Work Text:
Abuto sat at his bedside for fourteen days. This was day fourteen. The last day Kamui had, the doctors told him.
"Then you can get back to work." The old Dakini medic thumped him on the shoulder with his clipboard.
"No, I don’t think I’ll be going back to work."
"No?"
"No. I think I’ll retire after this. Maybe find a woman who’s desperate enough to marry me and bring her home to appease Mother."
"Not going to wait around for your retirement pension?"
"We’re Yato in the seventh squad. There’s no such thing as a retirement pension."
Kamui had been in a coma since they brought him back from earth. On the one hand, Kamui had been happily defeated on the terms he wanted, fighting the one he had wanted to fight the most. And Kamui never minded dying. On the other hand, he wouldn’t want to go like this. A corpse before he was dead. No, he’d want to go out in the middle of battle, his breath halted in the same moment he was handed his defeat.
But maybe for once, the brat should learn what it was like to not always get things his way. Even if the lesson came too late.
Too early. No Yato ever lived to retire, true. But this, Abuto felt he was well within reason to decide, was far too early.
The last light was still in the sky when Kamui’s eyes opened. When Kamui opened his eyes. They were very large, very blue, and altogether cloudless. Abuto got to his feet.
"Kamui," he called experimentally. Kamui turned to look at him. "Can you see me?"
The former captain of the seventh squad nodded.
"Who am I then?" Abuto asked, moving to cradle his head.
"You’re the greedy old man who wanted me all to himself," said Kamui.
"That’s me," Abuto agreed ruefully. But the words fell, unheard.
"What do you think you’ll do?"
"I don’t know. Can you see me starting a business?"
"Maybe. Hey, what happened to getting married and settling down?"
"Oh, right. I should get on that, shouldn't I. Give it a shot at the very least."
"Where will you go? Back to the home planet?"
"No. I don’t think so. Somewhere where the weather’s more agreeable."
"Good luck, then."
He had gambled; he had lost. He’d always wanted more than could fit into his hands. What he’d gotten out of it was nothing, or something that he could never hold onto. In the end, perhaps they were the same thing after all.