Chapter Text
Akaashi Keiji stands over his friend's dead body and sighs.
This is not the first time Oikawa Tooru has died. Nor is it the first time Akaashi has been given the task of resurrecting him.
In this instance, there’s a bullet wound straight through his chest and a faint smile resting on Oikawa cold lips, perfect hair untouched despite the thick swarm of flies that surround his head. He is certainly dead; most likely the result of a duel gone wrong, Akaashi assumes, though he knows this was no accident.
Next to him, Iwaizumi Hajime, the deputy of Aoba Valley, scowls, crossing his arms.
The desert sun beats down on their covered heads as Iwaizumi says, “I’m assuming you can revive him?”
He shifts his cloak on his shoulders, shivering despite the warm afternoon air. “Of course I can, Iwaizumi-san. But I’m thinking about keeping him dead for a little while so he can learn his lesson.” Iwaizumi chuckles at that. “He needs to figure out that dying isn’t the only way to garner your attention.”
Iwaizumi’s neck reddens softly as he scoffs. Akaashi kneels, pulling the bullet out of Oikawa’s chest with a firm tug. He inspects it for a moment before passing it to the Deputy.
“One of Ushijima-san’s, by the look of it.” Next to him, Iwaizumi hums with displeasure.
“Oikawa challenged him the other day, but said he wouldn’t go.” Above them, a vulture circles. “Evidently he was lying.”
“You need to keep a closer eye on him, Iwaizumi-san. His lifeforce can only sustain dying a few more times.” Iwaizumi swallows, eyes trailing over Oikawa’s face.
“I will,” he promises, though Akaashi knows it’s not one he can keep, “we should probably wake him up now.”
Akaashi sighs once more before he places his hands on Oikawa’s chest. It’s cold, still with the grasp of death, but there is still something there, almost like a heartbeat that pulses through Oikawa’s chest. Akaashi reaches out with his magic, grasps at the thread in his friend's chest, and yanks.
Oikawa jerks up with a gasp, pushing Akaashi’s hands off of his abdomen. He barely has time to recover before Iwaizumi slaps him across the mouth. Hard.
Akaashi chuckles.
“You asshole ,” Iwaizumi hisses, dark eyes alight. Akaashi has always assumed the Deputy has a little magic, at the least, and, gazing into Iwaizumi’s fury-filled eyes, he is more sure than ever. “You said you wouldn’t go.”
Oikawa must be much braver than Akaashi thought, because he pouts at the Deputy as he rubs his bruised cheek. “Ushiwaka called the Seijoh Clan weak , Iwa-chan. Frankly it was an offence I couldn’t excuse.” There’s a little bit of bitterness behind his words.
Iwaizumi looks like he’s about five seconds away from murdering Oikawa on the spot. Akaashi clears his throat as he stands.
“In all seriousness, Oikawa-san, I’d say you can only die about two more times before you stay dead, even with my help. Don’t let it happen again.”
Oikawa shifts, staring at the vast expanse of the sky in front of him. Akaashi can detect something like regret behind his eyes. “I know. I won’t” They both know he’s lying. Oikawa has alway been about protecting the Seijoh Clan, “being the best,” whatever. The threat of death would not stop him from that.
Iwaizumi leans down, pulling Oikawa into his arms. He goes willingly, the softest hint of longing stumbling across his features.
Iwaizumi looks almost sad as he murmurs, “Come on, dumbass. Let’s go into town before the vultures can finish you off.”
Akaashi watches them disappear towards Karasuno without another word, grimacing as a cloud covers the sun and the temperature drops. He needs a drink, desperately. And maybe a blanket.
The air shifts to something cool as he walks towards the Cats and Crows Tavern. It's a calm, almost magical sort of still that always follows the death and subsequent resurrection of one in the town.
Ushijima Wakatoshi, one of the resident sharpshooters and the most recent killer of Oikawa, nods at Akaashi as he passes. There’s a little bit of anger in his eyes, most likely at the sight of a very alive Oikawa, but he knows any attempt to hurt Akaashi would result in his own death. One at Akaashi’s hands.
The rest of the walk is uninterrupted.
The crowd of the Cats and Crows silences briefly as he pushes the door in, only Kuroo’s loud laugh breaking the startling quiet. The quiet shifts to murmurs as soon as Akaashi crosses the threshold.
“Akaashi!” Kuroo calls, grinning as he approaches the counter. “How’s Oikawa? I heard he lost another duel.”
“He is no longer dead, if that’s what you’re asking.” Akaashi says wryly. Kuroo hands him a drink, which he downs, scowling. “Ushijima-san needs to stop killing him every other week, otherwise he’s going to actually kill him .” Kuroo guffaws loudly at that, earning annoyed stares from a few of his patrons.
“You know, I would probably benefit from having him out of the picture,” he says, tilting his head, laughter in his eyes, “but I like him. He's got flavor .” It’s Akaashi’s turn to laugh.
“Indeed,” is his only reply as he tips back another shot. There is a pause in the music and Kenma, the pianist, appears next to Akaashi with a nod.
“Have you told him, Kuro?” The blonde asks, sipping slowly at his gin.
Kuroo shakes his head in response, smiling. “There’s another duelist headed into town, apparently. They call him Golden-Eyes. I call him a pain in my ass.”
“So I’ve heard. You’ve met him before?”
“Oh, sure.” Kuroo drawls. “We used to be best buds before he disappeared off the face of the Earth.”
Akaashi raises an eyebrow. “And why is he coming here?” Karasuno is populous, sure, but it certainly isn’t anything to write home about.
“Rumor has it,” Kenma interjects, “that he and his gang are going to challenge the Miya Twin’s Clan. And they’re using Karasuno as a meeting place, of sorts.” Now, there’s a surprise. The Twin Killers, as the Miyas were called, were infamous across the land for brutally dismantling gangs left and right. It would be a miracle if the Golden-Eyed sharpshooter lasts for more than a week.
Akaashi says as much, snorting. “He won’t last a week.”
Kuroo shrugs, wordlessly passing him another drink. “He’s strong, magic-wise, from what I’ve heard. And apparently he has one hell of a clan.”
“Like that’ll stop the Miyas.” They’re nice enough on their own, Akaashi supposes. He’s met Atsumu, the elder one, before, and besides the odd, distinctly off feeling he radiated there was nothing wrong with him. But Akaashi’s seen the sheer trail of carnage left behind after one of their raids. He doesn’t ever want to see it again.
“When is he supposed to get here?”
“Any day, now. And the Miyas aren’t far behind.”
“Fantastic. More dead bodies for me to worry about.” Akaashi scowls, picking at the dulled wood of the bar. There’s a warm hand on his shoulder and he turns, meeting Iwaizumi’s gaze. He had been so emerged in self pity he hadn’t noticed the Deputy enter. And, judging by Kenma’s flinch, he hadn’t either.
Iwaizumi is panting slightly, eyes wild and clothes mussed, and Akaashi wonders vaguely if he and Oikawa finally got together.
“How’s Tooru, Iwaizumi?” Kuroo asks, sliding a drink across the bar. He seems to be wondering the same thing, an amused glint in his eye.
“He’s fine,” Iwaizumi says shortly, tipping the drink back, face flushing, “but he’s not the problem. Golden-Eyes is here.” Kuroo’s gaze shoots to him, eyes alert.
“Are you joking?” He hisses, clearly annoyed. “I was supposed to get another order of moonshine, but the guy I ordered it from won’t step a mile near Bokuto. Goddamn.” Iwaizumi laughs at that, but none of the tension disappears from his shoulders.
“He’s in Johzenji-” a small town bordering the much larger Karasuno, “-but he’ll be arriving within the hour.”
“And the Miyas?” Akaashi cuts in, gripping the edges of his cup. They’re the ones he’s really worried about.
“Still in their camp. But if what Oikawa says is true they’ll be here by the week after.” Akaashi lets out a string of expletives, and Kuroo does the same, muttering something about ruining his fucking business, all these goddamn thugs.
Akaashi rises, shaking off Iwaizumi’s hand as he clasps his cloak around his shoulders. “I need to prepare for the inevitable wave of deaths,” he grumbles, tipping the last of his whiskey into his mouth with a grimace. “I’ll bring some healing herbs up in a day or two.” Those assembled nod their goodbyes, and Akaashi makes his way towards the exit, brow furrowed in frustration.
He’s so consumed in his thoughts of preparation that he doesn’t notice the sudden hush that spreads through the tavern like wildfire. Nor does he notice that he’s about to faceplant directly into someone’s chest.
“Hey hey hey,” the man in front of him says, the deep timber of his voice rolling through Akaashi like thunder. He grasps Akaashi’s shoulders with warm hands, effectively preventing him from eating the floor of the tavern. “You better watch where you’re going, Necromancer-kun.”
Akaashi’s eyes catch the numerous holsters that litter the man’s waist as he steadies himself. He has no less than four pistols, four, strapped to his elaborate belt. They’re all the same kind. That seems excessive, Akaashi thinks to himself, scowling ferociously.
The man in front of him tips his head back and laughs, a loud, full-bodied sound, and Akaashi gets a good look at his face. He’s handsome, with loud, exaggerated features that match the sound coming out of him. He’s dressed like every other outlaw Akaashi has ever seen: offwhite shirt, leather pants, leather boots, and scuffed gloves. But the most outlandish thing about him is his hair, made of black and white spikes that rise about three inches off his head.
“You,” he breathes, meeting Akaashi’s level gaze, and Akaashi feels the air go out of his lungs at the sight of the golden eyes staring back at him. “I like you.”
Akaashi forces his expression into something calm, even as he continues to meet Golden-Eye’s molten gaze. And Christ, Kuroo wasn’t kidding about his magic- Akaashi can practically feel the warm waves of power rolling off of him like water. It’s overwhelming. Akaashi lets a little bit of his own power show through, ignoring how the sharpshooters' features shift into something delighted.
“You don’t even know me, Bokuto-san.” He drawls boredly. Bokuto’s hands slack on Akaashi’s shoulders as his mouth falls neatly open in surprise. Akaashi pushes past him without a word, and, behind him, the music in the tavern starts again, as if it had never stopped.