Work Text:
Homura is nothing but a lonely, sick and dying girl when Kyubey pays her a visit.
Her hospital room is empty and void of life, even with all the time she has spent in it. It is decorated with nothing but a clock and a calendar, tormenting her with the reminder of the passage of time. There aren’t even any photos of her family—her parents would have to visit for that to happen—and so Homura is haunted by blank sterile walls in every waking moment.
When Kyubey first arrives—back when Homura still considers it a they—they offer Homura the fulfilment of her heart’s greatest desire in exchange for becoming someone. Even loops later, with the knowledge of what stands in her future should she choose this path, Homura doesn’t know how she would’ve dissuaded her past self from accepting Kyubey’s contract.
She Wishes that she won’t die from her failing heart—she Wishes for more time to live.
That afternoon, the doctors discover her heart has made a miraculous discovery and is in perfect health. The next day, Homura is—finally, finally—discharged from the hospital.
“You’ve been given more time now, Homura-chan,” one of the nurses say as she congratulates her, “make good use of it, ‘kay? You’re a smart girl, I know you’ll achieve great things.”
Time.
Time, Homura later learns, is both a blessing and a curse.
Adrenaline sings in Homura’s veins as the recoil from her pistol sends vibrations shooting though her bones.
Back when she was still a useless bedbound nobody, Homura spent half of her time watching tv to alleviate her boredom. She imagined herself out there in the thick of things, heroically rescuing the damsel even under threat of a bullet storm.
Now, as a purple bullet flies from the barrel of her gun, nailing a moth familiar in the wings, Homura learns her daydreams do not measure up to the real thing at all. The moth, shaped like a newspaper clipping complete with yellowing edges, freezes in midair, before dropping like a stone onto the ground of the labyrinth. The familiar joins its brethren in decorating the floor like a surrealistic newspaper collage.
The top half of her pistol slides backwards, ejecting a purple casing that disintegrates into glitter before it hits the floor. Homura can fire real bullets along with these magical time-freezing ones, but the time-freezers wear off while the real ones…don’t. Much safer to work up to the real bullets when her aiming improves, really. Homura is a very responsible teenager with a gun.
Her bullets carve a path through the eclipse of moths, clearing a way to the witch. The sight of the cowering familiars sends a jolt of power through Homura’s veins—she has never been feared before. Or maybe it’s all the adrenaline in her veins spouting nonsense, and Homura will feel like death warmed over the moment she leaves the labyrinth.
No; Homura’s daydreams are nothing like the real thing at all. The real thing’s so much better.
Homura has no idea what to do with the grief seeds she has collected.
She is living in a small apartment her parents bought for her, all without consulting Homura’s preferences. It’s better than the hospital room she was in, so that’s all Homura can ask for.
Homura would’ve stored her grief seeds in the apartment and only keep one with her, but Kyubey told her it’s recommended to hide grief seeds around the city in case of emergencies. Except, with Homura’s luck, the seeds will probably hatch or roll away or get stolen the moment she turns her attention away, so she doesn’t particularly agree to this plan.
On a whim—or perhaps the same instinct that taught her to create the time-freeze bullets—Homura pulls a gun from her chest, right over where her heart is. It’s quite strange; Homura can only pull guns from that specific location, and she suspects it’s due to the nature of her Wish—but that’s neither here nor there.
Unclicking the safety, Homura takes aim at the pile of grief seeds and shoots. A purple bullet flies out of the black pistol. It looks identical to the other bullets Homura has created so far, but…it feels different.
The bullet connects with the grief seeds, emitting a flash of purple glitter. Homura waves the cloud of glitter away, only to find the table empty of the seeds that were there a moment ago. Whatever her bullet had done had caused the grief seeds to vanish into thin air.
No, not into thin air.
With a little focus, Homura can feel a slight weight at the edge of her senses. She reaches towards that curious shimmering weight, and pulls a grief seed out of ‘thin air’ like a magician in one of those talent shows.
Homura smiles, a foreign sensation of pride flushing through her body. It’s normal to feel proud of yourself after learning you can create a pocket dimension outside of the space-time continuum, after all.
Homura travels to and from school by jumping across Mitakihara’s rooftops, taking advantage of not only having a normal person’s stamina but surpassing that. It’s amazing getting to run around without expecting her body to shrivel up and die without a moment’s warning.
It’s during one such run that Homura notices something buzzing through the air. Her soul gem flashes, and Homura’s eyes widen—it’s a familiar. She immediately switches course towards that familiar.
As Homura closes the distance between her and her target, she transforms and pulls a pistol from her chest. The familiar—a giant mosquito decorated by black and white bands, ew—buzzes deafeningly as Homura approaches, but its focus isn’t on her. The familiar is hovering above a busy street, staring intently at an indiscernible spot on a building—that must be where the labyrinth’s entrance is. Homura will clear away the witch once she destroys the familiar.
Taking advantage of the familiar’s distraction, Homura loads her gun with real bullets—she’s confident enough for that by now—unclicks the safety, and lines up the sights with the familiar.
She presses the trigger.
A purple bullet shoots towards the familiar, carving a path through its body. In that same moment, a pink—energy—ray—thing impacts the familiar from the opposite direction. Under the assault of two magical attacks, the familiar explodes into black powder. The pedestrians below remain none the wiser, not even glancing up at the sound of the explosion. (But then, they never notice a teenage girl carrying a gun around either.)
Gaping, Homura glances across the roofs of the opposite side of the road.
Her eyes meet enchanting pink ones, wide open in shock. They are attached to the face of a girl with very cute similarly pink pigtails, Kyubey hanging from the girl’s shoulder like an exotic scarf. Clutched tight in the magical girl’s hands is a bow entwined with vines, from which she presumably shot her amazingly powerful arrow of pure energy.
…huh.
The pretty pink girl introduces herself as Kaname Madoka. She is on a hunt for witches with her senpai Tomoe Mami. Mami-senpai—she insisted Homura call her that, much to Homura’s befuddlement—offers to let Homura join the duo, and…
Homura has never had friends before. She can’t bring herself to pass up on this opportunity.
(Her acceptance has nothing to do with how her heartbeat quickens when Madoka beams like the sun in her direction, obviously.)
It turns out the three of them all go to Mitakihara Middle School. Mami-senpai is in a grade above Homura, while Madoka-san is in the class next door. When lunch break comes around, Madoka-san drags Homura to her table and introduces Homura to her friends.
Shizuki Hitomi is quiet and reserved—but in an elegant manner rather than Homura’s awkwardness. Miki Sayaka is loud and brash, but once Homura gets past the shock at the blue-haired girl’s strange attitude—she has never met anyone like that—they actually get along quite well.
Homura finds herself happier than she’s ever been. She decides right then, with golden sunlight filtering through the cafeteria’s floor-to-ceiling windows and her friends’—her friends—laughter accompanying her meal, that no matter what happens in the future, Homura will never regret the Wish she made.
Of course, that is when things go wrong.
Mami dies.
It shouldn’t have happened, not with three magical girls watching each other’s backs.
Except—they get cocky. Mami-senpai unleashes Tiro Finale on the Dessert Witch, and then turns to Homura and Madoka before the labyrinth crumbles.
Behind her, the witch disintegrates. Except it doesn’t—what disintegrates is merely the witch’s outer layer—and a creature with too-sharp teeth and a too-wide grin emerges from its ashes.
The true form of the witch lunges. Madoka calls out in warning, as Mami turns, her eyes wide—but it is already too late
The witch’s mouth clamps shut around Mami’s head and
Mami’s body
falls
to
the
ground
Homura, her gun already halfway raised, shoots the witch. A purple shimmer ripples across the creature’s body, freezing it in time, but by then, the damage is already done.
Mami is d̷̨̛̋̃͗̉̈́̋͛̏͑̑̀̎̕̕ĕ̵̢̢̪̰̗̇͗̀̆͑̉̃͐͘̕̕̚͝ͅa̷͉̝̬͓̫͉̮̹̣̗̎̅͑d̴̡͍̙͍̤͕̲̜͔̱̲͎͌̊̑͗͌̽͗͑̏
Homura and Madoka sit silently on the roof of the school, the phantom vestige of Mami’s presence haunting them both.
Back when…back then, the three of them sometimes spent their lunchbreaks up here, discussing battle tactics and much more mundane things. Just yesterday, Mami was helping Madoka and Homura complete their math homework, but now…Mami-senpai will never spend the day with them again.
Homura wonders how long it will take for Mami-senpai to be declared missing. She has no living relatives, nobody waiting at home who will worry when Mami doesn’t return. Homura and Mami are like that in that regard—if Homura dies in a labyrinth, with her corpse swallowed up by the liminal space, how much time will pass before she is declared missing? Will her parents even care? They might even be happy an invisible financial burden is finally gone.
“We’re all each other has left.” Madoka whispers, squeezing Homura’s hand. “I promise to always watch your back, okay? I won’t—that won’t happen again. I won’t let it.”
She smiles at Homura with red-rimmed eyes. Her smile is a fragile thing—broken glass pasted together to form a poor imitation of her natural smile, easily shattered by a single word. Homura admires Madoka for being able to put up a smile at all.
“I—ah—and I promise that too!” Homura nods, her braids bouncing slightly in the wind. She tightens her grip on Madoka’s hand in determination. “I don’t—I won’t lose you too, Madoka-san. I’ll do anything to ensure you don’t—that you live.”
Madoka raises their entwined hands. She hooks her pinkie around Homura’s own, and looks resolutely into Homura’s eyes. “There—we’ve made a pinkie promise. We’ll be each other’s sword and shield from now on.”
Walpurgisnacht attacks, and Madoka dies.
Before, Mami has mentioned the witch as a myth among magical girls. Walpurgisnacht is the witch above all witches, rumoured by some to be the first witch to ever exist, while others claim it is the mother from which all witches are born. Most don’t believe it is real, considering it to be the magical girl urban legend—except it is very real, very deadly, and very enthusiastic about killing the two magical girls stupid enough to fight it.
The witch towers above Mitakihara, a behemoth hanging upside down like a doomsday bell. It doesn’t have a labyrinth—it doesn’t need one, for the entire world is its labyrinth and every person its prey. Most of the city has already been evacuated from the ‘freak typhoon’, but if they don’t stop the witch soon, Walpurgisnacht will reach the typhoon shelter, and Madoka’s family will die.
None of Homura’s bullets have much effect on the witch—Walpurgisnacht is simply too large. Homura’s real bullets are little more than insect bites to the witch, and her time-freezers can only numb small patches of Walpurgisnacht’s body.
Madoka’s arrows—formed from pure magic as they are—only fare a little better. Still, they manage to hold the line, a two-person army desperate to survive.
Walpurgisnacht falls, and—
So does Madoka.
In the wake of the battle, Homura finds Madoka’s broken body among the ruins of the city. She sinks to her knees, desperate to hold Madoka’s still-warm hand one last time, but struck by the fear that doing so will make the condition of Madoka’s already-crushed arm worse. Homura has to bring Madoka’s mostly intact body back to her family—they couldn’t do it for Mami, and the least Homura can do is make sure Madoka will at least get a grave—
A grave. The gravity of the situation sinks deep into Homura’s bones. Madoka is dead, and Homura is alone all over again.
She has failed.
Homura chokes back a sob with great difficulty—she can’t break down now, not yet, when there’s still so much to do.
She dismisses her gun, the black metal disappearing in a cloud of purple glitter—
Oh—her gun.
Homura can still remember that day, when she was contemplating a way to store her now-depleted supply of grief seeds and accidentally discovered she can create a pocket dimension. What if—what if—
She might be grasping at straws here, desperate for any hope, but—if Homura not only can freeze time but also tear through time-space with her bullets…
Can she also turn back time?
Homura’s hands tremble as she pulls a gun from her heart. It doesn’t hurt to try—Homura has nothing left to lose. The worst thing that will happen is that Homura will join Mami and Madoka in death.
(If this plan falls through and Homura dies, at least she won’t be alone.)
She moves through the motions of loading her pistol and unclicking the safety automatically, her eyes never moving from Madoka’s corpse. Homura takes a deep breath, the putrid stink of smoke and blood and sweat filling her lungs. She steadies her hands, and presses the muzzle of her gun to her temple.
Homura’s finger hovers over the trigger.
I won’t lose you too
Homura swallows her hesitation. She stares at Madoka’s body, imprinting it in her mind—every terrible and ugly part. Her bent leg, her deformed arms, her shattered soul gem, her blood staining her dress and hair crimson.
Save Madoka. Homura chants to herself. Save Madoka. Turn back time. Turn time to before Madoka becomes a magical girl. Save Madoka. Don’t let her become a magical girl.
Homura turns her pain into fuel. She pulls the trigger.
Bang.
The last thing Homura thinks before her mind goes blank is Madoka, Madoka, Madoka.
Homura wakes up in the hospital room she has long since bid farewell to. She is wearing a purple dress unsoiled by grime or blood, her head intact, and the familiar weight of a pistol in her hands.
She glances at the calendar in the corner.
Slowly, a smile blossoms across Homura’s face. This is the day after she first contracted. The nurse with enter an hour or so later, clearing her for discharge.
She has succeeded in turning back time.
But things don’t go as planned.
Upon waking up, Homura immediately leaps out of the hospital window, landing safely on the ground three levels below thanks to her magical girl abilities. Ignoring the gasps of passing pedestrians at a strange girl falling out of the sky, she sprints off in the direction of Mitakihara Middle School, and accosts Madoka and Mami on their way home from school.
Except—Homura didn’t factor this in—this version of Madoka and Mami don’t know her. Homura’s eyes glitter with tears as she tries to hug the two, only to be stopped as Mami steps in front of Madoka with her arms spread. Mami frowns at Homura with clear suspicion, while Madoka’s smile is filled with polite confusion.
Oh.
It is only in that moment that Homura fully registers the implications of time travel. A strange, bloodied magical girl has just lunged at Mami and Madoka while she is transformed and they aren’t. If it were anyone else, Homura would’ve constructed that as an attack too—especially with how territorial Mami has told her some magical girls are.
Things only go downhill from here.
Homura practically begs Mami to let her join them, and Mami—noble as she is—reluctantly accepts. Still, Homura finds with a sinking heart that she can never regain that synchronicity she used to share with the two girls, especially after Kyubey apparently tells Mami they don’t recall ever forming a contract with Homura.
Homura hangs around Madoka when the three girls aren’t hunting witches, desperate to fill some of that gap in her chest. Miki-san—apparently finding an unknown girl hanging around her best friend stalkerish when Madoka barely knows Homura—learns to hate her, and that hurts Homura more than she thought it would.
Mami dies, and Madoka suffers.
Bang.
In the next loop, Miki-san contracts. Homura manages to save Mami-senpai’s life, and Sakura-san from Kazamino moves in, only for Miki-san to turn into a witch and trigger a mental breakdown in Mami, who proceeds to attempt mass murder. She would’ve succeeded too, if Madoka didn’t stop her from killing Homura in the nick of time.
Bang.
Homura starts over.
Bang.
It’s hard enough trying to keep Madoka alive, let alone the other girls. It doesn’t help that everyone seems determined to die or become a witch—it’s as if they all want their lives to become a tragedy. Homura’s hair would’ve turned long since turned grey if she didn’t rewind time every month or so.
Eventually, Homura decides—she doesn’t care. As long as Madoka is saved—as long as Madoka lives—Homura doesn’t care what happens to the rest of the girls.
She will burn the world and build a home for Madoka in its ashes.
(She doesn’t care. She doesn’t. She doesn’t.)
(Maybe if she repeats it enough times, it will turn out to be true.)
Bang. Mami’s soul gem shatters. Bang. Darkness erupts out of Sayaka’s soul gem. Bang. Kyoko’s magic explodes out of her in a final, desperate attack. Bang. Madoka is once again dead before her body hits the ground.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Homura wakes up in her hospital room again and again and again. She glances to the side, expecting to find brain matter sprayed across the sterile floor.
As always, there is nothing.
Her grasp on her blanket tightens, and she wonders why it isn’t soaked with blood. There should be a hole in her head, except there isn’t, no matter how many times she checks. She climbs unsteadily from the bed to her feet, feeling as if her body should be dead. She should be dead.
As long as I can save Madoka. Homura thinks.
She carefully does not wonder if there will be nothing left of Homura by the loop Madoka lives.
Homura doesn’t bother waiting for the nurse to clear her for discharge any longer. She dismisses the handgun that she is always holding when she returns back in time—the handgun that she uses to return back in time. Without bothering to transform back into her ordinary form, Homura opens a window and escapes this stifling room by climbing down the walls.
She stops attending school—what is the point, anyway? She is a girl without a future—she lives solely for Madoka’s survival. It is much better if Homura uses her schooltime to hunt down all the Kyubeys in Mitakihara, so that there is nobody left to make a contract with Madoka.
The Incubators don’t stop when Homura shoots them in the head. Two more climb out to refill the vacancy left by one dead Kyubey every time—like those Greek hydra monsters. They must be telepathically calling to their comrades even as they die, Homura realises.
She begins shooting Kyubey with her time-stopping bullets instead of her regular ones. There is an abandoned school in the fringes of Mitakihara where the frozen bodies of Kyubeys lie in a high pile. Homura visits the school every day to add to the pile, until the pile grows into a small mountain of furry white creatures frozen in time.
It doesn’t work. The Incubators smarten up eventually—they learn to hide. Sometimes, a Kyubey or two slip through Homura’s fingers. Other times, Kyubeys from other cities migrate to Mitakihara in search of their vanishing comrades. One of them always makes a contract with Madoka before Homura can interfere.
In one loop, Madoka and Sayaka catch Homura in the act of shooting a Kyubey. That time loop is particularly disastrous.
Once, Homura tries to kill Walpurgisnacht before Madoka can ever face it.
She leaves Mitakihara to track it down, and returns empty-handed, unable to find the witch. In her absence, Madoka contracts with Kyubey. She dies alongside Mami to the Dessert Witch.
Bang.
Homura wakes up alone in the cold hospital room again.
She dreams of bodies piled upon bodies.
The world is awash in crimson, ash painting the sky grey. Dead girls lie in a row, their black hair matted, their purple eyes empty. Blood leaks out of the bullet hole in every girl’s head. They line up in a queue, willingly, eagerly. The shadowy gunman moves down the line, bang bang bang, and each girl falls where she stand. Their dark hair spill across the cracking floor, melting into the shadows that forms the gunman’s form. They are one and the same.
Homura screams to the heavens, for the divine intervention of a god she does not believe in. Not for herself, not for the line of death and self-execution created by her own shadowy hands, but for Madoka, Madoka, Madoka—the only reason she gets up and walks anymore.
Nobody answers.
Homura stops befriending Madoka.
It just hurts, watching Madoka turn to her with pleading, trusting eyes, a soul gem drowning in darkness in her hands. Without fail, Madoka holds out her soul with a silent plea, and every time, a pistol falls from Homura’s chest, and Homura kills the light in Madoka’s eyes.
With every Madoka that falls to the ground like a puppet with cut strings, Homura feels a part of herself crumble and scatter like ash to the unforgiving wind.
It’s so unfair; Homura wishes Madoka would stop asking this of her. And yet—every time without fail, the gun that drops from Homura’s heart comes instinctively, unbidden. Homura unclicks the safety without meaning to, and the decision to press the trigger comes before she can consciously process Madoka’s request.
The urge to save Madoka from suffering is ingrained into Homura’s soul, so much so that it might’ve even been her Wish in another life. Homura cannot deny Madoka of this, but it doesn’t mean it hurts any less to see Madoka die by her own hands.
Maybe it’s better if Madoka sees Homura as an enemy magical girl instead. At least then she wouldn’t look at Homura with that expression, the one that’s as gentle as a spring shower but cuts Homura as painfully as a red-hot blade, as she asks without words for Homura to kill her again and again and again
“I don’t trust that transfer student,” Sayaka confides quietly to Madoka. “Did you see that look in her eyes? They’re so…hollow. It’s like there’s nothing left in Akemi—like she’s an empty shell. It’s so...unnatural.”
Madoka watches Akemi as she walks down the path away from school. She is surrounded by their schoolmates, a single uniformed girl among many. And yet…her solitary figure cuts through the crowd, as if she is the oil to her classmates’ water—two elements doomed to be forever separate and never mix.
Even surrounded by people, Akemi looks so lonely it makes Madoka’s heart ache.
“You’re right.” Madoka says. “But it isn’t unnatural. I think it’s just…sad.”
What happened to Akemi Homura for her to turn out this way?
Madoka tries to befriend Akemi, but every time her actions are met with a cold air of indifference.
The rebellious thought of giving up slips through her mind once. But then—Madoka spots Akemi staring at her from the corner of her eyes, and…
There is such longing and anguish in those purple eyes, shattering the emotionless façade Akemi usually wears. Madoka—kindly, selfishly—wants to see more of that brilliant violent spark directed at her.
She decides she will find a way to bring emotions back to Akemi’s eyes, even if it’s the last thing she does.
“I Wish Homura-chan will share her worries with me,” Madoka says.
Homura’s heart screams
She cannot help it. Homura blinks, and words begin flooding from her mouth. Tears roll down her cheeks, unbidden, as Homura shares everything she has been through—everything—born with a broken heart, abandoned at a hospital, her contract with Kyubey, guns and bullets that cleave through Time, Mami’s death, Madoka’s death, turning back time, Madoka dying again, and again, and again and again and yet another bullet lodged into her skull
Even as she speaks, Homura pulls a pistol from her heart. She registers through tear-blurred eyes Madoka standing still, her body frozen in shock and her face clouded by guilt. Kyubey is studying Homura with intense crimson eyes, but that creature is the least of her concerns.
Madoka doesn’t move to stop Homura until it is far too late
The muzzle is already against her temple and her finger on the trigger and—
Bang.
Homura opens her eyes to a lonely hospital room. The image of Madoka’s shock is imprinted behind her eyelids, and she sees that guilty expression every time she blinks.
Homura stays away from school the next loop. And the next. And the one after that. And a few loops after, as well.
She skips town to hunt witches in other cities, shooting the grief seeds she collects so they will disappear into the timeless dimension only Homura has access to. More often than not, Homura has to turn back time early when Gretchen emerges in her absence, tearing Mitakihara apart before moving on to consume other cities.
Is her overhunting creating a shortage of grief seeds that ultimately causes more witches to form? Probably, but—Homura reasons—this is all for a good cause. So much blood already stains her hands, what is a bit more if it means a small chance that Madoka will be saved?
Once, Kyoko tries to kill Homura for hunting in her territory. She manages to stab Homura before Homura freezes her with a time-stopping bullet, and Homura wastes far too many grief seeds healing to gaping wound in her side.
After two more loops, Homura decides she has collected all the grief seeds she can possibly require. She turns back time again, but this time, she stays in Mitakihara to ally with the other girls.
Sayaka contracts the moment Homura turns away, but at this point it’s expected—Sayaka is almost certainly a lost cause. With four magical girls in the city, Homura convinces Madoka not to contract. She manages to keep everyone alive with her unending supply of grief seeds, and they almost make it past Walpurgisnacht without losing a single member.
It’s a mistake to let Madoka listen in on their strategy sessions. Homura describes the might of Walpurgisnacht in vivid detail, and she doesn’t realise why Madoka is unusually silent that night until it is far too late.
Madoka contracts.
She’s worried about her friends—Madoka defends herself. How can she simply sit safely in a typhoon shelter with the knowledge that everyone else is out there fighting for their lives?
Homura wants to scream, to cry, to tear her hair out—but that will only alienate the other girls. In the end, all she does is take a deep breath, and paint an emotionless mask onto her face. She doesn’t trust herself to make any other expression for fear it will betray her true feelings.
Maybe this time will be different—Homura has an unprecedented stockpile of grief seeds, after all. Maybe this time, they can all live to see the sunrise past Walpurgisnacht’s attack. Maybe this time, Madoka will live, and Homura can finally rest.
Except—
This time, Madoka doesn’t even die from the despair in her gem.
Homura doesn’t see how it happens. It might’ve been an attack from Walpurgisnacht itself, one of its familiars, or even a stray piece of debris, but—Madoka’s presence suddenly disappears from their mental bond. Homura heart stutters, and her head snaps towards Madoka’s direction.
Madoka is falling, falling, falling
Her lifeless body drops from her perch to the ground, a puppet with cut strings—and it might be Homura’s imagination, but she can almost make out pink shards of not-glass trailing after Madoka as she falls
The knowledge of Homura’s failure fills her chest, suffocating. She revels in the pain, a hysterical laugh bubbling out of her throat as Homura reloads her handgun with her special rewind bullet instead of the regular ones.
She can dimly hear Sayaka shout after Madoka, unable to register what her abrupt silence means. Mami’s concerned voice filters into Homura’s consciousness, injected directly into her brain by Kyubey’s magic, but even so Homura doesn’t quite manage to make out the words through the fuzz of her brain.
Bang.
Homura wakes up in the hospital as always.
A shudder runs through her as the knowledge of Madoka’s death settles into Homura’s bones, along with—oh. A realisation.
The realisation barrels into her, knocking the breath from her lungs. Homura laughs. She laughs, and laughs, and keeps laughing.
It’s pointless.
Homura spent so many months collecting grief seeds, sacrificing Mitakihara and all those timelines just so she would have a slight chance of stopping Madoka from turning into a witch. But then Madoka doesn’t even get the opportunity to turn into a witch; her soul gem shatters far before she gets near that point, done in by stray debris of all things. Everything Homura has done, all the hours she spent slaving over a plan to keep Madoka safe, every bit of magic Homura used so Madoka didn’t have to use her own—ultimately…this is all…
Pointless.
Maybe it has always been pointless. Perhaps Homura has always been deluding herself when she thought a mere girl like her can defy fate to save Madoka, when the world has shown her time and again that it is desperate to ensure Madoka dies before fifteen. But Homura has devoted her everything to saving Madoka for so long—how is she supposed to do anything but that?
Homura is helpless, trapped between Madoka’s pink eyes and her own time bullets, and it is all she can do to laugh and laugh and laugh
A nurse comes in to check on her after a while, worried at the deranged laughter. He barely notices the glint of a muzzle pointed at him before Homura freezes him in time so she can have her mental breakdown in peace.
The sight of the frozen nurse sends Homura into a fresh wave of hysterical laughter. She doesn’t manage to get anything done in this loop—she can’t even bring herself to leave the hospital room. Far too soon, the hospital is being filled with victims of the ‘typhoon’, and Homura is raising a gun to her temple all over again.
How many weeks has it been since that first loop? How many months? How many years? Homura hears it echo in her ears—a phantom tick, like the click as she turns her pistol’s safety off, or the movement of a clock’s mechanisms. Tick, tick, tick—Homura’s time is running out.
Homura doesn’t stop trying.
(She refuses to admit it is because she doesn’t know how to stop.)
Every day is the same song and dance, one Homura has repeated dozens of times over. She moves through the loops robotically, trying failing to save Madoka not because of her burning passion for Madoka to live, but because it’s the only thing Homura knows to do anymore.
She doesn’t become used to Madoka’s lifeless eyes—she can’t become used to them—but…part of Homura grows resigned to it. Madoka will die before she’s fifteen, they will never see the sunrise after Walpurgisnacht, and it is all Homura can do to try and try and try to prevent this fate, until she finally succumbs to the despair in her own gem and leaves behind nothing but failure in her wake.
Each click of Homura’s gun as she unlocks the safety echoes like the countdown of a stopwatch. Every press of the trigger feels like a phantom hand squeezing around her neck. Each resounding bang rings in Homura’s ears incessantly, a threat, a warning, your time is running out you breathe on borrowed time what will you do when you fade into despair your failure will doom the world just as you doomed Madoka
Homura ignores the whispers of her fracturing mind, reloads her pistol, and turns back time.
Bang.
again
Bang.
and
Bang.
again
Bang.
and again and again and a̸̮̪̟̬̋̀͆̈g̶͔͓̅̿́͋̓ǎ̵̘͔͖͚͓̂͜i̷̘͇̘̩̰̎́͠n̸̢̂̂̍͌̓͑̐͝
Until—
Madoka makes a Wish, one Homura has never seen her make before.
She Wishes, and ascends
And as always, Homura follows where Madoka goes.
Madoka embraces her as the universe shifts around them, as Madoka shifts, and Homura realises—
So this is what the end looks like.
“Don’t be sad, Homura-chan,” Madoka says softly. She smiles at Homura, her eyes a majestic shade of gold—no, pink—no, they are gold—no, pink—gold again—and pink once more—gold and pink and gold and pink and Madoka looks beautiful no matter what form she takes but this change might be taking Madoka away forever this time and Homura cannot deal with that—
“I’m not going away forever, remember. This is only for a while, so you can live out the rest of your life before you join me—”
“Please—” Homura begs, burying her face into the nape of Madoka’s shoulder. “I can’t—I can’t live without you. I…don’t know how. Don’t send me back alone—I can’t—” Her breath hitches, and Homura’s grip on Madoka tightens.
It is entirely possible Madoka will vanish the moment Homura loosens her grip on Madoka, after all.
(Maybe Homura would’ve been able to deal with this—being alone—in another world. But in this world, with every part of herself that she has carved out for her singular mission, she just—can’t—can’t.)
Madoka’s golden-but-not eyes are unblinking as she peers into Homura’s soul, but Homura doesn’t feel any discomfort from Madoka’s piercing gaze at all. She waits silently as Madoka searches for whatever she is trying find in Homura, until—
“Okay,” Madoka nods firmly.
Homura raises her head, and blinks.
“Come with me,” Madoka smiles softly. “Live with me in the paradise I—we will build for all magical girls. You will become my Queen, and we will live together happily for eternity.” Madoka’s grip on Homura tightens as well. “I’m never leaving you again. I promise.”
Homura finds herself believing in that promise.
They melt into each other, pink becoming purple and gold turning into maroon. Homura feels the effects of Madoka’s Wish envelop her, changing her, and she embraces this transformation with open arms. Raven wings sprout from Homura’s back the same moment angelic wings sprout from Madoka’s. Homura blinks, and finds her eyes—not quite maroon but no longer purely purple—gazing into the cosmos with a new understanding. She knows what she has to do now.
Homura weaves her hand through the gaps between Madoka’s fingers. Together, they reach across reality and remoulds it. Stars and galaxies bend to their whim like playdough in a child’s hands. Homura stretches her consciousness across the universe with the power Madoka has gifted her, and ensures the resulting world is one where Madoka will be safe and happy and forever by Homura’s side.
They wake up in a bed of silken sheets formed from stardust and seafoam, tangled in each other’s arms and exhausted after all the energy they had expended. Madoka smiles gently at Homura with eyes of molten gold, and Homura realises—
Her prayers to the Goddess have finally been answered.