Chapter Text
There’s a lot about the night that Kaeya got his vision that Diluc knows his brother doesn’t remember.
He doubts either of them will ever be lucky enough to ever forget the fight- perhaps the memory serves as a form of punishment, for the things they both said and did- but he knows that Kaeya only remembers the action in flashes. Searing hot iron. The clash of swords. Sizzling blood. The other usually recounts it in short phrases, when he’s over the counter and way past drunk. That’s another thing Kaeya doesn’t know, he supposes. How he is always the one who listens.
There’s moments from that night that he’s very glad Kaeya doesn’t have to relive like he does. He said so many things he didn’t mean, back then, swung his sword with so much hatred that was only really directed at himself- it has torn his brother to shreds, even just knowing the half of it. Diluc is selfish. He’s glad that Kaeya can at least look him in the eye, if nightmares and living with this guilt are the price he has to pay.
Diluc is only human, though; sometimes, more selfishly, he really wishes he wasn’t the only one to remember every last detail. Knowing you’re the only person alive to bear the weight of something so heavy… it takes a toll on you. He’ll never live down the way fear flashed in Kaeya’s eyes that night. He’ll never wash off the sickly scent of blood.
He’ll never unhear the strangled “Diluc!” as the colour of Kaeya’s skin started to change. He’ll never unsee the frostbite eating straight through his skin, how the flesh seemed to rot and burn and take new shape in the seconds it took for his name to leave his brother’s mouth. He had said it like a prayer. Diluc still wakes up screaming.
Because, after all, he was the one to fix it. When the ice tried to save his brother’s life, it was far from a miracle cure; it almost killed him, right there and then, without the final resounding clash of a sword. It haunts him, almost always, that that could've been it. No do overs. Just a freezing, fucked up body of the only person he ever learned to love, falling apart slowly in his hands. God.
He still remembers the blackened skin flaking away in his grasp, the way it spread like ink and seemed to grasp at Kaeya’s very life force as he helplessly watched. The skin unaffected blistered and burned, chunks coming off of their own volition- Diluc doesn’t know even now how he managed to keep it together, back then. The blistering made huge welts swell up all over his brother’s skin, the same skin he remembers always warmed gently by the sun, and it made him want to be sick. He looked like he was already dead. Diluc may as well have been holding a corpse.
Kaeya doesn’t remember any of this, of course. He was out cold, literally, by the time Diluc could rush to stop him hitting the floor. He hadn’t heard his body’s own sickening thud, as though his organs were giving up under the weight of thick, rubbery purple skin. He hadn’t seen his nails fall off and rot in real time. Kaeya doesn’t know, even now, how he survived, because Diluc will never tell. He’ll let him pray to his vision. He’ll let him speak with the gods.
Diluc will let anything else take credit for his brother’s life, for the miracle of his survival after his body began to fall apart like a corpse decomposing in fast forward, because he does not deserve it. What he did was almost entirely selfish. Even after being the reason Kaeya ended up there, dying in front of his eyes, Diluc still only thought of himself.
When his brother’s body hit the floor, Diluc had skidded across the newly formed ice in a matter of seconds, only to scoop up the body like a father might his own. He didn’t do it to bring comfort to Kaeya- he knew he was gone, thought he was gone further still. No, he was not the hero of this untold story. Diluc Ragnvindr, in every story he will ever tell, is a coward. He held Kaeya’s seemingly lifeless form to try and heal his own guilt.
He really, truly, thought that was it. He didn’t know it was the birth of Kaeya’s vision, nor that he had even a shot at saving him; Diluc thought, in the moment, that Kaeya was dead, and at his own hands, no less. Holding his limp body was a pathetic attempt at an apology, and perhaps a goodbye. He was weak.
“Kaeya,” he wishes he’d whispered. “Please, don’t leave me here alone.” Or, “I don’t know if I can do this without you.” Or even, “I’m so, so sorry.” Any of that would have made it a little better. But he froze up. Kaeya could have died right then and there, in his shaking arms, and Diluc may well have never spoken again.
It’s something he rarely thinks about, now, unless the gods force him to relive that night in dreams. He always hopes for the ending scene, with his vision burning bright as daylight through the sheets of rain. He hopes for counterbalance. He prays he’ll never see his baby brother bleed through tiny holes in his skin ever again. He prays that the memories of watching someone die, and yet walk again, will be left for him to process alone. It never works out like that. The gods, and the gods alone, know of and judge for what he’s done.
Perhaps this is his penance- for their intervention, saving Kaeya through the warmth of his vision, perhaps they demand a sacrifice. He’d resent it, but the memory of quivering arms wrapped around a frozen corpse, willing it back to life through the power of something he never wanted to use… he’ll take the flashbacks over living without that. The gods were the ones to save Kaeya’s life, not him. His vision is an extension of a blessing, and not of his arm. He reminds himself every day. Diluc Ragnvindr is not a hero. He just happened to be the one to scream, and then just happened to be the one that was heard.
-
It weighs on him, even now, with the heat of his own pathetic desire surrounding him like some sort of exorcism. He’s acutely aware of his shortcomings, always. His need to be useful to people that he swears he can’t stand leads him here, time and time again. But this time… he thinks he’s breathed in a little too much smoke. Something within him has caught alight.
Corpses of monsters and humans alike litter the plains around Windrise, creating a sickening scene in the godless night. The horde hadn’t gotten the chance to reach the city, thanks to their bright idea of attacking at night, and Diluc is just glad he was here on time. He made quick work of everything in sight, as he always does. Sometimes, he feels like he’s fighting with purpose. Sometimes, the wind doesn’t answer each hack and slash.
(He hears Venti’s concern in each moment of silence. He ignores it with intent, hoping their gentle gaze will fall away.)
It’s at times like this when it’s really, really hard to convince himself that he’s in any way ‘good’. His clothes are drenched in what feels like buckets of blood, ground glistening in the light of a fire that just won’t burn out. It’s not enough, to know what he’s done has a positive result. In the grass there are hundreds of lives torn from beneath what once was skin, and he looks upon them with a weighted gaze. He, as always, manages to create a battlefield of an army in a body of one. No one could do that unless they were a monster, he thinks. Not when the reason he came out here was just to burn off steam.
His skin is hotter than it’s ever been, so hot that sweat won’t bead off, but he’s too tired, too much of himself, to care. It just makes him think of Kaeya. These days, everything does.
He doesn’t know what it is- the anger, the exhaustion, the overuse of his vision to protect the city he’s supposed to love- but it feels like karma may well be catching up to him, under the crescent moon. Finally, he thinks, despite every clamour of human instinct inside. All of my sins have come to collect.
It’s because of this, this pathetic urge to feel hurt for all the things he’s done, that he doesn’t fight it. He knows that he definitely should have passed out when the feeling started, when his vision started to make his pants catch on fire and he started choking on thick, acrid smoke, but the universe has always loved forcing him to watch things die. If that includes himself, he supposes it was only ever a matter of time. He tries not to focus on the burning sensation in his eyes. He tries not to focus anywhere at all.
Passively, he is very aware that he’s on fire. There’s no flames, nothing but the aftermath to cast light into his vision, but his bare skin itself is opening up in welts and burns and blisters faster than he’s ever seen. He keeps it mostly together, for a while, watching his hands in what should surely be more distress- it takes less than a minute for the skin to flake and rot, and barely another for him to see pure white bone. He wishes there was blood. Blood would be comforting. Blood would mean there’s a purpose to all of this. He didn’t expect his bones to be less than black.
He should be screaming. Why isn’t he screaming? Why isn’t he moving- or even trying to make this stop?
After all, Diluc has never really thought that he wanted to die- more that he wouldn’t move out of harm’s way, if he could justify it within a cause. And he could have stopped this, sure. But… there’s no one around. It’s night, he’s alone in the clearing, and it’s so much easier to let yourself die when no one is telling you to run. Perhaps this is exactly what he’s been waiting for.
A chunk of flesh falls straight onto his tongue through a hole burned in his cheek, and he’s glad he’ll die soon enough to never have to remember the taste.
He feels ash land on exposed, raw flesh from the nearby fires, making him shudder and open fresh wounds anew. It’s not something he ever anticipated feeling, burning up like this. But this situation… it feels like a fitting way to go out. The vision carving a hole in his leg at least has the courtesy to let him experience everything, without quickly passing out or crying for help. He’s disgustingly grateful. He’d never have the courage to inflict this upon himself. But it’s been such a long time coming.
Kaeya, he thinks. Please, forgive me, and stay in bed. Let me have this, brother. Let me take what you could not.
-
Kaeya feels the fire before he even notices the light.
He’s been taking night patrol a lot recently, trying to avoid his weird dreams. Mondstadt barely needs this sort of patrol, in all honestly- it’s peaceful here, mostly, but it gives him some time to think to himself. It’s… nice. Nicer than watching himself die. Nicer than waking up alone, and eerily cold.
Albedo has been keeping him company lately on these shifts- they usually work late anyway, so it’s not like he’s keeping them awake. It’s been… really nice. They don’t pry about his reasoning for being around, thank god, yet they’re still kind enough to know something is wrong. He loves them more than they know. (Or perhaps they do know. They don’t talk about it. He thinks they’ve probably talked about anything and everything else, in these shared nights. He tries not to think about it.)
It’s a shame that they were kept back by an experiment tonight, because Kaeya found himself already missing the company. He’s been trying not to consider what that means. Albedo is… untouchable. Perfect. Pure. He’s not cheapening their beauty with the way he knows to love. He wouldn’t dare be so stupid.
And it is stupid, ridiculously so, to be so wrapped up in thinking about this, but it’s all he’s been able to do since the start of his shift, and it’s like his brain can’t let the notion go. Every goddamned thought is about Albedo, and yet not a single one brings him closer to understanding how to feel. It’s weird. He would probably have wandered aimlessly in his own distress until the sun rose, to be honest. But, of course, there’s the fire.
The second Kaeya steps onto the road towards Windrise, following his usual patrol route, his skin starts to feel oddly hot. It’s not painful, really, just uncomfortable- and mostly, unusual. He’s walked down here every day for weeks now, like clockwork, and has lived here most his life. Nothing’s ever made him burn up like this for no reason. Something is wrong.
He speeds up his pace. None of the knights, aside from Albedo and maybe Jean, even know he takes this watch, since he works in the days, too. Sleep is… a rarity. It’s self destructive, sure, and he’s trying so hard to ignore the ache in his ribs every time he wakes up; but he’s glad, above all, that he is the one here tonight. If the city is truly in danger, then at least he can put up a good fight.
“Hello?” He shouts, hearing his voice echo in the plains. “Is anyone there? Are you alright?” No response. Kaeya’s pulse quickens, despite himself. Could he be too late? If someone’s been out here and he didn’t notice them leave… he shakes his head vigorously. No. He would have seen. If someone needs help, he’s going to get there in time.
He almost falls over, though, when he sees the entire scene. In front of the Statue of the Seven, carved into the grass, there is a huge, seemingly impassible ring of fire. It towers five feet in the air at all points, redder than any flame he’s ever seen, and it feels like it’s trying to scorch him even from here. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.
When the flames dance in a certain way, he can see hundreds of bodies, human and monster, flung across the grass of the field; it’s practically a massacre, turned into a sick work of art by the light of unholy fire. The ground is sodden with blood. What happened here? Who… who did this?
Every muscle in his body is screaming at him not to go any further. The squelch of blood-soaked grass and crushed entrails beneath his feet makes him feel sick, makes him want to run as far away as he can and wait for anyone else to deal with this nightmare he’s walked into, but Kaeya knows he has to. It’s the reason he’s allowed to live as a traitor in the city walls. He cannot turn away from a scene just because he feels scared, when he has sworn his life to protect things he will never deserve.
So, he walks. He walks slowly, carefully, avoiding the bashed open skulls and leaking brains and smashed masks, avoiding anything that could make him really turn and run for it until he’s close enough to the fire to touch. He needs to get through this wall. Someone could still be alive in there.
He calls out to anyone around, voice now tinged with desperation, but gets nothing in return. Well. He supposes there’s really only one option left.
Channelling energy from his vision, Kaeya extends his hand. Shards of ice and snow shoot forth from his glowing palm, tearing a tiny hole in the fire, just big enough to slide through, and he could cry in relief. He’s shaking so badly, though, that he barely manages to widen the gap further when he calls on the cryo again.
The fire seems to avoid where the ice broke it open in any way it can, as though it’s a real living thing with a flesh wound; for a moment, Kaeya worries he actually may have hurt it. It’s stupid, he knows. He’s definitely got bigger things to worry about.
“Mph,” comes a pained groan from within the ring of fire. The noise is raw, as though whatever it is has had its vocal chords burned out in the ordeal that landed them here. Holy fuck. Someone’s still alive. He actually made it in time.
All inhibitions cast aside, Kaeya hurtles forward through the gap he’s made, looking around frantically for whatever could have made the noise. It takes a few seconds. After all, the body in the middle of the ring is so far damaged, he can barely separate it from a corpse- he wouldn’t have been able to tell at all, if it were anyone else. But he’d know that hair anywhere- he’d know the feeling blind.
“Diluc,” Kaeya gasps, wheezing like he’s been punched in the gut. In seconds, he’s on the floor next to the body, gathering all his limited strength to hoist it into his arms. He always was the weaker brother. He never thought he’d regret it at a time like this.
Kaeya doesn’t even know how Diluc is alive. His skin is entirely covered in boils and burns, with sickeningly white bone peeking through the deepest parts; by all logic, he should be dead. Looking at the gaping charred hole in his cheek makes Kaeya feel dizzy. He can see his teeth. Diluc’s mouth is closed. He can see his teeth.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grunts, trying to lift the body to no avail. Diluc, even like this, is too heavy for him to carry without risking killing him on the way. Fuck, he’s not a medic, he wouldn’t know the first thing about fixing even a first degree scald. This is something that he cannot fix. The thought brings tears to his eyes.
“Fuck, come on, Diluc, please,” he chokes out, smoke burning his lungs. “Please wake up. I don’t know how to fix this. I can’t leave you like this. Please, I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do.” Tears stream down his face and mingle with the blood on the ground. He feels so impossibly weak. The severity of his own emotions has him by the neck.
He just holds the body tighter to him, praying the breathing doesn’t stop. “Please,” he sobs, voice breaking. “I never got to say that I was sorry. Please don’t leave me, Diluc. Don’t leave without saying goodbye.” He screams, raw and guttural, and it turns his hands to ice.
…Ice.
Ice.
Holy fuck. Diluc is overheating. Diluc is burning. Whatever caused this, himself or otherwise… there’s a chance, however slim, that he can save him. The vision on his leg glows before he even starts to use it. This has to work. Please, God, it has to. It’s the only chance he has.
Every ounce of energy in his body, right down to the rhythm keeping his heart beating, he draws to the surface of his skin, ready to command. If he uses everything he is, every part of himself worth anything at all… this could work. He might not be able to fix it, but he can get his brother back to the city, alive. It’s a risk worth taking.
Inhale. Exhale. Draw everything up, everything that can be used and frozen down to ice…
And release.