Archive of Our Own

Pluto the Tormentor died engulfed in his own preprogrammed rage, wishing death upon his murderers with a level of ire that few humans ever reached in their lifetimes. Even in death, his scripted righteousness was unending- crying blasphemy as the noxious fumes that sputtered from his empty sockets began to dissipate. One had to wonder if he possessed enough sentience to spend his last moments questioning why his Lord, one he’d served so dutifully, allowed him to be struck down.

If that were the case, Pluto may have been much more human than he looked. 

Walter found it cathartic, bringing an end to his reign of terror. To know that the devout and the defeated alike, holed up in their underground caverns, would have one less thing to cower in fear of. Rebuilding a world that had been long abandoned would be no easy feat, but there was still a small victory to be felt in the stillness of Pluto’s Castle, now without a ruler. 

The trek back to the bunker was eerily lighthearted, almost like their Mikado days. Facing an enemy they could all agree on probably had something to do with it- and though it wouldn’t last, it felt nice. 

Flynn, who’d been rather withdrawn and dazed since their arrival, regained some semblance of mirth watching Walter practically crawl his way up one of the dunes as his feet slipped out from underneath him. Despite all three of them sporting the same footwear, Walter appeared to be the only one struggling. Their valiant leader had allowed him to struggle for much longer than necessary- until Walter swallowed his pride to shoot him a pleading look. 

Flynn’s rescue came in the form of an easy smile paired with an outstretched hand, which Walter took with a manufactured air of confidence to not seem completely helpless. Not that he could ever fool Flynn to begin with. 

Further ahead, the ghost of a laugh could be traced back to the last member of their entourage. There was a tone of endearment to the noise Walter had not heard in ages, one that he’d bitterly accepted he’d never hear again. 

It was somehow even worse to realize how much he’d missed it. 

Jonathan stood only a few yards away, glancing back at the two of them with his cravat scrunched over his mouth- a rather fruitless effort to shield his lungs from the sand. When they first arrived, Walter had told him not to bother. They’d all just end up with sand in every fold of their robes and on every strand of hair, anyways. This only seemed to give Jonathan even more of an incentive to use his makeshift mask, no longer just trying to be practical but to also spite Walter. 

When Walter squinted, he could’ve sworn he saw the dimples of his smile peeking out from behind the fabric, a familiar crinkle of amusement in his eyes, but he couldn't say for certain. 

It was safe to say that his stunt at the Yamato Perpetual Reactor had effectively killed what little friendship remained between him and Jonathan- or so he’d assumed. They could barely tolerate the smallest of conversations anymore, and fell into bickering as often as they breathed. It was a miracle at all that they were able to maintain a united facade in front of Akira and his people, though he had a rising suspicion they weren’t as convincing as they thought. 

Walter certainly made no effort to hide his lack of enthusiasm when Jonathan had tried to get them to play hero for the few people left in Shinjuku. 

As much as Walter prided himself in holding grudges, he’d hesitate to say he could ever truly hate Jonathan- no matter how much the other man vexed him. It wasn’t uncommon for the pair to find themselves teamed up, back when they were just prentices. Jonathan had a habit of insisting on joining Walter even when he didn’t really need help with anything. I cannot let another fellow go into Naruku alone in good conscience- or some virtuous drivel to that effect, was the usual excuse. Loathe as he was to admit it at the time, Walter found the sentiment rather… sweet, if not a little overbearing. 

Now, those days felt so long ago. It was hard to even imagine his life before the gauntlet rite. 

Of the many differences between Luxurors and Casualries, one reigned supreme. There was a defeatism, a shame, ingrained in Casualries from birth that seemingly never went away. It came in many iterations, depending on the person. His father was quite well-known in their village for his temper, and his brothers for their listlessness- "slow on the uptake", as they say. Walter never considered himself particularly ashamed of his place in the world. More often than not, he was rather defensive of his upbringing, but he wouldn't deny that he was a cynic. He had stopped praying when he was twelve years old, and came to accept that he’d die with rope burns scarred into his palms shortly after. 

The only way one could break free from their status in Mikado was the gauntlet rite, and he hadn’t come to Aquila Plaza with high hopes or some newfound determination. He wasn’t opposed to the idea, of course, but everyone knew that the gauntlet rarely chose Casualries. Besides, Walter had been much more focused on making sure the journey back home wouldn’t take him all night. His father had expected him back on the dock come morning. 

He hadn’t considered the possibility of never going home again, not until he was standing in the middle of Aquila Plaza, squinting down into a glowing gauntlet screen. 

Home.

He often wondered how they were doing. If his brothers were capable of picking up his slack (impossible), if his father was still in a sour mood all time (likely), and if they were still spending every waking hour up to their knees in fish guts- 

“Hoy.” 

Walter’s eyes snapped open, blinking furiously until Flynn’s face, mere inches from his own, came into focus. 

“Huh?” Walter asked, very intelligently. 

And very loudly, if the way Flynn leaned back a bit meant anything.

“I’m going to pick up some quests before we leave,” he said, tilting his head in a manner that Walter read as an invitation to join. 

He considered the offer for a moment, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. 

They’d arrived at the Shinjuku shelter with little fanfare aside from Kiyoharu’s ravings about God and what great Messiahs they turned out to be. Walter made a snide comment at his insistence on “thanking” his lord- which earned him a pointed look from Jonathan. Not that Walter particularly cared, as Kiyoharu didn’t notice. Otherwise, while the members of Akira’s community rejoiced at the death of Pluto, a cloud of dread hung over them still. It were as though they only anticipated more hardships to come. 

Something about it made Walter’s stomach turn. He knew the feeling all too well. 

“I’ll stay here,” he decided. “I’m too tired to be of much help.”

Flynn nodded, standing up to shrug on his coat. If he was disappointed, it didn’t show on his face. 

“Sorry to disturb your rest,” he said, quieter now. 

“I don’t mind,” Walter replied. 

Walter took comfort in the sound of Flynn getting ready. It reminded him of the barracks, and getting up at the crack of dawn for training. Coming down the stairs to find Jonathan waiting- readjusting his cravat for what had to be the fifth time that morning- and then Isabeau, who always stood outside of K’s readier than the rest of them. The sunshine. The anticipation of exploring Naruku. 

“I miss Isabeau,” Walter said, surprising himself. 

Flynn’s lips curled upwards at the mere mention of her, hanging his head down to stare at his boots. 

“I do, too.” 

Flynn glanced up from under his bangs to give Walter a more confident smile and a small farewell with a wave of his gauntlet-less hand. 

Walter watched him make his way to the door with a feeling he couldn’t place. To distract himself from that, he opted to scan the room for anything he could occupy his time with. Aside from their belongings all thrown in a pile to the left of him, the room itself was empty and drearily unfurnished- with the exception of two makeshift beds that were really just a bunch of worn blankets folded on top of each other. 

In the corner, Jonathan’s sword was propped up against the wall. Which was strange, because he brought it with him everywhere.

“Where has Jonathan run off to?” Walter asked. Casually as he could muster- they both knew Jonathan hadn’t spoken to him since they got back. 

If Flynn had an opinion on the matter he kept it to himself, and nodded his head at the door. 

“The hallway.” 

He kept his voice low in a way that made Walter half wonder if Jonathan was standing right on the other side. 

Flynn lingered for a moment, waiting to see if Walter had anything else left to say. With his hand on the hilt of his sword, he was the spitting image of some sort of storybook hero- just younger and a bit more tired-looking. The kind that his brothers used to tell him about when he was a child, the kind that he never really believed in. 

When they first met, he had convinced himself that as long as he went wherever Flynn did, life wouldn’t turn out so bad. Or at least, it’d be worth all the effort. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to fulfill that wish these days. 

“Be safe,” Walter offered, though it was a foreign concept to him.  

Flynn didn’t tease, or call him on the irony of it- he only smiled that knowing smile of his and turned to take his leave. 

“No promises.”

Alone with his thoughts, Walter considered if it was worth his time at all to try talking to Jonathan. In truth, it was the other samurai who always made more of an effort to keep things amicable between them. Even after he’d run out on his fellows it was Jonathan who asked him to come back, to go to Reverse Hills together. They were at least still on speaking terms, then. 

All of that changed after opening the expanse- and seeing the wasteland left in its wake. This is what seemed to be the final straw for Jonathan, as he insisted that it was Walter, not Flynn, who had pressed that button, as if Walter hadn’t handed the damned thing to Flynn himself. It didn’t go unnoticed that none of Jonathan’s anger was directed to Flynn, not even once, and that might’ve been what annoyed him most. 

Initially, Walter was thankful that they were finally at equal levels of fed up with one another. It made him feel much less apologetic about being an ass. 

What he hadn’t anticipated was for Jonathan to not only be so stubborn, but effective. In his own avoidant, luxuror-esque way. Walter figured he’d be better at standing his ground, and yet he caught himself falling back on quips and small attempts at lightening the mood much more often than he’d like to admit. Despite this, Jonathan did very little to entertain him in his efforts, responding to him with as little words as possible, no matter how hard he tried to goad some sort of reaction out of him.  

The occasional nagging remarks he’d receive in weeks prior were nothing compared to the abject silence Jonathan was subjecting him to now. There were few things Walter hated more than silence, and their room was slowly growing more and more unbearable as each minute passed.

Before his better judgement could take hold, Walter rose from his spot and made his way to the door. Shouldering it open, he peered around the corner in an attempt to be discreet. 

Just as Flynn had said, Jonathan could be found sitting all by his lonesome at the end of the hallway. With his legs pulled up to his chest and his face buried in his knees, he looked so small. He had to have been there for hours by now, and Walter couldn’t help but wonder why. Certainly not for comfort’s sake- at least their room had dubiously stained blankets to lie on. 

Walter strained his neck to get a look at Jonathan’s face, half expecting him to be asleep, which caused him to knock his forehead against the metal door. 

The noise- combined with the profanity spewed from his mouth- was more than enough to get Jonathan to raise his head. Walter sighed, rubbing at his temple to fight off the embarrassment and the throbbing pain. By the time he looked back up, Jonathan was staring right at him. 

“Hoy,” Walter called, immediately wincing at his choice to say anything at all upon hearing the sound of his own voice. 

Jonathan smiled a bit, but his brow remained furrowed. It was about the same look he’d give a Mothman- and now Walter, apparently. Slightly bemused, preemptively annoyed. 

The journey to the other end of the hallway felt like an eternity, but it was really only a few steps. Aside from the occasional signs of life coming from the other rooms around them, they were alone and it was eerily quiet. Again with the silence- Walter feared he’d lose his mind if Flynn took his sweet time on those quests. 

The light fixture above Jonathan’s head flickered, which had to be some sort of omen he was actively choosing to ignore. 

“Flynn is off on some quests,” he announced, like that wasn’t obvious. 

“Yes, he tried to convince me to join him,” Jonathan replied, shaking his head. “All I’ve done since our return is sit here, and I still find myself… tired. I can’t say that I understand, but I admire his vigor.” 

Walter cleared his throat, sliding his back down the wall to sit next to him. Pulling one leg to his chest to prop his elbow on, he let the other stretch out into the hallway- passerby’s be damned. The people from the other Tokyo never minded stepping over him, and it didn’t look like anyone would be roaming the halls here, anyway. 

“There a reason you decided to sit out here by yourself?” Walter asked. 

Something hardened in Jonathan’s eyes at the question. 

“I was… thinking. I didn’t wish to bother either of you,” he said quickly, averting his gaze. “I didn’t realize that I was required to explain myself.” 

Oh, now Walter felt like being annoying. This part always came so naturally to him- twisting his mouth into a smirk and taking on a droll expression.

“And what is it that troubles you so?” 

To his surprise, Jonathan laughed, although not out of amusement. He almost looked bewildered, which was not the reaction Walter had expected nor wanted. 

“What doesn’t would probably be the better inquiry, Walter.” 

Jonathan’s voice was back to its usual chiding tone, as if to say that he should’ve already known that. As if the things that went on in that curly brown head of his were common knowledge and not a constant stream of idealistic hogwash only a Luxuror could believe. Now, it was Walter who found himself annoyed. This game of tug-of-war they’d dragged themselves into since reaching Tokyo would almost be entertaining if it weren’t so pathetic. 

Walter’s rebuttal- which was going to be some sarcastic remark about Jonathan developing stress wrinkles on his forehead just like Abbot Hugo- died on his tongue as all of Jonathan’s previous agitation began to dissipate. He was impossible to keep up with sometimes. 

“I apologize. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that,” Jonathan sighed, turning to face him properly. “I… I know that it’s childish of me, but I don’t want to be here anymore, I suppose.”  

That would make two of them. 

Walter simmered down for a moment, chewing the insides of his cheeks to keep himself in check.

“It’d be hard to disagree with you on that.” 

He considered his next words carefully before adding, “You know, I told Flynn that I missed Isabeau before he went on his way. I can’t fathom why, I just… said it.” 

Truthfully, he didn’t know why he was telling Jonathan about the encounter, either. 

He could feel Jonathan watching him as he spoke, but he didn’t dare turn his head. He didn’t want to be faced with whatever simpering expression Jonathan was probably wearing. 

“It was foolish,” Walter bit, staring straight ahead at the wall across from them. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about how she’s always so prepared for everything.” 

Jonathan didn’t say anything at first, but Walter could still sense the weight of his stare. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, if he could relate to the sentiment or merely took pity on Walter for the admission. The rational half of his brain was quick to remind him that Jonathan, for all of his flaws, was not the sort of person to look down upon such things. 

“It isn’t foolish,” Jonathan said, so simply, and maybe it wasn’t. 

Walter mustered the courage to at least dignify him with a smile, which backfired when he finally saw the way Jonathan was looking at him. His lips were pursed in concentration, waiting patiently for whatever idiotic thing Walter could come up with next- as though he didn’t mind. If the gentleness of his gaze were anything to go by, perhaps he truly didn’t. Somehow, that was more terrifying than being pitied. 

Someone in one of the rooms further down the hall let out a cry. Of joy, despair, grief- one couldn’t say, but the noise alone caused the hairs on Walter’s arms to raise in its shrillness. Jonathan winced, hanging his head with a sigh. 

“It’s an older gentleman, in the very last room,” he explained, pointing to the end of the corridor. “He’s been plagued with nightmares for hours.” 

Walter couldn’t hear the man from their room- which made him wonder even more than he already had why Jonathan was so insistent on sitting out in the hall if people were apparently screaming through their night terrors. Maybe it was that he got some sort of ego boost from making himself as uncomfortable as possible in the name of avoiding Walter. 

“I took a moment to pray for him earlier, but…” Jonathan trailed off. 

Ah, so that was it. He wanted to see if his prayer would actually come to fruition. A very sick, but vindicated, part of Walter wanted to laugh. Anyone with a lick of sense would’ve realized by now that “God” did not care what happened to this place, much less the people left in it. 

The way the man’s cries only grew was an answer in and of itself. 

A bit of shame took root in Walter’s gut when he saw the dejected look on Jonathan’s face, who was gingerly wringing at his wrists. The sound of another human being in distress probably upset him more than he was letting on- he was only a Luxuror, after all. 

“Prayer or not, he’ll be alright, Jonathan,” Walter offered. “He must be made up of some tough stuff to have gotten this far.” 

Jonathan hummed, blankly looking down at his knees until the man was quiet again. 

“I truly hope so,” he said earnestly. “Thank you for saying that.”

A beat of silence fell over them, and all was calm in the bunker for what felt like the first time since they arrived. 

Jonathan leaned his head in Walter’s direction, wearing a look that could’ve been described as mischievous if it weren’t coming from Jonathan. When he spoke, his voice was hardly above a whisper. 

“Do you remember when we took the quest to slay Peallaidh? When we first arrived in Tokyo?” 

Truthfully, Walter could smell the memory more than he could recount the details, but he groaned at the thought nonetheless. Throwing the monster’s decapitated head into Flynn’s hands, then standing behind Isabeau so it couldn’t be given to him again, was not one of his finest moments. 

“How could I ever forget?” Walter whispered back, a teasing lilt slipping its way into his tone. This, too, always came naturally to him. 

Jonathan smiled, fiddling with the hem of his coat. 

“When we had finally triumphed over Pluto, I thought of us back then,” he said. “…It was very nice to see you back in good spirits.” 

The last part was enshrouded in hesitancy, as if trying to gauge Walter’s reaction. 

He used to be good at this. Getting Jonathan flustered was one of his favorite pastimes when they were prentices. But things felt so much heavier, now. 

You were laughing at me when I couldn’t make it up that dune earlier and I thought about throwing myself down another just to get a chance at seeing it again.

“Likewise,” Walter coughed out, and why the hell he said that of all things, he didn’t know. “It uh, felt like old times.” 

Jonathan’s smile grew, and Walter had to look away before it was obvious he was staring. 

They don’t speak of Walter going off on his own. Or Lilith, the Archangels, Tayama- not even the Expanse. It seemed that they’d come to an unspoken agreement to push those conversations to the wayside for another day, should it ever come. Instead, they traded stories of “the old times”, which were really only a few months ago, but Walter didn’t mind acting like it was longer if Jonathan kept smiling at him. He had a feeling it wouldn’t happen much more if they ever returned to their Tokyo. 

Walter wished he’d said something sooner about his affections, back in Mikado, even if he knew that it ultimately would not change anything. Even if it was becoming increasingly obvious that Jonathan had always felt the same way. 

Maybe it was for the best, to not bother. 

The second they were back to walking on paved road, Jonathan would likely go running to Mikado, while Walter had long decided he’d never return. This was a fact. He could only hope that Flynn and Isabeau might feel the same. 

It was still nice to pretend, if only for a little while. 

“- I thought Commander Hope was going to throttle you. I’ve never seen him look so cross,” Jonathan laughed, recounting the time Walter had snapped two perfectly good training swords in a week. 

“Please, he always looked at me like that,” Walter groaned with a roll of his eyes. “And for the record, Flynn broke many, many more than I did. He was just quick enough to not get caught, is all.” 

The two of them had come to sit shoulder-to-shoulder at some point during their conversation- so close that if a member of the underground walked by, it’d look a bit questionable. Jonathan’s head tilted ever so slightly into Walter’s personal space as he spoke, blithely unaware of what his attempt at keeping his voice low was doing to his fellow’s heart rate. Until then, it hadn’t occurred to Walter just how tired Jonathan looked. At such proximity, the shadows beneath his eyes were nigh impossible to ignore. 

Indulgently, he imagined a world where Jonathan might lie his head on his shoulder to sleep.

“Maybe we should retire for now,” Walter suggested, clearing his throat. “There’s no telling what tomorrow has in store for us.” 

Over the course of their feuding, Walter learned the hard way that Jonathan had mastered the art of mimicking the expression of a wounded puppy over anything that even slightly displeased him. Walter didn’t have proof that this had to do with him being a Luxuror, but it annoyed him enough that he decided to blame it on that regardless.

It was exactly the expression Jonathan wore now, and for once it was actually working as intended. 

“You’re probably right,” Jonathan said. “But I…” 

Their eyes met, and Jonathan appeared to catch on to how close they were, trailing off. Even as his face began to flush, he made no effort to move away as Walter assumed he would, the way he normally would. 

“Well, I think I may have missed you, in a way,” he confided, as though he’d be struck down just for saying it too loudly. 

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” Walter said.

Well. 

He corrected himself. “Er… that is to say, not for long.” 

“I know that,” Jonathan replied, with the slightest bit of indignation. “But we haven’t talked like this in a good while. I still…missed spending time with you. Going on quests together, and the like.” 

Not for lack of trying, Walter wanted to say. Jonathan had to be one of the most infuriating people he’s ever had the misfortune of meeting. 

Walter stared at Jonathan, into those big, earnest eyes. At the way his hair framed his face, curling near perfectly under each cheekbone. He awaited Walter’s reply with an honestly impressive level of composure considering his usual reactions to Walter’s shenanigans. It was uncharted territory for the both of them- Walter always picked too much and Jonathan always tried to brush him off. It was a rather well-established routine. 

Walter fixed Jonathan with a playful smirk, trying to pull the both of them out of this sentimental nonsense.

“I find it hard to believe you missed me pestering you so much,” he said. 

Jonathan’s collected expression quickly turned to embarrassment. 

“W-Well, I-,” he ducked his head into his shoulder, and Walter was acutely aware of how the tips of his ears, which barely peeked out underneath that mass of hair, were bright red. “Would it be so terrible?” 

Once again, the cards were carefully placed back in Walter’s unwilling hands. 

Jonathan eventually raised his face from its makeshift shield, and of all the things Walter could’ve focused on, he caught himself thinking about how strange it was to not have to look up at him for once. It was easier to soak in all the little things when they were at the same eye level- like the cut on his temple from battles ago, or just how damn long his eyelashes were. 

Jonathan’s brow drew together tightly, looking at Walter expectantly. 

“No one’s ever told me that”, Walter blurted. 

Jonathan blinked. 

“That- that they've missed me,” he clarified with a wave of his hand. As he lowered it, he could feel Jonathan turning sideways, reaching out to- 

Jonathan’s hands were warm and a bit rough, less unblemished than Walter always imagined they’d be. On his index finger was a bump where quills had rested thousands of times, and there was a particularly deep groove in his left palm- the scar still fresh and pink. A reminder of their first days in Tokyo, if he had to guess. Walter imagined his hands were even worse to hold, already battered beyond repair into his first few years of adulthood. Fish hook snags, countless indents where nets had nearly strangled him- it couldn’t be a pleasant feeling. 

Jonathan didn’t seem to mind. 

“For what it’s worth, I know the others missed you, too,” he said, a strange tightness in his voice. “When you… stormed off.” 

The first time or the second? 

Walter found himself wanting to recoil from the conversation, but that would mean letting go of Jonathan’s hands, so he stayed in place. 

“I was fine,” he assured, but Jonathan’s grip only tightened, and he was beginning to think that he had no intentions of letting go anytime soon. “You worry far too much about other people, Jonathan.” 

Walter had run away from home once, as a child. He couldn’t even remember why, but he never got very far. There was no great welcome party waiting for him upon his return. He was sent to bed with no supper, and that was the end of it. It was as though he’d never left in the first place. To think that anyone particularly cared about his absence…  

Jonathan remained unconvinced, pulling his lips into a tight line. 

“I like to think that I worry an appropriate amount, considering the people I travel with,” he replied.  

Jonathan’s thumbs carefully circled the back of his hands in some sort of comforting gesture, maybe. He closed his eyes, for just a moment.

The moment passed all too soon, and Jonathan was suddenly rising to a kneel, dragging a confused Walter along with him. He spoke urgently, the way he did in the midst of battle or when he was trying to convince himself of something. 

“Y-You were right- we should try to get what little rest we can while we still have time.”  

Seeing as Flynn had just left, there really wasn’t a reason to rush, but Walter allowed himself to be pulled to his feet with, miraculously, zero resistance.

On account of the fact that Jonathan still hadn’t let go of his hands, they stood nearly chest to chest- and Walter was back to looking up at him. It was only when their eyes met that Jonathan released him, and his hands fell limply to his sides. 

In spite of the theatrics, Jonathan idled, making no real effort to go back to their room. Overhead, footsteps on aging metal echoed down into the lower levels of the shelter, but Walter was much more preoccupied with trying to ignore how cold he was without Jonathan’s hands over his anymore. How much warmer he’d be, if Jonathan would just take one step closer and hold him instead. 

There really was no telling what “tomorrow” would bring. For all they knew, the world was ending, God was gone, and in Jonathan’s eyes- it was almost entirely Walter’s fault. And yet, here they were. If the Yamato Perpetual Reactor was going to send them back, somewhere else, or nowhere at all, they were none the wiser to its whims. So in theory, Walter had nothing to lose. 

He stared up, into the eyes of one of the only people who could possibly understand what it felt like to be on the cusp of ceasing to exist entirely- and only found a quiet, undeniable fondness. 

“Sorry that I worried you,” Walter said, because it may be the only chance he’d have left to say so. “Back then, when I left.”

He still wasn’t sure which time they were referring to. Both, at this point. Maybe even the times that hadn’t happened yet. 

Jonathan’s lips upturned into the smallest smile. 

“Well, it probably won’t be the last,” he replied, as though it were some sort of inside joke. His altruism was admirable- some would even call it delusional. 

“Probably not,” Walter conceded with a shrug, and Jonathan laughed. 

Laughter quickly dissolved into silence, and there was something almost rueful in Jonathan’s eyes when he next spoke. 

“Could I ask something selfish of you?” 

Walter raised a brow. Selfish? Jonathan? The idea of it was strangely enthralling. 

“Doesn’t hurt to ask,” he said, a mix of dread and anticipation settling in his chest, because it often actually did. 

Jonathan let out a sigh, his breath mussing up Walter’s hair a bit. He already knew what Walter’s answer was going to be, judging by his hesitation- and a hypocritical part of Walter hated how quick he was to give up. There was no fun in one-sided fights. 

“Would you promise to not run off like that again? That we could… face whatever may come, together?” 

Together. Together with the Archangels- with Mikado, was the unspoken part. Standing alongside the people, or whatever was left of them, that would still be treating Walter like the dirt beneath their feet had he not become a Samurai, and those who still did in spite of that. 

Fighting to maintain the world he no longer believed in. Yes, Jonathan’s brand of altruism was very admirable. 

And yet- his voice was so quiet, and Walter’s stomach still sank as his reply came to him almost autonomously, rolling off the tongue like script.

“I have no intention of making promises I won’t keep,” Walter said, holding his gaze. “…least of all to you.” 

Jonathan’s smile was sad, in that typical resigned, Luxuror way. Walter would hate to ever have to smile like that. 

“I understand,” he murmured. 

Walter did not have the heart to tell him that he didn’t. He couldn’t- they were so intrinsically different that Walter would never really understand Jonathan, either, and it was a fool’s effort to try. 

Walter could see the way Jonathan’s hands shook, barely out of reach of his own, and felt pity. It was only right, to offer the same comfort he’d been given moments ago. 

It was only fair- or at least, that was what Walter told himself to justify pulling Jonathan in by his arms and bringing their foreheads together in a lazy embrace. 

Above ground, the wind howled in a righteous cacophony around the bunker. It hadn’t seemed so loud when they were talking. 

Jonathan’s uneven breathing could rival the wind outside- Walter watched his chest cave with each deep, nervous inhale. He was frozen in place, petrified from moving without guidance. Even his arms stayed exactly where Walter held them, limp weight beneath his grasp. He shifted closer, a last-ditch effort to shake him from his stupor, an unspoken encouragement. Jonathan let out one last stuttering breath before allowing his shoulders to slack, leaning into the touch. 

So there they stood, for seconds, minutes- Walter didn’t know. All he could think about was how much of a tragedy it was that he hadn't done this sooner. 

“Walter?” Jonathan asked, sounding much calmer than he felt. 

“Hm?” Walter closed his eyes, taking in the feeling of Jonathan tilting his head, bumping their noses together. The tickle of another person’s hair falling onto his face. Such gentleness was unfamiliar to him. 

“I am sorry for this,” Jonathan said, and that was all the warning he was willing to give before cupping Walter’s head in his hands and kissing him. 

After the initial, awkward hurdle of nearly clashing teeth and lips and catching their collective breath- Jonathan was much more steadfast than Walter would have ever given him credit for. Then again, he really didn’t know much about Jonathan’s life before the gauntlet rite. He hoped that it wasn’t his first kiss-  that would be wasted on Walter. A person like Jonathan was meant to experience the things they wrote about in great romances, or those illustrations Isabeau enjoyed so much, not whatever this was. 

Because if there were kisses for reunions, and good luck, and celebration- then this was one of goodbye. An ache for what could have been, and Walter found himself holding onto Jonathan’s trembling wrists like an anchor. 

“Goodbye” was so definitive, wasn’t it? Had he at long last dragged Jonathan, kicking and screaming, to the realization that their parting was inevitable? It wasn’t like he took pleasure in doing so. If not for his ego, he would almost be willing to admit that he regretted it. Albeit misguided, Jonathan had always remained consistent in that he considered Walter to be part of the vile world he wanted to protect. 

Jonathan pulled away first- and Walter had to use what remained of his dignity to stop himself from chasing after, asking for one more goodbye, and then several after. He couldn’t bring himself to let go, not yet, and Jonathan did not force him to, even as his hands dropped from Walter’s face to hover his shoulders. 

It was difficult to believe that the same person who disagreed with him on everything under the sun, the primary target of all of his teasing and fight-picking, could have the heart to spare his feelings time and time again. Walter couldn’t say he had the same capacity for such gestures. 

But then, Jonathan was never cruel in anger or sadness. Perhaps that was what had frustrated him the most, all along.

The Archangels and their followers would pick away at Jonathan like the vultures they were until there was nothing left, and he’d happily let them. No matter what they asked, no matter what the cost, he’d bow to their demands as if born to it, because that was just how Jonathan was. Like he’d done something terrible in a past life, and the guilt was all that carried over. 

Walter knew the point of no return was when he’d gone out of his way to procure that damned wine for Abbot Hugo, as if they didn’t already have plenty in Mikado- or the refrigeration unit! A total waste of time and resources, but that didn’t matter to Jonathan. He possessed an infinite patience for everything that made Walter want to rip his own hair out, and then some. 

Jonathan gently drew his hands from Walter’s grasp with an apologetic frown. 

“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I- I shouldn’t have done such a thing to you. I don’t know what I was thinking, I just-”

Walter wanted nothing more than to kiss him again just to shut him up, but he hesitated. There were so many things he wanted to say, and he simultaneously had all the time in the world and no time at all to say it. 

Jonathan had to know, deep down. He had to understand that God had deserted this world ages ago, and that there was nothing stopping Him from leaving theirs to the same fate- if He hadn’t already. God’s absence and presence were one in the same. All that remained of God in this Tokyo was Pluto the Tormentor, His final parting gift to what little humanity was left standing. 

Jonathan had to know, he just didn’t want to admit it because it was all he'd known since birth. Comfort was always easier than questioning, but what good was comfort built on lies? God was nowhere, and God was cruel. No amount of servitude could protect anyone from that. 

It certainly wouldn’t protect Jonathan. 

His babbling apology came to a halt when Walter took hold of the lapels of his overcoat, interrupting himself with a startled noise. 

“I’m never returning to Mikado,” Walter said firmly.

He craned his neck to force Jonathan to look him in the eyes. 

“You’ve said as much,” Jonathan replied, leveraging his palms against the wall behind him with nowhere left to hide. “I… I think that may be for the best.” 

“You shouldn’t, either.” 

A long pause had settled between them before Jonathan fully understood, his eyes narrowing with each passing second. He didn’t appear angry, but rather at a loss, like Walter had just made a joke he couldn’t comprehend. 

“What on earth are you…” Jonathan shook his head. “Walter, I realize that you see it differently, but I took an oath to the-“ 

He had to know. Didn’t he? 

Walter gritted his teeth, cutting him off. 

“To Mikado or the Archangels?” His voice echoed throughout the empty hallway, jagged and metallic. 

Jonathan froze. 

“The Archangels are part of Mikado, they have come to save Mikado,” he said, each word slow and deliberate. “And I will not abandon my home in its greatest time of need.” 

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it?” Walter asked. “I’m not so sure the people of Mikado they’ve already done away with would agree.” 

He gesticulated towards the ceiling, to the billowing wind and mountains of sand above ground. 

“Look around you, Jonathan! Did you think it merely a coincidence that Pluto acted in God’s name?! This is what awaits our world if the Archangels have their way, this is the Lord that calls their bidding!” 

Jonathan shook his head again vigorously, pulling Walter’s remaining hand from his overcoat and throwing it to the side as though he’d been burned. 

“God would not do this,” he said, the slightest tremor of his jaw betraying his confidence. “He… would not allow people to suffer like this!” 

Walter stared down at his clenched fist. 

Of course he didn’t know. 

Jonathan still believed in the good God, the one that never existed in the first place, that Luxurors and Casualries all prayed to. The one they thanked for rain, and food, and shelter, for their very own lives. He couldn’t begin to compete with that. He was waiting for an epiphany that would never come. 

This was how things were always meant to be. 

Walter scoffed, turning on his heel to peek down the corridor to where their room was. It was fine- he’d take his sword, go out and get in some good practice until Flynn got back, then they’d rest one last time, and be on their merry way to… somewhere. 

He smacked away at a smudge of dirt on his pant leg from sitting on the shelter floor, ignoring how Jonathan watched him, unmoving. Silent, and always just too far away to reach.

“Jonathan,” he said, glancing up. 

His soon-to-be former fellow tilted his head, scrutinizing him with what energy he had left. Walter could tell that his heart wasn’t really in it anymore, and neither was his.   

“… I hope that He is kind to you.”

Jonathan’s eyes glistened, the line between his brow softening. In his hair, flecks of golden sand reflected off of the low lights and Walter couldn’t help but want to tease him about it. I told you so. 

“I pray the same for you,” Jonathan replied, his voice wavering and yet so sincere. 

In spite of himself, Walter offered a brittle smile that Jonathan did not return. It was all that he was willing to give. 

“Good luck with that.”

If Jonathan had something more to say, Walter did not linger long enough to hear it, and made his way to their room to gather his things. 

He laid Jonathan’s sword by the beds as he shimmied on his gauntlet, leaving a layer of the blankets untucked. 

Later, underneath the burning sun of a blasted Tokyo, he climbed the dunes with his scarf pulled up over his nose in search of a distraction that he could channel a lifetime's worth of anger into. Pluto the Tormentor may have been gone, but the wind still howled, and the land remained too barren and inhospitable for any human to truly live there. The pessimist within him had a feeling that it would always be that way. Total annihilation would have been kinder. 

Walter was not sure what would come of this Tokyo when they left, but he knew one thing for certain- he was going to do everything within his power to prevent it from ever happening to theirs.