The boy, no older than seven, glared at the man before him, bitter and untrusting. Red hair was pulled into a single tail, bangs framing a pale face. Burning, silver eyes narrowed, brows furrowed.

"What?" he spat, wiping away blood from a cut on his cheek. His shirt was in tatters, only aggravating the fresh wounds on his back.

"You're hurt," the clown stated sadly, looking concerned under all his makeup. "We should at least clean them, yes?"

"Why do you care?" the boy snapped, defensive. He tried to stand from where he knelt, but only hissed in pain as he tried to straighten his spine. His muscles spawned and locked, only causing more agony.

He loosened a bit as humming reached his ears, a lullaby that felt familiar. He looked up at the clown, who still hovered closely. He was the only source it could have come from.

"Do you like it? My brother and I made it together."

The child thought it over for a moment, mulling over the sound. "I like it. Does it have a name?"

"The 14th Melody," the clown hummed, looking up in tug thought. "My brother named it, said it fit. I still find it weird, though."

With a little kinship, the boy let the clown wipe and dress his wounds, when he figured out that he had no clean close to wear, he had given him a white button-up that the boy drowned in.

It smelled like flowers and coffee, the redhead realized. The clown didn't smell that way, not with so much makeup and sweat from today's work.

"You're name is Red, isn't it?" the clown asked, curious. "My name is Mana Campbell. It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you," Red replied. He fidgeted a bit awkward. Mana questioned him, surprised with the nervous answer. "I normally sleep in the stable... and I don't want to mess up your shirt."

That night, Red slept in Mana's tent, warm and well rested for the first time in years.

-0-

Red scowled, hands on his hips as he glared at the horse before him. Starlight, a white horse sprinkled in gray, only stared at him silently.

"I was gone for one goddamn night." He held up a single finger to drive his point home with an added, "one night!"

"What is going on in here, boy?"

Red flinched slightly, straightening his spine. Fredrick, the ringleader of their band of oddballs, was a short man, old taller than the seven-year-old by a foot or so. Graying hair was redyed black, beady, dark eyes trained on the complete mess of his prize horse's stall. Oats scattered, water tipped and bald in a few spots where the horse had kicked the straw around the pin. "What on Earth has happened here?!"

"Starlight thought it was cute because I didn't sleep in the pin last night to make a mess of it," Red explained, glowering at the stubborn horse.

"Why isn't it cleaned up, then? Isn't that why your here? Hurry it up!" Frederick barked, waving a hand at the mess. He reveled in the way the boy flinched at the sudden movement.

He stormed out, leaving the young stable boy to his duties. Red glared at the horse again, who looked a little sheepish. "That's right, you should feel bad. One more thing I have to do today."

The horse was tame the rest of the time, behaving as Red went through all his normal routine in the stalls. He checked all of the cages, feeding the animals their preferred foods, before moving on. He started toward the food tent, ordered around to peel this, cut that, take that bag of trash out. Once that was done (and he had swindled some breakfast of his own), he found himself doing whatever he was needed to do. Carry things from one tent to another, help with this, a few kicks to the shins to make him move faster.

Normal.

"Hey, kid."

He turned, throwing a glare. It was one of the knife throwers, one that had never been kind to him. Most ignored him, but not this guy.

"Where'd you get the shirt? Steal it?" he sneered, pointing at the article. Red had tucked the access into his dark shorts, keeping it as clean as he could. He did a pretty good job, too. Nothing that couldn't be washed off with a little effort.

"It was a gift, asshole," Red growled, baring his teeth. "Leave me the fuck alone if you don't need anything." He went back massaging his aching feet, ignoring the older man. That was, until he was snatched by his collar and face-to-face with the knife thrower.

"You better watch your damn mouth, boy," he snipped. He tossed him, Red's back crashing into the wooden box he was once perched on. "Besides, who would give anything to a freak like you?"

Red whined, back aching, but threw a venomous glare at the tall man. A growl ripped through his throat, low and threatening. The rusty, plated left arm crossed over his chest protectively. Black nails dug into his shirt, keeping from attacking he bastard and making this all worse.

"Maybe it was that crazy ass Mana. He's probably the only one who would like you," the man continued. "Insane as he is, he probably didn't notice you're a freak."

"Don't fucking talk about Mana like that!" Red snapped, standing. "He's a way better person than any of you sons of bitches!"

"Watch your mouth!" The resounding slap sent the thin boy to the ground, stunned enough for the other to get a good kick to his ribs. Air left Red's lungs, the strikes on his back coming back to life. His mind went blank for a second, vision blurring.

Red was hoisted up by his collar, nearly choking him with his shirt. "Apologize, you little bastard."

"Fuck you!" Red spat. He whined as he was tossed again. No doubt all of Mana's hard work was ruined, the cuts open again. He prayed it didn't get on the shirt.

Blood was so hard to get out.

He tried getting up, hissing as his both his back and ribs protested the movement. He made the decision to stay down, soothed as the footsteps of the tower became quiet as he got further away.

Red laid there for a moment, just breathing, before another set of shoes came into view. They were pointed and curled with little bells at the end. Navy and looking nice thanks to Red cleaning them this morning in thanks to the clown.

"Oh, Red. He reopened your wounds. How nasty of him." Red hissed in pain, whimpering as Mana hoisted him up. Draped over the clown's chest, Red had to bite his lip as every step the man made tugged at his back.

"I'm sorry," Red said in his ear, whimpering. "I bloodied the shirt you gave me."

"Don't you worry," Mana comforted, "I have plenty more to give you." Red chuckled, tears welling up.

"Thanks," he huffed, voice watery. He snuggled into Mana's shoulder until they made it back to his tent, where the clown patched the boy up. The shirt was thrown away as a lost cause, and with the promise to Red to help him wash his clothes when he could, gave him another shirt to wear.

Again, the smell of some flower and coffee got into his nose, snuggling into the collar to get more of it. He had realized that he connected the smell to 'safe', relaxing into it.

Mana only chuckled and ruffled his hair. Placing Red's shoes near the door to the little tent (he had picked them up with Red to take back), Mana hummed in thought.

"Hey, Red?" He got a hum in answer, the boy still working on his blistered feet. "I bet you'd be a great singer."

"That's random," Red pointed out.

"I hear you humming while you work," Mana confessed, looking a little sheepish, ever-present smile turning wobbly. "You'd have a great voice!"

Barking cut him off from saying anything else, a large dog breaking through the curtains to jump Red. He hissed, his back protesting the abuse.

"Hey!" Red yelped, pinned and being licked to death. "Get offa me, ya mutt!" The dog continued to lick him, heavy enough to pin Red under him.

"Allen."

The dog turned, prancing up to and sitting at his master's feet. It was a rusty color, long snout, dark eyes, and short haired. Red glared at the dog for a moment before looking up at Mana.

"Is he yours?"

"He is," Mana confirmed, petting Allen's head, getting a yip. "Be nice to Red, Allen. He's a friend." Allen barked at the boy, a stupid, doggy smile on its face.

"Hi," Red huffed, standing carefully and petting the dog's head. Allen licked his palm, turning to the deformed arm curiously. He sniffed it, licking it tentatively, before deciding he liked it and continued to nibble on Red's fingertips gently.

Red snorted, pulling he hand away and petting Allen again. "You're weird, dog." He got a bark as a response.

"I'm glad you two get along," Mana hummed, smiling widely. Red jumped, having forgot the clown was there. He glared halfheartedly, Mana lifting his hands in surrender. "Sorry, sorry. How about we go get something to eat, huh? I'm sure dinner is done by now."

"Shit!" Red exclaimed. "They're gonna be mad at me. None for me tonight. Fuck."

"We need to work on your language," Mana stated seriously, wagging a finger at the boy. "I'll make sure you get something, Red. Don't you worry about it!"

And he did. He had gotten Red a whole meal somehow. They ate together in Mana's tent, feeding Allen a few bits and pieces of their food.

Red thought it over as he ate, lost in it as he watched Allen do a trick for a piece of jerky. Was this what home felt like?

If it was, Red couldn't say he disliked it.

-0-

The day Allen passed away was a sad one. Both the stable hand and the clown had a hard day, Red's eyes red and puffy from crying and Mana's normally infectious aura was grim. They buried him with all the dignity they could, putting his favorite ball on top of he little grave.

"Hey, Red," the boy turned to Mana, sad and heartbroken, "wanna leave with me?"

Red blinked, confused. "Leave? What do you mean?"

"What I said, silly," Mana chuckled, bopping the boy on his nose. "Wanna go with me?"

"Will you still leave if I said no?" Red asked, fear shining in his silver orbs.

"I need to look for my brother," Mana hummed, looking at the horizon, the sun sinking for today, happy with itself for now. "I would like for you to come with me, but you don't have to."

"Of course I'll come, idiot," Red muttered, hugging clown tightly. This close, he could smell the coffee and flowers that saturated all the clothes Red had stollen over the two years he had know Mana.

"Good!" Mana breathed, sighing with relief. "I would hate to go alone and leave you here, you know? I would feel bad!"

Red laughed, pulling back and wiping away the last of his tears. "Yeah. We should go get our stuff, I guess."

"Indeed! Off with you!" Mana shooed, mood already better. He and his little Red would be off before night truly fell. It warmed him to know the boy cared, even if he was a little crass and more than a little tactless when he did so.

-0-

"Mana?" Red called, his sack of clothes and what little belongings he had over his shoulder.

"Here!"

Without the clown makeup, he realized, Mana looked... normal. Not that Red had expected anything unusual, but Mana rarely showed his face under the clown mask. White button-ups, slacks, boots, a tall top hat and a cane Red didn't even know Mana owned was his normal attire nowadays. Scraggly beard and kind, golden eyes, short, dark hair normally slicked back. Why he didn't show his face more confused Red.

Red looked a little classier himself, but he kept his shirt half untucked and collar loose. He had his own set of walking boots, which was much better than the too-small shoes he had been given by his ringmaster. His red hair was longer, falling over his shoulders in waterfalls. Now that he could properly take care of it, it laid a lot flatter.

"Have you seen out brush?"

"Wasn't it in your bag?"

Red scrounged for the sack he had taken from the circus that had most of their items in it. Makeup for performances, brushes, toothbrushs and paste. Small things that would otherwise be crushed by their clothes or whatnots.

"Got it!" Red called, brushing his hair and putting it in his high ponytail, letting it come over his shoulders. His bangs left out of it, framing his face nicely. 'Better,' he thought, checking in the mirror.

He made his way back into the hotel room he and Mana had shared the night before, packing what little they had out before double checking that they had everything.

"All good?" Mana asked, humming a tune Red didn't know.

"Yep."

"Good, good," the man hummed happily, picking up his suitcase, Red picking up his own and slinging the sack over his shoulder, they were out the door. They paused for a moment to give the front desk their room key before they made it to the streets.

Currently, they were in France, wandering somewhere north. Red didn't know where they were headed, so he only followed his adoptive father's footsteps through the streets, singing a lovely tune in French. It was one of the only other languages he knew. Mana had said he had a nack for new languages, but since he only knew English and French, Red wouldn't be so sure.

"Where to?" Red asked, knowing what the answer was going to be.

"Forward. Just keep walking."

They did. For a long time. They walked and walked before settling to make a fire in a field on the side of the road. Red kept the fire alive and contained while Mana got out some food from their sack to share.

"Excuse me."

Both Mana and Red looked up, the boy narrowing his eyes at the stranger suspiciously.

"Couldn't help but notice the fire. Mind if I join you?"

Dark hair, tanned skin, and golden eyes made him look a lot like Mana, a kind smile so alike to Red's guardian.

"Neah?"

"Hey, big brother. Long time no see, huh?"

Red blinked. "Wait. You're his brother?" Before the other man could answer, Mana had tackled him to the ground, crying hysterically.

"Where have you been?!" Mana cried, blubbering for a moment before Neah seemed to just be done with the former clown.

"Off, Mana!" Neah huffed, prying the man off with some difficulty. Mana, on his knees, clung to his brothers tan trenchcoat, looking hurt. "I've missed you too, you duffus, but you're trying to squeeze me to death."

Finally, the tall man turned to the boy who was looking at his older brother with fond exasperation. "Hello, there. Last time I checked, I wasn't an uncle."

"I'm Red," he greeted, standing to offer Neah a hand. He took it, eyeing the red hand that still hung on the boy's side.

"For the hair or for the arm?" Neah joked, turning a bit concerned when Red hid the appendage behind his back. "I'm Neah D. Campbell, this idiot's twin."

"Twin?" Red questioned, tilting his head. He glared at Mana, who had sense recovered from his little breakdown. "You didn't say he was your twin."

"You left that out, huh?" Neah chuckled. "Rude." Mana only sheepishly shrugged. "Anyway, kiddo, thanks for looking after him."

"Welcome," Red chuckled as Mana protested that he was looking after Red, thank you very much. "So what now? You said we were looking for your brother. We found him."

"Settle down somewhere, I guess," Neah hummed, sitting down next to the nine year old. "Find a house and stop being nomadic."

"That would be nice," Mana agreed. "Have a place to call home."

"So," Neah proclaimed happily, looking toward Red, "You may call me uncle. We'll find a place and I'll teach you all my tricks." With a mischievous wink, Neah went on to tell the two about his adventures.

Turns out, Neah is a musician, specifically a pianist. He knows many languages (and so did Mana, but Neah knew so many) and was traveling around to both find his missing twin and to see the world. He promised to teach Red a few.

He had a knack for card games and even knew a few magic tricks. He always carried a deck with him, winking when he told them that's how he made his living.

"Of course you would swindle people out of their money."

"Bully!"

Neah had met a man named Marian Cross, a nasty man that Neah was happy to push the buttons of. An exorcist, he had said, confusing Red.

Mana and Neah swapped back and forth as they explained what that entailed, along with Adam and his Akuma.

"You could be an exorcist," Neah pointed out, gesturing to the narled arm. "That's Innocence."

"Really?" Red asked, looking that the jagged hand. He glared at it. "It's done nothing but cause me problems."

"I would guess," Neah huffed, growling. "People hurting my darling nephew."

Red watched in mild amusement as both twins flamed up in righteous furry.

Yawning, Red stretched, pleased with the satisfying pops of his joints. "It's about time for bed. I'm tired."

"It is rather late," Mana admitted, looking at his watch. He threw his sleeping bag at Neah, who foundered with it for a moment, glaring at Mana with deadly, molten gold daggers.

He unrolled it, lifting a brow at his brother. "Do you have one?"

"He threw you his," Red supplied helpfully, snuggled into his own sleeping bag.

Again, gold dagger were aimed at Mana's throat. "Come lay down, idiot. You know I like being in trees anyway."

Neah threw the bag at his overprotective brother, moving to the closest tree and climbed it expertly. By then, Red was sleeping, snoring softly.

-0-

"Uncle!"

"Yes, Allen?"

"Have you seen Tim?"

The newly-named Allen Campbell had looked for the little golden ball everywhere, excluding his uncle's piano room. He never went in there without permission, even though Neah had said he could practice anytime.

"He went to find Marian, remember? That poor golem was so cooped up," Neah sighed, putting down his newspaper and taking a sip of coffee.

Neah liked his half milk with two scoops of sugar. Mana liked his with only one scoop of sugar, the monster. Allen preferred tea, like the posh Brit he was.

Allen pouted, but said nothing more on it. "Where Mana?"

"You seem to be losing family members," Neah teased. Allen went a little pink, glowering at the adult. "That doesn't work, I taught you that." Huffing, Allen raised a brow. "He's in bed, being lazy. By the way, happy eleventh birthday and merry Christmas, kiddo."

Only Allen's sharp reflexes caught the object thrown at him, glaring at his smirking uncle. He looked at the little wooden box, lifting the latch and lifting a brow at the silver whistle in the velvet padding.

"Go outside and blow it," Neah ordered, following Allen outside and into the snow. He covered his ears as he blew into the silver whistle, waiting patiently as Allen looked around.

Silver eyes widened as a silver Fox hopped along in the snow, molded with care and eyes flowing with magic. It hopped onto Allen, clawing its way to rest on his shoulders. Its body was warm, despite being a machine, and it was covered in what felt like real fur.

"I made them like Tim, so they'll last forever. We covered it in real arctic fox fur," Neah chuckled, watching his nephew awe over the fox. "What are you going to name it?"

Allen thought over it for a moment, petting the fox behind its ears. "Arya, for nobility. I think it suits her."

"Of course you go gender neutral on the name," Neah chuckled, turning to go back inside, Allen only steps behind him. "Pretty, though. Indo-Iranian, right?"

"Yep," Allen hummed, scratching Arya (pronounced: Are-e-uh) under the chin. He laughed at the fox's tail wagged like a dog's.

"He likes it?"

"Morning, Mana," Allen called, chuckling as Arya yipped. "I lover her. I named her Arya."

"Pretty," Mana complemented, obliviously mirroring his brother. "I want to go out and get you something extra, though. It was mostly Neah's doing for Arya, so I feel like I didn't get you anything!"

And that's how Mana, Allen, and Arya ended up in town after the New Year (because all the stores were closed until then), walking through and eyeing the different stores. Finally, a pet store caught his eye, making silver dollars green in giddiness.

"Mana, we should buy her a collar!" Allen cheered, pointing. The clerk was shocked at the fox calmly reading in the boy's shoulders, but didn't question the boy, but he did ask the man with him. Allen was busy with collars, looking at all the different choices and talking them over with Arya, so he didn't hear.

"Where in the world did the boy get and arctic fox?" he asked the boy's father, who only chuckled.

"His uncle. He has a thing for pretty creatures. Don't worry, it's mechanical. It's only layered with fur."

"It is a very good replica," the man huffed, watching he creature. Allen and Arya had both settled on a blood red collar, golden vines lining the leather. They also picked out a little heart-shaped tag of her name and owner, painted the same gold as the vines.

Once it was stamped and played for, Allen was walking out of the door will a collared fox on his shoulders. He looked up at his father, a grin on his face.

"Thank you, Mana!" Allen cheered, happily walking beside his adoptive father. When he didn't answer, Allen looked up at him. Mana was staring, watching something rather closely. Allen never got the chance to ask or look himself as he was thrown out of the way. Once he had regained his equilibrium, Arya by his side and gently licking his face, he looked up to see what had happened.

A carriage, broken from the wreckage. It probably slid out of control on the ice that still caked the street. The man driving and the people inside seemed alright, taking out phones to dial police to come and file the accident. It was their words that snagged him, making his blood go colder than the snow under him could ever do.

"There was a man and a kid. He pushed the kid out of the way, but we hit the man. I don't think he's breathing."

Allen scrambled up, Arya hot on his heels. He tried to look for his father, faltering at finding him under one of the wheels. He panicked, breath coming up short and eyes wide. With trembling hands, Allen gently shook Mana's shoulder, eyes glossing with tears.

"Mana?" He didn't get an answer. Gulping, Allen tried to find a pulse on the man's neck.

Nothing.

Sobbing, breath hitching and chest about to burst with how hard his heart was beating, Allen tried one more time.

"Mana? Mana, wake up. Please."

Vision blurry, deaf but to his own heartbeat in his ears, tunnel vision focused on his father. He only moved when someone lifted him up, carrying him away.

He fought.

Struggled, kicked, bit. Anything he could to get to his father again. He didn't realize that Arya wasn't helping him, letting the medic take him away from the body. Once he was sat down, farther away, Arya curled in his lap, her weight a welcoming anchor in all this madness.

Only after petting Arya for what could have been minutes or hours, he realized the medic was trying to talk to him.

"Do you have someone you can call? Anyone at home?"

"My uncle," Allen choked out. "He's home."

"Wanna call him?" he asked patiently. "Do you know his number?" Allen nodded, accepting the phone he was given and dial a number both the older twins made him memorize.

It rang, slowly.

It rang.

It clicked.

Before Allen could say a word, the voicemail player spoke in a robotic voice. He frowned, hung up, and dialed again, positive that if he called the second time, his uncle would pick up.

It rang.

Rang.

Click.

Voicemail.

Lead filled Allen's stomach. His uncle always answered, even numbers he didn't know. Especially if they called a second time. Maybe he was in the shower or something? Odd, for the middle of the day.

"Not answering?" the medic asked softly, sighing as the boy answered in the negative. "We'll get you home. One of the policemen will give you a lift. Do you know your address?" Allen nodded.

As he said, one of the men in blue drove him home, and the first thing he noticed was the door open. Odd. It was cold, and Allen knew he and Mana had closed it behind them. The officer moved in first gun drawn. Allen snuck in behind him, despite the warning to stay in the car. Allen gasped.

Everything was perfectly fine, nothing amiss, until you got to Neah's room. Completely wrecked, splattered in dark blood and large gouges taken out of the walls. There was no body. No one home.

Someone had probably killed his uncle. The only one who came to mind was the Earl. Neah had said that he had something against him, but refused to tell him what.

He was alone. Alone again.

"You promised," he sobbed, hiccuping and barely drawing in air. "You promised you wouldn't leave me alone again."

The officer tried to console him, patting him on his shoulder. He knelt down, sad and understanding.

"You got someone you can call?" the officer asked, offering the boy his phone. Allen ignored it, frozen, but Arya hopped from his shoulders to wander to a drawer. She pulled it open, getting out a little phone that would only have one number on it and offered it to her master.

She poked his cheek with the cold metal, startling him. He took the phone, opening it and dialing the one number on it.

It clicked, a gruff, worn voice answering.

'What, Musician?'

"Marian?" Allen answered, shaky and voice choked. "They're gone. Mana got hit by a carriage and the Earl-" Allen sobbed, breaking down again.

'You still at the house? Do you have Arya with you?'

"Yes," Allen replied, wiping away tears.

'I'll be there in a day or so. You're luck I was close by. My Neah senses were tingling.'

Allen chuckled, understanding. "Yeah, Mana says he has one. I'm probably just paranoid."

'Paranoia keeps you alive, kid. Stay outta trouble until I get there. You damn Campbells are magnets.' The click of the line alerted Allen to the call ending, nodding to the officer who had carried him to the living room while he was distracted.