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He’s seen this before, this darkness. He’s felt this fear before.
He tried to save her, but he was too late. He can still remember her face, corrupted by the evil spirits.
The little girl.
His chest hurts.
He can’t breathe.
“Big brother,” a voice says, “why couldn’t you save me?” It’s her voice, the little girl he left to them.
He’s lying on a hard surface, a floor, but there’s no seam of a wall around him. There’s nothing.
It’s dark, it’s suffocating him.
He screams, loud and harsh, in a way that feels like he’s splitting his throat apart. He screams in desperation. He screams in fear.
He claws at the ground until his fingertips bleed, but not matter how far he crawls there’s nothing for him. There’s no light. Not here.
He screams until his throat is raw, and he can’t take this. This is maddening.
There are tears streaming down his cheeks, dripping off his chin, and he’s sobbing; cold and alone and in this darkness.
He feels an arm wrap around him, squeezing him, and he struggles for a moment, before he feels a mouth on the side of his head, a press of a kiss.
His eyes shoot open, there’s moonlight streaming through the window, and he’s here in the bed he shares with Yato. The arm around him holds him tight, and a voice whispers into his ear, “It’s alright, it’s just a dream.”
Yukine hadn’t realized he was crying, so he wipes at the tears with his sleeve and turns in Yato’s embrace so he is facing him, pressed to his chest.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Yato says quietly, and Yukine remembers that their minds share thoughts and that his dream must have lingered.
Yukine buries his face into the God’s chest and sobs quietly, and a hand smooths over his back. The God shushes him, comforts him, and Yukine drifts back to sleep.