Work Text:
Electro ripped through the puppet’s body as he fell to the floor.
The only one unlucky enough to survive the Musou no Hitotachi was Kunikuzushi.
He knelt on the cold, bloody stone, sobbing and pleading.
But eternity knew no mercy.
"You have failed every purpose you were given."
His mother's voice was cold, her words twisting their way like mold into the hollow cavity in his chest.
"You are a failed puppet. A failure of a friend. A failed god. There is no purpose to your existence—so why have you not perished?"
The question was more of a warning.
Her blade rose again. He tried to crawl away, but his limbs were paralyzed with fear.
Watery blue eyes stared up at the weapon held above his head before they squeezed shut.
"NO—P-PLEASE, I—!"
A crack of thunder.
---
Wanderer shot upright, gasping.
Tears streaked his face. His breath came in ragged, uneven bursts as his eyes darted around the room. Another nightmare. His fingers clenched the crumpled bedsheets.
He tried to calm himself, tried to even out his breathing, but all that came out were erratic, shuddering gasps.
He jolted as a warm hand rested on his shoulder.
"Are you alright?" Your voice was as soft and sickly sweet as ever.
He smacked your hand away, the stormy ocean in his eyes flickering with disgust. He swung his legs over the side of the bed.
"Where are you going?" He hated that tone of feigned concern. Mortals and their... frivolous shows of compassion, he thought.
You reached for his wrist, tugging lightly. "Did you have a nightmare?"
...
His breath hitched as another stray tear slipped down his cheek. He refused to look at you. He couldn't bear to. *You think I'm pathetic, don't you?*
You let out a sigh. Then, without a word, you pulled him back onto the plush mattress, wrapping your arms around his shaking body.
"You don’t have to deal with it alone, you know..."
The walls he'd spent centuries building seemed to crumble to the ground at that.
A loud sob tore from his throat as he buried his face in your chest, clutching at you like you might disappear if he let go.
Your fingers carded through his hair, tracing slow, soothing patterns along his back. He hated how fake you were being. He knew you didn’t really care—but... being held like this felt nice.
Eventually, his sobs quieted into uneven sniffles.
You tilted his face up, cradling his tear-streaked cheeks in your palms.
"Feeling any better?" You asked, offering a small, gentle smile.
He hesitated before nodding, trying to school his face back into that mask of stoicism he often wore—but the expression crumbled into something softer.
Something fragile.
You brushed away the last of his tears with your thumb.
Archons, he really was pathetic.