Work Text:
“Wukong!”
Wukong shrugged off his tattered and singed garbs with a heavy sigh, throwing them in the corner of his small hut. “Hello to you too, Macaque.”
Macaque materialized from the king’s shadow, fur bristling. “What is wrong with you?!”
Wukong gave him a fake grin, one that he couldn’t quite get to reach his eyes, as he plopped down onto the couch. “Why don’t you ever stop by just to say hi? ‘How are you today, Wukong?’ Oh, I’m doing great, Mac, thank you so much for asking! How are you?”
Macaque snarled, the fading light of the sun making his eyes look like they were glowing. “Enough with the games, Wukong. I saw the fight.”
Right. The fight. It was why his body was aching. It was why his clothes were shredded and his fur was a mess. Some random demon tried to take over the city for the upteenth time. He assumed that MK and Mei could handle it, but Wukong flew down to the mainland anyway just to keep an eye on them.
Good thing he did.
The demon got a lucky hit on MK, knocking him out. Mei tried to hold off the demon and protect the fallen boy, but wasn’t fairing well. So, of course, Wukong stepped in with his signature smile and quips. Except they didn’t have their usual charm. Honestly, they hadn’t for awhile, but these were the bottom of the barrel. They were dry and emotionless, just like him.
Or, at least how he felt on the inside.
Wukong didn’t move nearly as fast as he could have during the fight. He dodged and put in a few punches, but kept eyeing the demon’s sword. The tantalizingly large, sharp, and cursed sword.
“You let him stab you,” Macaque hissed, bringing Wukong back to the present.
Wukong laughed it off, though that too sounded just as fake as it was. “‘Course I did! I honestly felt a little bad for the guy. I mean, he put all that effort into taking over the city after all. Thought I’d throw him a bone, give him something to show for it.”
“His blade was cursed.”
Wukong scoffed. “The curse didn’t even work, and the wound healed immediately after I pulled the sword out.”
“You could have died, you idiot! Immortality or not! I mean, come on, it’s like you were asking him to kill you!”
Wukong tried not to react, he really did. Maybe his tail twitched wrong, maybe his shoulders tensed, or maybe Macaque heard his heart rate pick up in slight panic. Either way, he knew he’d been made. He could see Macaque’s posture shift, the anger in his eyes falling away to something else.
The king let his fake smile drop, not having the energy to hold it up anymore. There was no point in pretending anyway.
Macaque breathed deep. “That’s not what you were trying to do, right?” His voice was quiet now, the exact opposite of the yelling he’d be doing not even five seconds prior.
Wukong knew what the answer was, and he knew Macaque knew as well, but he didn’t want to say it. Not out loud.
“Right?”
Maybe if he stayed quiet, Macaque would leave.
“Wukong.”
Or maybe not.
Wukong, despite the numbness in his chest, let out a laugh. It was more of a scoff, really; a small emotionless sound. He looked up at Macaque, unable to even attempt to mask his true feelings. He was too tired for that. “What do you want me to say, Mac?”
“I want you to answer the question.”
Wukong saw no point in hesitating. If admitting the truth would get the warrior to leave, so be it.
“I didn’t want MK to find me, so I thought it’d be easier if I just died in battle or something.”
Macaque just stared at him, his expression flickering through too many emotions for the king to name. “Why?”
Wukong hated that word, that question. He was always asked why he did things. Why did he eat all the peaches? Why did he wreak havoc in Heaven? Why did he try to fight Buddha? Why did he kill those bandits? Why couldn't he be good? Why couldn’t he just listen? Why was he a monster?
He despised being asked ‘why’.
Wukong stood up, the first emotion he felt in weeks swallowing him whole. He didn’t like being angry, but he’d rather that than the numbness. He welcomed the rage with open arms, letting the hungry fire burn away the cold surrounding his heart.
“‘Why? You want to know why? How about this: why do you care?”
Macaque didn’t seem to be expecting that response. “Why wouldn’t I care?”
“‘Cause you’re you! You probably think it’s funny!”
“What? Why the hell would I—”
“Sun Wukong, the Handsome Monkey King, Great Sage Equal to Heaven, wanting desperately for someone to just kill him already.” Distantly he noted Macaque’s expression turning that of horror. It made him even more furious, stoking the flames in his chest. “It's hilarious, right? I spent years— centuries, chasing immortality, and I got it. I don’t even remember how many layers I have at this point. I got what I wanted, and yet I can’t stand it! I have lived thousands of years, and I hate every time another passes! I should be dead!”
His eyes were burning now. Was it the furnace again? No, they were wet, not dry. He was crying, tears spilling over quickly as he continued to yell.
“Everyone else is! Everyone I loved is dead! Every single person that I’ve ever called a friend is either dead or hates me! My master is dead! My brothers are dead, and it hurts seeing their reincarnations almost every day! Hell, you were dead! I literally killed you!! I can still feel your blood on my hands!”
His lungs were burning too, now. His chest was heaving. Why was it so hard to breathe? Why was he still breathing in the first place?
“I can feel your blood, the furnace, the mountain, the fillet—all of it! Every time I sleep, I feel all of it! I close my eyes and all I see are the bodies and the blood, carnage and death and destruction, all of it done by my hands! And I’m sick of it!”
His heart was aching. It was being shredded, like it had been thousands of times before. How was he still alive? Surely his emotions alone were enough to snuff out his immortality, the suffocating tendrils of grief squeezing him until there was nothing left.
“You want to know why?! It’s ‘cause I’m tired! Gods, Mac, I’m so fucking tired! I’m tired and I just want it to stop, but I can’t do a damn thing about it ‘cause I was stupid enough to think I wouldn't get attached again! I thought I could just train someone and leave! They could take care of the world, I could die, and no one would notice! But then I met MK and he just—” A sob finally ripped through him.
His heart was gone, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. Everything was red. Everything hurt. He just wanted it all to end, but he couldn’t stop screaming.
“He’s too good! He’s too nice! I don’t want to leave him, but I can’t do this!!” he screamed, covering his face with his hands. “I can’t do this anymore!! I just want to die already!!”
Wukong’s legs finally gave out from under him and he fell to his knees, sobbing loud enough that he was sure the officials in heaven could hear him. He hoped they could. Maybe if they sensed his weakness they’d take the chance to end him, and therefore end his suffering.
Wukong curled around himself in an attempt at comfort he knew wouldn’t work. Was Macaque still there? He hadn’t even been able to see through his tears before he fell. Did the shadow leave? Was he alone once again? Was that how things were meant to be, how he would always end up? Was he condemned to roam these realms alone forever, until all that remained was the shell of who he once was?
If that’s the case, what’s the point of crying about it?
As quickly as his anger came, it left as soon as that thought entered his head. His sobs cut off abruptly and his hands dropped to his sides, his heavy breathing slowly tapering off. There really was no point, was there? He found at least five different ways to end his immortality, to kill himself instantly, but he never had the guts to do it. It made him wonder if he even wanted to die. Maybe he just didn’t want to live. Was there even a difference? He supposed it didn’t matter in the end. Nothing mattered.
That’s not true, his mind argued.
That’s right. How could he ever forget. In a world that solely wished to cut Wukong down, there were only ever two things he deemed important; important enough to live for.
MK was one of them. The boy he considered his own and protected just the same. Wukong was fire and heat. People tried to get close, but they were all eventually swallowed by the flames in the end. MK, though, was pure warmth. It welcomed you in, bathed you in kindness and optimism, whispered words of encouragement and promises. It was painful when Wukong became attached. He tried to keep his distance, tried to see MK as a tool for his own gain rather than the amazing person he actually was. But that warmth, just like everyone else it touched, pulled him in before he realized it was happening.
The other thing, the first thing—the best thing, he once thought—was Macaque. There was once a time where if you saw Wukong, the shadow wouldn’t be far behind. The king’s warrior, the only one who was ever allowed to peek past his carefully crafted masks and sturdy walls. While Wukong was fire, Macaque was the opposite. He was cold, but not in a bad way. He was the kind of cold you wished to seek out on summer days, the gentle breeze that made you close your eyes and be content with simply existing in the moment. He was the ice that shocked you back into reality, the voice of reason that helped you see things rationally. He was a shadow, protecting and watching in the darkness, and yet he shined like the full moon. He was Wukong’s other half, his best friend, his mate. For millennia, Macaque was the most important thing to him, the only reason to keep going, to do better.
He shouldn’t have been surprised when it was taken from him. The universe never allowed him to keep things as important as that, not for that long.
There were days when the battle was fuzzy in his mind, the memories stained with blood and static. Then there were days when he remembered it all in vivid detail. Everything around them was greyscale, everything except gold and purple and red. There was so much red. It coated their fur, seeped into the trees, dripped onto the grass. There were so many sounds. Wood being splintered, rocks being smashed, the familiar and horrifying hum of magic against magic.
He could remember wondering, hysterically, if Macaque’s ears were hurting from it all.
The climax of the battle was the one thing he could never remember correctly. In one version, Macaque glared at him with a hateful gaze, his right eye oozing blood, never to be seen out of again. In another, Macaque stared at him in fear, one hand covering his blinded eye, his mouth spilling pleas and red. In one, he swore to haunt Wukong to the end of his days, to never let him forget how he betrayed him. In the other, he begged for his lover not to kill him, promising to do better.
They both ended the same, though; the moon struck down by the sun, beginning Wukong on his self-made downward spiral. It was why he destroyed the stone mansion. They had plans to live there forever. And with him gone, it was too big for Wukong to even look at. So when he came back from the journey, he destroyed it.
But then Macaque came back. He made a deal with the Lady Bone Demon and returned to get revenge. If he had shown up a few months earlier, Wukong probably would have just let himself get killed. But then MK came into his life, and he had something to live for again. So they fought. He pulled his punches, though. He refused to allow even the slightest possibility of killing his warrior a second time, regardless of Macaque’s hateful feelings toward him.
After defeating the Bone Demon, however, things changed again.They weren’t civil, per se, but they weren’t at each other's throats either. Macaque was still upset at him, but Wukong could tell he didn’t hate him like he did before. It made his heart confused. One part of him still wailed for the time lost, the lover that he killed and would never get back, but so desperately wanting to see if he was still in there somewhere. The other screamed to run, begging to not get too close again lest his fire burn his shadow away once more.
Wukong’s ears twitched, bringing him back to the present, back to reality. There were noises, words being spoken. Someone was talking, but he couldn’t hear them, not fully. It was all static and warbled sounds. There was no point in listening, anyway. He had no energy to keep going. His eyes, staring blankly ahead, faintly registered movement. He tried to swim back under. He didn’t want to be awake or aware, but there was a sudden warmth on his face that demanded his attention. Hands, gently cupping his cheeks and raising his head. His gaze was dragged up to a familiar face; a familiar face with familiar eyes, glistening like honey and starlight.
Macaque, his mind supplied.
His first reason. Once his only reason.
Macaque’s mouth was moving. He was saying something to Wukong, but Wukong didn’t want to listen. He didn’t want to care anymore. He was already having a hard enough time dealing with leaving MK. He couldn’t add another person again, especially the one that gave him meaning in the first place all those years ago.
But he had no choice. For as long as he could remember, his heart led him. It wasn’t so much a guiding force as it was an entity that dragged him kicking and screaming.
Listen to him, his heart cried. Don’t leave him again.
So, despite his darkening mind begging him not too, he slowly zoned back in.
“—ukong? Peaches, hey, look at me. Please, look at me. Come on. Can you hear me? Peaches?”
Wukong could make out his face a bit more, his focus returning. Tears streaked down Macaque’s face, his brow furrowed in a way Wukong wasn’t used to. He looked scared; he looked terrified. When Wukong blinked slowly, though, a small sigh leaving his mouth, Macaque smiled.
“Hey, there you are.” He kept one hand on his cheek, the other carding through his fur as he spoke. “You’re okay. Just take your time, I’m right here. You’re okay. Come back to me.”
Wukong wanted to move. He wanted to leave . Macaque was acting like he did all those years ago, fussing over Wukong and looking at him like he personally hung the stars. It was something he used to find endearing, but now it just hurt. He wanted Macaque to yell at him. He wanted Macaque to leave him to rot.
That’s not true, his mind insisted.
Yes it is, he argued. Macaque was just stopping him.
You want him to stop you.
His vision blurred, and for a moment Wukong hoped—feared?—the world would simply go blank once more. He blinked and the blurring stopped and something wet trailed down his face.
Tears. He was crying again. His breathing picked up as everything snapped back into place, each of his senses turning back on one at a time. He could hear the crickets outside, the sun having almost fully set now. He could smell Macaque’s signature scent of plums and rain, a scent he never forgot but sometimes couldn’t remember. He could taste salt as the still-flowing tears followed the curve of his face, falling into his open mouth. He could feel the wood under his legs and Macaque’s claws still raking through his hair. He could see him. He could see Macaque, or at least the glamoured version of himself he preferred to present to the world.
It was a world Wukong didn’t want to be a part of.
Wukong shut his eyes. Maybe if he shut them tight enough he could turn everything off again.
Macaque cupped his face again. “Hey, no, you stay with me,” he snapped, as if he knew exactly what Wukong was thinking.
Wukong sniffled, eyes opening to slits as he gazed upon the one he once loved. “I can’t do this,” he whispered, so quiet he was afraid even Macaque wouldn’t pick up on it.
“Yes you can.” Macaque wiped the king’s tears away, holding his face firmly but gently. “I didn’t know you were going through this, but I know now, and I’m going to help.”
Wukong, despite not wanting to say it out loud, spoke the obvious. “You hate me.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I did, but I don’t anymore.”
“You hate me,” Wukong said desperately, trying to convince the shadow it was true. “You hate me, so let me die. Please, just let me die, just kill me, please.”
Macaque’s face fractured, then hardened.
Wukong blinked and he was suddenly pressed against Macaque’s chest, arms wrapped securely around him. He was… being hugged. Macaque was hugging him. It was warm and safe and fuck, when was the last time his warrior held him like this?
“You need help,” Macaque whispered, his voice sounding two seconds away from cracking, “and that’s okay. It’s okay to need help sometimes. You need help, so I’m going to help you.”
Wukong felt something unravel in his chest. His breathing sped up again at the sensation. He was feeling things. It wasn’t anger, it was something stronger, something he’d take the numbness over any day. He could feel the fear and grief and sorrow, building from the inside, filling his lungs until it was all there was.
He choked on a breath, more tears spilling down his face. “You can’t help me.”
“Then I’ll find someone who can,” Macaque said firmly. “I’m sorry you had to go through this alone this whole time, but I’m here now. You’re not alone anymore."
“You—” He choked again. He could feel another emotion coming out. He wanted to hold it close just as much as he wanted to stomp it back down. “You hate me.”
Macaque sniffled. “I don’t. I hate what you did to me. I hate that you killed me and I’m still mad at you, so you can’t just—” He cut off with a small sob, taking a deep breath to compose himself. “You can’t just kill yourself. That’s not fair to me. You can’t just take the easy way out, that’s not fair. I still want to kick your ass, so you have to get better before I do that. I can’t fight you like this, it’s too easy. So you have to get better.”
Wukong shook his head, as much as he was able to with it smashed against Macaque’s sternum. He could recognize the emotion now, but refused to put a name to it. If he did, it would destroy him, he was sure of it. “I can’t, Mac, I can’t,” he cried softly.
“Yes you can.” Macaque pulled away, grabbing Wukong’s face again. His eyes were like swirling pools of gold, flaring with determination and regret. “You are not allowed to die, understand? You left me once, then forced me to leave you. You can’t do it again, you can’t. I won’t let you do it again.”
Wukong’s face began to break, along with his walls. “I’m scared.”
Macaque smiled, a fragile thing. “So am I. But we’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. I promise. I swear, I’ll get you help.” He hugged him again, stronger this time. “You’re not alone anymore.”
A sob ripped its way through Wukong before he could stop it. He couldn’t stop the way his arms wrapped around Macaque in return, gripping his hanfu in desperation. He couldn’t stop himself from putting a name to that horrifying emotion, the one he hadn’t felt in over a thousand years. And, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the words that fell from his mouth. They were quiet and broken, as if admitting to a grievous sin after years of keeping it hidden, but for the first time in centuries, it didn’t feel wrong to say.
“I don’t want to die.”