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He looked so kind, like an older version of her father. So when he offered to walk her home, she politely declined. And when he kept following her, she didn't feel alarmed, at least not at first. He had a nice smile, with lots of smile lines for a life filled with laughter. He was the sort of man who you felt like trusting immediately.
It was only when he grabbed her arm and pulled her past the road she was going, into the darkness off the street that she began to worry.
Madoka let out a stifled cry as he pushed her into the wall. Her cry was muffled as he pushed against her. He was still smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes. She tried to push at him, to bite his hand, but his thick gloves stopped her attempt. Madoka kicked at him, but he only pressed her into the wall, effectively pinning her. He held her there by pressing his big shoulder to her chest, and used that leverage to reach out and rip at her skirt, dropping the shreds to the ground. He'd let go of her mouth to do this.
"Kyubey, help me!" She cried.
He looked back, and stared at Kyubey, sitting there and staring unblinking at her.
"Heh, just a cat."
If you were a magical girl, you could fight him, Kyubey said in his ever cheerful voice, filling her mind away from the horror.
Flashes of Mami being devoured came to her. His face, Mami's blood splattered across the floor. Her voice froze in her throat. He pulled at her panties, and no matter how much she squirmed, he kept pulling them down.
"I—I—I....wi— "
For a moment everything slowed. The sound was so loud, like a thunderbolt in the dark. The first bullet hit Kyubey between the eyes. The second hit the older man in the knee. He loosened his grip on her, just enough for her to sink to her shaking knees. She kept crying and couldn't stop. He looked like her father. He looked so kind. She grabbed her panties up from the street, but they'd gotten dirty now. She wanted to rip them off and burn them, never have to look at her clothes again.
She kept trying to pull her shirt across the remains of her skirt, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't cover herself up.
He tried to push himself up, but another shot rang out, which made him only sink to the ground, muttering swear words.
"Scum like you doesn't deserve a quick death."
Homura stepped out from the shadows. The window caught her hair, and the light of the street lamp. She'd never seen Homura look like this, like an avenging angel. There was a fire of determination in her eyes, something compelling and frightening all at once. Homura fired again, to his thigh, and he let out a cry as red flowered from the wound, staining his suit.
He wasn't swearing anymore. Now he was whimpering, pleading for his life.
"Please, I'm a father. Don't kill me—"
Homura walked slowly towards him. Something passed over her eyes, a dark fury as she leveled the gun again.
"Please—"
Bang.
Each time he pleaded, she'd shoot him. First his arm, his legs. Madoka could only watch as Homura slowly killed him by degrees, choosing places where the death would be slowest and most painful. He twitched and spasmed, his face a mask of pain as another red spot blossomed on his body. His clothes were wet and stained with blood, and Madoka couldn't pull her gaze away.
I have a family. Please.
Bang.
Please, mercy.
Bang.
It cut through the sound of the cars, the distant noise of the city and the noise roaring in her head. It was so loud that Madoka wondered how anyone in the world couldn't hear it—but then, they hadn't heard her cries, either.
"Someone like you deserves no mercy," Homura said. Her voice was colder than Madoka had ever heard before. Completely void of any mercy, and filled with a tight fury. Homura held up the smoking gun, pointing it at his chest this time.
Blood was spilling out, staining the pavement. Like poor Mami, dead and discarded for a moment before she was eaten.
Madoka couldn't take it. She couldn't.
"H-Homura, stop!"
Homura turned her gaze to her. "But, Madoka, he's a monster. He did this to you—"
"But that doesn't make it right..." Madoka said.
Homura shot once more, and then holstered her gun.
"Always remember that it was Madoka who saved your worthless life."
She ran her fingers through her hair and tossed her head. Then she made the way towards Madoka. Madoka all but fell into her, sobbing and weak and helpless. Homura's grip was tight around her. And maybe she was messed up, but it felt good to know that Homura would kill for her, that Homura had been strong enough to take Kyubey's contract, even if she wasn't.
He looked like her father. Mami was dead. Nowhere was safe any longer. She couldn't just return to school and pretend to be happy when monsters roamed the world and girls barely older than herself were killed. It wasn't even just these witches—monsters roamed here, too. One lay bleeding out, a father and a businessman.
"I'm so weak," Madoka said. The tears kept coming as she hyperventilated, drowning in how horrible the world was. How could she go to school tomorrow like nothing was wrong? He looked like her father. Mami was dead.
"I wish I was strong like you," Madoka said.
"No one should want to be like me," Homura said.
"I'lll....I'lll be okay, and...."
Madoka tried to move, but Homura clung tight to her.
"You won't," Homura cut her off. "I'm taking you home."
Madoka kept close. It took everything to keep from breaking apart.
Once out of of her magical girl outfit, Homura pulled her big black coat and wrapped Madoka in it. Madoka wanted it to become a black hole, a place to hide away. His face had been so kind. He looked like her father.
"No one will hurt you under my watch. This I promise you, Madoka..."
Madoka didn't reply. Inside the coat was dark and warm. She wanted to hide herself under it and wake up to find that this was all a bad dream. Mami would be back at school, smiling and happy and strong. That man was just a night shade, nothing real.
Homura was silent as ever as they walked, but Madoka was glad for the silence, and didn't try and fill it. When she came home, her brother was asleep, her mother.
She couldn't bear to look him in the eye. Thankfully, something on the television had caught his attention, so he didn't come into the kitchen.
"I'm going to bed. I feel sick," Madoka said. It took everything within her to keep any levity in her voice.
"Are you okay? Do you want me to–"
"N-No, I just.... want to be alone. I'll feel better after I get some rest. I promise."
"Okay. Sleep well, Madoka-chan," he called.
She walked towards her room, Homura only a step away. When she opened it, she
"Madoka...I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," Madoka said hoarsely. "You saved me."
Homura turned away as Madoka changed into her pajamas. She wanted to shower away the scent of him, but she was so tired, even moving to the bathroom seemed too much for her.
Homura laid her head against Madoka, buried herself near her. "I should've come sooner. I should've killed him before you ever met him. I should have—"
"You didn't know," Madoka said. She pushed Homura's dark hair out of her face. "You saved me..."
"You're comforting me, and I'm supposed to be comforting you," Homura burst out.
"You're so kind...." Madoka said.
"I'm not," Homura said. Whatever vulnerability she'd shown was hidden behind a stony gaze, now.
Madoka tried to smile, but she couldn't. It only came out as a broken twist of her mouth, with a blankness in her eyes, as numb and blank as she felt inside. She was so weak. So helpless. She couldn't even save herself.
But she wouldn't be forever.
She could hear Kyubey's voice in her mind. Are you ready now? Ready to make a contract with me?
Mami had given her life for everyone. Sayaka was fighting for justice, and Homura was fighting so hard. And what was she doing? Being weak.
"I'll get stronger, I promise, Homura," Madoka said.
"Get some sleep," Homura said. "I'll watch over you. No one will be able to touch you."
She and Homura weren't technically friends, not yet, but Homura kept saving her. She was so cold, yet there was some kind of pain that made her clamp up, pull herself inside. Madoka reached out until Homura's hand was clasped in hers.
"Thank you..." she said.
When the lights turned off, it was Homura's hand in hers which kept her tethered there from the darkness which threatened to overtake her, and the shadows of witches and monsters in human flesh.
*
When Madoka woke up, Homura was gone. She peeked out of the covers. When he father came into the room, she turned to the wall.
"I don't feel well...."
He felt her forehead and she pushed away.
"You don't feel like you have a fever," her father said.
"Stomachache...." She said.
"All right, I'll make you some of your favorite soup and get you excused from school, all right?"
When he returned again, she pretended to be asleep under the starry dark of her blanket.
*
Days passed and she barely got up out of bed. When Sayaka and Hitomi came, she pretended to be too ill to see them. Homura came at night, a guardian perched at the side of her bed. She didn't talk, and Madoka didn't want to talk. She had no more tears to cry.
She walked through the house at night, constantly feeling the prickling sensation that there was someone—something––behind her. Just the thought of going outside, riding the bus and seeing all these strangers who could secretly be monsters made her chest clamp up until she curled in a corner, barely able to breathe. She trembled, unable to move, unable to work up the strength to pass these invisible walls of terror which kept her here.
A cool hand held hers, and slowly helped her back to her room.
"You saved me again," she said softly.
Homura nodded.
She laid her head on Homura's lap and Homura stroked her hair, the way her mom used to do when she brushed her hair.
Madoka remembered happier times, before she realized what a cold place the world was. Was it cruel then, too? Or had the world changed and become that much colder and darker in these days.
No, it must have always been like this. She just hadn't known. She'd been too naive, too young, too weak to see.
"Has the world been cruel to you, too, Homura? Is that why you never smile?" Madoka asked softly.
"Yes," Homura said. She didn't elaborate, and the finality of her tone made it clear that she didn't want to talk more about it.
"I want to smile again. No matter how much I try, I want to be the girl who thought of nothing but the next class and next show. And at the same time, I want to be strong. Do I have to sacrifice her to be strong enough to live in this horrible world?"
"You should want to be that girl again, Kaname Madoka. You should be innocent, you should be happy." Homura's voice broke at this. Madoka held tighter to her hand.
"If I knew a way to get her back, I think I would. I would turn back time. I would find a way to be strong and not lose the goodness in the world," she said.
"You don't have to do that, Madoka...." Homura said.
Madoka thought she heard Homura say because I will do it for you, but it was so soft she couldn't tell.
*
That morning, she sat up. She was no better, but when she looked at her hands, she saw potential. On the back of her hand would be a gem. Even if the world was filled with monsters and cruelty, she could fight it.
—Until what? She died like Mami?
What else was there in the world? She couldn't hide away and pretend the world was a kind place. She had seen its darkness, and there was no resurrecting the girl she was. But maybe she could become something more, the strong girl who fought the monsters in her life instead of cowering from them.
Kyubey she called.
He appeared in her window.
It's been a while, Madoka. Homura has been keeping me away. She almost shot me three times last night, you know!
"I...." Her voice faltered. She thought of Sayaka, fighting for them, using her sword for justice even when it wore her out, when it broke her apart. She refused to bend to the laws put before her. She thought of Mami, who had been so kind and strong, and Homura, who had been watching over her all along.
If she couldn't be strong on her own, maybe she could borrow some of theirs.
"—I want to make a contract," she said.
The room turned ethereal, pink lights surrounded them. Kyubey reached out with his long floppy ears and touched her chest, right where her heart was.
What do you wish for, Kaname Madoka?
"I want to be strong, I want to protect Homura like she's protected me, I want to protect Sayaka and to fight on for what Mami believed in. I want the strength to achieve this," she said.
As the light descended over her and the shocking cold overtook her, it was like a baptism. When she looked at her hands, she didn't feel any different, yet everything had changed.
*
That day at school, she sought out Homura before Sayaka, before Hitomi. Of all of them, she would understand.
Homura turned to her, dark hair caught in the wind, her face a blank, grim expression. what I wouldn't do to make you smile, she thought.
But then, she was slowly losing the ability to smile, too.
"I decided, I'm not going to allow myself to be weak anymore. For Sayaka, for Mami, and for you, Homura. I'll be brave just like you. We'll fight witches together."
"Madoka—there is only one end to this. You will die," Homura said, her voice breaking at the edges, her calm facade falling to desperation.
"Then I guess...we'll die together, too," she said.
It was meant to be a joke, but it fell flat. She tried to smile, but that fell flat, too.
Homura stepped away from her, and Madoka watched her leave. She wanted to reach out to her, to hold onto her hand as Homura had done for her, but Homura was too far away from her to reach. This kept happening. She wondered how many wishes and lifetimes it would take until she reached Homura's hand.
*
Like a scene of a movie, Homura could see the fate coming. A gun to Madoka's head before she turned into a witch, Madoka dying in battle. This was the only fate of magical girls. This was the spider's web Madoka would be caught in.
She should've turned the timeline the minute that monster came near Madoka. She could barely live with herself for allowing Madoka to be scarred like this. Something had broken within her; a sense of idealism and innocence for the world.
Her Soul Gem glowed purple as time slowed. She would have to kill several witches to pay for this timeline's mistakes, but Homura no longer cared about their plight. People were destined to die, but Madoka would be the one she would save. Even if she had to use their bodies as the stepping stones to get to Madoka, she would. Every time, she would.
She kept walking, her hair caught in the wind. She had made another mistake, one that she wouldn't allow to happen again. Homura forged a silencer of her own and put on her glasses. She rode the train, becoming her clumsy self again until she found the man again.
She bowed her head, pretended to be a scared little lamb. He had a type, apparently. When she was sure she had caught his eye, she looked up at him with all the innocence she no longer had.
"Sir—Won't you help w-walk me home?" she said.
He was only too happy to comply.
And even when she led him to the same dark place he'd tried to push Madoka into, with broken glass and a witch's kiss on the doorway, he did not worry. No one did when she looked like her former, weak self. She pointed the other way, distracting his attention. And she pressed the gun to the back of his head and fired once. He fell face first into the floor. His blood spilled over the broken glass. Homura threw her glasses aside and stepped on them. She wouldn't allow herself to be so weak, she wouldn't allow herself to become distracted.
Madoka would never have to know. He would never touch her, never show her what a horrible place the world was. If she tried, perhaps she could save Sayaka from her fate, save Mami or maybe even prevent them from meeting.
Then Madoka would never have to cry, never have to feel like the world was a place that needed rescuing and martyr herself for everyone else. She would think heroes belonged in fiction, have a happy life.
Get married, have children, move on. Be happy, even if that happiness was a lie. She would change the world so it could be happy for Madoka, take every pain upon herself so Madoka wouldn't have to feel it.
Maybe if Homura erased herself enough from Madoka's life, then she would be able to prevent her from ever knowing about witches and magical girls. Maybe she could watch her from afar, never speak her name aloud.
Each thought felt like a stab of a knife inside her heart. Homura squared her shoulders and took it. She was surprised she even had a heart anymore–so much of her assumed it had died with Madoka the very first time she had to kill her. And yet, each time she met Madoka, she felt that twinge. Ice had not entirely overtaken her. She stepped out of the place, bloody footprints and the crunch of glass beneath her boots.
The world could spiral out to its doom as long as Madoka had a little bubble of happiness. It didn't matter how much blood her hands were stained with if it meant saving Madoka.