'id al adha
The buildings are turned in on themselves, the whole world jagged and fractal against an empty sky. He doesn't even notice this until he looks below him, and sees that the enormous shadows of his wings -- and the much smaller one of his body between them -- are splintered into fragments where they fall on the jutting concrete, sliced into pieces by the sharp edges. No wires snake out to bind him this time; nothing holds him in place at all, and yet he cannot move, able to do nothing but taste the dread that slimes his throat, crawling down to form a skin of ice on his stomach. He doesn't even think about reliving the past, but only knows that he knows. And he cannot, cannot possibly see this again. Not if he hopes to come through sane.
No...
Through the twisted landscape, seemingly unaware of the sickening inversion of the world, Subaru is fighting Fuuma; a battle that should rightly be his own, and he feels the sick twist of hurt helplessness without remembering to question why Subaru is fighting in his stead. Their figures are simple, obvious symbolism, easy enough for a child: black and white on gray, one fleeing, setting his trap, the other pursuing with no particular hurry at all. Why should he hurry? He knows, perhaps as well as Kamui does; perhaps naturally so, with all the times Fuuma has told him they are one. Perhaps Fuuma wouldn't know if he didn't know, or the other way around... And though he tries and tries to shout a warning, he can't: his throat is paralyzed, the air turned traitor and stuffing his cries back down into his belly, letting them smother there. His hands are tied with nothing but the knowledge that they are tied, and when his wings beat at the air in frustration and anguish, he sees a smile cast over Fuuma's shoulder that is meant for him alone.
No.
They speak, but he can't hear it; the world is devoured in a low roar of somehow eternal static, like the sound of a glacier passing. It probably doesn't matter, anyway. Not when he sees Subaru's eyes widen as if he is just understanding something that shouldn't be true at all, and not when Fuuma's first strikes land, quickly, almost too fast to see. By then, nothing is left but his own scream, and the dull thud of punished flesh (why should he be able to hear that and nothing else?). He turns his eyes sharply away, gritting his teeth. Be it cowardice or conscience, he cannot watch again.
But somehow, he ends up looking back. And somehow, when he does, he is not surprised to see that the scene has changed.
Where Fuuma was now stands the Sakurazukamori, and he is as natural and at ease in his position as if Fuuma had been the interloper, and he the intended participant. Somehow the exchange is both not as bad and much worse, and the uncertainty buzzes in Kamui's mind like the white noise that blocks out everything. There is no lesser of two evils here; only evil. And for no good reason, the switch does not seem nearly as strange as it should.
Smiling a jagged empty smile, neither eye with more meaning than the other, the assassin lifts Subaru's head on his foot almost in a kick, and it is both familiar and unfamiliar and both horribly so. Kamui cannot quite hear the raw sound of indignant fury that rips itself from his throat, as if the world were swathed in cotton, and him as well. It begins to feel as though he is responding by rote, an audience of one participating on cue, and that just makes him angrier, struggling with twice the furor of before. But now no one is watching him; this scene is theirs alone, with none of Fuuma's typical theatricality, the occasional glance and smile that somehow give every wound he causes to Kamui, and only Kamui, to hold and cherish forever. He might as well be nowhere. He might as well be a million miles from here, and yet he can't quite wish he were.
No, no, no...
White noise screams and screams.
But the voice begins to change now, although it takes a long moment to register; no longer the glacier's roar but a thin metallic whine, like an insect buzzing. A voice he finds he knows, if only dimly; and as it picks up a vague, unintelligible narrative, speaking in words no human tongue has ever discharged, he thinks he can almost remember...
The assassin moves then, however, pulling his limp prey roughly up before him by the back of his neck, and with him a piece of sky itself seems to shift -- and suddenly it is all much too clear. What Kamui assumes he took before for a shard of the shattered landscape is, in fact, a shinken: sleek and gleaming wetly, seeming to leer in the broken nothingness, like the long tooth of a dragon. Here and now, it could easily be the most real thing in the world. And only as the Sakurazukamori raises the blade -- distinctly ill-suited to his hand -- does comprehension strike.
But he can't move.
The older man says something to Subaru, smiling without smiling at all, but his prey's eyes seem vacant; he is staring at the sky, past both attacker and spectator, hardly seeming to be a part of this at all. Through his blind white haze of panic, Kamui half-expects the assassin to be irritated, but the man only nods, as though he had been answered -- and then he tilts the sword down quickly, too quickly, so the point rests perhaps half an inch away from Subaru's right eye. Subaru does not flinch, and so he only holds there, waiting.
And Kamui still, still cannot move. And in all painful truth, he doesn't even know what he would do if he could. His mind is paralyzed, chasing itself in idiotic spirals: no. no. please, no. It's going to happen again, right here in front of him, and that's all he knows. He can't stop it, and it will happen again, and he will have to watch.
Time hangs suspended, swinging rusty and forgotten from the blind white sky; and he hangs with it, a puppet on no strings at all.
When it comes, it is almost too quick, as though the world has been moving frame by frame and has only just now caught up to itself. The Sakurazukamori's arm draws back, and the sword's blade catches the light along its length, reflecting it in a brief shimmer; recognition slams into Kamui's senses backed with the force of adrenaline. The assassin's hand moves, faster than sound, and he can do nothing and can do nothing and cannot even scream as the blade crashes in. And Subaru closes his eyes just before it comes, as if in acceptance; and that meager shield of skin and resignation is no protection against near six feet of steel. The sword punches through lid and eye with the same explosive force, and, never slowing, slams itself almost to the hilt through Subaru's skull.
The gout of blood shatters when it strikes the hardened air; but Kamui's scream breaks through.
Nothing.
His head drops, and his eyes squeeze shut, seemingly of their own volition. Even if he'd tried, he doesn't think he could have stopped them. Everything is gone, washed out by horror and by grief, and he simply hangs from nothing, choking on his anguish. Nothing. That's all he could do, all he will ever be able to do: nothing but nothing but nothing. Nothing but stand by, and watch, and lose.
It takes him a forever of self-hatred and pain to notice, vaguely, that he he can hear again; the glacial static is gone, and suddenly the world seems to come into focus in his ears again. The first sound that only dimly reaches him is that of wind, in a low, empty drone, smoothing itself over the building-tops and stone. And the second, making him choke on a wrenching sob and twist it halfway into a snarl, is footsteps. Coming toward him.
When the hand closes on his chin, he jerks back first in surprise, and then twists his whole body violently away, thinking only incoherently that he must not let that touch him. But the hand returns implacably, and when he looks up, he sees not the assassin standing over him, but Fuuma; just Fuuma, as though there has never been anyone else. Fuuma, looking down at him with the old kind smile, as though there were nothing in the world but Kamui and love... and his form, for all that he seems to take up the entire sky, just fails to block out Kamui's view of Subaru's blood-soaked, cruciform body, and the specter of the Sumeragi's ruined face.
It hurts so much he forgets to notice that he can move again.
"It's all right, Kamui," Fuuma murmurs; his voice is distinct and heartrending, even over the howling wind. "You don't have to worry anymore."
He whimpers, trying to bring up the words that shake in his throat and escape him -- but a third voice interrupts from behind Fuuma's shoulder, paralyzing him all at once with hate.
"He's right, you know," the Sakurazukamori says mildly, coming up to Fuuma's side; he hands the shinken back to Fuuma without even bothering to wipe it clean, and then stands comfortably by with his hands in the pockets of his coat. "None of this is nearly so complicated as you seem to wish it to be." The older boy smiles companionably in thanks, and rests his hand just over Kamui's heart, with a touch so tender and so guiltily sweet that Kamui barely notices when the sword's tip nestles itself between Fuuma's thumb and forefinger. It doesn't seem to matter very much; but nonetheless, he doesn't want to see it. He looks at the sky, instead.
"You of all people should understand, 'Kamui'," he hears the assassin continue, as if from far away. "It's simply a matter of deciding what you want..."
Something catches his eye, and he looks back into Fuuma's face. Fuuma is as beautiful as he ever was, even framed by this nothing place, and his lips curve into a familiar smile that is for Kamui alone; and above it, his eyes are as blank as the slate-gray sky.
"...and paying for it," Fuuma finishes, and thrusts the shinken home.
And then Kamui is awake, choking on a gasp as his eyes open wide.
For a few seconds, all he can do is lie still, disoriented, not sure if this is the dream or if that was; but he seems to be alive and whole and without any huge whispering swords lodged through his ribcage, and that helps things sort themselves out a bit. To keep from falling asleep again -- those first few seconds after waking up are much too fragile -- he struggles to sit up; something clammy and damp tangles around his waist, holding him back, and he wrestles it away in a panic before realizing it's just his sweat-soaked sheets. And then he huddles, shivering, at the side of the bed, trying to catch his breath.
He makes himself sit still for a minute, adjusting his eyes to the dark, breathing as calmly as possible; only then does he let himself glance around the room. And immediately behind him, of course, he sees Subaru, still asleep and curled up around the place where Kamui is no longer lying. After their accidental bed-sharing last week, the onmyouji returned the next night without comment, and by now they just sleep together, as if it's always been that way -- well, except for the occasional night when Subaru is... elsewhere. And normally it's wonderful, warm and safe and soothing, the only really good part of the day... but at the sight of the bandage around the older man's eye, the one that Kamui's almost gotten used to, his stomach flips over and his shaky control cracks. A faint, strangled whimper jerks out of him, and he collapses back to the bed, wraps his arms tightly around Subaru, and trembles.
The first faint mumbling sound Subaru makes doesn't quite register, but the second does; Kamui whimpers again as Subaru lifts his head. And now he's gone and woken Subaru up, on top of everything. Great. Just wonderful.
But then warm arms wrap around his shoulders, keeping him safe and steady, and that makes it a lot harder to wish Subaru had stayed asleep.
"... Kamui?" the older man asks, blurrily, and he presses his face into Subaru's chest; the warm smell of him makes it both easier and harder to think. Kamui's first attempt at speech comes out as a thin squeak, and he winces and tries again.
"...sorry... I'm sorry..." Muffled in Subaru's chest, his voice is barely audible even to himself. "...didn't mean to wake you."
He feels the sleepy little sound Subaru makes more than he hears it: the older man's chest vibrates a little, and warm breath ruffles his hair. "No, it's... it's all right," he protests, though his voice sounds awfully thick. "Just... mmph. Can I turn on the light?" Kamui nods wordlessly, not lifting his head, and he can feel the friction from Subaru's shirt making even more of a mess of his hair. For once, this doesn't worry him very much.
He can feel Subaru shift, fumbling on the bedside table, and then light spills too suddenly into the room. Everything looks a little less threatening with the shadows removed, and Kamui lets himself relax a little; and Subaru hugs him tightly, and is as warm and secure as he could possibly want, and though he should probably let go and pull away, he just can't. He'd never imagined it could help this much, just to have someone here when he woke up.
"A nightmare?" Subaru asks, after a little while, reminding him where he is -- and unfortunately, reminding him of the dream, too. That he could have done without.
"Y -- yeah." Kamui takes a deep breath, and shudders again, unexpectedly; he whimpers slightly and hugs Subaru even tighter. A sick roil of feelings crawls up his throat, nearly choking him, and it takes him a moment to put them into words. "I'm sorry," he manages to whisper, finally, his voice hitching a little. "I... I'm so sorry. It was my fault... I'm so sorry."
Subaru's hand strokes his back, trying to soothe him. "It was only a dream, Kamui," he murmurs, misunderstanding, and Kamui just stutters weakly as Subaru's face presses into his hair. "Shhh. It's okay -- "
"No -- " He shakes his head a little, and lifts it to look up at Subaru; away from the warmth of Subaru's chest, he can feel that his cheeks are tear-streaked, and it surprises him faintly. "No, I..." He bites his lip, and reaches up to touch the bandage at the side of Subaru's head, hesitantly. "I'm sorry," he repeats again, trying to make his eyes say what he can't quite: For this.
Subaru blinks for a moment -- with just one eye -- and then shakes his head quickly. "It wasn't -- Kamui, no, don't say that." His fingertips gently brush Kamui's tears, and the boy closes his eyes briefly without meaning to -- not out of pain, this time, but because that feels better than it should. "Is that... were you dreaming about that?" Feeling almost guilty -- like it's wrong of him to even dream about it, whatever kind of sense that makes -- Kamui looks down, and mutters a yes. He almost starts to tell Subaru about the dream, about the rest of it... but no. Bad idea. Subaru doesn't need to know.
"It wasn't your fault," the older man says again, instead, insisting gently. "It... it wasn't anyone's fault, really. But least of all yours." Subaru sighs, and Kamui glances up at him worriedly -- is he mad? ...No; if anything, Subaru's expression is unusually tender. "I'm sorry it's been giving you bad dreams. I have nightmares about it, too, if that's any help. Sometimes."
Actually, it just makes him feel guiltier -- and a little horrified at the idea. God, if his dreams of the affair are this bad, what must Subaru's be like?
Never mind. Forget it for now.
He sighs a little, and leans on Subaru, closing his eyes. "I should have... I don't know. I should have done something. I could never do anything when anyone needed me... I just wish..." Kamui catches himself starting to sniffle again. "If I'd just -- tried harder, if I'd done something different..."
"There was nothing you could do, Kamui." And that one sentence proves Subaru's special sort of magic: if it had been anybody else saying those same words, it would have hurt bitterly, but from Subaru they're so full of sympathy and affection they become comforting instead. It's amazing how Subaru can do that, how he can always ease Kamui's mind so effortlessly.
"Still." Kamui realizes, suddenly, that his eyes have slipped closed somehow without his noticing; he jolts a little, and forces them open again. Oh, he doesn't want to sleep, not now, not knowing it could happen again... but -- "I'm sorry... I shouldn't be keeping you up."
Subaru smiles, and gently covers Kamui's eyes with his hand; he tries hard to cooperate and take the hint, but fear is still stronger than he is, and his eyes spring back open as soon as Subaru moves away. "It's why I'm here," is all Subaru says. "Do you think you can sleep again?"
No!
"...I guess so." Kamui looks up and tries a tiny smile, hoping it looks more real than it feels. He has no right to anything else. "I might as well try, right?"
Subaru sighs, obviously not fooled. "You don't sound very sure," the older man points out, and Kamui winces a little.
"No, it's okay," he insists, softly. "I don't really want to, but... I should."
But please don't make me...
Subaru doesn't; he just says nothing for a couple minutes, apparently thinking this over. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, at last.
"Not very much." What could he say?
Another pause comes and goes, and Subaru sighs again, sounding rueful. "I'm sorry. I'm not much help, am I?"
Kamui looks back up at him, faintly alarmed that Subaru would even think of blaming himself for this. "No, no -- that's not it. I mean..." He sighs himself, trying to figure out what it is he means. "I'm sorry. I feel like I must be driving you crazy."
Subaru smiles, gently, that warm beautiful smile he seems to save just for Kamui. Looking at it makes it impossible not to feel better... although that little shiver in his stomach is the last thing Kamui needs now. "I only want to help you," Subaru tells him softly. "I know... I know how difficult things have been lately, especially for you. I know how much I've upset people alone in the last few weeks."
Kamui barely lets him finish, making a small unhappy sound and shaking his head. "It's not your fault," he insists, without really even thinking about it. Of course it isn't Subaru's fault. How could it be? How could anything?
His eyes wander back down to his hands again, and neither of them says anything for a moment. For the moment, though, Kamui isn't thinking about his dream; he's thinking about Subaru instead, how much Subaru means to him, and that's a world of improvement. A whole universe, really.
"...Subaru?" he asks, and is surprised to hear his voice; he hadn't realized he had anything to say. Subaru tilts his head.
"Yes?"
"Thank you." He falters, and then adds, "For staying here with me. It... does help. A lot."
"Good. I'm glad." Subaru's hand falls on Kamui's back, rubbing it lightly, and Kamui goes pleasantly limp immediately. Sometimes he thinks everything stressful and painful in his life these days eventually finds its way into his back, where it all gets together and knits itself into an impossible snarl of muscle... but somehow, it isn't surprising that Subaru can make it all go away with just one touch. And for a minute, it's like he can almost feel Subaru's affection for him, bathing him like warm golden light, like that hand on his back is some kind of bridge between their minds that binds them together. He wonders if Subaru can feel him like that, too; and if Subaru can feel that weird unsteadiness in the center of him, and recognize it for whatever it is.
For some reason, that thought is very alarming, and he pushes it away in a hurry.
"I wish I could do something to help you, too," he ventures at last, as he leans into Subaru's hand, letting his eyes close without even realizing what he's doing. "You've been so kind to me..." He trails off, waiting for an answer; but Subaru doesn't say anything for a few moments.
"You do more than you think," he says at last, softly. There's a strange, surprising depth of emotion in his voice, and Kamui raises his head to blink up at him for a moment, but he can't read the look in Subaru's single eye. All there seems to be is warmth, directed at Kamui; but that's more than enough for him, and he timidly wraps his arms back around the older man. A week ago he never would have dreamed of infringing so much on Subaru's personal space (well... he might have dreamed of it, but -- oh, don't think about that now), but he can't really find it in him to worry. It's hard to be shy about touching someone you share a bed with, after all... and besides, Subaru's firm answering hug makes everything okay.
And he's only a little surprised to find that he feels much, much better...
"Well." He can hear the smile in Subaru's voice, and can't help wanting to return it. "If you don't want to go back to sleep... would you like to play cards or something? You'll be a wreck in the morning, but you may be happier."
Kamui tries to picture himself and Subaru sitting up and playing poker past dawn, both yawning into their hands; then he giggles a little, wearily, and attempts to push himself back to an independent sitting position. "Actually... um... I think I might be okay. Going back to sleep, I mean." He smiles at Subaru a little, sheepishly, but much more honestly than before. "I feel better."
Subaru answers Kamui's smile, and strokes his hair; the two in combination make him feel a little giddy. "If you're sure," he agrees, mildly. Kamui considers this honestly for a second -- is he? -- and then nods.
"I am," he says, with a bit more confidence. Subaru nods back, content with that, and lies back into the pillow; he opens his arms in a silent welcome. From someone normally so reserved, that gesture is both endearing and a little exciting. That flutter stirs again, deep down inside Kamui, and this time it brings words with it: I matter. To him, I matter. He wants me here...
Kamui reaches out to turn out the light as he lies down, just a stop along his way to Subaru's arms; the dark seems less threatening now, though, and he doesn't think much of it. He curls up contentedly at the onmyouji's side, basking in warmth physical and emotional... and no longer afraid to close his eyes. There are worse things than dreams, after all.
"Thank you," he whispers again, and Subaru gives his hair another nuzzle. Soft lips brush against his forehead, a gentle touch that's almost a kiss, and Kamui suppresses a shiver. That almost makes him feel too warm...
"You're welcome," Subaru murmurs. His voice is soft and reassuring. "You're always welcome, Kamui."
Finding himself without anything to say at all, Kamui just answers with a hug. The dark seems almost pleasant now, covering his closed eyes -- though not quite as pleasant as being next to Subaru. But then, what is?
It takes him a while to sleep, maybe longer than it should, with all the stray thoughts to be chased out of his head... but eventually, sleep does come. That's more than he could have said for a lot of similar nights before Subaru started sleeping here; and for now, he thinks it's enough.
And this time, when he dreams, he dreams only of Subaru.