Ashwatthama's heat was oppressive even when he wasn't actively radiating flame. Shirou could feel it at his back like standing near a furnace. He kept his steps steady as they reached the upstairs hallway. They prepared a guest room the day after the summoming, but he has to go to the main bedroom for the clothes.
"I assume you know where you are," Shirou said flatly, stepping aside to let the demigod walk through the door first. "We paid for paper trail and Grail Knowledge, after all."
Ashwatthama cast a sidelong glance at him, looking as annoyed as ever. "The world, yes. This timeline? No. But enough to know it reeks of rot. And that your 'Company' has its claws in me now."
Shirou watched him as he entered the room, his fiery hair trailing like embers. "It's not 'my' Company. Though, how much do you know about it?"
Ashwatthama snorted. "The Company's leash didn't reach my neck even if it marked me. But I know the gist of it." His voice was a low rumble. "New world. No way back. Bought like meat off a butcher's block. They want warriors. Weapons. Sex toys. They twist you up, wind you tight, and watch to see if you break by whoever your Summoner is."
That tracked. It mirrored Shirou's own thoughts from when he first arrived. "You're not bound," Shirou said carefully. "And he didn't buy you for that."
"Yeah?" Ashwatthama asked, folding his arms, firelight dancing along his torso. "So, what's his role in all of this?"
Shirou leaned against the doorframe and answered honestly. "He filled out the Catalog out of curiosity. Thought it was just a gimmick. Didn't think it would actually drag him here—or me, for that matter."
Ashwatthama raised a brow. "And yet he filled iit up and chose you and, even if he didn't think nothing would happen then, he did so. Maybe he had thoughts about you."
"Actually, even when he thought it was all a gimmick, he chose me because he didn't want to be tempted." Shirou looked away slightly. "He's bisexual, yes. But he leans toward women. Knew he might get distracted if he picked a pretty girl, so he picked me instead."
Ashwatthama frowned and said like stating a fact, "You are handsome."
"But not pretty," Shirou replied dryly. "And apparently, that was enough."
There was a beat of silence before Ashwatthama snorted, the faintest twitch of amusement on his lips. "You sound a bit annoyed at that."
Shirou shrugged. "It's been… a little more than a week."
Ashwatthama chuckled low in his throat. "So he picked you to avoid temptation and still managed to get a self-righteous bleeding heart out of it. One who pants for him like a dog. Hilarious."
"He's a good person," Shirou said. It came out quieter than he meant it to, but still firm. "He helps people. Even if he thinks he's weak. Even if he's scared."
Ashwatthama hummed. Not agreement—just noise. "I saw his eyes. Scared, flustered. Too soft for war. That makes him dangerous."
That caught Shirou off guard. "How so?"
"Because men like that either break… or bend others without meaning to. That one would cry if I bled. Or scream if I killed for him. And yet, he'll ask. They all do, eventually."
Shirou stopped in front of the guest room door, resting a hand against the wood, but didn't open it. "You think he'll ask you to kill?"
Ashwatthama leaned on the wall, arms crossed, still shirtless, glow pulsing along his skin. "No. I think he'll apologize when I do it to save him."
Shirou turned to face him.
"He didn't bring you here to fight," he said. "He brought you here because he thought you deserved better. Because he thought maybe you were tired."
Ashwatthama's brows knit together. "You're serious."
"I am."
"And you believe that?"
"I didn't, at first," Shirou admitted. "But I've been here longer than you."
Ashwatthama narrowed his eyes. "So who is he, then? This… Satoshi."
Shirou looked at the door. Then down the hall, where the smell of food drifted faintly from the kitchen. "He's not a hero. Not a soldier. He's a cook with too much empathy and not enough self-preservation. He adopted a broken girl, healed strangers with a Ralts, and keeps apologizing to the man he bought by accident."
"Sounds foolish."
"He is," he said softly as he entered the room and searched for clothes that would fit Ashwatthama's frame.
"…And you care for him."
Shirou didn't answer. But his silence said enough.
Ashwatthama chuckled—low, dry, almost a scoff. "Then you're a fool too."
Shirou held his gaze, then tossed him a folded stack of plain clothes he'd grabbed. "Get dressed. He'll panic again if Riley sees your divine abs."
Another smirk. "And you wouldn't?"
Shirou rolled his eyes. "Just get changed."
Ashwatthama pulled the tunic over his head with slow, practiced efficiency. The borrowed clothes were a bit snug on his frame—he was built like a war god, after all—but they fit well enough for decency.
Shirou waited, arms crossed, watching the flicker of flame at the man's forehead dim slightly as the rest of the armor was sealed away. It was strange seeing someone that dangerous look… normal.
Or as normal as a demi-god could get.
"You said this Satoshi wants to help people," he said, voice even but skeptical. "Explain."
Shirou leaned against the windowsill, arms crossed. "There's a girl. Riley. You might have heard the name Slaughterhouse Nine in your debrief of this world. She was part of them."
Ashwatthama's brow twitched faintly. "One of those monsters?"
"She's nine," Shirou said, gaze hard. "Taken. Twisted. Turned into a weapon before she even knew what she was doing. Satoshi's trying to give her a second chance."
The demigod was quiet for a beat. Then, "Does she want one?"
"She doesn't know yet. She clings to us—especially to Satoshi—but that's trauma, not trust." He paused. "Still, he's patient. Kind. Too kind, sometimes."
Ashwatthama snorted. "Sounds naive."
"It does. But… it's working. For now."
Ashwatthama's lips twisted, not quite a sneer. "And the authorities?"
"They're watching. Someone with deep connections in this world, Dragon, is involved. She's the only reason they haven't tried to take Riley away." He let the silence stretch before adding, "She has nightmares every night. Wakes up terrified. We're trying to give her something better."
Ashwatthama didn't scoff this time. He only looked thoughtful. "So what's your plan then? Adopt her, open a charity, and hope the monsters don't come knocking?"
Shirou actually smiled, dry and grim. "Close enough. Satoshi wants to open a restaurant and a Soup Kitchen. We're also planning to move to Brockton Bay," he continued. "It's… a disaster waiting to happen. Gangs, Endbringers, corrupt PRT. But he thinks it's a place in need of hope. Said it was the perfect place to start a life."
Ashwatthama blinked. "A life. In a war zone."
"Yeah." Shirou's mouth twitched. "He thinks feeding people heals them. That warm food and full bellies are enough to start change."
Ashwatthama muttered something in Sanskrit that sounded equal parts disbelief and begrudging respect. "And why he chose me?"
"I was the one who did it, actually," Shirou admitted. "He left the last decision to me and we needed someone strong. Someone who could fight if Jack Slash came knocking."
"Ah. So I'm the weapon," Ashwatthama said, tone flat.
"You're a person. Satoshi made that clear. His only conditions were that we summon someone who deserved a second chance and who didn't like where they came from."
Ashwatthama's hands clenched and unclenched slowly. "...And what if I didn't want another chance?"
"Then don't take it," Shirou said simply. "No one here's going to force you. But if you do want it… Satoshi will hand it to you without hesitation."
Shirou looked away then, muttering almost to himself. "Even if it burns him."
There was silence again—Ashwatthama staring at the door, thoughtful and unreadable.
Then, finally, a quiet: "Let's see if your chef is as soft-hearted as he is stubborn. You two still brought a stranger like me into a house with a traumatized child."
Shirou met his gaze. "Because he believes people can change, if given the chance. He'd have summoned anyone broken just to try and fix them if I didn't guide him."
Ashwatthama huffed. "And I'm your fixer-upper?"
"You're someone who's been used like a weapon for too long and lived under a painful curse," Shirou said calmly. "And you still kept your pride. That means something."
There was a long silence before Ashwatthama finally said, "You talk a lot for someone who scowls as much as you do."
"And you're surprisingly calm for someone who's known for his anger and could've incinerated me downstairs."
Ashwatthama rolled his shoulders. "Still might. Depends how bad the food is."
Shirou smirked. "You'll be the one begging for more. Just wait."
Shirou walked a half-step behind Ashwatthama as they descended the stairs. The demigod's back was rigid, each step deliberately measured, like a lion pacing through unfamiliar territory. His tension wasn't just instinct—it was armor. Mistrust layered over resignation, crackling beneath his skin like restrained fire.
Shirou didn't take his eyes off him for a second.
The smell hit them before they turned the corner—rich, savory, warm. It curled through the hall, laced with spice and sweetness in a way that made Shirou's stomach grumble despite himself.
Ashwatthama paused, nostrils flaring. He tilted his head, wariness warring with interest. But then they stepped into the kitchen, the first thing they saw was Riley. She was at the table with Ralts, the little psychic Pokémon floating beside her with napkins in one hand and spoons in the other. Riley was talking animatedly, clearly in the middle of describing something she'd found in the garden—a worm? A weird flower? Something entirely mundane and safe that had her eyes sparkling for once.
And Satoshi, standing behind the counter, laughing softly as he plated food with an ease that bordered on divine. His eyes creased at the corners. His shoulders were relaxed. It was domestic and peaceful.
Ashwatthama froze in front of him. He didn't need to say anything. Shirou could feel the jolt run through him—an instinct to back away from something too delicate, too clean. But then Satoshi looked up and his gaze went straight to Ashwatthama. A second passed. Then another.
And he didn't smile. Not at first. He scanned him—fast. Not lingering. Just… checking. Armor: gone. Clothes: intact. Face: not angry. Then Satoshi gave a short, relieved nod. Like a box had been checked on a mental list.
Ashwatthama blinked. But before anything else could be said, Riley turned around. Her eyes widened the moment she saw the tall, flaming-haired man standing in the doorway. Her shoulders stiffened. Her grip on the plate tightened.
But Satoshi was already there, hand on her head gently. "Hey," he said softly. "This is Ashwatthama. He's new. He's… like Shirou."
Ashwatthama arched a brow. Shirou just narrowed his eyes.
"He's strong," Satoshi continued, "but he's not here to hurt anyone."
It wasn't much of an introduction, but the way Riley leaned into the pat—just slightly—was enough for now.
A sudden chime broke the quiet and Satoshi blinked and turned toward the counter, where his phone lit up. He checked it quickly and sighed. "It's Dragon."
Shirou straightened and Ashwatthama tilted his head as they both sharpened their senses the moment Satoshi stepped into the hallway with the phone pressed to his ear. His posture had changed subtly—tense spine, careful tone, a forced lightness to his voice that anyone who knew him for more than a few days would clock immediately as "I'm trying not to panic."
Satoshi laughed softly at something Dragon said.
Shirou frowned because that wasn't a real laugh. That was the laugh of a man who just discovered something legally binding had gone very wrong.
"…Yes, of course I filed the paperwork," Satoshi was saying. "Yes, weeks ago. I mean—before the incident with the S9."
Another pause. Another stammered chuckle.
"Yes, my new husband and… yes, he's the second one. Of course. It's all very—modern."
Shirou's eye twitched as he glanced at Ashwatthama, who had also heard it. The flaming demigod's expression went from wariness to outright anger. His fists clenched. The golden eye that wasn't hidden behind his bangs glowed faintly.
Shirou muttered under his breath. "Of course The Company would auto-register spouses."
They should've expected it. The Company had already warped legal frameworks to get them into the world with pre-established identities and finances. But apparently, they had also updated public records to reflect marital status—automatically. Retroactively. Multiplicatively.
"Polygamy's not even legal in the States," Shirou hissed.
"Apparently it is now," Satoshi muttered for them to hear only as he pulled the phone away from a very angry and loud Dragon "The Company pulled some strings, maybe. Or maybe they rewrote enough law with money and bribes that no one cares anymore…"
He trailed off and Shirou could feel the guilt radiating off him in waves. That classic 'I fucked up and I don't know how to fix it' aura.
Ashwatthama looked like he was about to punch a wall.
"...Yeah, Dragon, I understand," Satoshi was saying now as he neared the phone once again, his voice quieter. "No, I didn't mean to rush it—Riley's our priority, I know. We're being careful. I just—I saw the chance to help someone and forgot about to mention it with all that happened."
There was silence. Then Dragon's tone softened slightly through the phone. Shirou and Ashwatthama neared until they were able to hear her voice.
"... I looked into Ashwatthama's background. According to what I could scrape from foreign records and disaster zones… he's a survivor. Leviathan, Hyderabad, 2001. However, there's no solid record before that."
Shirou's eyes narrowed.
"He's worked security ever since," Dragon continued. "Legally. Independently. Drifted for a while, probably due to trauma. He's not flagged by any major watchlists, but his immigration file was patchy. I assume you married him to help keep him in Nebraska?"
"Something like that," Satoshi answered faintly. "He… didn't really have anyone. Or anywhere."
"Even so," Dragon said firmly, "you should have mentioned it. Riley's process is nowhere near complete, after all."
"I know. I'm sorry."
Her voice softened again. "It's not a dealbreaker. We're close to finalizing. The social worker will visit soon. Just make sure everything's stable."
The call ended and Satoshi leaned against the wall, letting the phone drop to his side. For a moment, he just stood there, breathing slow and deep like he was trying not to scream.
Then he turned around.
Shirou didn't say a word. Neither did Ashwatthama.
Satoshi looked at them both and offered a weak, brittle smile.
"…Soooo. Good news. We're still legally allowed to adopt Riley." He gave a double thumbs up. "Bad news. Apparently I'm married again. Sorry?"
Ashwatthama just stared.
Shirou pinched the bridge of his nose. "We're going to need a bigger bed."
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