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“Shut up! Shut up shut upshutupshutup!”
“But it’s the truth, Ranpo-san. You can tell I’m not lying, can’t you? You’re smart enough to. You’re smart enough to know that and so much more, and that’s why the world resents you. Because you are different, because you are better than them, and they can’t accept that.”
“Shut up!”
Only mere weeks ago, Fyodor had found him- a little boy sprawled in the back of an alleyway in Yokohama, held by the collar by someone with clearly ill intentions if the bruises across the boy’s skin weren’t evidence enough. He managed to abate the situation eventually- apparently the boy had let his mouth run a little too long and pissed off the aggressors.
He thought about leaving it there, having finished breaking up the fight, but then he took another look at the boy. His uniform was disheveled and his hair unkempt. He was particularly dirty or unpleasant, but he definitely wasn’t in the best shape.
He wasn’t sure what compelled him to do it, but he found himself asking, ‘Do you have a place to stay?’
What met him was a very much rude and uncalled for, ‘Do you really have to ask? Can’t you tell by looking at me? Of course I don’t,’ and he debated siccing the brat on the nearest orphanage right then and there, but then their eyes met and instinctually Fyodor knew that something about this boy was different.
‘I’ll treat you to a meal,’ He opened his mouth to say before he could think about why, ‘come with me.’
As they spoke over food Fyodor began to think his hunch was wrong, though his instincts never failed him before. Still, doubt was growing when all the boy did was act bratty and shovel food into his mouth, ungrateful for the charity he’d been given-
‘You’re pretty ambitious. If you were anyone else I’d tell you to get off your high horse, but you might be smart enough to actually achieve that.’
‘...pardon?’
And then this little, homeless, fourteen-year-old schoolboy proceeded to break down -and judge- his entire life and goals. He dissected everything; from his aim to eradicate special abilities to his tendency for manipulation to his very own supernatural ability.
Sure, Fyodor had to restrain himself from strangling the boy when he called him an ‘over dramatic self righteous loser with a savior complex and questionable morality’ but other than that-
He found this boy, Ranpo, absolutely mystifying. His first assumption was that this boy had to be an ability user- that had to be the only explanation for his near omnipotence, but abilities like that didn’t really exist (he dragged him into getting an official test a few days later and nope- not an ability. Phew.)
It was only when Ranpo stared up at him with innocent confusion in his eyes, asking, ‘Why are you so surprised? It’s common sense. You don’t exactly hide your intentions well,’ that it clicked.
Really? Did he not know that this isn’t common sense, that no Ranpo-san this isn’t basic knowledge, this is incredibly disturbing, but the more that he thought on it the more it explained his earlier behavior.
‘Do you even really to ask? Can’t you tell by looking at me?’ Such questions undoubtedly would’ve made more sense if he thought his whole life story should be abundantly obvious to every onlooker.
Ranpo’s ignorance to his own talent aside, he wanted something like that- someone like that on his side. One road stop he always hit in his goals was the need to gather information in order to be able to act on it, but with Ranpo they could easily sidestep that.
So, he extended his hand and offered, ‘How about you come and help me with my goal, Ranpo-san? You seem to value the safety and betterment of the world as well, and you could be useful to my cause. Of course, I’ll offer you a place to stay and pay you appropriately.’
And that was where it all began. They stayed in the same little apartment he’d rented. Fyodor did most of the actual plotting and figured out what types of information they would need. Accommodating a bratty teen genius who kept mocking him at every turn was a bit annoying (‘come on, Fyodor, do we really need our logo to laugh? How creepy do you want to be? And why are we the ‘rats’? People are gonna think we’re greasy sewer crawlers. Ew.’ ‘Hey our logo looks like a rip-off of Mickey mous-’ ‘Ranpo-san, please-’) but he has to admit, it adds a bit of spark to his normally boring, work filled life.
Before this, he dedicated himself solely to his goals, often staying up into the late hours of the night, skipping meals and never leaving his home, but with Ranpo around he has to go outside, because the rowdy little hellion keeps wanting to go to bakeries and candy shops and Fyodor does not trust him anywhere in public unsupervised- partially because it’s like leaving a rascally five year old alone in at an orchestral concert, partially because-
the last time he left Ranpo alone for a bit to grab something from another aisle he came back to find him trembling and shaking and he quickly clung to Fyodor’s sleeve and weakly pleaded, ‘don’t go’ and refused to release his hold for the rest of the day-
And when Ranpo cries out that he’s bored Fyodor has to entertain him for the sake of keeping the apartment intact. When he’s bored he goes to the kitchen and having Ranpo by himself in the kitchen has never gone well.
It’s worth it though, because he wakes up easier in the morning knowing there’s a little hyperactive child-equivalent in his apartment who makes each day less boring, less grueling to put up with- seeing the teen gives him a reason to get out of bed and brave the hopeless world. He smiles a little easier when the boy beams up at him, all innocent cheer and glee as he rattles on and on about a new pastry he tried, or about the amazing sweets that shop down the street sells, or anything, really. He never gets tired of that voice.
Ranpo pulls his own weight too. Though he couldn’t always figure everything out just by online data and they had to travel around and go on site to investigate more crucial data, everything was more efficient with him around. Even if he didn’t always know what the answers were at the start he could always pinpoint where to find those answers, whereas if it were Fyodor he would’ve had to do far more digging, hire a third party, or give up entirely.
Still, though they were running smoother, it wasn’t as efficient as he would like. Ranpo was a little too... disinclined to commit wrongs- always insisting on legal options and getting the right paperwork and warrants to investigate things was getting annoying. Sure, Fyodor preferred to adhere to the letter of the law too, but sometimes breaking in or blackmailing an innocent officer here and there was just necessary.
Then there was the matter of Ranpo’s unwillingness to believe in himself or in his intelligence. Fortunately, Fyodor had a plan to solve both of those, and luck smiled upon him when Ranpo had an altercation with a police officer as they helped them investigate a robbery. Ranpo had lashed out, so tired and frustrated and ‘why don’t you see it too?! It’s obvious! Why are you treating me like a freak?!’
Once they returned home he had Ranpo to solve the cold cases under the guise of them being normal ones, and when he identified the culprits with ease he said, ‘Good job, Ranpo-san. Those cases had the entire country stuck for years.’
That brings them to the here and now, back in his apartment with case files and documents littered around them and a volatile Ranpo, face red with fury and sorrow and an overwhelming sea of emotions in his eyes.
A pang of guilt coils in his throat seeing the boy so distraught, but that’s alright. Even if the transition is a bit harsh, but it’s better in the long run- like ripping off a band-aid. No, perhaps it’d be more accurate to say he’s dumping salt in reopened wounds, but he has to because right now Ranpo is too good, he’s too soft on the world. It's better for him to see humanity for the vile, wretched thing it is.
“Shut up! Just stop it! Don’t say anything else!” Ranpo hollers, hands balled into fists, hyperventilating so badly that the in-out-in-out tear of his breath must be drying his mouth. “You’re wrong! Father always said adults were smarter than me, are you calling him a liar?!”
Sincerity gentles his eyes as Fyodor steps toward him slowly, cautiously, as though approaching a feral animal- well, it’s not so far off. “Of course not. Your father wanted to raise you into a humble person, did he not? That’s why he said that to you. It’s unfortunate that because of that little lie you can’t understand why humanity condemns you so.”
“That’s not it!” Insists the ravenette. Amusing, really- Ranpo always seemed like the least likely person to fall to senseless denial. “That’s not it...” He strains, weaker this time as he sniffles and drags his sleeve across his face to wipe his rushing tears. The heat returns to his voice quickly though when he growls, “That can’t be! Of all people, why would I be special, huh?! We confirmed it- I’m not an ability user! And besides, my parents never mentioned anything about me being special!”
“But they did say you would one day become someone praised by many, didn’t you? That you would surpass them both? You told me that yourself,” Fyodor responds calmly, slowly inching closer. “They sheltered you from the world and you never had an inkling of suspicion about it. And what an astounding feat it was to raise a genius like you unaware of your own talents.”
Ranpo backs up, arm raised defensively. “Be quiet! There’s no way something like that is true!”
“But it makes sense, doesn’t it? Think about it- your parents tried to raise you normally so that you could learn the values of virtue like any normal child, and they were prepared to reveal your intelligence to you when the time was ready, but alas...”
Another step forward. Ranpo matches it with one back.
“They died unexpectedly, their plan half completed, and now you’re struggling in this world.”
Ranpo trembles, face construed with anger but feet planted firmly in place. Only a foot away from him, Fyodor lunges at him, “HEY-“
His arms wrap around him in a flash, yanking him into an embrace. “It’s unfortunate that this world rejected you- that it couldn’t handle you because you are an abnormality.”
He feels Ranpo bristle at the word, and then the teen thrashes, “Stop it! Let go of me dammit! Stop making me out to be some alien! I’m not! I’m not-“
“But in the eyes of the world, you are,” Fyodor insists, voice saccharine and silvery as he only holds Ranpo in his arms tighter. Tiny little fists hammer against him, but he pays them no mind, tucking the younger’s head over his shoulder and whispering against him, “The world has cast you aside, Ranpo-san. You never did anything wrong, but humanity is far too unforgiving to accept anything that sticks out.”
Ranpo shrieks and struggles, teeth aching and throat scratchy from his sharp and gasping breaths, screaming at him to shut up as Fyodor insists that the world despises him. It doesn’t- surely it doesn’t it doesn’t it can’t Fyodor must be a liar but he knows Fyodor isn’t lying because he knows what a liar looks like and right now Fyodor doesn’t look like it but no no no no no he doesn’t want to believe that the world hates him, not for no reason so he cries out, “My parents always said I shouldn’t resent people! My father was a detective, he protected the people! They can’t be that bad! They-“
“And that’s where you’re wrong, Ranpo-san,” The Russian chides, tone flat and final.. Ranpo dares steal a glance at Fyodor’s expression, only to wilt under the sight of his syrup-laced smile, so sugary sweet it made him sick to his stomach and that gaze and tone are patronizingdemeaningpleasestopodd as Fyodor lifts one arm to cradle his cheek, “Your parents wanted to better the world using their talents- they knew what a harsh and cruel place it is. By hiding you from it they hoped to nurture you into something virtuous; something better.”
The hand on his cheek moves to comb through his hair and Ranpo goes slack in his arms, trembling, silent tears running down his face. Under Fyodor’s gaze he feels like an idiot , like he’s a young child, who can’t even grasp the most basic concepts. Fyodor stares at him, and every word that could dare come out of his mouth feels wrong , as though his thoughts and feelings are incorrect.
Stop looking at me like that, stop-
Fyodor shushes him again, nuzzling his head affectionately as he soothes, “Don’t worry, none of this is your fault. The world is a horrible place that condemned you for existing, and that’s why we’re going to change it with the Book. You don’t need anyone else, you don’t need to coddle such an awful world. Humanity abandoned you, but I will always be here, so...”
Something about this feels so wrong. When Mother comforts him she doesn’t hold him down and restrain him like an animal, she doesn’t look at him like he’s something pathetic, she doesn’t insist insist insist , she listens- this isn’t like Mother-
he's not hated he's not hated he's not he's not he's not-
he thinks of the disdainful glares of everyone around him and the "teasing" from other children and he thinks he is.
And when he looks at Fyodor’s eyes and expressions he knows he’s not lying. He means it when he says the world is horrible and awful and that it despises him and even if that smile is disturbingawfulhumiliatingpleasedon’tlookatmelikethati’msorrya bit off there’s some level of sincerity behind it and Fyodor just wants the best for him.
“So just trust me,” Fyodor finishes. “You are intelligent, monstrously so, and I’m the only one who accepts you. But that’s alright- we’ll make a better world, one where you can be loved and celebrated.”
That sounds nice, it really really does.
Ranpo hiccups, another tear streaks down his face.
Fyodor nuzzles his head into his again, one arm pulling him closer in his embrace and the other gently playing with his hair. “It’s alright to cry, Ranpo-san. Let it out. And then once you’re ready, we’ll locate the book even if some... minor sacrifices. That’s alright, isn’t it?”
Ranpo’s only response is a throaty sob, bawling and shrieking incoherently as tears stream from his eyes onto Fyodor’s shoulder as the older whispers sweet reassurances into his ear.
He couldn’t tell anymore, who or what was making him cry.