Chapter Text
It’s been more than a month since Wind Archer’s fall. It breaks Fire Spirit’s heart to see the state of the garden since it had gone without care. The weeds that Wind Archer intentionally left rooted have completely overgrown, overwhelming the other plants and throwing the little ecosystem off balance. Wilted petals lie in the dirt next to the drooping stems they fell from, and Fire Spirit’s favorite flower of the bunch… its vivid color has dulled beyond recognition.
Fire Spirit sighs, idly floating under the canopy of dark leaves. Moonlight leaks through the gaps, and hits… Wait.
Something shifts in the shadows. It’s large and– feathery? Fire Spirit approaches with caution. The trees hear his concern and the leaves shift, light flooding the garden once more, and… Witches, is that–?
“Wind Archer?”
Wind Archer lies at the base of the trunk of the largest tree, curled in on himself and shielding the light with his wings. His wings that- fuck, his left wing is twisted in an unnatural direction, and the feathers are stained reddish-brown. A still-wet wound glistens where Fire Spirit can only assume the fracture is.
“…Get out,” Wind Archer says in a low rumble, more snarl than speech.
Fire Spirit gapes. “Witches, what happened to you?”
“Nothing. Leave,” Wind Archers bites back through his teeth.
“No, no! You’re hurt. What are they making you do? This went too far a long time ago. I’m getting you help-”
“You’re not taking me anywhere!” Wind Archer’s wings flare on reflex, and he immediately recoils from his injury.
“Yes I am! I’m not just gonna stand by and let them manipulate you into hurting yourself. This forest is your home. This garden– don’t you remember showing me it?”
“Shut up…!”
“I’m bringing you to Sugar Swan-” Fire Spirit begins to fly forward.
Something in Wind Archer snaps. “HA!” A sharp bark of laughter, forced and crazed and choked, that somehow still sounds like him.
“And how exactly are you planning on doing that? Pick me up and drag me to Dessert Paradise with your own two hands? With that armor of yours on?!” Fire Spirit looks down at his hands. They blaze and glow. …He never consciously triggered the armor. Guilt sinks in his gut as he sees that the burn scars on Wind Archer still haven’t healed yet. “No, you wouldn’t do that. You would never hurt him.” Fire Spirit winces as Wind Archer shakily stands up, punctuating his point by digging a finger in his own chest.
“But the moment that armor comes off-” With a slight jitter he clutches his bow tighter, his smile drunk on mania, but his eyes screaming with sadness. “You know my orders.”
“Why are you being so difficult? You need help, let me help, like before!”
“Just go away! You mean nothing to me!” Wind Archer shouts over Fire Spirit in between a cackle and a sob. He doesn’t mean that. He doesn’t. He just can’t. He firmly ignores the taste of ash and bile in his mouth.
Fire Spirit’s armor smolders and the flames raise with his voice. “For fuck’s sake Wind Archer! Do you see yourself right now? You’re hurting!” His voice is weighted with urgency disguised as confidence. “Please, let me help you!” Pricks of angry tears threaten to spill from his eyes.
Fire Spirit really, truly believed they were making progress. Not just pulling Wind Archer out of this corruption, but also in getting closer to the Wind Archer from before.
…How did it all go so wrong?
“You're my friend!”
Wind Archer, and along with him the rest of the world, is suddenly, eerily, silent.
The three small words hang through the air like fog. It scares Fire Spirit to the bone.
Wind Archer’s expression morphs into… amusement?
Quietly, agonizing slowly, his posture straightens and his stance steadies, as if being reanimated by a spell from Fire Spirit’s desperate pleas.
“Oh, Lord of Flames…” he begins, ruthless, emotionless, matter-of-fact. “That’s just the thing, isn’t it? You aren’t his.”
Fire Spirit blinks.
He opens his mouth to protest, but it gets caught in his throat, a feeling familiar in the literal sense.
“You were never his friend, you were just a relentless spirit who refused to leave him alone.”
The words are uncannily steady, monotone even.
Fire Spirit’s heartbeat grows louder in his ears with every venomous accusation.
“Following him around like a dog and causing more problems than you fixed. You’re a pest.”
His throat constricts, and tries to brace for the mouthful of cinders instead of listening to Wind Archer's newfound resentment.
It doesn’t work.
Wind Archer’s gaze darkens, and as he moves into the moonlight, Fire Spirit almost misses the wet lines of water down his face.
The final blow is flat and empty, as if it was meaningless.
“He’d be so much better off without you. Do him a favor and get lost."
. . .
In the second silence that follows, a single, broken syllable rings through the tension.
“…Oh.”
…It’s not really Wind Archer yelling at him, Fire Spirit repeats in his head, it’s not him. It’s not him. But it looks like him. It sounds like him. That airy timbre that’s reserved for light scolding and gentle encouragement drips with hatred with every spitting syllable. And… in a moment of weakness, Fire Spirit guiltily believes that it would be something he would say.
It hurts.
Fuck- it really hurts.
Fire Spirit stumbles a couple steps backwards, clutching his chest.
His heart begins to burn before his lungs do.
All at once the spirit falls down and ash forces its way out of the Lord of Flame through his throat. In a violent coughing fit, black and grey cinders pour from his mouth, blanketing the dark grass below him.
The ash flies in a cloud around him, a sudden crackling sound ringing through the air. The Lord of Flame’s glow flickers, as patches of dull red are unveiled.
…The flame armor is being weakened.
It peels away in ripples, as if it’s being blasted away by the growing gusts, exposing more and more fragile, vulnerable dough.
Without the armor, the Lord of Flame is just another arrogant fallen spirit. He will reach his end just the same.
The fallen spirit gags, a wet, fragmented sound as the ashen purge mixes with saliva, forming an awful sludge.
Repulsive.
Night Raven raises his bow, a charged arrow ready to fire. He lines it up to his target, practiced, emotionless, automatic, and releases his fist.
The arrow flies.
Around the two elementals, embers catch on the flying debris and the winds go aflame. The waxy leaves are the first to go alight. The tree trunks begin to char, and even those precious flowers burn. The fiery vortex is relentless, picking up and throwing what it doesn’t incinerate on contact.
Fire only grows stronger in the wind, after all.
A recipe for ruin.
And at the nucleus of destruction, the spirit chokes and convulses, his shoulders staggering as he expels more spew.
But… what falls is not ash.
Night Raven blinks, his eyes linger, and then focus.
Then he sees it.
Then- his eyes widen, as horrible recognition crawls up his spine, in tandem with dread.
What falls is a crumbled, blackened stem, covered in jam and saliva. Night Raven is frozen as the spirit hacks dryly, desperately trying to clear a way to breathe again as something folded and jagged falls to the floor from a string of spit.
They’re… flowers.
Purple.
Tiny.
Clustered.
Like… like a bundle of… stars.
They’re heliotropes.
.
.
.
Oh no.
Collapsed on the grass, Fire Spirit’s throat is closing in and his vision goes blurry. As he locates the object – the flower – that he just vomited, hazy recollection passes through him as he has two, distant thoughts.
I’m dying.
I love him.
He smiles at the latter thought in acceptance. He loves him, it’s always been that simple, even if Fire Spirit would be content to never have to admit it. He’ll still love him now, even as that very love fills his lungs with kindling flowers, even as that love punishes Fire Spirit for letting it exist, even if… even when that love will ruin him: literally, metaphorically, mentally, physically.
A crescendoing whistle through the air reminds Fire Spirit that there is an arrow on course for his skull, and he is unprotected by any armor. He really should dodge it. Is there even the will inside himself to?
From the very start the cards were stacked against him. Hell, his hand wasn’t even from the same deck as everyone else. He did what he needed to to survive, then was thrown into a world of duty and obligation. And now, the one good thing he thought he had is either lost forever or was a lie to begin with. It’s all flashing before his eyes like that old saying. Screw his life.
His chest rises and falls and stutters like a storm cloud, convulsing without any air coming out. Heavy eyelids fall closed and the desperation for leverage loses its vigor, flickering away like a candle in the wind. His body goes limp, and he absently notes the blades of grass poking at his face.
The vortex howls around him, and before the world goes dark… he hears something akin to shattering glass.
…Along with it, a gust so strong that Fire Spirit shifts on the ground, ever so slightly.
He’s tired.
Fire Spirit feels blurry sunlight through closed eyelids. He smells sweetness and fresh water. His whole body stings mildly, agitated by a weight on top of him. His mouth tastes of drowsiness, but faintly floral at the same time. The ringing in his ears slowly stops, and the sound of a familiar voice in an alien tone replaces it. Hushed, sporadic phrases whispered in a raspy voice, sometimes clear and other times lost in mumbles.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
“Wake up… please…”
“Forgive me… everything…”
Fire Spirit slowly cracks his eyes open and finds Wind Archer laying on top of him, face buried into his chest and an arm clutching his shoulder. Fire Spirit deliriously lifts the arm not being held captive and… pats Wind Archer on the head. The archer snaps awake and his eyes shakily meet Fire Spirit’s.
Fire Spirit chuckles. “Good morning,” he says, soft enough to melt.
Wind Archer stammers, probably the most inelegant Fire Spirit has ever seen him. He’s still perfect even as he’s tripping over syllables.
“What the fuck, Fire Spirit?” Is what he manages after an awkward moment of failure.
“Um.” Is Fire Spirit’s witty reply.
Wind Archer runs a hand through his disheveled green (green! Fire Spirit notes in relief,) hair. His watery eyes are red, and his voice comes out wet and hoarse and broken. “You nearly die- I- I nearly kill you, and all you have is ‘good morning’? What is wrong with you? I- fuck, I’m sorry. For everything. I’m so, so sorry-”
He doesn’t get to finish that thought because Fire Spirit is kissing him. Simply and sweetly on the lips, pulling him in gently by the chin. It’s a chaste kiss, if anything just to silence the self-deprecation. Still, not a second of it feels wrong.
Fire Spirit parts from the kiss with more clarity in his gaze meeting Wind Archer’s eyes. A rosy pink dusts Wind Archer’s cheeks. His face tilts down, and he looks at Fire Spirit with stunned emeralds under wispy lashes.
“I- hah, sorry, I’m just so fucking happy you’re back.” Fire Spirit smiles dumbly (genuinely). He vaguely thinks that he probably should have asked before kissing his best friend, but he’s too tired to feel too self-conscious about it. Ah well, ask for forgiveness, not permission.
“…I hope that was okay.”
Wind Archer responds by pulling their lips together again. A little too forcefully at first, but the kiss quickly softens. Fire Spirit sighs into it, a shared breath between half-parted lips.
“I’m sorry,” Wind Archer repeats when they pull apart. Witches, that expression breaks his heart. Fire Spirit can feel the guilt weighing on Wind Archer, and wants nothing more than to hold and reassure him that everything is okay now.
Fire Spirit sighs fondly. “I don’t care about all that anymore. It’s over. We can put this whole thing behind us.”
Wind Archer solemnly shakes his head. “No, no! I actively endangered you, I- said horrible things to you, words that I cannot so easily take back. You shouldn’t forgive that so quickly.”
It catches Fire Spirit off guard a bit, returning to the topic of the crushing insults muttered under the influence of dark magic. Sure, maybe he had spent sleepless nights turning over the accusations while coughing up ash, but Wind Archer didn’t know that! “That’s what you’re so hung up on? Windy, you weren’t yourself then. They did spooky mind shit to you, that’s not your fault!”
“You don’t understand.” Wind Archer rubs at his eyes. “I knew what would fluster you– I said exactly what I knew would hurt you the most,” Wind Archer inhales shallowly. “I never want to be the reason you feel that way again. You know that you’ve always been my closest friend, right?”
Fire Spirit isn’t sure if he can confirm with confidence. “Hopefully more after today…?” He attempts to dodge with a flirty tone.
“Stop deflecting, idiot.”
Hah, this really is his Windbag, never hesitating a beat to call him out on his bullshit. “Yeah, yeah. I… I hoped. Didn’t know for sure, but… I know now!”
Wind Archer sighs and lets himself go boneless on Fire Spirit’s shoulder. “You better.” He mumbles with no real malice. “When my mind’s in a better state I am going to apologize properly.” The tone is firm and final, so Fire Spirit doesn’t try to argue.
They rest like that for a bit, breathing together and silently enjoying the ambience of the Dessert Paradise.
Fire Spirit belatedly notices, “I can breathe.” He blinks and his hand hovers over his chest as he experimentally clears his throat a couple times.
Wind Archer winces. “The Sugar Swan was able to remove your hanahaki. It seemed painless enough, since your body incinerated all of the roots before they had a chance to really embed into your flesh like they did with mine.”
A pause. Is he saying what Fire Spirit thinks he’s saying? “You had flowers for me?”
A half-hearted scoff. “How could I not?” As if it’s the most logical thing in the world, and Fire Spirit is the fool for not being able to wrap his head around it.
“How long?
“Ages. But the flowers only grew after becoming Night Raven.” Wind Archer sighs, then in a smaller voice asks, “You?”
Fire Spirit thinks for a moment. “Probably… forever. But I wasn’t aware of how much I adore you until pretty recently.” He cracks a crooked smile. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder?”
His eyes trail up, processing something that still isn’t quite back to normal yet. The gem on Wind Archer’s forehead has burst like an inkwell. It hasn’t returned to its old shape, and through its broken exterior, a viscous, magenta fluid drips down and over Wind Archer’s face- wait, what?
“Witches, Windy…” Fire Spirit cups Wind Arches face and wipes the sticky magenta… stuff… off of him. “You took your own arrow for me.” It’s not a question.
“I was pulled out of that stupor right before it was too late.” Wind Archer places his hands atop Fire Spirit’s, giving them a firm squeeze. He shoots him a cautious smile. “Did you know? The flowers you cultivated in your lungs are the same as your favorite flower in my garden.”
A short chuckle. “You mean the purple ones?”
“Mhm…” Wind Archer’s confirmation comes through a yawn, not masking his exhaustion in another quiet display of trust. At the end of the yawn he collapses like a falling feather and lies down on Fire Spirit’s chest.
“What about you? What did my flowers look like?” Fire Spirit asks.
A huff of windchime laughter. “They were just like you. Fiery, red, and beautiful. Hah, there really was no mistaking who they were for. Who else could it be?” Fire Spirit glows with heat.
It’s quiet for a long stretch, just the two of them and the mid-afternoon sunlight shining through the leaves they’re taking shade under. Eventually Fire Spirit feels Wind Archer’s breathing find the slow rhythm of sleep. He really did look drained from the night before. Slowly, Fire Spirit runs his hand through leaf-green strands and places a quick kiss atop Wind Archer’s head, before following suit and drifting off, peacefully dreamless.
The summertime is vibrant. Wind Archer’s garden isn’t really a clearing anymore, more of a small field of wildflowers and trees and ferns, and nor is it isolated. The garden was rebuilt after spring’s… complications, but Wind Archer just took it as a challenge to make it more beautiful than before.
It’s a solid foundation, but a lot of work is in order to restore and exceed the garden’s former glory.
Today is Fire Spirit’s reintroduction to it.
“Fire, could you let go? You’re going to yank my arm off at this rate.” Wind Archer attempts to swing away the clingy spirit, but the spirit in question doesn’t budge an inch, only squeezing tighter and letting out a nervous grumble.
“You’re sure this is a good idea? I destroyed this place last time I was here,” Fire Spirit says, eyes darting around the area and leaning even closer to Wind Archer’s side.
“We destroyed this place last time,” Wind Archer corrects. “And we will just have to rebuild it together, in that case.” His hand finds Fire Spirit’s and they enter the garden together, passing under an arched trellis with shy ivy just starting to climb up it.
The garden is… mostly empty. Simple bricks have been laid for low walls around the flowerbeds and narrow paths, healthy grass growing in to fill all the gaps in between. Save for a couple of low trees and tiniest of wildflowers, the stone enclosures are vacant
A blank slate, or a new leaf if you will. It’s a daunting task, but also one filled with excitement and opportunity. A new beginning.
Following the little roads leads to the garden’s centerpiece, and from it radiate all the little paths that lead around the garden. In a circular flowerbed two distinct types of flowers – bundles of stars and sunburst reds.
Fire Spirit’s eyes go wide when he spots them, finally growing bold and releasing his death grip to closer examine the exhibit. “Oh my god. Did you plant our terminal love disease flowers?” He turns to Wind Archer with his brows raised in astonishment, but a giddy smile on his face anyways. “You’re crazy,” he states, gripping Wind Archer’s arms and pulling him close to look him dead in the eyes.
Wind Archer giggles, a hand shooting up to hide his own smile. “Well I find it quite poetic. They say hanahaki is the most beautiful way to die. Who’s to say it can’t be beautiful to survive as well?”
“Yeah, immortalize the symbol of that one time we almost died for each other, only to overcome with the power of love,” Fire Spirit drawls, before softening. “I love it.”
“And I love you,” Wind Archer shoots back.
“You absolute sap.”
“You’ll still say it back, though.”
“Mhm. I love you too.”