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He was walking beside the last person he had ever expected to walk aside in the entirety of the war.

How had they ended up here? How was Faustite not dead where he stood? How was Encke not dead where he stood? How had he witnessed Faustite cry? How had he heard the words from Faustite’s lips that he had to be rid of the youma? Of all the people, how was it him? How did he actually feel bad? How was this walk as peaceful as it was? And how was this him? How was he helping the guy who nearly murdered a solid half of people he knew?

His mind was spinning, and it took all of his presence of mind to not be twitching like a faulty technological experiment from Viatrix in the process. Focusing on a locale helped. There was one place he knew they could go to, if they could make it there unnoticed, that stood as a neutral ground between both of them.

A small clearing on a massive hill, overlooking the city, where at indeterminate times of year, there might have been an unfairly charming dragon man with space knowledge he both envied and craved.

“Wouldn’t think so,” responded Encke, wryly. “Pretty sure you’ve never tried to leave.”

And from the way Faustite so determinedly worded it, he was fairly sure that under any different condition, they would never be having these conversations in the first place. Needed to get rid of the youma. Not needed to leave Chaos, necessarily. Would that be enough to–

He gazed somewhere over Faustite as he ran over in his head all the relevant notes. He’d need a new identity, for one. He had a Mauvian who could help with that, a Mauvian he’d never thought he’d be recruiting for this individual. He’d need a place to stay–

… Okay. Encke could figure that out. He could figure it out after he had time to pinch himself so hard he bled.

“Well, at the most overhead level, we’ll need to find people to p–,” wording, “rid you of the youma. Need a royal. Or Cosmos,” he knit his brows. Maybe? Would Cosmos be able to help alone in this case? “From my experience with youma,” not purifications, “ridding, you’ll need a court or brigade, too. I unfortunately am not either.”

But the most overhead level missed what happened without the assistance of magic.

Well, s**t.

A lot of things were getting altered about his perception at a rapid pace. This wasn’t the first time Faustite tried to leave. He had tried to leave with less of something forcing him to give it up, he presumed, considering this was the first time he had run into Faustite actively being consumed by his youma side. When had that been? Had Encke known him then? Was there something he could have done then, before he watched Faustite quite nearly kill Basiluzzo, witnessed the results of him draining Pendour, witnessed the results of the several operations Faustite had seemed to lead, witnessed him show up at seemingly every other…

It didn’t matter. He was here, somehow, and Faustite was there, somehow, coughing like an old smoker, and pacing even though he knew the guy had to be exhausted by now after all those flare-ups.

By the stars.

‘White Moon’. Of course. He hated that title. “White Moon Court isn’t an accurate term. We’re Order. Never devoted myself to any White Moon or Moon Princess or what have you.” Encke was tapping his leg again. “Also, the whole of us isn't a court. We just are. Courts on Order side are more formalized arrangements between smaller groups of senshi which grant some sort of magical bond. Enlisting the dark mirror wouldn’t help here.”

Perhaps it had been just the mass purification attempt that those days at the bleachers had been. Encke wasn’t going to take any chances. The last thing they wanted to do is think they had everything arranged, only for Faustite to burst into his final flames anyway. They only had so much experience with these things.

He, somehow, was one of the people who had that experience.

“So we’ll need to find a royal, and a court to help them.”

The Leonian smile surfaced to his mind for a fleeting moment.

… Not that he knew any courts that weren’t just missing.

“Nothing to do with our organization as a side, Faustite.” As a side that they never should have been, as a war they shouldn’t have needed to fight at all. “Order of the universal cycles of death and rebirth, driven by the Cauldron. Chaos disrupts that,” with their energy draining and their starseed eating and removing people away from being able to go to their homeworlds and– they were splitting hairs, and that wasn’t getting them anywhere.

He didn’t really have any interest in fighting with a dying man. If he told himself this a couple of hours ago, perhaps he would have said differently. Perhaps he wouldn’t have. He didn’t take any movements to end Faustite’s life when he had the chance to before. Protected it, even. Let him sleep. Of course, that had been before the past few years–

Whatever.

He let out another hissed sigh as he bounced on the heels of his feet. "I'm not trying to drag this out. I don't really have any interest in causing suffering, and as it turns out I don't want to fight with you." Encke had to confront the fact that Faustite was in pain. He had to confront the fact that he felt awful about it. He didn't know how to approach it outside of that.

Faustite had tried to leave.

How was he supposed to handle that particular news?

"I do know one court, but I haven't seen any of their members in a very long time. Not convinced they're still alive, but I'll try them first." Encke was taking out his phone anyway.

The one with the black case that might have looked familiar from earlier. Where was the number he had never quite convinced himself to delete? G… gr… there. He bit his lip. He ignored the stinging at the side of his eyes.



He expected nothing. Or worse, a number change, and a response from some kid who just got a phone saying that their name wasn't Gray. Probably Ava, or something. Brad.

He swapped to his senshi phone, then. "I'll send out a general ask for info on any courts." Faustite wasn't wrong. Someone had to know.

It was times like this he was strangely sad he couldn't form those types of bonds with his knight family. Strangely because… well. He was still talking to Faustite.

s**t.

Then stop fighting me.

Encke’s smile was wry. “Trying to,” he murmured.

Somehow.

Could he have stopped any of this, could he have stopped the sequence of events that led to Basiluzzo’s neck under Faustite’s foot, his husband’s life both in his hands and forever unreachable, him trying his hardest to not seem too connected but Viatrix having to come to disrupt the situation and–

When Faustite approached, Encke stayed relaxed. It would probably help the trying not to fight impression if he didn’t get more tense with the man on fire closer to him. There was a part of him that desperately wanted to fight him. The man who tried to literally murder his husband was in front of him, weakened– “Lysithea?” Encke lifted his phone back up. Perhaps he could at least try to reach out…

He didn’t know the name Malus, but he kept it in mind, anyway.

But she had been corrupted. The Negaverse had taken her. Taken. When had that happened?

And they had a falling out. Complicated matters. How intense was that falling out? Had Faustite actually succeeded in killing one of the people Lysithea loved?



Trying to stop himself from jumping to that conclusion, he sent off the message and sat down too. If Faustite was doing as close as he could do to relaxing in front of him, he could at least show the faintest bit of trust by doing the same, even as his stomach flopped and twisted. “I haven’t met them myself, but I can see if someone I know does. I know a lot of people.” His senshi network in particular had grown considerably more extensive than it had been before, since Viatrix had found him and started collecting senshi. “Don’t have to know who is looking to do it just to reach out and get in touch.”

If he could facilitate it in some way, perhaps… “But those are the overhead steps. While we wait on some responses,” that would come, as much as he thought Sailor Leo was a hopeless path. It had to. The concept that there wouldn’t be anyone made his stomach flop almost as much as Faustite did, “could talk of other things. You’ll be fully as you would be without the influence of Chaos, so without,” he gestured loosely at the fire, figuring it wasn’t necessary to elaborate. “And since you’ll be leaving your faction, we’ll need to get you set up over here. A name, an ID, schooling if you desire to get caught up with that, a place to live,” Encke let out a slow breath.

He’d have to tell Basiluzzo.

“I have a Mauvian. She can help get started with some of that. You wouldn’t need to worry about a place to live, either.”

Was he really proposing that people like Richard and Livie would have to live with their would-be murderer?

Who was he kidding? Livie would be ecstatic. If he just purified, Livie wouldn’t need to figure out how to kill him, anyway.

It was fascinating to see part of Faustite come apart in that way, the pieces that held that fire come apart and come to the ground, probably scorching the grass below. Encke didn’t think too much of it, taking the screwdriver as it was offered to him. Probably what he should be doing, if nothing else.

What was he kidding? What the <********> should he be doing? Was there even a word that could define any of this? He was literally watching Faustite feed his barbecue pit while explaining what things would be like after this guy actually did the unthinkable. The unthinkable he had debated with Pendour, with Nectaris, with himself countless times as he pondered if it was simply time to assume violence and strike first before Faustite had the chance. If it was time to act first before he came home and waited for Basiluzzo to return, only to find out he wouldn’t.

Ever.

Faustite looked as if he was about to cry, and Encke would grant him that space. He was insistent he was getting rid of the youma, not purifying. Encke wasn’t convinced this was something he actually wanted to do. It was life or death, but it may get mourned like a death either way.

But then came the question he had to confront.

“Yes.”

The words came easily, but wrapping his mind around it did not. He and Basiluzzo, Stromboli, and Safira – they had all agreed their house was open to people purifying. They needed a place to land, a place to get back on their feet, a place to live. Luke and Safira had the space. They went from having five children to just having one at home who shared a room with his husband. Luke was an accounting partner. He brought in enough money to easily compensate. They had always lived under their means.

What the hell was he going to say to his Arra, though? ‘Surprise, the guy who tried to murder you twice will be living with us?’ The ******** would Luke think of that? Safira? How would he field this with Livie without never hearing the end of it? How did he word this to the other house members? Did he, or did he just assume they would take it with ease? Did he try to recruit them into changing how Faustite was thinking of this to make sure that the man who was Elex was not lost to a pile of ash?

“Not gonna expect you to abandon everything without a place to go. You need a place to land. We have the resources.”

Encke was drawing from experience talking to people like Sylvite and Stillwaterite, and the aliens like Roka and Caedus, and absolutely not experience with talking to people like Faustite. Absolutely not experience with the half-youma general who had been a persistent problem for him and Order for years.

Maybe that was the easy excuse.

Perhaps he could withdraw the offer. Faustite could be a serial killer. His behaviours in the Negaverse had certainly hinted as much. Perhaps letting him stay with them was just asking for them all to die, or just asking for them to have to murder him anyway. Perhaps the risk wasn’t worth the reward.

But there was something about the way he said that with a double-edged compliment and as glibly as he did which made Encke wonder the truth of him being a serial killer without the chaotic influence. And there was something in his stomach that wouldn’t let him retract, or reconsider, or dare to not offer Faustite the same as he’d offer any other agent that was truly looking to leave who was in that deep. Nectaris would remind him of the same.

“Maybe it is.” Encke leaned forward. “Brave of you to trust me, too.”

He had kept a fairly stony face when Faustite had nearly killed Basiluzzo, but he hadn’t managed the same when he was already there to rescue Nectaris. He had to know of at least some personal connections. From some perspectives, Encke had no reason to help Faustite. He knew what Anser’s response would have been.

Encke didn’t make an excessive amount of effort to fill the silence in-between, though his fidgeting did increase with the relative silence other than the ASMR of Faustite shoveling food into his infinite fire followed by general grate repair noises. His foot wiggled. His toes curled in his boots. His fingers tapped. They tapped on his phone, too, checking over and over for responses. He checked his civilian phone.

Nothing there either.

Faustite’s words brought him out of his cycle, and he glanced over to him, brows lifting. He hadn’t expected it to take this long either, admittedly, but how many courts did he know? The most he had was the one that it sounded like had gotten dissolved that Faustite had just informed him of. The Zodiac Court? Fat chance of catching word of them. But it bothered Encke outright, his stomach flopping again. Would Faustite truly lack the opportunities he had? Felt wrong. “Might just take us time to chase up the right people.”

But Faustite was walking away, and Encke wasn’t sure what he should do. Would Faustite turn violent now that he wasn’t getting what he wanted? Could he, with the way he was hacking?

… Evidently, the answer to that was no.

Faustite was on the ground now. He and all his flames were just on the ground, in a clearing in the woods. He might set himself aflame. He might set the forest aflame. The forest, and anything that was there as the fire spread– his mind flashed to the Autumn, and he found himself scrambling to get up and stop the spread.

That necessitated getting Faustite up, probably.

Would a bit of energy help? He bit the inside of his cheek as he pressed his hands forward, toward Faustite’s shoulders, summoning some of that warmth from his comet.

Encke should have expected it, and was rewarded for it with stinging in his hands. At least Faustite was up now and Encke wouldn't potentially be partially responsible for a ******** forest fire, never mind the lives he was pondering.

When the couple of blades of grass started to catch fire, Encke found himself warily glancing between Faustite and the ground. He wanted to pinch the grass fire out. He was also fairly sure touching anything between the two of them might just make Faustite hit him harder. Or act more like a scared dog. He wasn't sure which.

"No. Gave you some energy after you collapsed." Encke flexed his fingers, at least, trying to work out the sting. "Had nothing to do with whatever caused you to fall like that."

He eyed the blade of grass that was closest and very quickly pinched it between two fingers.