A/N: I... I have no excuse for writing this. Posting this for Aira and Deni [damn it, babe, stop saying that I am killing your feels all the time!] Possible OCC-ness [we hadn't really seen them interact yet and I used the info from the hints the authors have dropped] and crappy writing [I blindly wrote this down,because I really love this pairing FFF-] and by crappy I mean the ending is all weird, but that's nothing new, because my writing is like that. Cliffhangers. Free fanart for the person who gets the secret behind last sentence.
Warnings: blood. Lots of blood. And angst.
Pairing: Fushimi Saruhiko x Yata Misaki
So it has finally come down to this.
This is it, this is what he's been waiting for he thinks. All this time, after chasing and running around with no real victor, Misaki finally wins. And a part of him really hates it. No it is not really hate, it's more complicated than that. But when wasn't their relationship complicated, when was it easy. Always much like a tempest, strong and raw emotions, hurt and pain, anger of betrayal and then when it calms complete dullness is left behind.
This is it. He breathes in, breath shuddering, slowly filling his aching lungs, ripping at his broken ribs. Stabbing pain. It hurts all over but it is all worth it because he's finally won. He can finally have his revenge on this man…
Don't hesitate, his inner voice buzzes inside his head, deepening the headache, just swing it. Swing it and it is all over.
You won't have to feel this way anymore.
It's been three minutes at least.
Hand raised above his head, fingers clutching his metal bat, slick with blood—Misaki is not sure his, or that damn traitor's, shaking violently in his trembling grip, slippery from sweat and gore. His back is screaming in protest, the deep gash on his chest sending pangs of pain, begging his brain to relax the tense muscles. Misaki doesn't give in. He never does.
You know, it didn't have to end like this.
His right hand grips onto the white blood stained collar, fingers clutched, knuckles white.
If only you hadn't seen it. That exchange he had with that girl. If only you hadn't attacked.
Misaki is like a storm, relentless and cruel. It is no surprise that he mindlessly, blindly even attacked. Blue clashing with red, sparks flying, more violent than ever.
'I will end you, I fucking will, today is the day. '
Hours later more than half of the street was destroyed.
'What are you waiting for, Yata?' the breathlessness of the traitor's voice made him shudder, violently yanking him out of the stupor. 'Isn't this what you always wanted to do? Swing it and it will all be over.'
Fushimi Saruhiko is broken. A bleeding mess. Misaki can't help but wrinkle his nose at the metallic scent they're both covered in, can't help but shudder when he looks at him, head split open, blood caking more than half of Saruhiko's face, making it's way down the helpless man's throat and seeping into what once was his crispy white shirt. It's Misaki who holds him up, fistful of shirt and his vest, he knows that the black haired man can't hold himself up, left arm soaking the royal blue uniform with red bleeding and broken, and his right isn't in much better condition, Saruhiko's saber shines silver in the evening's sun, a few feet away. This weak look doesn't suit him, Misaki thinks, but that is not the case at all and deep down in his heart he knows it, he knows that…
Saruhiko is dying—dying from all the blood loss, dying from the cracks and gashes Misaki made. It sickens him.
It didn't need to end like this.
Misaki is about to tell him to 'shut your goddamn mouth', but he can't find his voice, throat straining. He locks his brown eyes with the bleary blue ones, looks at that once precious face, at that perfection he used to be envious of, and then he sees it. He sees that small smile gracing Saruhiko's lips, that smile that was saved for Misaki and Misaki only, and his throat tightens even more.
How he used to love that smile… blurs in the back of his mind, memories half forgotten drowned by bitter anger, nights they spent together for no one to see no one to hear, or only witnessed by a few late night members cleaning after the day of work, the familiar scent of something sweet, the drifting of in and out of consciousness, warmth of Saruhiko's shoulder and a quiet giggle from Totsuka Tatara, faint smell of cigarettes from Kusanagi Izumo as the bartender scolded them to not sleep in his bar, the better, more peaceful days of Homra, his—no their, home, before that painful stab in the back. If only…
If only it stayed like that.
Memories are meant to be kept alive, is what Misaki oftenly heard from Totsuka. Hate and resent if you will, but remember the better days.
Ah, but what would a dead person know..? What would a dead person understand about it, this unexplainable feeling, this malice, this bitterness seeping into his being like poison. The pain of a broken heart.
It was about time to let go. Let go fully and completely, forget the sleepless nights, and do his duty, serve his King, and dispose of this traitor who dared to taint his Homra pride.
Swing it. Do it. Dispose of him.
One more hit and Fushimi will be dead. No longer breathing, a mere corpse, and you won't have to see his face ever again. You won't see him, even if it is for a while. Nothing will be left of it.
Knees shaking, Misaki fell on the taller man's lap, and got ready to swing the metal bat that seemed to weight more than one thousand tons. Misaki spared one last look at Saruhiko— at those sky blue eyes,-
'I am glad it's you, pipsqueak.' There was a shaking laugh followed by a few coughs and sharp intakes of air. 'Only you, Misaki… it's only you.' He saw Saruhiko close his eyes in resignation, that stupid smile still on his face, the smile that reminded him of old times, of a man he once called Saru. The rebellious Saru of Homra and not traitor Fushimi Saruhiko of SCEPTER4.
It wasn't supposed to end like this.
There was a sharp clang, the metal of his bat hitting the concrete of the street.
I can't do it. I can't fucking do it. The only thing he could think about when the steel slipped through his slick bloody fingers.
Look at me. Just what the hell happened? To you? To us? Why would you exchange all that, why would you exchange our King—exchange me, for this?
'Why? Why the hell did you leave? – ' there was nothing left of his sane side, hands gripping at the thin white fabric, almost tight enough to tear in any other situation, but right now he had no strength, his grip weak, fingers jelly like the rest of his body. Through blurry vision he looked at Saruhiko's wide eyes, burning the image into his mind.
'I… told you th—cough that... I had my own... reasons—
'Shut you goddamn mouth! ' he messily lifted the taller man even higher from the ground into a half sitting position, the weight of that slim body mercilessly burdening his arm muscles, and in concentration Misaki just lowered his head, closed his eyes, and shut out everything, all his consciousness, his reason, blocking the faint sounds of Shizume city completely.
'It's not fair, it's is not fucking fair. Why—why would you leave like that damn you, why would you turn your back on us, on me, do you have any idea how much it hurt—still hurts. How the hell would you know? You're a free bird now, nestled under his wing, why would you fucking care about the past. You don't care about the promises, oaths and anything else, right. But you used to. I am not stupid, even if you were a damn asshole, it was sincere. Or was all that a fucking act? A damn lie? I can't tell anymore… if only you hadn't chosen a different path, it would have been like the old times. But it's not the same, and it won't be. You left, betrayed the King and yet I still can't do it. '
It was all too much, emotions, feelings overflowing, feelings he thought he had killed long ago, a month or so after Saruhiko's betrayal, after the shock wore of and fury and loyalty to his King kicked in. His eyesight blurred even more, and Misaki did not know whether it was from the blood loss or pain or maybe-just maybe he was about to cry.
What was the point of all this? Really. One swing and it would be over. He had Saruhiko bent down, his enemy for fuck sakes, a major achievement since they were always—always on par no matter what, he could have killed the damn traitor, the one who dared to soil Homra's pride. And now he was here, curled on the same person's lap, breaking down, overwhelmed, bleeding and broken. On the verge of tears.
Misaki was always honest with his emotions, more than any people actually. He wasn't afraid to show them. He laughed the loudest, gave his most honest opinions even if they were rude and wasn't afraid to cry. But right now, at that very moment he couldn't bear to look around him, curling into himself even more he leaned into Saruhiko's bruised and burned chest, the sweet smell no longer visible over the tangy metal, smell of blood, of death, and let the droplets of blood wet his orange, tousled hair, no longer protected by his hat as he had dropped it a long time ago in the heat of the battle. His shouting, had died down to quiet whispers, a chant he himself did not understand and it probably made no sense, just a bunch of meaningless and regretful words.
A touch of wet and deadly cold fingers on his cheek brought him back down to earth from his stupor. There it was again, that smile, he could see it even through the wet sheen of tears behind his eyelashes. The fingers slowly turned into a palm, a hiss of pain from Saruhiko resounded in his ears, it had to be incredibly painful to raise his hand like that, just to do it.
And just like that it was over.
The hand dropped, and the taller man's eyes closed.
Fear gripped at Misaki's heart, stronger than ever.
'Saru…? H-hey Saru… don't you fucking joke like that.' No answer. Panicking Misaki tried to shake Saruhiko's limp body, only to find his own strength completely gone. Cloth slipped through his fingers letting go completely and the man fell on the concrete seemingly dead. Heart thundering somewhere in the back of his throat, making his ears buzz and his headache pound even more than before, Misaki's muscles went completely slack and with a few weak wobbles, he fell too, the tiny pebbles mercilessly scraping his cut up cheek and it was all too much. He tried to reach out for Saruhiko's hand, he really did but his own arm was frozen completely, refusing to move. Dark spots appearing in his vision, Misaki knew that he was going to black out.
It wasn't supposed to end like this.
And now... It's too late.
With one more breathless whisper of that name, the name he used to call this person beside him he passed out.
'It looks like a war had broken out…' Akagi Shouhei muttered. The street was completely destroyed, craters deep in the concrete. And the two of the culprits were nowhere to be found... He tried to suppress a shiver travelling down his spine. He could feel that something was wrong. Never had they had trouble finding the loud teenager of their group. Maybe it was the utter silence that made him feel uneasy in this demolished battlefield.
'I found them! Quick, come here!' there was panic in San-chan's voice, and Shouhei immediately took of, almost tripping on his own feet in his haste. What he saw, he will remember for the rest of his life. Clutching his hand over his mouth, he stared at two bodies next to each other on the ground, beaten and bruised, blood dripping everywhere. There he was, barely recognizable Yata, clutching at the sleeve of what he recognized to be Fushimi Saruhiko. In a half circle stood the rest of their members, equally horrified expressions on their faces.
'This one's done for.' Suoh Mikoto whispered and exhaled the smoke from his lungs, poking the lifeless form of Fushimi with the tip of his boot. 'Take the brat, and make sure he's treated, or he might end up dead.' He nodded at Kamamoto, and Bandou and they wasted no time to pick up the limp small figure of the ground.
'I'll deal with this, now go. 'And with that the rest of their group excluding Kusanagi was dismissed.
Moaning in pain, Misaki opened his eyes only to find himself in what appeared to be a hospital room. Blinding white hurt his eyes, but he willed them open.
What happened? Why was his body hurting so much…?
Slowly he picked himself up into a half sitting position, trying his best not to strain the gash that went from the collarbone on his left shoulder all the way to his hip, which proved to be impossible as spikes of pain racked his whole body.
Memories of that fight washed him over, and his heart started thundering in his chest. Saruhiko. What happened? Is he dead?
'I see you're finally awake, Yata-chan' Kusanagi-san's voice reached his ears, and Misaki felt his blood run cold. He failed. He failed as Homra's first commander, he did not kill Saruhiko- yet he—he…
Saruhiko… was dead, wasn't he?
Emotions conflicting, he fearfully looked into the older man's eyes, shaded by the blue tinted glasses, a sharp gaze really, and Misaki prepared himself for the hell he was going to receive from the oldest member of Homra, for being careless and not doing his job properly—
To say he was very shocked when Kusanagi's hands wrapped around his head and neck in a mock hug, mindful of the younger's injuries, would be an understatement.
'Don't you ever and I mean EVER do something like this again, Yata-chan.' the man's voice trembled slightly. 'We thought you were a goner, when we found you. You were a mess, I am so glad that you pulled through, the amount of blood you lost was too much… you almost ended up like Fushimi…'
At that the boy's shoulders went rigid. 'What about… What about Saru? Is he…'
He just couldn't finish that sentence.
There was silence, the longest silence Misaki had ever experienced, it seemed to last for minutes, hours and when he thought Kusanagi wouldn't answer him he did.
'Fushimi-kun… he was barely alive by the time we found you. We actually thought that he was dead, yet to our surprise he was breathing. The King was kind enough to call out Munakata and then they called the ambulance. His head was split open, and I don't think he'll be able to hold his saber for a while… his condition is still very bad, but they say that he'll live. '
The tension leaving his shoulders Misaki relaxed. So he wasn't dead after all. 'Is the King disappointed..? I failed to dispose of that traitor; it's all my fault it ended up like this…'
With a sigh Kusanagi ruffled the younger boy's hair. 'Yata-chan, no one is blaming you. We are all glad that you're safe and sound. The King would have killed that boy himself, but he's got his own reasons to let him live. Now the thing is… what you will do. This is your life and your choices. I think... that you should chose what you think is right. We are like family, no matter what we'll support you, it's not our place to judge you. Take your time and think about it.'
He knows huh? Misaki never expected anything less from the brains of Homra, the man was so knowledgeable… or maybe it was the look in his eyes that said no words are needed. Kusanagi was one of those people who knew the real relationship between him and Saruhiko, and the one who saw it fall apart. Kusanagi was the one who lent Misaki a shoulder to lean on after Saruhiko's betrayal and Misaki trusted him more than anyone.
'Also, after you heal up, you're on the cleaning duty for the rest of the year. And a really long lecture on how you shouldn't run around and get yourself in trouble like this, am I clear?' the intimidating and dangerous tone Kusanagi used when he was about to nag resurfaced in his voice and Yata couldn't help but smile.
'I understand, mother.'
There was a light pinch on his healthy cheek as the blond fussed over how 'you should respect your elders' and 'don't you ever use that nickname, brat, I thought I told you and the others that plenty of times'.
And only for now can Misaki relax, and drown himself in this familiarity, until his decisions are to be made, the ones that might change everything for the better or for the worse.
And maybe—just maybe he now understands what Totsuka was talking about.