Chapter Text
There’s blood pooling between Toge’s fingers, slipping thickly to the ground from where he keeps his hand clutched to the hole in his side. The pain is radiating through him, coupled with the familiar deep-set ache of a torn throat, body tensed as it tries to mitigate the waves of splintering pain that rack through his body, but it all pales compared to the anguish of what’s in front of his eyes.
This…isn’t possible. It shouldn’t be possible. He’s… untouchable. He always has been.
Dark hair is matted with blood and dust, clinging to the open gash on Yuuta’s face. His cheek is split with stark red, skin torn impossibly wide as the cut dips over his chin, just grazing the line of his throat. Crimson seeps through the fabric of his formerly pristine shirt, a longer wound slicing from below one shoulder blade across to his hip, mirroring the one that cuts deeply through the muscle of his thigh on the opposite side, dangerously close to his femoral artery.
Toge stumbles, balance thrown off by the way his brain no longer seems to exert control over his limbs, feet shuffling in the dust as his eyes stay locked on Yuuta’s crumpled form. He can feel his own hands shaking, one trying weakly to stay pressed to his own wound, the other caught halfway stretched in front of him, as if reaching out to Yuuta could provide any comfort.
There is no ease, though, no soft eyes or sheepish smiles, none of the peace that looking at Yuuta usually affords. There is only blood, and dirt, and the piercing shock that he is not as invulnerable as anyone thought.
Toge manages a step forward, attempting to close the distance between them, before his legs give way and his knees crash to meet the dirt, mingling in the growing pool of dark blood.
“Yuuta.”
It’s fruitless, he knows, to expect any response, not when there’s so much blood already spilt. The only reason Toge can keep his own heart beating is by watching the stuttering rise and fall of bloodied fabric, the pull of a strained swallow in a sweat and blood-slicked throat. Yuuta’s face, usually so easy and open, is contorted, dark brows drawn into a scrunch, eyes half-open and glazed over, blood trickling into the corner of one eye, down his chin.
“Yuuta…”
Blood bubbles up in Toge’s throat, accumulated from incessant commands against that monster of a curse, spoken words only worsening the clawing pain that has become second nature to him. But he can’t hold it in, can’t stay silent in the face of a sight that so viscerally contradicts the truth of his world.
Yuuta is strong. Yuuta is the strongest, second to one. He is untouchable, un-woundable. He handles curses with the ease of raw strength, raw energy, raw power rooted in the curse that hangs over his shoulders, that follows the edge of his blade.
This…this cannot be the truth. This sight of a Yuuta struck down, his blood cooling in puddles in the dirt.
Toge doesn’t anticipate, doesn’t move quickly enough to dodge the spear of the curse’s thin appendage as it snakes toward him, stabbing through the soft flesh below his ribs and exiting out the other side. Dark eyes flash, Yuuta’s body whirling in response to Toge’s cry of pain. The energy coating his katana flickers, swinging without a target as his arm drops to his side, mouth parting as he forms words of concern, oblivious to the tentacle-like limbs that stretch out to reach behind him.
Toge drags himself forward, free hand clawing at the loose stones and rubble that litters the space between them.
Writhing, mottled flesh whips against his skin, dragging deep into that which should be invincible. The katana falls, hand splayed open, as his body jerks. Cursed energy pops sharply where it makes contact, as though electrified, sparks of it nearly blinding as they flash into existence.
One hand still pressed to his side, slick with his own blood, Toge lifts the other to pull against Yuuta’s sleeve, one of the few places yet left unmarred. It gives easily, falling weakly aside, another contribution to the sickening nausea that rolls in his stomach. This cannot be the truth.
His eyes are drawn wide, mouth still parted, gaze caught in Toge’s as the curse whips back, readying for a second onslaught. Shock is stark on his features, right hand slowly coming up to grasp weakly at where fabric and skin have been torn open, fingertips pulling back drenched in red.
"Yuuta…no.”
Toge’s voice catches, tugging at coagulated blood and shredded vocal cords. He ignores it, ignores the mass of blood that spills out of his mouth and onto the ground next to Yuuta’s body, the way it feels like the knives in his throat are driving in deeper with every breath he drags into his lungs and every syllable he spits out.
Blue eyes lose their focus as the tension falls out of Yuuta’s shoulders, as his body gives way and his knees buckle to meet the dirt. Outside the deafening pounding of his own heartbeat in Toge’s ears, there’s a distantly muffled scream, something raw and otherworldly. Toge would think it came from his own throat, if he wasn’t frozen into silence, the wounds of his own body confining him to the role of helpless onlooker. As if seeing it from underwater, there’s a flash of movement, waves of unleashed rage ricocheting past him as Rika lunges at the curse, set loose, maw unhinged.
There’s a distant crashing around him, echoing with her cries, her unfettered power and grief destroying what’s left of the curse. Still muffled under the pressure of his panic, he barely registers the chaos of her finishing the job they had been too slow to execute sooner. The cost of that failure…
Toge tugs weakly at Yuuta’s unresponsive arm, breath hitching at the sight of yet more blood encroaching on the white fabric of his sleeve, the pool of it ever expanding from the laceration in his leg. God, Toge hoped his artery wasn’t hit, a weak hope that doesn’t hold up in the face of the gore before him.
“Yuuta…no, no… stop, Yuuta, please…” Please, please, please. You’re the strongest, you can’t get hurt, you’re untouchable, you can’t-- you can’t…
Through the muffling haze of his panic, his own blood loss and pain, it tethers Toge. Yuuta can’t die, not here, not now. Not like this, bleeding out into the dirt of a scummy, run-down demolition site, not because he’d dropped his guard when Toge was injured. Between the two of them, Yuuta will not be the one to die as a result of Toge’s faults.
“Yuuta…”
He gives a gentle tug to Yuuta’s shoulder, pulling his back to meet the ground and chest to face the sky as Toge moves him an inch closer. There’s a soft pained noise from Yuuta’s throat, the adjustment straining the muscles of his torso where his right side has been split, where his torn left leg jostles against the ground. His head lolls gently, momentum pulling him into facing Toge, eyes unfocused as they stare half-lucid into empty space.
“Look at me.” It always works best when he has his listener’s full attention.
Navy eyes flicker to meet his, the haze over them clearing just slightly. There’s a thin trickle of blood carving a path to Yuuta’s lips, tracking a course over broken and dirtied skin. Toge drags in a slow breath, as deep as he can around the increasing constriction of his throat, fighting against the raging pounding in his head and the unrelenting agony in his trachea, words slick with blood as they fall off his lips.
“Yuuta, heal.”
He expects the backlash, the viscous punch of cursed energy that hits his gut as his words make their way into Yuuta’s ears. He’s prepared for it, the result of the cataclysmic difference between their capacity for cursed energy. He fights to stay upright, kneeling next to Yuuta, even as the blow racks through his lungs and forces another rush of blood to spew from his lips. He expected it, even without knowing whether the command would be strong enough to have an effect. It’s a good sign then, that there’s a weighty recoil. This could work.
“Heal…Yuuta, please, heal.”
He can almost visibly track each word as they reach Yuuta, each successive blow of countering energy an indication that they, thankfully, don’t fall on deaf ears. Yuuta’s eyes slip shut, Toge’s earlier command wearing off in favour of the much more immense one he exerts now. His throat shreds itself impossibly further, the price of uttering such taxing words that he can only hope Yuuta has the energy to fulfill. Toge gasps for air, forgoing the attempt to keep pressure on his abdomen in favour of the instinct to grab his throat as it collapses in on itself, an endless stream of blood expelled by the fit of coughing that overtakes him.
It’s all he can do to not pass out then, his lungs unbearably compressing themselves beyond any trace of oxygen as his body breaks itself down. The hammering pain behind his eyes grows oppressive, vision swimming as he strains to keep his focus on Yuuta. He can only hope it’s enough, that his words can keep Yuuta back from the edge, even if Toge has to take his place.
It’s a losing battle, struggling against the encroaching darkness on the fringes of his vision, the gentle pops of black stars that swim before him. Through it, though, he can just barely see a shadowlike movement across Yuuta’s face, the skin of his cheek carefully drawing back together, the flow of blood slowing to a stop.
One hand still gripping his own throat, he shakily raises the other to brush where the skin of Yuuta’s face grows smooth again, only convinced it’s really healed with the confirmation of his own fingertips.
He clings desperately to consciousness as he moves to ensure the same is happening to the wound on Yuuta’s thigh, where dark fabric is torn to expose the deepest wound, cut straight through muscle to reach nearly to bone. The sight is nauseating on its own, further compounding the overwhelming onslaught of physical pain, fatigue, and overuse of Toge’s technique. Like the incision on his face, the flesh of Yuuta’s leg pulls at itself, two separated sides drawing back together, stemming the loss of blood.
The sight hovers hazily before his eyes until the darkness closes in, and Toge is only vaguely aware of the way his own body crumples, utterly spent. The pressure behind his eyes breaks loose, mind suddenly weightless as he drifts away, unfeeling of the hand that reaches out to grasp at his.