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Grunting, Yukio continued his almost-hobble through the forest away from the sounds of a battle, half-supporting, half-being supported by Shima’s arm around his waist, his own arm thrown over Shima’s shoulder. His left leg had been broken toward the end of the fight, but he was stubbornly ignoring the stabbing pain that came every time he put weight on it and instead focused on trying to put one foot in front of the other without passing out.
His coat was ripped in several places, showing off an impressive array of bruises and gashes along his torso and arms, while the bottom of his right pant leg had been torn off entirely and the other was crusted to his broken leg with dried blood and dirt. His hair was similarly caked red with mud and blood and he had a cut on his forehead that was trickling into one of his eyes and making his already poor vision worse. On top of that, his glasses were cracked beyond repair and probably doing more to inhibit his sight than help it. He was also fairly sure that he had at least a couple broken ribs, one of which he feared might have shifted and punctured something during the walk.
However, seeing as he knew he wouldn’t be able to get up again if he stopped to examine himself, had no way to check for internal bleeding, and no way to treat it even if he did, he ignored the tightness in his chest and the way it felt like he was choking on something even though his airways should have been clear and pressed on.
Shima wasn’t looking much better. Although he wasn’t as beat up as Yukio, he was still littered with scrapes and bruises and covered in sweat and dust from the fight. What was really concerning about his condition, however, was the deep stab wound just above his right hip. About as long as Yukio’s hand, it was the type of wound one could very well die from even with immediate medical attention and, here, that wasn’t an option for either of them.
Panting heavily, Shima continued on with just as much determination as Yukio, although the little voices in the back of their heads knew it wouldn’t really make much difference. They were moving at a snail’s pace and had nowhere to go anyway.
Entering a clearing, Shima paused for just a single moment to try and catch his breath, but that was all it took for Yukio’s leg to crumple as the adrenaline finally wore off now that they were no longer fighting for their lives. Collapsing under Yukio’s weight, Shima quickly followed him to the ground, both breathing heavily and trying to remain conscious despite the pain that radiated from their body and black spots engulfing their vision.
While Yukio tried in vain to lift himself back to his feet and continue the trek, Shima noted the futility of the endeavor and finally gave up, laying down on the grass and staring up at the sky.
After Yukio’s third failed attempt at standing up, he punched the ground in frustration and bowed his head to hide the tears streaking through the dirt on his face.
“Dammit! Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit it all!” Trying to regain control of himself, he shakily inhaled and, pushing down the panicked sobs trying to force their way out of his throat, gently lowered himself down next to Shima.
There was silence for a minute, each boy lost in their own pain, trying to come to terms with how things had turned out in their own way. Each recognizing the field as their likely resting place and trying to make peace with their passing.
Two traitors at the end of everything; nothing left to them but the consequences of their choices - and each other. They had technically won, yes. The Illuminati was all but defeated, the two having crippled their defenses and taken down as many of them as they could before alerting the True Cross Order to their whereabouts and letting them finish off what was left of the organization.
But they had not escaped unscathed from their betrayal and were almost certainly about to pay the ultimate price for their double-cross. Except for a select few such as Mephisto, who had been orchestrating the whole thing, they were hated by both sides and had nowhere to turn even if they were healthy enough to run.
“Do you ever regret it?” The words are spoken softly, almost hesitantly, a sharp contrast to Shima’s usual bravado that truly highlights just how serious the situation is. Yukio pauses before responding, trying to get his thoughts in order and coughing a little bit on the blood he can now feel pooling in his lungs. He considers lying, trying to play the innocent good guy one last time, trying to salvage his reputation in front of the last person who would care to listen.
But he’s just so tired of it - of all the lying, the backstabbing, the pretending, everything, he’s just tired. What’s the point, in the end? Just before he goes, what would it hurt to let the mask down for once, in front of the one person who might understand, who’s seen him through all the unspeakable things they had done in the name of completing the mission? What has he possibly got left to lose?
So he lets out a long exhale, drops the act he’d been wearing for almost as long as he could remember - that he’s fine, that everything’s ok, that he’s the good little exorcist they want him to be and nothing more, never anything more, never just a person - and tells the truth.
“Sometimes.” He admits. “When it’s a particularly bad day and it feels like nothing we’ve done has been of any real consequence, like everything we’ve sacrificed has been for nothing and our suffering was pointless.”
He thinks of the others, all his former students (friends? Could he call them friends?), his brother, his co-workers, Shura, hell even his dad (wherever his spirit might be now), of what they would think of him if they could see him now. Of what they do think of him now that everything’s been said and done.
Would you be proud dad, he thinks hysterically. I know I’m the defective one, the broken one; I always have been. I tried my very best, though. I really did. I really tried to keep him safe, even when I didn’t even know what safe was in this mess we’ve gotten ourselves into. I tried so hard to do you proud. . . I’m not sure how successful I actually was, but I really did try.
Blinking the tears out of his eyes, he continued, “When we run into the others and I’m forced to see the looks on their faces, the intent behind their eyes” ( the betrayalhurtpainrage, the willingness to hurtattackkill). “When all I want is to run into my brother’s arms and hide from it all like I’m a little kid again, looking to Rin for comfort, but he stands ready to defend against an attack at a moment’s notice. Ready to defend against me. Because he truly believes I would hurt them - hurt him.”
He has to take a pause, breathing heavily and trying to ward off the emotions he can feel threatening to overwhelm him, the sobs he can feel building in his throat and tears collecting in his eyes.
“But then I remember why we’re doing this, why we made the choices we did. I see the lives saved by the intel we have gathered, the would-be devastating crises that have been averted only by our efforts and it helps. It still hurts, of course - not simply that I have lost the respect of any who might have once cared for me, but that I know how much my deception is hurting Rin and everyone else we’ve left behind.”
A bitter smile twists his lips, “I know I’m not a good person at heart, I never really have been no matter how I struggled to pretend otherwise, but I think I’ve finally made peace with that. Losing their respect for me is painful, yes, but not undeserved, if not for the reasons they might believe. The emotional trauma of the betrayal of one so close to them, however, is a guilt that weighs down on me every damn day.”
Slightly delirious from blood loss and the pain that still threatens to take him under the minute he gives in, he admits, “Some days I think I would give it all up if only to take away the hurt in their eyes, but I know I never could. Not only would it be the height of selfishness to put my problems before the thousands of lives we are working to save, I know Rin would never forgive me if he knew I let someone die because of him.”
He lets out a harsh laugh that almost turns into a cough near the end. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like to imagine it when things get particularly rough, though.”
That’s how he had gotten through most of this hell: imagining a time when it would all be over and he could tell his brother everything, no more lies, no more betrayals, no more backstabbing. Well, that, an unhealthy level of compartmentalization and self-denial, and the reminder that what he was doing would help more people in the long run.
“You?”
Shima huffs at the question, the sound a little too sharp, a little too broken to truly be considered a laugh. “Heh, you’re a much better person than I am, teach, don’t sell yourself short.” Yukio doesn’t bother to tell Shima he’s not his teacher anymore; he’d long since given up that fight. “If I could go back and do it all again, I don’t think I would.”
Shima’s voice grows bitter and cold, the trauma of everything being released in the only way it can now after being bottled up for so long. “Let someone else take the responsibility the next time around. Let them deal with having to lie to every single person in their life, with having to walk so fine a line between two sides that sometimes even they’re not entirely sure whose side they’re on.” He is almost shouting at this point, the pain of the wound in his stomach not enough to overtake his rage at their fates.
“With having to risk their lives when being surrounded by allies or enemies because at any given moment the labels shift and change, leaving them alone and with no one to turn to. Not their family, not their friends, not their teachers or superiors, no one but a goddamn, untrustworthy, bastard of a demon who would never do anything more than brush you off when you need help and is more likely to plan your death than save your a** should you need it!”
Shima’s voice is cracking (whether from suppressed sobs, rage, the strain of a failing body, or some combination thereof is unclear) but the emotion behind the words has never been stronger. “Let them deal with losing everything because all they can say is absolutely nothing when it all comes tumbling down around them.”
He takes a deep breath and gives a dark chuckle, seemingly trying to reattain that cavalier attitude he was so well known for.
“I’d stay far away from the whole mess. Keep my nose clean and enjoy being able to actually connect with those around me for the first time in what feels like forever. I’d stay close with Bon and Koneko, continue to be an underachieving slacker to my family, finally get a cute girl to go on a date with me.” A weak laugh, “Maybe I could even convince Izumo to give me a shot.”
Despite his best efforts, Shima’s tone begins to grow cynical and vindictive again, his true frustration showing through. “You know, all the stuff that I never got to properly enjoy this time around because I was so worried about letting something slip, about getting caught or killed by either side. I’d make plans without worrying whether I’d still be alive to see them through and actually enjoy the world around me instead of wondering when I’d have to leave it behind.”
The fire seems to go out of him - replaced by something quieter, more desperate, more broken - and his body fully slumps against the ground from the tense position he was in before.
“There are so many things I’ve missed, that I’m going to miss, because of this job. I know I’ve saved so many lives by doing it, but the cost to me, personally, is too high for me to count it as anything but a loss.”
His voice begins to tremble, but he continues through the tears, “I will never see Bon take over the temple from his dad, or Koneko finally grow into himself and become the total bada** we all knew he secretly was the whole time.”
Shima gives a sharp laugh, “Hell, I won’t even be there to see the birth of my first nephew; he’s due in only another month or so.”
His words start getting cut off by the sobs he can’t quite keep down, “I really - I really wanted to survive long enough to meet him once, at least. I really tried to make it too. I really did. But I guess the world really is as cold as it seems.”
The last phrase is said so acerbically, so hurt it as though Shima is trying to call out the universe itself for being unfair. Although it may have been funny under different circumstances, Yukio understood - the mission had taken so much from the both of them, and it wasn’t done yet. They were both only fifteen years old, dying for an organization they weren’t sure they even believed in anymore. They were going to miss out on so much of their lives, on so much of their loved ones’ lives.
Yukio thought of everyone he was leaving behind, of all the things he, too, would miss out on because he wouldn’t be alive to see them.
“I would have liked to see them all graduate, to see Rin become the great exorcist I always knew he’d be. Maybe even Paladin if he finally got over his phobia of anything related to school work or studying. I know he’d be amazing, maybe even better than dad if he gave it his all. He was always so stubborn when it came down to it; if he really tried, I know he could become the greatest Paladin the True Cross Order has ever seen.”
His rambling started to get more shaky as he went on, the tears clearly evident in his voice. “I know he’s capable of it, I know he will achieve great things, but - I would have really liked to be there to see it. I would have been so proud.”
Both boys laid in silence again, trying to stifle the cries (from both the physical and mental pain) threatening to come out, the panic attacks on the verge of overtaking them, their conversation having done more to drag up their hurts and the emotions behind them than put them at ease.
After a few minutes with neither hearing anything from the other (were they dead yet, am I finally completely alone? Alonealwaysalwaysalonenoonetoturnto), Shima suddenly spoke up, voice fainter but much brighter than before.
“Hey, do you remember that one poem we read in English Lit? The one about how each generation screws the next one over? I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, it reminds me too much of our lives and how they’ve been f***** up by our ‘Oh So Holy’ superiors.”
He takes a deep breath and his voice turns serious in a way Yukio had never really heard from him before. “This war we’re fighting is never going to end. All the atrocities, the betrayals and lies, the experimentation and child soldiers.” His spits the last part out like it personally offended him and, to be honest, it probably did. Yukio understood, they were both far too familiar with the atrocity, both from second hand knowledge and potentially being considered ones themselves (section13justsevenyearsoldcloningorphansnotevenfifteen).
“In the end, all we’re doing is making a bigger mess for our kids to clean up. Demons are never going to just go away, but it seems like every year we only escalate things between the two worlds. I don’t want anyone else in my family to ever have to go through even half the sh** I did, but the way things are going, they’ll probably be expected to anyway. Some demon will do something and Mephisto, that goddamn a**hole, will manipulate things until they are exactly to his liking. The other Demon Kings will fight back and we’ll all be stuck in the crossfire - like always. That’s not why I did this, that’s not why I agreed to this. The world we’re fighting for is turning into one I wouldn’t want my nephew to have to live in.”
He breaks off to cough harshly, his whole body heaving as he tries to get air and Yukio distantly wonders how much longer he’s going to last. Not much going by the wheezing coming from his direction. Although, Yukio frowns, he can’t really feel his fingers anymore - or his legs. When did that happen?
“Heh, I did this for my family, but it seems like the problem’s only gotten worse since I started. How’s that for ironic?” Shima’s voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater, but Yukio still fights to understand and respond (this is the last conversation he will ever have, might as well make it count, right?).
He tries to go for humor, too tired to try to unpack all of what he was just told, but, considering how scratchy and faint his voice comes out, he’s pretty sure it falls flat. “I didn’t know you actually paid attention in class. I’m amazed, still surprising me until the very end, huh?”
Shima just laughs and, lacking any better response, Yukio struggles to recite his favorite stanza from said poem - the very last one.
“ ‘Man hands on misery to man. It deepens like a coastal shelf. . .’ ” His voice grows weaker as he recites, breath catching in his throat before abandoning him entirely. He only makes it halfway through before he slips away, voice drifting off and body growing still.
Closing his eyes and letting one last tear slip out, Shima grieves for the death of his only companion - for being left alone, again - and prepares to meet him soon, finishing the verse himself as his body shuts down from blood loss. “ ‘Get out as early as you can, and don’t have any kids yourself.’ ”