Chapter Text
“Stupid, stupid Natsume, always getting involved with the small fries,” Nyanko trotted up to the teenager’s side from where he was still on the ground recovering from his coughing fit, arms spread to either side of his head and his throat bared and bruised. The youkai always went for his throat, the voice that could be used for so much more than what he was using it for now. “That tiny little thing wasn’t worth your time.”
Said thing glared up at him in all its three-inch glory, not backing down at Nyanko’s returning growl, ignoring the cat and patting a miniscule hand on Natsume’s cheek. “Are you okay, Natsume-sama? Are you hurt bad? I’ve heard humans get injured very easily, and that rude youkai grabbed you really roughly, and you fell really far! Are you going to die?!”
Natsume slowly sat up, not opening his eyes, probably not wanting to look Nyanko in the face. The cat harrumphed. Still sulking from earlier. Well, that was fine by him! Let the little human pout and give his life away for the sake of all the midget youkai out there. All the sooner for him to get the Book of Friends.
But when all Natsume did was turn his head up to the sky before finally opening those slitted, golden eyes, so similar to Reiko’s, and gently pat the little youkai’s uncovered head, not speaking at all, Nyanko let himself ponder a little, teeny-tiny, even-smaller-than-the-runt-Natsume-had-just-saved bit on his prey’s well-being. It wouldn’t look good if a weak being, like the one Madara had scared off earlier with his light, killed his property, after all.
Nyanko sniffed at Natsume’s hands, the sensitive, delicate skin red and irritated but intact from his mad scramble to grab onto a tree and break his fall. The action had been unnecessary, because Madara in his full form had been ready to catch him on the way down, but it had shaken the already wavering leaves off the branch and into his blond hair. There was dirt smudged on his cheek, in the curve of his nose, and under his fingernails. Nyanko wondered how this would be explained to the meddlesome friends and ridiculously (thankfully) invested couple that had shoved their way into Natsume’s life as he studied the ring of bruises around his neck that were turning an impressive shade of purple, but also nothing the human hadn’t lived through before.
(Maybe, maybe, maybe, that bothered me a bit more than it should have. Maybe.)
The weakling, a flower youkai by the look of it, grabbed the hand rubbing its head and briefly nuzzled into the fingers, mindful of the aggravated rashes. It swiftly released the limb again, embarrassed and bowing very low to hide its obvious blush. “Thank you very much for saving me. Are you sure that you’ll be alright on the way back to your dwelling? It took your bodyguard a while to get here, maybe I should escort you. It’s the least I can do.”
Its beady, dark eyes hardened into a heated glower in Nyanko’s direction, making its completely unnecessary opinion quite clear about how Madara did his job. He bristled at the implication that this puny being thought it could protect anything, much less this more-trouble-than-it’s-worth human.
(No one could protect Natsume like I could. Sometimes, it felt like even I wasn’t enough. It may have felt just a bit more absolutely unacceptable than it should have.)
Normally, this sort of argument with this sort of creature wouldn’t be worth his time, but there was something about this youkai that made Nyanko feel rankled and offended and insignificant.
(He may have felt a bit more deserving of it than he should have. May have.)
He let some of his power sneak into his voice, giving it an echoing rumble. “Stupid little weakling, you couldn’t even keep yourself safe. How could you expect to protect my prey better than me?”
It appeared cowed for only a moment, taking a step back, before the thing’s flower collar poofed up in agitation and it climbed up to stand on Natsume’s head---who was busy doing calming, slightly helpless motions with his hands trying to settle them down---making itself appear bigger and making its stance in this argument clear. Typical tactics of a youkai squaring off. “Well at least I was here with him! What kind of bodyguard are you, only arriving after Natsume-sama got hurt?!”
(It’s just how it happened more often than not. A lot of the time, not even the great Madara-sama could keep up with the dazzling whirlwind of contradictions and will-power and complete idiocy that was mankind. It scared me more than it should have. It always had, even before Natsume Takashi came along.)
“The only reason he got hurt was because he was covering for your weakness, idiot! If you had been stronger, he wouldn’t have had to save you!”
(That was a bit of a lie. Natsume always found a way to get himself hurt, the youkai he saved along the way were just excuses of that. It may have worried me more than it should have, the boy’s seemingly insatiable urge to put himself in harm's way.)
The youkai still refused to back down, straightening even more and slim, blue petals poofing further up, and Nyanko wondered just how Natsume had made such a huge impression on the thing that it was willing to go so far.
(But maybe any youkai that had been touched by this kind little human would go just as far---and further, and further---getting sucked up in the irresistible pull all humans seemed to have, this human more than others. So, as long as Natsume still needed them, they would be there; all of them. It was a curse that myself, along with hundreds upon thousands of others, had been under since Reiko still walked this plane of existence.)
“Hey,” Natsume spoke up, finally, then carefully---and gently, always gently---took the flower youkai from his head. He smiled with a warmth that could melt solid ice, a smile he gave out without hesitation to those who needed reassurance or to those precious few that he allowed himself to love completely with all of his heart and soul.
(I hadn’t realized how much I had missed it, that smile. I hadn’t seen it directly in awhile, not since that day.)
“Thank you for the offer. It’s okay, though. You’ve been really brave, but I can get home on my own,” It didn’t escape Nyanko’s notice that he wasn’t inserted into that equation. ‘On my own’ is what he had said. Nyanko harrumphed again and averted his eyes.
(It may have hurt a bit more than it should have.)
The flower youkai was set tenderly back onto the ground, finally rendered silent.
(Not by my intimidation, or that larger youkai’s bloodlust, but in the face of the sheer force behind a single human’s kindness. Maybe it was because it was this human, in particular. The Natsume’s had always seemed to have a knack for charisma.)
Natsume got to his feet, stumbling only a little, then stretched, wincing only a little. “I’m sorry. I wish I could stay longer, but I have to go now. It’s going to rain soon.”
He didn’t even glance to the sky, probably having noticed the clouds coming in while the two youkai had been in the middle of their spat. Natsume looked around a little before setting his sights on the messanger bag that had fallen in a nearby tree, hanging by the strap on one of its branches and easy to find through the sparse, colorful leaves that were on the cusp of falling. It was a good ten feet above his head---from what Nyanko had seen, it was probably there from the ayakashi’s earlier manhandling of Natsume into the sky, when the kid had stepped stupidly (bravely) between it and the little flower youkai, refusing to leave and ‘mind his own business’. His stubby human hands couldn’t reach far enough to even brush the edges of the fabric.
(I hadn’t even thought about it before then. The Book of Friends was in that bag. Making sure it was safe may have been a bit less urgent than it should have.)
Nyanko didn’t even have to shift to his other form in order to climb the tree and slide the package down, letting it fall into Natsume’s slightly scratched up, skinny twig arms.
(Because, in the end, there was no safer place for it. I know that much now, at least.)
Natsume checked inside to make sure the Book was still there, sighing in relief and slinging the bag over one shoulder. He quickly, clumsily, turned his back to Nyanko, murmuring a meek, quiet, “Thank you,” so different from the way he usually addressed his bodyguard, normally all barbs and banter and more-than-surprisingly strong punches.
(So similar to the way I saw him interacting with those humans, the ones he stayed with before. I didn’t realize it quite as specifically then, but it may have felt a bit more disheartening than it should have.)
Turning back to where the tiny little runt of a youkai still stood, Natsume waved and called out a quick, “Bye!” before going to walk back down the path, out of the woods and towards home while straightening out his dirt-ridden shirt that had probably been white before and muttering about how Touko-san would be upset seeing Natsume come home so dirty. For the third time that week.
He only got a few steps in before Nyanko rushed after him---falling down the last half of his descent from the tree instead of climbing---and only a few more after that when the youkai cried, “Wait!” and caught up to them with surprising agility---maybe not so surprising, the little ones had to be fast to survive---and grabbing onto Natsume’s leg, wrapping tiny arms around it and squeezing.
“Kiku,” The youkai said it firmly from between clenched, determined teeth, and Madara could feel the power behind the words ripple in the air around them. “My name is Kiku,” It hugged the human’s leg a bit tighter. “So if you ever need me, just call, okay?!”
It seemed hopelessly self-conscious, not even looking up from the forest floor, but if it had, it would have seen another one of those sun-charged smiles following up his prior surprised expression, lighting up Natsume’s visage and softening the edges of his deceivingly sharp, golden eyes. “Alright. I will. See you later.”
The youkai finally let them go, watching in silence as they walked up the path back to home.
Natsume didn’t speak to him, or glance at him, or stop once, even after it started raining and they both got soaked and the weak human was shivering, Nyanko noticing the beginning smears of a rosey red color flushing his face as they finally arrived at the familiar front door.
Natsume sighed, a sound that abruptly turned into a quick, wheezing cough, then straightened up the collar of his wet shirt to hide the four-fingered handprint-shaped contusions circling his neck, leaving no visible evidence of his assault with the dirt and leaf-bits having been washed away by the rain. He plastered that ugly and picture-perfect and utterly fake smile on his face, pushing his way into the house, intoning, “I’m home,” sounding very tired. Worn-out.
(Miserable.)
And as the human woman hurried to greet him with, “Welcome home, Takashi-kun!” which soon transformed into a worried, “Oh, you’re soaking wet! You must be cold, let me get you a towel…”, Natsume’s smile curving into something a bit more genuine but his eyes easing into something sad and disappointed, Nyanko knew his charge would be sick by sunrise the next day.
(And that was the easy part, the knowing and the ailments that could be cured within a few days. But there was more to humans, especially this one, than just an outside hurt. That was the hard part. The part I wasn’t ready for.)