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They've done it—they've defeated ——, ended the long cycle of tyranny and suffering, set humans free and probably the other gods and demons, too. It's probably the greatest victory humankind has ever had. Flynn can hear the hopeful, disbelieving voices of the Hunters who've been waiting for their return, and he knows it's his job as their hero, their messiah, to turn around and smile and confirm that they did it...
And all he feels is hollow inside, scraped out and emptied like Jonathan and Walter took part of him with them as they disappeared into that void. Sound echoes in Tokyo in a way he's never gotten used to, hemmed in by the Firmament, hushed and urgent voices bouncing back from Ginza's colorful, alien buildings. He puts a hand on Masakado's sealing boulder as if he could pull some stability out of the stone.
"Are you all right?" Isabeau asks softly.
Flynn takes a deep breath. "I will be." He has to be. Everyone still needs him. This is a happy ending for Tokyo and Mikado both. "That was just enough time to remember how good things could be when we were together. It's not fair." His voice cracks a little and he swallows hard, trying to push the pain down. Later. When people aren't waiting on him.
"It's not," Isabeau agrees. She puts a hand on his shoulder, looking past him. "Nanashi, can you—"
"Maybe," Nanashi says, stepping up. "I think so." He looks Flynn right in the eyes, his own still glowing green. "I think we can help."
"Help?" Flynn echoes. He's all too aware of the waiting crowd. Someone has to give them news, and soon.
Dagda materializes behind Nanashi, towering and sinister. "If those two souls are to move on to another life from here, they'll have to make their way down Yomotsu-Hikona. Traveling the path there takes time."
"And I've been there before," Nanashi says, as if the pathway to the afterlife is just a place people go. But Flynn's bargained with the boatman more than once. He nods.
"Can you bring them back?" Isabeau says.
Dagda nods. "If we reach them before they cross through the gate, and if they agree to it, I have enough power to bring them back."
Hope feels almost dangerous. The Divine Powers suggested they could coax Jonathan and Walter back from being shells for ——'s minions once, when they were trying to convince Flynn to surrender his own body to possession. It was one of the most tempting offers they had for him.
"Come on," Nanashi says, giving Flynn a friendly shoulder punch like Walter would. "We should go now if we're gonna."
Flynn shakes himself out of the memory. "You're right. If there's a chance, we should try." That's also what it means to be a messiah: believing there's still a chance and choosing to try.
"I'll talk to Fujiwara, tell him what happened in the Outer Universe," Isabeau says. "You go find the two of them."
"Right," Flynn says.
Before he can turn away, she grabs him and pulls him into a fierce hug. "Bring them home," she whispers. "And bring yourselves home, too."
"I will," Flynn promises. The kind of happy ending where the hero sacrifices himself for the sake of his friends really doesn't seem like a goal to aim for.
When Isabeau lets go, Flynn looks at Nanashi and Dagda. "Okay. How do we get there from here? I really hope there's a method other than the obvious."
"With a little help," Dagda says. He turns to Masakado's boulder. "You listening, general? We have one last mission left to finish this war."
The boulder cracks, spilling orange light from its interior. "Please," Flynn says.
Dagda touches it, and the crack widens, morphing into an open portal of mottled color and darkness. It looks almost like the ones back in Lucifer's palace... Or the ones connecting the fragmented wings of the Divine Powers' lair in Tsukiji Konganji, and just for a second it feels like Flynn can't breathe.
Nanashi touches his arm. "Ready?"
Flynn remembers how to exhale. "Ready. Let's go."
As they step through the portal Nanashi's hand finds his, and Flynn holds tight to that comfort as they pass through the twisting, unreal space between two real places that don't touch. Despite how endless it feels in the moment, it doesn't last long—Flynn isn't even breathless when his boots touch down on a bare, packed-earth path. The light here is dim and yellow, and the pathway snakes ahead and downward through an echoing emptiness on either side. This isn't the pathway to the Ferryman's dock, but it feels like it; it makes the back of Flynn's neck prickle with the same kind of wary alarm.
"Just follow the path?" he asks, in case there's a trick to it. You can't be too careful.
"Just follow the path." Nanashi checks his sword in what looks like a trained habit, so Flynn does too.
They take off at a jog, their boots raising little puffs of dirt with each step. Drifting, half-dissolute souls hang in the air at intervals, swaying gently, watching them pass. Please let them not be too late. Please let them catch up.
After the second bend in the road Flynn can see a pair of shadows in the distance up ahead. His heart skips a beat. "That's them."
Nanashi nods. "I can go faster."
"Let's do it." They dash down the slope toward the retreating figures. Flynn's breath comes faster and the darkness off to either side is nothing more than a blur. They have to catch up. They're so close.
Something huge and slick and dark heaves itself over the edge of the cliff, shaking the ground as it lands in their path. "Nooooo," it howls, squirming, lunging, a leech the size of a Mikado village house. "Not your place!"
"We don't have time for this!" Flynn yells. "Out of our way!"
The leech only takes a swipe at him in response. About what he was expecting, honestly. He's done this dance enough times to make pretty good guesses about how to hurt the demons that come after him. Something this squishy and wet? He gathers magic in one hand and throws a bolt of lightning into the demon's middle.
It rears back with a noise of dismay. "Nice," Nanashi says, and when Flynn glances over at him he has that fierce little grin he gets when he's about to just wreck something. He could be Walter's little brother when he makes that face, and Flynn's heart aches.
Walter was never so comfortable slinging magic, though. Nanashi fires off his own shower of lightning, crackling over the leech's skin and making it writhe.
Figuring out an enemy's weakness at the start of the battle is always such a relief. It hits them in return, sure, but not hard enough to slow them down. They take turns hammering it with all the power they have, and finally it's worn down enough to moan, "Leave mother alone."
"We're not here for anyone's mother," Nanashi says.
"We're just trying to save our friends," Flynn adds. "Let us get to them and we'll leave with no further trouble."
The leech demon makes a sound like a sob and sways back and forth. Flynn's had a decent amount of practice reading demon body language, and this looks like indecision. It's also an opportunity, with the demon's guard down, but he holds back, giving it a moment to weigh their words.
With a wail, the demon retreats back over the cliff, its body oozing and contracting until it disappears into the dark. "Whew," Nanashi says. "I didn't think that was going to work."
"I was a little doubtful myself," Flynn admits. "Come on."
They've lost a little ground, but it's not too late. Flynn sprints for the shadows near the end of the path, calling their names. He can hear Nanashi's footsteps pounding on the packed dirt behind him. The shadows waver. There's a gate beyond them, like the ones in Tokyo shrines but old beyond reckoning, unpainted wood cracked and weathered, scraps of rotten rope still clinging to the upright posts.
Flynn gets between the shades and the gate. "Jonathan! Walter!" He's breathless from running and he can't think enough to say anything eloquent. "Please, wait. Don't go."
The shades appear to look at him, smoky-dark and indistinct, features barely visible within their hazy outlines. "It is our time to go," one of them says. Is that Jonathan? The voice is so flat, so empty of conviction.
"It doesn't have to be," Flynn says.
"This is the natural order of things," the other shade says. Could that possibly be Walter? Surely he would have an argument.
Nanashi jogs to a halt beside Flynn. "Wake them," he says in Dagda's voice. "Remind them of their individual selves, not just their potential as souls."
Flynn takes a deep breath. "Jonathan. Walter. It's me, Flynn, your fellow Samurai. Your friend. We had so many adventures together, remember? Fighting our way through Naraku. Discovering a whole new realm buried beneath our feet. Discovering the injustices of that world and—and recognizing the flaws in our own in the process." No, that's too abstract, too big. It's not what he means. "Do you remember—fresh-baked bread from the Mikado castle town, the sun sparkling on the lake? Do you remember how magical everything in Tokyo seemed when we got there? And not only the demons, but all the things people took for granted. Glass spheres that made brighter light than any fire, pictures that moved and spoke."
The figures seem to waver. "Do you remember how sorely we argued, thrust into the conflicts of that world we barely knew? You were both so angry at different horrors we'd seen there. Neither of you wanted to let suffering continue. The creator's forces used that against you and turned us against each other."
A shudder goes through one of them. "It was all part of his plan. Even the Demon Lord wasn't truly fighting against the existing order."
"The hypocrisy of setting people up to suffer and die, again and again, simply to give himself unending control...."
It's getting easier to tell which of them is which. "But we beat him now," Flynn presses on. "You were there. You helped. We defeated him together, and now humanity can have a chance to rebuild something new, outside of his cycle. It should be a happy ending for everyone. But... It isn't a happy ending if your friends don't come home. Please. I don't want to wait another fifteen hundred years for a chance to try again. Don't go through that gate."
"It does seem somewhat hasty to be already saying goodbye," says the shade that must be Jonathan's. "But I admit to some hesitation at the idea of haunting you."
"That's why I'm here," Nanashi says. "Dagda's willing to help."
"It's a long story," Flynn interjects, before either of them can ask how that change of heart happened. "The important part is you could come home. Alive. And I want you to so much."
"Well, I for one can't imagine turning down a plea like that," says the shade whose cadence is ever more like Walter's.
"'Tis an exceptional thing to ask or offer," adds his companion. "But you seem to have a fondness for exceptions."
Flynn smiles shakily. "It's important to be flexible," he says.
"You showed us both that," says Jonathan's shade. "Very well. I... would like to come home."
"That's what we want to hear." Dagda materializes behind Nanashi, looming, the stray energy of this place seeming to cling to him and pull at his cloak and his wild hair. "Now, I'll be doing most of the work here, but I need you two to focus on your bodies. Imagine how it felt to be at home in them. Hold those memories as clear in your minds as you can."
Nanashi looks up at him. "You never made me do that."
"You'd barely been out of your flesh for thirty seconds," Dagda says—fondly? "That was just pouring you back in and patching up a few leaks. This is the real work."
"How important is it to be strictly accurate?" Walter again. "Say, if we try to imagine one particular thing a little bigger than we remember?"
Dagda laughs. "Do your best, kid. Want to be a bit more of a prize bull the second time around, do you?"
"Just curious, that's all! Opportunities like this don't come up often."
"Please," Flynn says. It's good to be with them, to feel like they're really there in a way that it never did when Lucifer and Merkabah wore their forms. But also, "I want us to all go home."
Jonathan and Walter fall silent and a hush falls over the area. The hair on Flynn's neck stands up as Dagda's magic crackles around them. He doesn't realize he's clenching his fists until Nanashi takes his hand.
Vines erupt from the earth beneath Walter and Jonathan's shades, pliant stems that twine around each other and thicken as they stretch higher. They multiply and weave together, taking on familiar shapes: feet and legs, torso, arms, each head enclosing one of the shades. And then they begin to change, melding, glowing, the light growing so bright it's hard to look at, the air filling with the lush, comforting scent of the woods after a spring rain—the fallen leaves damp and rich, the new growth a bright and invigorating green.
When the light fades again, they're really there: Jonathan staring at his hands and flexing his fingers as if to remind himself how they work, Walter patting himself down as if to make sure all his parts are accounted for. Flynn's eyes sting and his throat feels tight; he's exhausted all at once, as if he's fought another battle, but this time, finally, there's no terrible compromise at the end of it.
"Welcome back, you two," he chokes out. "Let's go home."
Half the Hunter Association seems to be waiting for them when they stumble out of Yomotsu-Hikona into the Ginza plaza, Walter and Jonathan dressed in a motley of Flynn's cast-off Tokyo armor pieces. For a second Walter expects trouble, after how much if it they've been through lately—after all the things he can remember through the haze of Lucifer's control. But Flynn takes their hands and lifts them up, the same gesture the official used to declare victory in the Hunter Tournament arena, and the waiting crowd cheer.
The Hunters lead them all down into the Ginza Underground District, where it seems like half of Tokyo has gathered to celebrate. The corridors throng with people—and even a few of the more sociable demons—and all the doors are open. Somewhere, music is playing, raucous and loud. The crush of warm bodies on all sides and the cheers for Flynn and Nanashi are overwhelming, making Walter's head spin. It's all so much more immediate than experiencing the world through the eyes of a demon.
They push through the crowd until they reach the thrown-open shutter of the Hunter Association, where some familiar faces are waiting. Nanashi waves, and his little girlfriend gives them a beaming smile in return. Isabeau slips out to greet them and she looks just as relieved as Walter feels.
"You did it," she says to Flynn. "Congratulations." Then she hugs him, hard, so he reels a little bit before he gets his arms around her to hug back.
"We made it," he says. "We all made it."
Isabeau lets go of Flynn and turns to Walter next. "Don't get any ideas," she says just before she hugs him.
"Hey, you don't have to say anything, I'm irresistible," Walter says with a grin. "Ow!" He flinches as she steps on his foot, a little too hard to be accidental, but even that honestly feels pretty great. "Seriously, Isabeau, thanks."
She gives Jonathan a hug too, his back too stiff and straight and his hands carefully on her shoulders, and then pulls back to beckon to them all. "Come on. Everyone's treating this as a feast day, but the barkeep's been saving back what he calls 'some delicacies' for us."
Inside, a few people seem to shrink back from Walter and Jonathan's presence, and that's something they'll probably have to deal with eventually, but right now it just means an easier path to the bar. They elbow their way through to take the last few free spots, and something smells absolutely mouth-watering—the hunters further down the bar seem to have a kind of snack Walter hasn't seen here before.
"What's your pleasure?" the barkeep asks, looking at Flynn. It's the same familiar greeting as always but there's a softness in his voice and this edge of relief in his smile that make it feel much more than rote.
"What's the special today?" Flynn asks.
"You're going to love it—this one's been flying out the door," the barkeep says. "Vegetable tempura! Assorted vegetables sliced thin, dipped in batter, and fried just long enough to make the coating crisp."
"Ersatz, of course?" Walter prompts when the disclaimer doesn't come.
"Not this time," the barkeep says proudly. "Some of our new friends in Mikado sent supplies down, so we could dig out recipes nobody's been able to make in Tokyo for years."
"Tokyo cuisine as it was meant to be," Jonathan says. "I'd love to try it."
"For the messiah and his friends? Coming right up."
While the barkeep heads back to the kitchen for their food, Walter and the others watch the party going on around them. Hunters, civilians, and even a few samurai are talking and laughing, sharing food and drinks among them. The viewscreen above the bar shows what looks like one of the other branches of the association, where people seem to be celebrating much the same way. The hopeful future Walter wanted, where people were free... and maybe the one Jonathan wanted, where they were safe... it's possible now. The game they all had to play is over, and they get to decide for themselves how things are going to go now.
The barkeep comes back before Walter can get too maudlin over Flynn's miracle, placing little plastic baskets on the bar for each of them. "There you go! Genuine vegetable tempura, best in the city."
"Smells great," Walter says, pulling his basket closer. This is definitely the stuff those other hunters were enjoying. The batter's so light it's almost fluffy, and the vegetables are just a little sweeter and softer than they would be raw. It's a hell of a welcome back to the world of the living.
"Hope that one stays on the menu," Flynn says when they've all polished their tempura off (and, at least in Walter's case, licked their fingers clean).
"You and me both," the barkeep says as he clears empty baskets. "We'll see how things go with the guys upstairs. Can I get you boys anything else?"
"I'd hate to tax the tempura supply when you have so many customers who've yet to try it," Jonathan says, which Walter supposes is fair. Let everyone in on the celebration, right?
"I'll take some of those folded dumplings, if you've any to spare," Walter says.
"Gyoza? Well, we haven't had a chance to reconstruct the old recipes yet, so it'd be—"
"Ersatz is fine," Walter says. "We came around for those things enough times between quests, I've started to get fond of them."
The barkeep chuckles. "I guess somebody had to! I'll go put an order in."
When the barkeep goes off to the kitchen, Walter sits back on his stool, looking around. It still doesn't entirely seem real. He's... he was dead an hour or so ago, on his way to whatever awaited him between one incarnation and another. Now, he has a belly full of good food—he has a belly at all—and he's surrounded by people rejoicing for the new lives they've all been given.
A hand lands on his shoulder; when he looks over, it's Flynn, smiling sheepishly when Walter meets his eyes. "Something the matter?"
"No," Flynn says. "The opposite, really. We did it. We made it home."
"We really did." The warmth of his hand is a steadying comfort—probably for both of them, really. He didn't have an easy time of it with the Divine Powers, did he?
"All right, Ginza gyoza, here we are," says the barkeep. "Enjoy 'em!"
"Perfect, thanks," Walter says. He pops one of the little dumplings in his mouth, and it's not that it's better than the tempura, definitely not; the skin's a little too chewy and the filling has a gamy flavor to it that all the demon-based Tokyo food has at least a little of. But it feels real, that weird flavor itself a reminder that he made it back to somewhere familiar and he's in control of his own body. He has to close his eyes for a minute just to keep his composure.
Something tugs at his bootlace as he's finishing that first bite. He looks down, and there's a little demon sitting on the floor at his feet: fluffy like a sheep at the end of the winter, but only about the size of a large cat, and chewing on his bootlaces with a single-minded determination.
"Oi," he says. The demon looks up. "Do you mind?"
The demon chews on his bootlace for a few more seconds, looking thoughtful. "NOPE," it says eventually. "HUNGRY."
"You little punk," Walter says, but he can't resist the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Come on up here and join the party, then." He reaches down to catch the demon under the forelimbs and scoop it up into his lap. "Pretty sure I've seen you around. Tao Tie, right?"
"EVERYONE KNOWS TAO TIE," the demon says, clearly pleased. "YOU, NO DEMON MASTER ANYMORE."
"Nope," Walter agrees. "In fact, I'd say that's one of the reasons we're celebrating."
"CELEBRATE!" Tao Tie immediately tries to crawl up onto the bar to stick its face in his bowl of dumplings, and Walter has to haul it back into his lap.
"You're as bad as my baby brother," Walter says. "Hey, what do you say when you want something?"
"NOW," says Tao Tie.
Walter laughs despite himself, plucking a dumpling out of the bowl and holding it out for the demon to take. "Here you go, buddy."
When he looks up, Flynn and Jonathan are both watching him. "You're going to teach it terrible manners," Jonathan says, failing to hold back a smile.
"It already has terrible manners!" Walter protests. "I didn't have to teach it anything!"
"I have faith in you," Flynn says. "You'll find some way to be a bad influence."
Walter clutches at his chest with the hand that isn't holding Tao Tie back from his gyoza. "You too, Flynn? You wound me." But he doesn't really mean it, and Flynn doesn't really mean it either, and even if Tao Tie is starting to eat his jacket cuff, everything's going to be okay.
It's late when Flynn comes back to the barracks at Castle Mikado. It feels like this day alone has been a thousand years, much less how many more there have been since last he stayed here. It's quiet, after all the celebrations in Tokyo.
The door to his old room stands open already when he gets there, which seems strange. Perhaps someone sought to air it out before he returned. There certainly shouldn't have been any personal possessions in there to pilfer...
"Ah," he says when he steps inside and sees that someone has beaten him there. "Jonathan. Is something the matter?"
Jonathan turns to him with a sheepish smile. "It shouldn't be, should it? We've pulled off the greatest victory in human history."
Flynn takes a step closer, which puts them already in arm's reach; the prentices' rooms may have seemed a shocking luxury for him and Walter when they first arrived—private space of their own!—but they're small, without much ornamentation. "It was a hard-fought victory." He's almost unsure if he should press the issue, but Jonathan was waiting for him here, after all. "What's on your mind?"
"It sounds silly to say it out loud," Jonathan says. "When I got back here and had a few moments alone, it started to feel like... this might not be real." He runs his fingertips down the rough stone of the wall. "I still dreamed sometimes, when I was, ah, with Merkabah. Ordinary little dreams about everyday things, but made so poignant by how much I missed them."
Flynn's heart aches. Being the Divine Powers' captive wasn't the same, but it was bad enough. Longing for freedom, for home, for the comrades he'd grown to love... He reaches out and puts a hand on Jonathan's shoulder. "This is real. We're actually here."
Jonathan nods. For a moment they just stand there, anchored by that point of contact. Then Jonathan closes the distance between them and pulls Flynn into his arms, holding on tight. Flynn wraps his arms around Jonathan's waist, leaning into him. Jonathan feels warm and solid, comforting to hold. There's something grounding about it, his closeness, his hands rubbing slow circles on Flynn's back. The threats are gone now. It's going to be okay.
"Do you want to stay here tonight?" Flynn asks before he can come up with a good reason not to. "With me, I mean. I like the idea of not being alone too."
"One of us would have to sleep on the floor, I believe," Jonathan says into Flynn's shirt collar.
"A fair point," Flynn admits. The beds they were given as Samurai prentices were scarcely large enough for one man, much less two. He rests his head on Jonathan's shoulder and thinks about it for a moment. "Or we both could. Pull down the mattress, fetch the one from your room, lay them out on the floor next to each other."
"Like the futons in those rooms we'd rent in Tokyo." Jonathan sounds pleased with the idea. His hold on Flynn has loosened, but he hasn't let go.
"Might be a bit drafty, but I'm sure we'll manage." Flynn isn't in a hurry to let go either. It just feels good to be so close.
They stand there quietly for another long moment, Flynn's head on Jonathan's shoulder, before at last Jonathan says, "I like the idea. Let's do it."
They pull the mattress down off Flynn's narrow bed, a clumsy and ungainly thing, and let it flop to the floor. Jonathan's old room is up the hall, and Flynn goes along with him to retrieve the mattress there; Jonathan is certainly strong enough to handle it alone, but the size makes it awkward to carry. Besides, it's better to keep each other nearby, isn't it?
About halfway back to Flynn's room, mattress wobbling between them, a voice calls from the stairwell: "Hoy, what's this? Are you two planning a sleepover without me?"
"Only because you hared off someplace on your own again," Jonathan retorts, but he's smiling.
"I took a quick detour to say hello to K now that we're back, that's all!" Walter says. "I didn't know I'd be missing an opportunity like this."
"You haven't missed anything yet," Flynn says as they steer the second mattress into his room. "We could fit a third in here easily." He glances at Jonathan as he says it, abruptly unsure if that was welcome—they're doing better now, the two of them, but will this seem like an imposition on Jonathan's comfort?
"We can help to bring yours over if you'd like," Jonathan adds. He and Flynn drop his mattress and shove it into alignment with Flynn's.
"I got it, it's not far," Walter says from the hallway. His room was just across the hall, and by the time Flynn and Jonathan are done with the second mattress, Walter is dragging his in to add to the collection. "There. Looks downright decadent now, doesn't it?"
"Fit for a king," Flynn says.
They pile up all their blankets on their makeshift shared futon, then strip out of boots and jackets and trousers to crawl into bed together. Flynn brings the lantern down to the floor with him, so it'll be in reach to turn off—and for a moment that feels strange, after he'd gotten used to the electricity of Tokyo. But he blows out the flame and the smell of the snuffed wick is still comforting and familiar as he settles between his friends.
Jonathan's hand finds his immediately, and Flynn laces their fingers together, squeezing gently. "Still here," Flynn murmurs. "It's still real."
Walter laughs softly, shakily. "You're feeling it too, huh?"
"It's hard to shake the worry," Jonathan admits.
"It is. I'd not be trapped like that again." Walter shudders. "To believe you're championing freedom, and then... have that happen..."
Flynn reaches for him, too. At first he fumbles, finding Walter's stomach, his arm, but then Walter simply rolls toward him, pressing against his side and taking his shoulder for a pillow. "But you made it out. We all did."
Walter nods, his hair tickling Flynn's ear. "Damnation, I missed you. Both of you, despite all the arguments."
"Likewise," Jonathan says. "'Twas a comfort to fight beside you again, and more of one to come home together."
Walter reaches over Flynn and Jonathan shifts to meet him, pressing close against Flynn's other side, their hands clasped over his heart. They both feel so warm, so right there. After all they've seen and experienced, all the horrors of this world and of the others even less fortunate, finally this tangle of limbs amidst a haphazard nest of blankets feels more like home than anything ever has. "My dear friends," Flynn says. His heart feels light. "I'm so glad to have you back."