Byakuya Matou watched in silence as his son writhed in agony. He looked away, and tipped his drink back, downing it in one go. He shouldn't pity the boy, he knew. The boy was useless. With this, he might become something other than a waste of space and a drain of resources. But, as he looked at the boy, mouth open in a silent scream, bound by chains of runes, he couldn't help but pity him. A father shouldn't be made to watch the torture of his son, he thought idly.

Shinji was useless, and he would always be useless, no amount of magecraft could fix that. There was no need for this, it was only an act of cruelty. He turned his eyes towards his father.

The old man's eyes were locked on Shinji, not even blinking. Byakuya shuddered. Even he admitted his father was an inhuman thing. Extending one's natural lifespan was something that every mage with the capability did. That was unnatural, yes. But not inhuman.

Zouken Matou was something else entirely. He was only a half-step away from the Dead the church fought. He was hardly human anymore. Not just on the moral level, his birth body had long ago been shed, like a cicada. The man was disturbing. He stood unnaturally still. Not moving an inch unless he wills it.

Byakuya tried not to look at his father overmuch. He turned back to his son. The boy's hair was plastered to his forehead, drenched with sweat. His screams had quieted hours ago, from his voice giving out rather than a lack of pain.

Using his good hand, he topped off his drink. He glared at the spot his right hand once was, he lost it in the Fourth Holy Grail War to a man he disliked thinking about.

Kiritsugu Emiya, the Mage Killer. The boogeyman to any magi with a bounty on his head. He cursed his dead brother, not for the first time. It was because of Kariya, and his obsession with that stupid child, that the Mage Killer came to their doorstep. He spat off to his side. Thoughts of the Mage Killer or his brother always managed to put him in a foul mood.

He checked his watch, and looked at the glowing circle his son was bound in. It would only be a little longer now.

Death comes quickly for those who don't expect it. And I certainly hadn't expected it.

The day I died was a Thursday. It was sunny out, and scorching hot. I remember putting on sunscreen, I wasn't going swimming or anything. I just burn incredibly easily. It's not even funny, by the time I turned thirty, every inch of visible skin would be one big melanoma. The eternal woes of ginger-hood, such is life.

I died quick, at least. It wasn't painful. I think my body just kinda gave up, walking into a semi will do that to a guy. In my defense, there was a clear sign saying 'Pedestrians have Right of Way.' I guess he didn't see it.

Death was strange. I remember closing my eyes, blood pooling around me. I opened them the next second. No pause, no wait, no nine month break. Just 'blink,' and I'm a new man.

As far as reincarnations go, mine could have gone better. I mean, Naruto would have been fun. I probably could have taken over the world if I popped into Harry's head. But no. I didn't get to be the protagonist, I got to be the Shinji.

Ah yes. The Shinji. Not even the Ikari edition, nope, no giant robot for me. I get the Matou version. Yep, the bug family. The rape family. Ah, the Matou. Yes, my second life would be spent among such auspicious company as the Matou clan. Joy of joys.

After the blink, I was, understandably, a little disquieted.

By such, I mean that the first five minutes of my life were spent writhing in agony, confusion, and possibly bug juice. The floor was quite unsanitary.

After my little fit subsided, I closed my eyes, fully intent on passing the fuck out right there on the bug floor.

Sadly, it was not to be. I heard a soft 'whoosh' followed by the feeling of my ribs caving in. It hurt, a lot. I'd never broken a rib in my first life, it was a novel experience. Breathing hurt, the smallest inhale sent shards of glass through the right side of my body.

My eyes slid open, and, through Shinji's eyes, I saw a broken down old man leaning on a cane. Presumably the one he just used to break my ribs. I opened my mouth to give the old geezer a stern talking to, when I felt something new.

Fear.

Pure, unadulterated terror. Fear untainted by reason or understanding. It didn't belong to me, I had nothing to fear, save the old man's cane. But I certainly could over power him, it would be easy, the man had to be a hundred. However, fighting back was never even an option at the time. All my mind knew was terror.

"G-grandfather," my mouth said the words, I don't know why. My grandfather is long dead, and this man looked nothing like him. He looked like someone left Mr. Miyagi in an oven too long, he was all wrinkles and the smell of death.

"Boy," the old man rasped. I couldn't move. My muscles were locked by terror. I didn't know where it came from, I didn't know why, but the fear was certainly mine. That was undeniable. I feared this little old man more than anything else I'd ever experienced.

"What is your name." The words were an order more than a question. And my fear-drenched mind couldn't come up with a response. I only gaped at him, my mouth hanging open. Like an especially stupid fish.

In a movement too quick for a man half his age, he jabbed the cane down on my right side, on my what remained of my ribs. The broken glass exploded, pain replaced fear on the top of my to-do list.

I rolled to the side, the bonds that bound me evaporated. They were gone, and I was free. Granted, all I could do with that freedom was roll over on my left side, trying to soothe the pain. My senses were gone, all I knew was the pain I felt.

A foot landed on my shoulder, halting any feeble attempt to run away, not that I was capable of anything remotely similar to an escape attempt.

I was rolled onto my back by the foot. More agony. Lovely.

The old man's hawkish gaze pinned me in my place. Suddenly, the pain in my ribs didn't seem so bad.

The Fear had returned.

"I asked you a question, what is your name." I still didn't respond. Fear had taken control again. The old man scoffed. He knelt beside me, and jabbed his pointer finger at my forehead.

Suddenly, I understood the fear. I was Shinji Matou. Grandfather had offered me a chance to become the heir. One final chance, otherwise it would go to Sakura. My pride and jealously lead me to the ritual. I was Shinji Matou, first born son of Byakuya, eventual inheritor of the Matou Clan. Except I wasn't.

I was Tim Harris, college student extraordinaire, victim of poor sign visibility.

Who am I? There was a ritual. Ah, how could I have forgotten.

The ritual was called the Past Resonance Awakening. I remember Father, no. Not my father. That blue haired man. I remember that blue haired man walking me through it. It was a ritual to awaken and speak with the past lives of a person. There was a lot of jargon I-Shinji. A lot of jargon Shinji didn't understand, his father had said it wasn't important.

The fear. Oh. I understood the fear. I-Shinji. We, we feared this man. This old, decrepit sack of meat. We feared him…we feared him because he was Zouken Matou. He was Zouken Matou. Shit. He was Zouken Matou, and I was…

I was Shinji Matou. I was the Shinji. Shit.

I was in Fate/Stay Night. Double shit.

And I was Shinji Matou. The disk one villain, part time rapist, and all around douche bag. Triple Shit.

This was bad.

The man I now knew was Zouken Matou kept his eyes on me, peering into my eyes, hunting for deceit.

"Shinji Matou, Grand-," he interrupted my answer with another jab of his cane. I couldn't roll away this time, he kept me pinned by the ribs. All thoughts fled as the agony of having shards of bone jammed into my lungs returned.

"Your past name. Tell me truthful boy, I can see if you're lying." I didn't doubt it. He was a mage. Shinji knew little of their abilities, only what his jealous imagination could conjure. I, however, was a bit more familiar with the workings of magecraft. Thanks Nasu, you da man.

Granted, I had no idea if he was telling the truth or not, Nasu was a sly old codger when it came to details.

I assumed he could see if I was lying, magic was funky like that. Besides, lying would serve no purpose. I would tell him the truth. In his past life, Shinji was Tim. An unremarkable college student, a muggle. That's all I would tell him.

I told him my name, and that I was a college student, an American, all framed in the past tense, of course.

He was…not happy. He glared down at me. He gestured, I didn't know what for.

Suddenly a man appeared in my line of sight. He had long, blue hair. Huh, blue hair. Strange, must be a magic thing.

I recognized him. From the anime and from my-Shinji's mind. It was Father. It was Byakuya.

He was Byakuya Matou. He was Shinji's father. He knelt by my injured side, and gently laid his hand on my broken ribs. My breathing was failing me.

With a few whispered words and a gentle touch, I felt my shattered ribs come together, straighten out, and finally, begin to mend. It hurt worse than the blows from the cane.

Grandfather loomed over the two of us, I looked to Byakuya, hoping for reassurance. None came.

"What do you remember," he demanded.

I wanted to lie. I wanted to say I remembered nothing, I wanted to make him think the ritual failed, that Shinji is just a nothing, something to be tossed aside and ignored. I tried to lie. But, as I looked into the dead, cold eyes of a man who has lived for centuries longer than both of my lives, I remembered Fear.

"Everything. It's as if I died as Tim, blinked, and woke as Shinji." I said. My stomach sank.

He didn't smile. He wasn't human enough for that. But, he did take on an air of satisfaction, the feeling of a job well done. Shame joined my fear.

"Hmm, it seems as if your mother wasn't a total waste." My mother? Shinji's mother? He had no memories of her, she must have died when he was a child.

Byakuya stopped his work, stood, and looked at his father in understanding.

I, on the other hand, was lost.

I loved Fate/Stay Night. I really did. I played all the routes. Watched all the anime. But Shinji Matou's mother? Who the hell was that? I didn't remember her from Fate/Zero, hell, I only remember Byakuya because Kiritsugu shot his hand off, because Kiritsugu is awesome.

I tried to stand up. It was a mistake. After trying to rise, the muscles in my back, sides, and arms all spasmed. I fell on the ground, writhing in pain. It was quickly becoming familiar, writhing in pain.

Father and Grandfather kept talking, ignoring my agony completely. Hmm. That was bizarre. I just called them Father and Grandfather, even in the safety of my own mind. That's a little bit concerning.

Whoever this mystery mom was, she apparently is important in all of this.

"My mother," I rasped out, my vocal cords suddenly protesting.

I saw Father turn in my direction just as my vision faded to black. I felt my head bounce off of the stone, bug juice-y floor as consciousness fled. Ah, sweet, sweet sleep. How I've missed you.

When I came to, it was to the sight of a little girl staring at me.