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It begins as it usually does – with a request for help that Natsume is utterly unable to turn down.
“Our lord is growing weaker by the day,” one of the crow yokai sobs, its wings hunched protectively around itself. “No humans come to visit any more. His shrine is overgrown with moss and weeds – we’ve tried to maintain it, but we can’t!”
The other crow yokai cluster around the speaker, petting him gently. “We hoped you would be able to, Natsume-dono,” another of the crow yokai explains. “Many shrines have human caretakers, so you must know something we don’t.”
“The secrets of shrine upkeep!” another yokai shrieks.
“Yes, yes, the secrets,” the rest of them chorus together.
Natsume and Nyanko-sensei exchange a look. Natsume can tell that Nyanko-sensei is already fed-up with these yokai, but he can’t help but feel for them. They’re so distressed at the thought of their god’s dirty shrine. However... he doesn’t know of any “shrine upkeep” secrets.
“Have... have you tried scrubbing it?” he asks, trying to suss out the source of their trouble.
The yokai all look confused. “What?” replies one of them. “What do you mean?”
“You know,” Natsume says, miming a scrubbing motion with his hand, “when you take a brush, and you use soap and water and....” He trails off as the yokai’s confusion doesn’t abate.
Nyanko-sensei cackles, sidling up to press his body against Natsume’s leg. “Not everyone knows how to clean as well as you, Natsume,” he teases. “Now explain it to them, and let’s be on our way. You promised me dango from the corner store.”
“I did no such thing!” Natsume protests. “I bought you dango two days ago, sensei.” He turns back to face the crow yokai. “I’ll get you a bucket and a brush, as well as some soap. With a little bit of scrubbing, I’m sure your god’s shrine will be clean in no time!”
The yokai all cheer, their wings spread and fluttering excitedly. There’s an old, grody brush that Touko-san never uses any more tossed in with the rest of the cleaning supplies. Natsume grabs that and a rusty bucket. He squeezes a bit of soap into the bottom of the bucket and then returns to his room to give the yokai a crash course in cleaning. It takes longer than he would have expected, but eventually he’s able to send them back to their forest, cleaning supplies clutched in their talons.
“Thank you, Natsume-dono,” the last of the crow yokai cries as it takes off from Natsume’s windowsill.
“Finally,” Nyanko-sensei grumbles, flopping onto his cushion. “What stupid yokai. You shouldn’t help them all the time, Natsume.”
Natsume shrugs, smiling at him helplessly. “It was an easy problem to fix.”
“This one was,” Nyanko-sensei argues, pointing one of his paws emphatically at Natsume. “But someday this soft heart of yours is going to get you into major trouble.”
“You always say that,” Natsume replies, flopping back on his futon and stretching out one hand to absentmindedly card through Nyanko-sensei’s fur. “But you always rescue me anyway, sensei.”
The cat grumbles to himself, but doesn’t respond. He shuffles a little closer to the futon, wordlessly pushing his back into the motion of Natsume’s hand. Natsume huffs out a small laugh, digging his fingers deeper into the soft fur.
A few days later, the crow yokai are back in Natsume’s room. They are noticeably downtrodden as they present Natsume with a ruined brush and a filthy bucket.
“We tried,” one of them explains, wings fluttering anxiously. “We did, but the lichens wouldn’t budge.”
“Or the vines,” another chimes in.
“The dirt came off, a bit,” admits one.
Natsume sighs, contemplating the half-destroyed brush. “Fine,” he says, climbing to his feet. “Let me grab another brush and I’ll help you clean the shrine.”
“Natsume!” Nyanko-sensei yowls, launching himself towards the boy’s head. On reflex, Natsume brings up his hands to awkwardly catch the cat. “You don’t need to help these useless birds!” He hisses at the yokai, who all shriek back at him, their wings bristling. Natsume drops Nyanko-sensei to clap his hands over his ears.
After a few moments, the cacophony subsides. Natsume uncovers his ears. The yokai all look sheepish, but Nyanko-sensei huffs in satisfaction, utterly unrepentant.
“I’m going, sensei,” Natsume states firmly. “It’s only a bit of cleaning.”
“But that’s boring,” Nyanko-sensei whines.
“Well, you don’t have to stay. I’ll be cleaning, sensei.”
“You’ll probably find some way to get into trouble anyway,” Nyanko-sensei grumbles, but Natsume can see that he’s won this argument. With a small smile, he rises to his feet to go collect some undamaged cleaning supplies. The crow yokai all cheer loudly behind him.
The shrine is located a good hour’s walk from Natsume’s house, deep in the woods. It’s nestled in between two old oak trees, and is covered with debris and vines. Natsume wouldn’t have noticed it at all if the yokai hadn’t led him there.
“Did you do any cleaning at all?” Natsume sighs, kneeling in front of the small stone structure. It’s old, and the carvings and the kanji that decorate its surface are faded. Natsume easily brushes off a layer of dead leaves and pebbles. There’s a lot of debris to clear off the stone, but once he does that and pulls off a couple of clinging vines, he can see that the stone is almost sparkling. There are no stubborn lichens or difficult clumps of mud to be seen.
“What?” Natsume murmurs to himself. “Did somebody–” He turns to the crow yokai behind him, only to find empty air. The yokai have all disappeared. The forest is silent and still. Natsume feels a sudden chill and vaguely wishes that he hadn’t left Nyanko-sensei at home.
“Hello?” he calls out into the trees. “I... I don’t think I need to clean this shrine. Are... Have you taken me to the right place? Hello?”
“Alright,” he finally declares, stooping to collect the bucket and the brush. “If I don’t need to be here, I’m going back.”
As he turns back towards the path, he comes nose-to-nose with a cloaked figure. Yelping in surprise, he stumbles backward, painfully banging his legs into the shrine.
“Sorry, sorry!” Natsume exclaims. “I didn’t know you were there.”
The figure says nothing in response. They’re wearing a threadbare robe, which was once obviously brightly colored and ornately embroidered, but is now frayed and bleached of color. The deep cowl casts their face in shadow. Natsume isn’t certain if they’re human or yokai.
“Sorry,” Natsume repeats, trying to edge around them. “I’m just leaving. Excuse me.”
“They have chosen well,” replies the figure. Their voice is dark and deep, endless, like the quiet after a heavy snowfall. It sends shivers down Natsume’s spine.
“What?”
“They have chosen well,” the figure repeats. “My servants. They have chosen me…” they breathe in deeply, their shoulders rising with the movement of it, “such a good body.” They turn suddenly to face Natsume, and for the first time, Natsume is able to see their face. They have a long, cruel beak, and a gaunt, hollow face. There is no softness in their expression, and their eyes burn with avarice.
“Your... servants?” Natsume asks. “But you’re not–”
“A god?” the yokai sneers. “Not like they can tell the difference. Nor could the servants that came before them. And the servants that come after them...” The yokai smirks. “Well, they won’t be able to either.” Their expression shifts to something contemplative. Even with the inhuman features, Natsume is able to tell that the expression is fake. “What is a god, really? Powerful beings that are worshipped? By that definition, I would be a god, would I not? I just need, well, more worshippers. You’ll help me get them, won’t you?”
“Ummm, I d-don’t think–” Natsume stammers, backing away.
The grin slips from the yokai’s face. “I wasn’t really asking.” The yokai rises off the ground, hovering a few inches off the packed dirt. Then, suddenly, the yokai rushes at Natsume in a blur of wind and cloth, and Natsume knows no more.
He aches, his entire being throbbing with pain. He curls into a fetal position, absently noting that his limbs weigh nothing. His body is insubstantial. And yet, he hurts.
He opens his eyes. Madara is standing in front of him, not in his lucky cat form, but in his intimidating wolf-like form. His long, sharp teeth are bared, and he looks incandescently angry.
“You imposter!” he growls. “Where is Natsume? What have you done with him?”
Natsume tries to vaguely protest that he’s right in front of him, obviously, but his body is smoke. His mouth doesn’t move.
Instead, something that is Not-Self, something vast and cold and dark, speaks. “ He’s gone,” Not-Self says, and its voice echoes in the hollows of Natsume’s skull. “Such a wonderful body he left behind.”
Madara growls, a furious, wounded sound. “Liar,” he snarls, his massive claws gouging deep furrows in the dirt.
Not-Self smiles, and sadistic amusement trickles over Natsume’s skin. “ You should have kept a better eye on him, if he meant so much to you. ”
Natsume waits for the denial, for Madara to claim that he’s just protecting Natsume out of amusement or self-interest, but instead Madara roars, and lunges at Natsume, jaws open and claws extended.
Natsume is startled – the sight of Madara’s wide-open mouth is sudden, but not unfamiliar – but Not-Self flinches, a violent shudder that vibrates Natsume’s bones. It reacts a second too late, and Madara scoops up Natsume into his mouth.
“ What are you going to do now? ” demands Not-Self, squirming in Madara’s gentle hold. “ You want to kill me, don’t you? ” Madara doesn’t answer. “ Why don’t you then? Crush this fragile, little body, with its weak, breakable bones. ”
Slowly, Natsume feels Madara open his mouth, Natsume and Not-Self slipping from his jaws. Not-Self laughs, pulling their body to their feet. “ Aw, you can’t do it, can you? I assure you, Natsume is well and truly gone. But still, you can’t hurt his body. It’s sweet, in a sad sort of way. ”
I’m here, Natsume thinks desperately, trying to move his mouth and tongue and throat. It is difficult to tell in this form, but Madara looks pained, tired, and something edging on desperate. He has to tell him that Not-Self was lying, that it’s saying these things just to hurt him! He has to give him hope! I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. “ I’m here. ”
Madara’s eyes snap to him. “Natsume,” he breathes. “Natsume!”
Natsume can feel Not-Self’s attention turn inwards. “What an annoying little bug,” Not-Self booms in the cavern of their skull. “It’s too bad I didn’t manage to crush you. Oh well.” There is the distinct sensation of a shrug. “I can just try again, I suppose.”
And then there is only pain. Natsume screams soundlessly, trapped in the fortress of his own mind.
A circle of crow yokai surround him, bowing their heads in abeyance. “All hail–”
He flies on the wind, only air beneath his feet. The world expands before him, pulsing with life and magic. He breathes in, calling to the reservoir of power. The air shudders with it...
The yokai screams as he spears it with swords made of shadow and dust. “Bow to me,” he croons…
He is at the center of a circle of yokai, many of them familiar to him. Madara is right in front of him, flanked by Hinoe and Misuzu. Not-Self is furious, its rage battering at Natsume. But the sensation is further away now, no longer the overwhelming waves of emotion it had been before.
There is a tugging in his mind, like someone peeling off an old bandage. It hurts a bit, but with every jolt of pain, he can feel Not-Self drawing further and further away.
He gradually becomes aware of a bone-deep weariness. His legs crumple from underneath him, and his vision spins as he topples to the ground. He can move again, he realizes, threading his fingers through the grass. Not-Self is very far away, a distant, tinny voice screaming in his ear. With one last twinge of pain, it is gone completely, and Natsume is once again, blessedly, alone inside his head.
Darkness flutters at the edges of his vision. He fights to keep his eyes open, terrified of the things that will lurk in his dreams. (Or worse, waking up to the realization that this was the dream, and Not-Self is still there, in his head.)
“Sleep, Natsume,” Madara says, his voice a deep, soothing rumble. His face hovers over Natsume for a moment, before he ever-so-gently scoops him up into his mouth. Natsume relaxes into the secure and comforting hold. He sleeps.
Natsume blearily opens his eyes, blinking away the sleep that had gathered at the corners of them. Above him, there’s the familiar sight of his bedroom ceiling. “Did I...” he mumbles to himself. He tries to sit up, but he’s too weak. He flops back onto the futon with a sigh.
A warm paw brushes his cheek. He turns his head to see Nyanko-sensei, back in his lucky cat form once more.
“Did that all really happen?” he asks Nyanko-sensei.
“Unfortunately,” he grumbles, shuffling closer to press himself against Natsume’s shoulder. “You’re not to go out alone again. You get into entirely too much trouble.”
Natsume smiles, rolling over just enough to plant a kiss in Nyanko-sensei’s short, wiry fur. He doesn’t say that Nyanko-sensei was the one who had elected not to go to the shrine with Natsume, just like he doesn’t mention the way that Nyanko-sensei is plastered along his side or the occasional purrs that vibrate against his skin. Neither of them bring up the Book of Friends, or Natsume’s promise to Nyanko-sensei.
“Thank you,” Natsume murmurs. Nyanko-sensei doesn’t respond, but after a few moments, the yokai shuffles up a bit, just enough that he can curl around Natsume’s shoulder and nestle his head against Natsume’s cheek. Natsume smiles. Here, he knows, he is safe.
Eventually, Natsume drifts off to sleep again. His dreams are dark, frozen, twisted things, but in all of them, a massive creature with sharp claws and snow-white fur walks by his side. He sleeps peacefully through the night.