dad or epic like his grandad. His father probably thought he was a joke, and it was true. And in terms of being a worthy friend...
It was the middle of the night when Fredrick looked over to see Cain, one of his best friends on Earth, snoring contently. His face looked so peaceful... it was almost too easy to ignore his shattered leg, compliments of the Vongola enemy-of-the-month. Knowing that someone did that to a person Fredrick loved and adored stirred deep sentiments within the boy. Sentiments that culminated in a furiously confused and abject frustration directed outward towards the world... and harsh bitter anger, one that was directed inward. Was he a worthy friend? Hah. What type of friend would let that happen to another?
If anything, he was a hinderance. Earlier, in the dead of night, Fredrick took one of the knives from atop the chopping block in the kitchen. He was toying with the veritable weapon now, twirling it in his right hand.
Did it really matter who he was? Did he have to care that he was purposeless? Whatever. There was one solution to his problems.
Fredrick brought his exposed left forearm out from under the covers, resting it across his lap. He flexed his hand a bit, making the tendons in his wrist and forearm pop. He remembered from anatomy class that a particularly important artery that ran through the forearm, moving up the wrist and terminating somewhere in the hand: the radial artery. It was that thing all the doctors press on with two fingers to get your pulse.
Despite himself, Fredrick smiled. It wasn't a happy expression, or a sad one, it was just his muscles pulling on his lips and nothing more.
In one fell swoop, he could solve it all. He could spare Serlina the pain of a life under such a pathetic wielder. He could protect Eri and Cain by not being in their lives. He'd never disappoint his father again with his weak demeanor. He wouldn't have to keep pretending to be a Vongola either. His friends would then be forced to find another Rain guardian. A better one. One that was dependable in a fight. One that wouldn't lose his ring. One that wouldn't hesitate when the time finally came to be violent. And he wouldn't have to betray himself. His values. His morals. He wouldn't have to make the choice to hurt anyone ever again.
It was Joel coming in that foiled his actions, causing a panicked Fredrick to nearly stab himself as he scrambled to hide the knife under his blankets. Fortunately, it didn't seem as if Joel had noticed, since he left soon after ensuring that he and Cain were both awake.
After Cain dressed and left the room, Fredrick dared to venture out from under the covers, ripping them off and flinging them aside to reveal the cool steely metal of the knife resting most inconspicuously next to his leg on the bed. The blade glistened like dew in the morning sunlight, and Fredrick saw his on reflection upon its surface. Was this really the answer he'd been seeking? The sound of a door closing spooked the boy, causing him to hide the knife by placing it under his pillow most expeditiously. He then shifted in his bed, moving so that his legs now dangled off the side of the structure, his feet several inches from touching the floor. Reminded him how short he was for his age. Yet another failure, eh?
Oh well.
With a sigh, he hopped off the bed and began dressing himself. Joel had something planned for them, so he might as well prepare as best he could. Light shoes, long-sleeved but loose breathable shirt, and a light-weight white and blue striped hoodie. Fredrick eyed his looks in the mirror before stepping out to join the others. While examining a faint tear in the hoodie on the mirror's pristine surface, his eyes fell upon his bed, and the curiously-ruffled yellow pillow under which he hid the knife. He wondered what Serlina would think of him now. What would she say?
Again, he was drawing a blank, and this infuriated Fredrick. In a rare moment of rage, he kicked the dresser that was standing idly to his side, knocking several of the variegated objects from atop its surface. Again, he kicked it, and again, and again, with as much force as he could muster. The poor dresser began to split under the weight of his kicks, and when he heard the first CRUNCH! of splintering wood, he froze, his leg suspended in mid swing. He looked down at himself as he snapped back to reality, his palms, neck, and forehead now smeared with sweat. Fearing that the others had heard him, he dropped to his hands and knees and began picking up the items that fell from the top of the dresser, replacing them in their proper positions as best he could remember. Tears started welling up in his eyes, but he wiped them away with his sleeves before they fell.
"What the hell is my problem?" He muttered to no one in particular.
That's when he happened across a small black bag about the size of a large book. He'd knocked it off the shelf along with the other objects. It had an oddly curved shape, like the main piece of a fannypack. He skipped replacing it, instead picking up the objects around it and putting them back in their rightful places. It took all of maybe sixty seconds to do. When he was done, Fredrick leaned down so that he sat on his heels, examining the bag in front of him. It was the bag his father had tossed him yesterday when he dropped Fredrick off. He'd almost forgotten about it.
All other thoughts were pushed out of Fredrick's mind, replaced by a fierce curiosity that could only be sated by one thing. Fredrick took up the bag in his hands, appreciating its design. The thing was sleek, smooth as a baby's bottom yet cold, like a slab of porcelain. The bag was flexible enough to resist damage from falls, but hard enough to protect whatever contents lay within. All in all, it was a very high quality case. Fredrick could tell because his father had quite a few cases containing quite a few things, but never in his life had he seen a case as "high-tech" and "futuristic" as this one in his father's possession.
Laterally bisecting the case was a black zipper that stretched from one side to the other, like a large mouth that'd been stitched closed. Even the zipper was high quality. Metal. Sturdy. When he pulled on it, the zipper-head made successive clink sounds, instead of the traditional zip-like noise associated with unzipping something. Whatever was inside, his father had spared no expense in protecting it.
Slowly, Fredrick removed his hand from the zipper-head, placing it instead on the top of the case. As carefully as one would when handling a child, Fredrick opened the bag. The thing revealed its contents like a flower blooming in slow motion. There, inside of the case, was a white index card. Fredrick picked it up, examining it. There was nothing on the back, and a single line written across the middle of its front. Judging by the handwriting, Fredrick could tell it was a message from his father:
You are not alone.
To say Fredrick was confused is an understatement. He was utterly nonplussed. You are not alone? Of course he knew that! Fredrick flipped the card over, examining its backside in the hopes that he'd overlooked something... but no. It was empty. His father had left him a simple message: "you are not alone."
Fredrick knew his father. Not only did the man never act randomly, but every single thing he did had a deep meaning. It was always thought through. Never half-assed.
So what was this?
In his internal machinations, Fredrick almost missed the item nestled snugly at the bottom of the container. Fredrick put the card aside, reaching into the case with his index finger and thumb, bringing the item before his eyes. It was tiny—maybe the size of a nickel, maybe a bit smaller. A perfect circle, with no blemishes or misalignments. It was all black, and reflected its surroundings like the sheen of a high-end sports car.
It was a ring. A slim dark ring. At first, Fredrick took it for a mood ring until he examined it more closely. The material that comprised its surface was in constant motion, pulsating—albeit slowly—as if it were alive. Creepy. The thing seemed ominous, perhaps even evil. The energy that radiated from it was definitely foreign in nature.
Why would his father give this to him? What was it, anyway? Well, obviously it was a ring...
Fredrick eyed it for a bit longer before deciding. Slowly, meticulously, he placed the ring on his middle finger, sliding it down until it was about even with the replacement Rain ring that was currently on his ring finger. He then flexed his hand a bit, eyeing the thing warily. The dark ring fit him perfectly.
Interesting.
The moment he placed the ring on his finger, a subtle low-pitch buzzing rang through the boy's ears, though he didn't think much of it, since the sound was unobtrusive enough to be ignored.
Fredrick made his way downstairs and was greeted by Cain, who'd made himself a sandwich for breakfast. When Fredrick sat down, Cain offered him some, which Fredrick gratefully accepted. He was positively famished. One by one, the others trickled into the room until, finally, Joel made his appearance.
"So, to start it off, I want Cain and Fred to find a box that I've hidden in the woods. I'm not sure which direction its in, so you'll have to use your senses to find it."
"Uh," Fredrick began, but Cain spoke up first.
"What about my leg? I can't walk like this."
Right. Fredrick had an unshakable feeling he'd be offering Cain a piggy-back ride at least once before this was over. After rallying the troops and bestowing upon Cain a neat looking walking stick thingy, Joel disappeared, going off to parts unknown. Fredrick watched him go, and then turned as Cain started speaking.
"So I suppose we should go right then ey Fred. East is that way." Cain nodded with his head in a direction that was most definitely North. "Though West would be best. Damn, I can't believe that we have to search for a box without a map or GPS. Hehe."
For the first time in forty-eight hours, Fredrick chuckled, genuinely amused. Cain was always fun to be around, no matter what was happening. "Yeah," he agreed. "Welp... I guess we should get going. If we split up, we could cover more ground, but..." Fredrick eyed Cain's walking stick, and then looked to his friend, an apologetic look on his face.
The dark ring on Fredrick's finger didn't gleam in the sunlight like his other one did. It was as if a void had somehow wrapped itself around the boy's middle finger. A veritable black hole.
Not even light could escape it.