Chapter Text
Caesar had given every last ounce of himself to this fight, a fight that spanned generations of his lineage. His blood, sweat, tears... even his hamon was gone, drifting away from his fingertips in a crimson bubble. He would be surprised, when everything was said and done, if there was anything left of him to cross over to the other side at all. He speculated laying himself so bare and essentially giving his very soul in the battle bound it to this mortal coil, dooming it to eternity without rest. The prospect was frightening indeed, but Caesar accepted his fate now, no matter what it was. He knew it would be fulfilled very soon.
He heard the crumble of the walls, the cracks skittering across the old hotel's ceiling like spider legs. Then, an instant of immense pain, a slam of rock against rock, dust, blood, and then… darkness. The darkness mixed with red, gradually. It swirled amongst it faintly, forming little eddies in the void surrounding him. It reminded him of the rainbow swirls of soap he would see on the surface of his bubbles. Bubbles. Bubbles were water. Soap and water. It felt like he was underwater, getting pulled away by a riptide. His hearing and touch were dulled by the darkness flooding his senses. Where was the ground? Hadn't he been sitting on the ground? He couldn't feel the ground. He couldn't feel anything. Was someone calling his name...?
Caesar drifted away. Weightless. Like a bubble...
When you blow a bubble, it floats upwards, but never reaches the heavens it aspires to. The force of gravity tethers it to the earth. Though the bubble resists, it is inevitable. The bubble's kismet, despite appearances, is not the sky, but solid ground…
Caesar came back in degrees, though still without any warning. His feet, which he'd almost forgotten he had after so long, touched the ground. His hearing returned. The darkness fizzled away in chunks. He was back on terra ferma, somehow, somewhere, at least on some plane's version of it…
When his vision cleared fully, he found himself in a bedroom. A little girl's bedroom, to be specific. The walls were painted a pleasing pink, the sheets and blankets on the bed white with pink and purple polka dots. At the head of the bed sat a large collection of stuffed animals, so many that they obscured the pillows. There were shelves for books and other bric-a-brac, though they were majorly occupied by the latter. On the floor in front of him sat a tiny wooden table and chairs, set for tea with little china cups, saucers, a kettle, a sugar bowl, and miniature silverware to boot. Two of the chairs were pulled out and occupied by more stuffed animals, while one was pushed in and empty. Sitting in the final chair was a little girl in a buttercup dress, no doubt the room's resident.
"Hi!" she said as she stood up, a big smile on her face.
"Hi…" he echoed with uncertainty.
She tottered around the table and stopped in front of him, brushing her ruffled skirts into place and straightening her posture with the utmost formality. She asked in a voice obviously putting on airs, "Would you join me for a spot of tea?"
He studied her face, those eager green eyes and chubby cheeks. She couldn't have been older than six, and that was generous. Somehow, he found himself in a prime position to be her playmate, her teatime companion to be precise. It was a role he was distantly familiar with, one that he played for his little sisters often before his world came crashing down. It was over ten years ago, but the sight of this girl and her tea set recalled it as if it were yesterday. A warmth he hadn't known in ages bloomed in his chest.
After a moment, he indulged her with a bow. "I'd be delighted!"
She cheered and pulled out the empty chair, inviting him to sit. He did so, but due to his disproportionate size, it was more like he was squatting with a bit of support. She took the cup and saucer at his place in one hand and the teapot in the other and mimed pouring him a cup. She put down the teapot and pinched the tiny spoon in the sugar bowl between her fingers.
"How much sugar?"
He held up two fingers. "Two spoons."
She dished two scoops of imaginary sugar into his imaginary tea, then set the saucer and cup down before him.
"Careful, it's hot," she warned.
"I see," he replied with a gentle nod. He pretended to drink, all the while trying to wrap his head around what was happening. He certainly died at the hotel, there was no doubt about that, so… this was what was on the other side? A tea party? No hell, no heaven, just... this? Unless this was heaven and humanity had a very warped view of what God was like…
"How is it?"
Caesar snapped out of his line of thought. "Hmm? Oh, the tea! It's delicious! Molte grazie, signorina!"
She perked up, "Oh, you talk like Mama!"
"I do?"
"Yeah, Mama says that sometimes! M-moldy, multi…" she struggled to pronounce it.
"Molte grazie," he repeated.
She nodded vigorously, "Yeah!"
"Well that's very interesting," he said, casually taking another fake sip as he crossed his legs, "Where is your mama?" Maybe if he had another adult around to bounce ideas off of he could figure out what the hell was going on...
"She went to a fancy party thing with my uncle," she informed him, "Papa's still at work. Rosas is in the kitchen, I think… would you like some more?"
"Yes, please." He held it out for her and she poured another cup out. As she pretended to fill the cups of her plush companions, Caesar thought of what he should do. This Rosas person was his safest bet to make sense of all this, but he couldn't leave in the middle of a tea party, that was rude, and he didn't want to insult such a gracious hostess.
"Say, why don't we invite Rosas to tea?" he suggested.
"Oh, he's probably busy like always, plus…" she leaned over the table and whispered, "he's boring!"
He snickered through his teeth at her honesty and replied, "Still, it'd be nice to ask, you know."
"I guess..." she said, clearly unenthused but not particularly opposed to the idea. She obliged, trotting out the room with Caesar tailing behind.
Walking out into a general living space, Caesar discovered they were in a nicely furnished high-rise apartment. Skyscrapers filled a row of windows' view. The girl approached a man dusting a vase on the dresser with his back to them. He turned to the sound of little footsteps.
"Yes, Miss Holly?"
The girl, Holly, gestured with the teapot still in her hand. "Rosas, do you wanna come to my tea party?"
He frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry Miss Holly, I'm afraid my schedule is booked at the moment."
"That's okay, I was just asking for my friend."
He gave her a curious look. "Your friend?"
She pointed to Caesar. Rosas gave a cursory glance in that direction, definitely not the sort you would give a stranger suddenly appearing in your employer's home. "Ah, I see."
He turned back to Holly, knees bent to meet her at eye level. "Tell your new friend I'd love to sit and chat sometime!"
"Umm, I'm right here. You can say it to my face," responded Caesar curtly, feeling slighted by the apparent condescension.
Rosas didn't pay him any mind as he and Holly exchanged okays. Caesar snorted like a bull. It seemed that, for whatever reason, this butler was ignoring him.
"Hey! I'm trying to talk to you! What are you, deaf?" he snarled. Again met with no response, he waved his hand in front of Rosas' face. "Hello? Is anyone home?"
Holly giggled at how riled up he was, "You're silly!"
"Oh, what's your friend doing now?" asked Rosas playfully.
"He's, uh, waving hello to you," Holly half-lied.
"Oh, hello!" he greeted cheerily, waving in his general direction. Their lines of sight didn't even connect, rather it looked as if he was trying to make eye contact with someone at Holly's height. That's when it hit Caesar.
"He can't... see or hear me..."
The words fell out of his mouth, barely above a whisper, and his fingers pressed into his lips as if trying to stuff them back in. His entire body froze. All the while, Rosas offered to make Holly a snack as soon as he finished, which she was eager to take him up on. Though mere feet apart, their carefree demeanors made it feel like they were in a completely separate world. Caesar's entire being surged with emotions, overwhelming and imprecise and screaming at him to do something, anything. He would not budge, not so long as Holly could see him. She was an innocent girl in all this, he didn't want to scare her with one of his outbursts, the kind that terrorized the streets of Rome with a hamon-charged wrench in hand. The moment she had her back turned he sprang into action, bolting back into her room to grapple with the situation in solitude.
Instantly, Caesar found himself hunched over Holly's bed, his breathing heavy and vision swarmed with the pink and purple polka dots. Breathing? Why the fuck was he breathing? He didn't need to breathe. He was dead. If he didn't know that before, he sure as hell did now. What, did he just miss it or something? His hands pressed into the sheets, his elbows locked yet trembling, desperate to keep him upright.
Why was he here? Why the hell was he back? His story was over. Finished. The tragic tale of Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli was wrapped up with a neat little bow upon his sacrifice. What was the use of this senseless epilogue? Had he been right before? Had his ceaseless dedication damned him to walk the earth forever?
Caesar slammed his fist into the bed. He could feel the impact, but blankets did not buckle under the blow as they would in normal circumstances. He screwed his eyes shut and grunted, as if it pained him not to scream out his rage.
What even was he? Some kind of poltergeist? But why could Holly see him then? And why would he haunt this random little girl? He'd imagine there's many more fitting people and places. It didn't make sense. It just didn't make sense…
His eyes snapped open as inexplicable tears pricked their corners.
Wait.
Imagine.
That was the word.
The tea party. He and Holly had been playing pretend. Before, it was a party of one. Her parents were away and the help was too busy for games. She needed a friend. Then, he appeared.
Caesar shot straight up, like a hare hearing a rustle in the brush.
Rosas treated him like a joke. Holly spoke of him and the butler gave her goofy smiles and nods. He humored her. To him, it was all one big romp.
"I'm… I'm..."
He held a hand to his chest, his eyes fixed on it, scanning every minute wrinkle on the skin and worn down imperfections of his glove. It was something to keep his mind occupied so he didn't completely lose it.
It added up. He wished it didn't, but the theory formulating in his head added up, indeed. It explained why he materialized just when he did, for that particular scenario, and only to her...
"I'm… her… imaginary friend."