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Visiting Whale Island was … difficult.
Killua cared for Gon. He cared for Mito and Abe too, though in a different way. He craved their warmth, Abe's gentle droning as she talked them through whatever knitting technique she was demonstrating, the slight smile Mito gave as she set a plate down in front of him. Things were calm. He could breathe here. He really, really did care for them.
Killua couldn't bear the thought of spending another minute here.
His hand, shaking, closed on the last of his shirts. He hadn't bothered to fold them, cramming his clothes haphazardly into the bottom of his suitcase rather than extend his visit even a second longer by taking the time to sort them properly. He stuffed it inside, then zipped the case shut and stood for a moment, breathing heavy, with his hands resting atop it.
He needed to leave. And he needed to leave now while they were busy, distracted, too caught up in making dinner to notice an unwanted guest sneaking out the door. Because he was, at the end of it all, unwanted, wasn't he? Not unwelcome, no, they would never make him feel that way. But Killua could see the way Mito tensed when she looked at him sometimes. He'd seen the way she froze when Gon proudly declared Killua was an assassin. Her eyes had flickered to Gon, then Abe across the room in her rocking chair, then back to Killua, like she was swiftly considering how likely he was to kill either of them. Little things, here and there. She'd gone silent when Killua stripped his shirt after soaking it while helping with the dishes. Her gaze had stuck to his scars and gone cold, nervous, brightening with the realization that he'd trained, fought, killed. She'd looked sick when he showed off his claws to Gon, slicing an island fruit into a dozen pieces before it hit the counter. No mother wants that near her family.
The final straw had come mere minutes ago. Maybe ten. Her expression, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted, pure horror etched onto her face, was flashing through his mind with every stuttering breath that he took.
It had been small. Killua licked his lips, considering the backs of his gnarled, slender fingers. He'd been focused so intently on Gon's story about the foxbear that he simply hadn’t noticed Mito approach. He was wrapped up in the details and the way Gon's face twisted just a little as he recounted it, thinking about how badly he wanted to reach out. Gon seemed hurt, and he’d hated that.
She'd caught him off guard, that was all. Scared him a little. Her hand had fallen on the back of his neck and it had scared him a little. Just a little. Zeno used to grab him like that. Gentle at first, like he'd been forgiven for his mistake, and then suddenly crushing and brutal and punishing. The touch sent bolts of electricity through him. He'd jumped, spun to face her. That was all. He hadn't raised his fists or lashed out. He was too scared to think of fighting back. All he could think was that no, no, he’d done everything right, he didn’t want what was coming next. His mind was shrieking at him. A storm. He didn’t want it.
But she'd been frightened of him nonetheless. She'd leapt back as if struck, hand clutched to her chest, that horrible look on her face. She'd expected to be attacked, Killua had realized. She was living with this killer, and she didn't know when he'd strike. He was terrifying to her. A threat to herself, her mother, her son. The realization had made him ill, had made his gut fill up with lead and rocked him so hard he could barely see straight.
Gon was sweet, but he was wrong. Killua would always be a monster.
Hot tears clamored at the backs of his eyes, desperate to fall. Killua swallowed hard and picked his suitcase up, pivoting on his heel to flee.
There was a knock at the door.
Killua's heart sank, and his stomach turned to stone.
"Killua?" called Mito, voice soft, breathing quiet, anxiety palpable. Her tone was hesitant and downturned, like she was frowning through words alone, and Killua suddenly cursed himself for ever thinking he could show up here and get away with it. He knew Mito wouldn't ask him to leave. She was sweet, kind-hearted in a way Killua would never be, and he hated that she was. It meant he would have to tell her. He would have to be the one to acknowledge that he did not belong here. He would have to admit what he was, what he'd done, and what he would likely never be able to stop doing. It hurt. It really, really hurt.
He knew he hadn’t earned it, but he just wanted Mito to like him.
With tears threatening to spill over he turned, trudged over to the door with his suitcase rolling behind him, and opened the door.
He kept his gaze pinned to his feet. Mito's hands were clasped gently at her belly.
"Killua, sweetheart, why are you all packed up?"
His nose wrinkled, a desperate attempt to stave off some kind of ugly, rude remark like he always reverted to. Mito didn't deserve that. Instead, he managed a weak; "Sorry."
"For what?" she asked softly.
"I have to head home."
"Killua, can you look at me?"
He nodded once, twice, and then kept his eyes fixed on the floor. He didn't have the will to.
"Killua?"
He stumbled over his words. "I, I um…"
With a small sigh Mito shifted, crouching in front of him with her hands smoothing out her dress before resting daintily on her knees. She looked drained, awfully old but still warm, soft and safe, just a little tired of being so. Her smile was small and comforting, brows slightly pinched, and she looked at Killua like he’d done nothing wrong. He swallowed.
“Killua, are you okay?” she asked quietly.
Killua’s voice caught in his throat. How cruel of her to ask. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, though this time it was strangled. “I know you’re …” He trailed off. Took a deep breath.
He’d killed hundreds, he could handle a simple conversation.
“I know I make you - I make- I’m … uncomfortable,” he finished. “To be around.”
“Oh.” That downturned voice again.
Killua’s nose wrinkled. “I wouldn’t hurt you, you know.” It came out as a whisper. “Or Abe. Or Gon. Never Gon.”
Mito slowly sat the rest of the way down. She looked sad. “Killua, can I touch you?”
He chewed his lip, out of place. Confused. “Um, ok.”
She reached out carefully, like he was fragile, and set her palm against his cheek. Suddenly Killua felt very, very small. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, that anyone ever let you think you are anything other than a sweet young boy who loves with all his heart.”
He looked at her. His chest squeezed. His face felt hot.
“I’m sorry I ever let you think you’re uncomfortable to be around.” Her other hand came up, and suddenly Killua realized his cheeks were wet. “You’re such a good young man, Killua. I could have never asked for a better friend for Gon. I can tell you care for him very, very much. I feel much safer knowing you’re with him.”
Killua choked on a sob, fists clenched so tightly around his bag handle that the plastic cracked under his fingers. He wanted so, so badly to stay with Gon. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay with him as long as he possibly could. It didn’t make sense. He’d never been safe before. Good. A best friend. He didn't know how to do it. “But y-you don’t want me -” Killua stammered, “You don’t want me here. Nobody does. You’re all sc-scared of me.” He tasted salt. His head hurt.
Strong, sturdy hands pulled at him until he stumbled forward, and Mito crushed him into her chest tightly until all he could smell was fresh linen and baked bread and fireplace smoke and a home he’d never had in all his life. “Nobody’s scared of you, Killua. I’m sorry you thought that. What makes you say that?”
Killua buried his face into her shoulder. “You thought I’d kill you when you -” He gasped for air. “- when you startled me today. When you t-touched …” He couldn’t continue. Her expression was fresh in his mind, horror etched into every feature, hand over her heart, like she thought he might pluck it from her chest. He struggled for a moment to push himself away, but Mito held firm.
“Oh, Killua.” Her breath was warm behind his ear. Everything about her was warm. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Nobody’s scared of you. I’m not scared of you. I was scared for you. I’m sorry. I was worried about you, Killua. Nobody should be afraid of being touched. I felt bad for startling you. I’m sorry you ever felt that way.”
He felt gross, ruined, icky. Ashamed. His knees went weak, and he sank to lean into Mito’s hold as the sobs came harder, uglier. She was right, nobody should be afraid of being touched. He was just damaged some way, all twisted up in the wrong directions. It wasn’t fair.
“No matter what was done to you, Killua, you are a good boy.” Mito said, fingers running through his hair. “You are a very strong, very brave boy. No matter what you were made to do, you’re here with Gon now, and you’re here in our home and we want you to stay. We all love you very much.”
“I’m sorry,” Killua managed. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Mito said. She pressed a kiss to his hair.
Heavy, stomping footsteps came barreling up the stairs then, squeaking up the landing and arriving at the top with a loud shout of, “Killuaaaaaaa!”.
Killua buried his face further into Mito’s dress, sick at the thought of Gon seeing him like this.
“Gon,” Mito said softly, “why don’t you take Killua’s suitcase back inside and unpack his things for him? He’s not feeling very well.”
Gon came bounding down the hallway. “Oh no! Killua? Are you okay?”
“He’s fine, Gon. Just a little under the weather.”
Killua forced a nod, face still hidden.
Thin, gangly arms wrapped around him then, and a familiar scent and warmth pressed close, a familiar hold, and Gon rubbed his face into the back of Killua’s neck and exclaimed, “I’m sorry you’re sick, Killua! Hold on, I’ll make you feel so much better!”
And then he was gone, the clattering of the suitcase wheels heralding his departure, and Killua could hear drawers opening and slamming at the speed of light as Gon no doubt threw his things all over the place in his fervor to get him resituated. The chaos of it pushed a smile to his lips, weak and wobbly but there. He peeled himself away from Mito to rub furiously at his eyes and erase the evidence. He tried to meet her gaze, but his heart squeezed again and he kept his eyes on the floor. "Sorry," he said again, awkward.
Mito straightened the front of his shirt, ran her hands over his shoulders and down his sleeves, taking hold of his wet hands tightly and smiling softly. "There's nothing to apologize for. I love you very much, Killua."
"I love you too, Killua!" came Gon's voice, blaring. Killua nearly leapt out of his skin and spun to find Gon leaning out of the doorway, a few pairs of shorts dangling from his fist. Gon grinned, eyes shut, loud and happy and good, and Killua was frozen in his tracks for a moment by just how bright he was, how swallowed up he felt in the other boy's light.
Eventually, he stammered out, "F-fucking idiot! Don’t go saying stuff like that."
"Killua, language," Mito said gently.
He blushed. "Sorry." Only the thousandth time.
"Killua! You can't just say fuck in front of Aunt Mito!"
Mito stood. "Gon!"
He disappeared in a flurry of laughter and laundry, retreating into the room to do god knows what with the remnants of Killua's suitcase. Killua took a shaky step forward, eager to join, to forget, to pretend that nothing had happened and that he was fine, unshaken and unfeeling as he always was, but something stopped him. A little flare of anxiety in his core, curling around his heart like barbed wire.
He turned to Mito. "I…"
She smiled at him. "You'll be fine, Killua. Look how happy you make all of us."
He blushed again at that, not quite sure what to make of it, but when Mito shooed him away he went nonetheless, rocketing away into the bedroom on shaky legs to throw things like any good twelve year old would do.