Written for Writers Anonymous' "Broken Object Challenge."

Thanks to Che and Dark for being a second sets of eyes on this story.

It had taken a long time for laughter to return to Homra following the two years of hell. First, Tatara had been snatched away from them, then Mikoto had fallen under the Sword of Damocles, and then finally, the breaking of the Dresden Slates took away the last shreds of their identity. For the longest time, it seemed like all they would have to barter with was tears and sorrow; mourning would forever steal away Anna's tears, that grief would drive them apart, but somehow the six of them had stayed together when everyone else had fled.

Kusanagi sighed – lighting his cigarette with his sentimental Zippo – as he watched the laughter flow over those who had remained faithful like the flames that had once connected them.

Anna sat at the bar, her feet kicking alternatively left and right as she hung on every word of the story Yata spun for her. Kamamoto – wasted away to almost nothing in the summer heat – was sprawled over the bar, his sweaty brow resting on his folded arms, one finger tracing pictures in the condensation of the tall glass of water he was too sluggish to finish.

"…and then Mikoto said…" Kusanagi lost the punchline in the sudden appearance of Kōsuke in the doorway, tinkling bells heralding his arrival.

"Did I make it on time?" he asked breathlessly as he charged toward the bar, backpack hefted over one shoulder. He was still dressed in his scrubs, stained orange from iodine.

"I haven't started making parfaits yet, if that's what you mean," Kusanagi answered with a smirk.

"Who can eat in this heat?" Kamamoto lamented, not lifting his head.

"But you did miss dinner," Kusanagi teased.

"No way!" Kōsuke groaned, dropping his bag on the floor and gaping at the bartender. "I ran all the way here after class."

"No, he hasn't. Don't tease him, old man." Eric appeared from the kitchen, holding a plate of leftovers. Kōsuke's smile threatened to split his face in two as he straddled the stool across from Eric and waited patiently to be served.

"Old man?" Kusanagi muttered under his breath. "You're just young shits." He cleared his throat, raising the volume and said in English, "It's not fun if I don't tease him a little."

Even though he'd picked up enough English between the two of them over the years, Kōsuke had to rely on the wink he saw pass from the bartender to Eric to know there was no malice in the words. He laughed, hoping he'd picked up on the tone, even if the meaning was obscured, and soon they were laughing with him.

"It's good, even if he made it," Eric said in Japanese, leaning against the bar. "Don't let it get cold."

Kōsuke clasped his hands, "Itadakimasu." Eric handed over a pair of chopsticks, but before he could move away, Kōsuke reached out and put his hand atop of Eric's. "Thank you for saving dinner for me and for keeping it warm."

Eric shivered and, for a moment, he thought he felt the heat of the Red Clan's flames inside him again, but that was stupid and he shook his head to clear the thought. Their powers had died soon after the destruction of the Dresden Slate two years ago.

"Eric, can you wash out the glasses while I prepare the ice cream and fruit?" Kusanagi asked. "We can't keep them waiting too much longer, or Yata will start a riot."

"Hell yeah, a riot!" the former Vanguard of Homra echoed from the other end of the bar.

"At least ice cream is cold," Kamamoto said with a sigh. "Make mine a very small one; you know how bad my appetite is during the summer.

Eric nodded, still taciturn after the many years they'd all been together – first as a clan, then as family – and slid his hand from under Kōsuke's, heading to the sink.

There had once been a full dozen glasses made especially for their desserts by Tatara during one of his arts and craft phases. He used his own weak flames to mold and shape the glasses, but now there was only half that number left. Eric carefully lifted the first one, gently swirling steaming hot water inside the bowl, adding just enough soap to cascade bubbles over his hands, left pink by the temperature of the water. He rinsed until the bubbles ceased and then turned the glass upside down to rest on the rim on the drying mat to the side of the sink.

"Gah, are you always this slow?" Yata asked. "By the time you're done, all the ice cream will be melted."

"Leave him alone, a job done right is worth –"

"I don't need you to defend me," Eric said, his voice low as he turned toward Kusanagi, his hands full with two more glasses. "Any monkey who wants the job done quicker should do it himself."

"He's got you there, Yata," Kōsuke said, laughing and clapping.

"Whatever," Yata dismissed.

"Congratulations," Anna said, giggling. "Two years ago, that exchange would have ended with fists and blood."

"Thank you, Anna." Kusanagi laughed, claiming the credit for the small miracle. "It's always a good day when I don't have to mop the blood off the floor. These two have mellowed, even if it almost killed them."

"Who'd mop it up?" Eric arched his eyebrows skeptically.

"I'd pay you to do it; after all, you work here too," Kusanagi answered, raising one shoulder in an indolent shrug.

"Which glass is Yata's?" Eric asked, gesturing at the ones still on the counter. "I'll do his last."

"You punk," Yata leaped to his feet and vaulted the bar. "I'll clean mine. I don't want your dirty hands on it."

Yata grabbed his glass off the counter and pushed Eric with his hip, nudging his hand directly under the torrent of scalding water from the spout. Eric squealed as the water drenched his hand, causing it to spasm and open. The glass he'd held tumbled end over end before crashing into the bottom of the stainless steel sink, the sound reverberating until there was finally silence in the bar.

"Eric, I…" Yata stuttered.

Eric rocked back on his heels and reached into the sink, grabbing up great handfuls of broken glass in his blistering hand and pulling them close to his chest.

"Eric, don't," Kusanagi said, then stopped suddenly as the young man skittered backward and crouched down, throwing his arms over his head.

"Shit! Is that… is he having a –?"

"Shut up," Kōsuke whispered. "Eric, my love, it is okay." He reached out but stopped short of touching him. "We're in Homra and you are safe." He knelt down beside the huddled boy.

Rocking and shaking, Eric listlessly muttered in English, "I'm sorry, Master. Please don't hurt me, I didn't mean to."

"It was just an accident," Yata said. "Why is he freaking out?"

"Shut up, Yata," Kusanagi reiterated. "If you say trigger words, it'll take longer for him to come out of the flashback."

Anna put her hand over Yata's mouth. "Shhh, he's bleeding."

A drop of blood splatted on the tile floor; in the quiet, it sounded like a bucket of water hitting the floor.

"Kamamoto, turn on the jukebox," Kusanagi told him. "Sometimes the music jars him back quicker."

Kamamoto hopped down off the stool and picked a song from Eric's favorite group, Man With a Mission.

"He's done this a lot?" Yata whispered.

"Not so often these days, but every once in a while something sets him off. We'll get him through this, we always do," Kusanagi explained in hushed tones as Kōsuke's eyes never left Eric's face.

The music thundered through the speakers and while Eric heard the sound, the lyrics from his past embedded him farther down in his head, deeper into the flashback.

"Please don't, Master. I didn't mean to. Look, I'll suck you off to make up for it," he whined.

"Ice, get me ice," Kōsuke barked at Yata and regretted the tone as Eric flinched.

Yata ran to the end of the bar and scooped up fistfuls of the cubes, sliding back across the room to present his hands to Kōsuke. He sighed and shook his head at the two cupped hands holding out the offering but took a single piece and held it against the back of Eric's left hand. The digits squeezed together against the glass shards, the hot blood flowing more freely through his clenched fingers.

"Stay away from his hands, Baka," Kusanagi warned, kicking Kōsuke away. "Yata, put some ice on the back of his neck."

The Vanguard upended the stash of ice onto Eric's neck, the cubes sliding over the hot skin and flowing down the back of his shirt. He shivered as his eyes flew open.

"What the fuck?" he squeaked, turning to glare at Yata through the protective barrier of his forearms still wrapped around his head.

"I was only following orders," Yata shrugged. "You'd better let Kōsuke look at your hands."

Eric slowly lowered his arms from over his head and loosened his balled fists. Streaks of washed out blood crisscrossed his palms and fingers as the loose glass tinkled to the tile floor. Kōsuke grabbed a clean towel and patted away what he could, careful of the shards of glass fixed in the translucently pale hands.

"I'll finish the dishes," Yata said, standing and going toward the sink.

"I'll get the strawberries chopped," Anna offered, moving around the bar. "They are a lovely shade of red, but not as beautiful as Mikoto's was."

Kusanagi dug under the bar and found the first aid kit, then handed it to Kōsuke.

"I did it again, huh?" Eric asked, his voice very soft.

"We got you out of it quick this time; don't worry about it," Kōsuke said, snapping open the case and bringing out the gauze pads and antiseptic. Eric gazed dully at the thick, dark blood welling in his palm, holding it out for inspection without complaint as it dripped onto the knee of his faded blue jeans.

"I'll have to clean this up," he said without emotion. "I've made quite a mess."

"It looks worse than it is, Eric. We'll have this all fixed up in no time."

"Am I ever going to be…?" Eric shivered, losing the words.

"You already are," Kōsuke replied, already knowing what Eric was asking. "It's been months since your last flashback. They are coming less frequently and last less time. Someday, they'll disappear forever, but until they do, we'll… I'll be right here, holding your hand," he said, smiling. "And stitching up your wounds."

He took the numbing gel and spread it over Eric's hand and waited for a few moments for it to kick in. "It sucks that the stronger stuff doesn't work on you," he lamented. "Who knew that fair-haired people of European descent were genetically predisposed to be resistant to stuff like Novocain?"

"This is good enough," Eric responded. "Pain doesn't bother me; it just reminds me I need to grow stronger, for you, for Anna, for Homra."

"That's what bothers me; pain should hurt. Dammit, Eric," he said very softly, "you're stronger than anyone I know. The things you've been through… would have broken me." He took the needle and thread from their sterile package and began placing the tiny, neat stitches along the deepest cut.

"You're getting good at this," Eric praised.

"I get plenty of practice," he said shrugging off the compliment until he noticed Eric's posture stiffen. "In class, we practice on all kinds of human analogs." Eric loosened slightly, so he continued. "My professor says I tie the best one-handed knots he's ever seen."

"I'm not surprised since you practice on fruit at home."

"Those poor grapes." Kōsuke forced himself to laugh. "I saw a YouTube video of some guy stitching an orange peel back together. I want to try that tonight."

"That's awesome. I'll buy you a whole bag on the way home to thank you for today. After all, you're going to be the best veterinarian ever."

"I hope so." Kōsuke sighed. "Your support means a lot to me." He finished the first tiny row of perfectly spaced stitches and looked up to make sure Eric wasn't in distress before he moved to the other.

As he carefully tied off the second row, Kusanagi stood over them, looking down. "If you're done, the parfaits are ready."

"Oh, yes, just a second more," Kōsuke answered. "I have to clean up the blood."

"Nah, I've got that," Kusanagi offered, pulling Kōsuke to his feet and crouching down next to Eric. "You gonna be okay? Do you need anything?" he asked in English, using the alcohol swabs to dab a stray drop of red away from his hand.

"Thank you, but I'll be alright," he answered in the same language. "Even when my needle skips the record like the old jukebox," he said, gesturing with his shoulder, "I know I have people here that can guide me back into place."

Kusanagi smiled and helped Eric off the floor as well. "You get the parfait in the bowl since you broke your glass."

"At least it was mine, not someone else's," Eric said, a thin smile spreading across his tight lips. He took his place between Kōsuke and Yata at the bar facing outward to Anna and Kamamoto on the velvet couch under the window. As the cold from the parfait radiated against the palm of his hand, Eric relaxed, his pulse finally settling.

"Ok, so let me get back to the story that I was so rudely interrupted earlier by Kōsuke's entrance. Where was I, Anna?" Yata said, laughing.

"You were telling us about how Mikoto used to tease the Blue King."

"Ah, yes," he said. "Okay, so there was this time that Saru…"