Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Welcome to your own personal hell, Error Y! 

Now this was never supposed to happen, but it did, so might as well make the best of it right? Hopefully you aren’t killed like those before you, that wouldn’t be entertaining and waiting for a new Yuu would take ages!

I’ll be with you all the way, through your breakdowns, happiest moments and even while you sleep! There is no way to get rid of me, so bear with it!

It’s going to be a long ride, so make sure you're secure because this roller coaster might just leave you gasping for breath. 

Also, congratulations on being chosen, not everyone gets this chance; you’re one in a billion!

Now, sleep little eighth 

And remember 

Sometimes, Silence is more powerful than any words or actions will ever be.

Oh!

By the way

I’m Sorry For The Bumpy Ride~

Chapter Text

Waking up in a coffin was not on your bucket list, but strange things happen right?

Waking up in a floating coffin, standing up was definitely odd. But what was odder was waking up in a coffin that was floating, standing up, and in a room full of other floating coffins. Except it seemed like all of them had already been opened, and yours still had dust forming on the lid. 

Most of the coffins you knew of were either some variation of brown or white, but these were definitely navy blue. The gold details on the coffin seemed hand painted—you couldn't tell in the lighting—and there were beautifully elegant designs on the box. Two pairs of golden wings at the top surrounded the head-sized, oval-ish, colored glass on the lid. A pair of stars were below it; one after the other vertically, one with eight points the other with four. At the lower center a huge image of a lock was placed, and right under were golden doves? Ravens? You knew as much about birds as the next person. Right at the bottom was a heart with a four point star in the middle. That was all that you could make out, and nothing else about the death box seemed interesting enough to make note of. 

"Where can you even get coffins for giants? Who in the world is this strong and crazy to make a key this huge?' as you realized the keyhole was the size of your hand, actually, maybe it was twice the size. One thought led to another and suddenly your whole hand was inside the hole, but the rest of your arm couldn't pass through. Reaching around to feel something led to nothing, so you pulled your hand back out.

You looked back up at the gray, foggy-looking mirror. 'Looks smooth...' getting up on your tip-toes, and reaching a hand out to try and touch it the sound of cold, hard gem resounded in your ears. Tap  'Huh. Not…Resin? Colored glass? Crystal maybe? Where in the world is there a mine where you could find a gem this large? And it's polished, so the original size must have been even larger.' You looked around once more. 'There must be over a dozen more coffins, all of them have'a different colored crystal…'

First question of the day, why the fuck had you been stuffed into a death box? 

Actually, better question. 

Whom the fuck had stuffed you in a death box? Proper grammar is very important.

Now almost awake, running on the adrenaline of not knowing your surroundings, eyes trying to adjust to the darkness of the room, you could see there were dozens of the same boxes, most, if not all of them taller than you.

Walking over to a few only reinforced the fact that, if there were other people that had been in these, most of them were at least 5 inches taller than you.

Actually, there were more pressing problems to worry about other than giants that were around 5'11. Problems like, where are you? Why were you in a coffin of all things? How are all these coffins floating?? Why are there absolutely humongous gems/resin ovals/glass ovals on the coffins, all the colors of the rainbow, but the one on yours is gray? A little more trivial but, were these coffins made to put live people in them? Walking back towards the coffin you fell out of, noticing the soft, plush lining of velvet in a color reminiscent of slightly dried-up blood.

Stepping inside once again, you grab the lid and slide it back into place. You had already swiped both your hand and leg under; nothing there, and you were too short to see if there was anything holding it by its top but you were fairly positive there wasn't anything there. It took a bit of effort to get inside considering the fact that it was floating(floating! it was fuc-sorry ducking, floating!), and you had to lug what felt like a 30 pound wooden board, but you made it work. 

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Clean, fresh air kept coming into your nose.

Huh. "Perfectly breathable, seems to have air holes..."

…Somewhere.

Now you were trying not to freak out. Kidnapped and stuffed into something generally meant for the dead, in an unknown place.

"Where am I?" A whispered question, and, as you were sure there wasn't anyone else in the room, one that would receive no answer until much later.

You touched the polished grey thing on the lid, now sitting on the floor, lid at your feet.

Then, a new question, unlike all the others.

Ẇ̸͓̟͈̱͙̜̪͇͒̿̓̋̈́͂̐̚͜͝ḩ̸̡͔͍͙͇͔͎̥̭̬̪̇̄̊̉͂̾̒͛̂̑͘ͅå̶̫͍̾t̷̪͎͇̮̮͓͔͎́͛̄͗͊͛̎̍́͊ ̷̨̥̘̠̙̠̲̺̈́̎̓̓̿́̃͊̓͑͊́h̶͕̪̬̰̹̗̜͔̦͗͋͌̏̇̋̈̅̄͊͗͛͘a̴̦̙̬̓͆̈́̽̆̅̀̽̿̓̂̈́͘p̷̡̛̙͕̮̓̑̈́̈́̀̃̓͑͒̑̕͠p̶̢̖̲̖͔͉͕̪̝̦̭̀͗̎͒̊͂͑ȩ̵͖̙̜͙͎͉̾̀̎̎͛́̈́ň̵̤̪̖̭̗̣̠͔͚̩̏͝ͅë̴̢͕͈̯͈͍͎̺̯̣̟́̔̈́̓̇̆̂͂̐̔ḑ̸̢͎̬̳͓̘͕̬̯̼͂̏́̈͌̅̕̕͜ ̶̨̘̗̜̻̖͈͍̬̐͐̓̄͑̃̆͗ț̶̢̲̾̄̐̍̀͐͐͛̾̀̑̾͘̕͠ͅō̴̗̮̇̾̓̅̅̕͘ ̵̫͑̊̓́̏̐̄̅̈́ͅȳ̸̧̛̯̹̳̮̩̯͖̗̼̖͔͕͒̇́̍̀́͘͝ǫ̶̳̟̩̺̫͙̙̠͖̙͇̘̯̈́͘ṷ̷̻̻̈́̉̕?̶̡̩͇͚̞̞̟̗͌̓̆͜ ̸̱̘̓͂̋̋̑͘͝͝͝W̷̡͈͇̰̜̱̫̬͎̙͎̅̋̈̈́̌́̐̅̈́̐͐̓͘͜͜ḧ̵̡̖̦͕͍́͂̏͌y̷͕̳̩̣̠̰͍̪̯͋͐̈́͂͌͌́̈́͊̚͜͝͝ ̵̯̤͊̽́́̾͂̅͠w̷̟̜̪͔̬̙͖̤̬͕̩̩̰͓̄͐̌͜͝͝ẹ̵̀ṙ̵͔͗̎̕͠͝è̸̡̻̣̤͖̘̼̙͈̗̼̮̮̲̀̓͌ͅň̴̡̪̯̃̅͛̔͜'̵̨͎̰̥̣͔̉̐͘ͅţ̷̛̝̯͓̳̠͙͙̇́̓̐̂̓̽̈́̚͝͠͝ ̵̈́̏̔̎̒̚͠y̵̢͙̹̜̜͇͎̓̀͌̂͝͝ö̸͙͇̹̿̐̀ứ̴̖̻̤̥̱̖̫̭̦̬̲̜͔̠͐͆͒͗̎̀͐̚̕͘͝ ̷͈̭͖̙̞̗̮̝̀͐́̃̃̐͐͘͘͠ḑ̶̨̘̖̲͔̭̜̤̳̺͍̳̯͐̃̎̏̐͛̓͝ę̵̮̳̈̅̉͑̀̄̚̕͠ą̶̜̭̲͇̖̻̭̠̯͙̹̀͒͊͂̐͊d̸̞͎͖̉́̽̑͑̿̓̄͝͝͝͝?̷̢̡̥͍͔̻̜͚̘͂̽̂̈́̔͘͜͜

Just as the thought hit, an absolutely head splitting headache halted your thoughts, leaving you clutching your head, buzzing and ringing starting in your ears making everything worse.

Shopping.

That's what you were doing outside so late at night.

Shopping for food.

You, like the forgetful night-owl you were, hadn't remembered to buy food for the apartment you shared with two tiny little gremlins who always ate more than you weighed. How, you didn't know. At this point, just accepting the fact that they were just black holes wearing a human child's skin was the only way you could rationalize the amount they ate. It was honestly just baffling. Pancakes, steak, mashed potatoes, meat pie, congee, roasted duck, pudding, ice-cream, one moment the food was there, the next; gone. The only evidence it was ever there being the container it came in, and the small bits on their faces. They were always so messy, no matter how many times you tried to teach them manners while at the table.

You remembered lunch with them as you were crossing the street, making sure that there weren't any cars. You had voted for something spicy, maybe Korean. They voted for burgers. And, as everyone knows, majority wins. 

"Big brother! Big Brother!" The sound of small, heavy footsteps and the excited yelling got your attention immediately. Stopping the tap, orange rubber gloves still on, you turned to face your younger sister. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, smiling so wide you thought her face might split. Being barely half your height, crouching down was the only way to be at her level. 

You don't remember what she wanted.

You don't remember your response.

You remember your last moments, after the carriage.

Carriage?

What carriage?

Oh, right.

The carriage that hit you.

What?

The carriage that caused your death.

Huh?

Your death? It wasn't beautiful, oh no, far from it. 

It was absolutely sickening to watch, I was about to throw up! All that blood leaving your body couldn't have been nice.

The dam was cracking, slowly, bits and pieces flaking off into the water below. A large chunk fell off, then another, and another. Everything came crashing down on you like a huge wave.

Sorry, not sorry!

*Warning! Gore? starts here!*

He had heard the crunch of his bones underneath the vehicle, felt the seeping of blood; his blood, through his clothes, the weight of something crushing him. His spine and ribs, most crushed and broken, legs no longer responding, and it was getting harder to breathe. The small bits of dirt and dust and teeny tiny rocks moving into his opened flesh. Like sandpaper.

The blood, (my blood) was warm, but the night air combined with the loss of the red substance was making his body progressively colder and warm at the same time.

Every small movement, from the wind to the carriage swaying back and forth, side to side, made pain shoot throughout his body.

His body had hit the pavement so hard, so fast, everything was spinning, spinning, spinning. Why was it so bright? So dark? Everything had felt like a blur, as if it were only a distant memory. Not real, not real, not real, not-

EVERYTHING HURTS

Unfortunately for him, he was not given the mercy of passing out from the pain or dying completely, brain shutting down and the feeling of nothingness. 

No—he was forced to lie awake, conscious, barely there but still breathing, still alive. His heartbeat—a broken, but slightly steady rhythm in his head. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ... ba-dum, ba-dum ... ba-dum, ... ba-dum

It was maddening.

He knew what he saw before he blacked out, minutes or hours afterward. 

His body, twisted in unnatural angles, blood seeping through every crevice it could, every cut, every large wound, every opened vein. His guts, intestines, spilling onto the paved road, a horrible stench filling the air as his stomach burst and the acid started to eat away at youhim. The thin, rickety wheels of the carriage, somehow, still intact. 

And splintering into his flesh. 

One wheel cutting into the lower part of a leg—left, his mind supplied. 

And-

And-

HE COULDN’T FEEL HIS RIGHT FOOT

He looked down, the action had him crying, but he needed to see.

Regret, pain, and fear lined every millimeter of his face. Tears blurred the edges of his vision, trailing down his cheeks, under his chin, before settling on his neck. He let out a sob. Or was it a wet cry through stained skin and a blood filled throat? It was all too painful to make out. He closed his eyes. Cruel, forced acceptance.

His right foot, absolutely cut off from his body, and it seemed that the force of the impact had knocked it back just a few inches. Could see his baby blue sneaker, still on the foot. Where it was supposed to attach to his ankle, spilling blood, bone in his view. 

The other front wheel logged in his chest, and he knew one of his lungs had been punctured and crushed, one arm gone, wheel coming deathly close to his heart.

He was bleeding out,

He couldn't breathe

Slowly, agonizingly slow, forced into immeasurable pain all because he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

(Mmmmm, were you really?)

He saw everything, even in the darkness—the lights the carriage had were bordering on blinding—and even through his pain-induced delirium.

So broken that if anyone were ever to find him; could ever find him, wherever he was—he couldn’t remember—it would take hours, maybe even days, weeks, of trying to fix him, stitching him up like a little rag doll, so that he could keep living. Even then, there was a chance that it would never work. He’d still be broken, strapped to a wheelchair, maybe his arms would no longer be there, or stuck in a coma forever, people feeding him through a tube. Keeping him alive but always on the brink. There was a chance he would never make it to a hospital, a chance he would never be able to leave it. There was no-one to pay for his hospital bills—his parents were gone and he had no siblings either. He didn't have the money to pay for long-term treatment, or surgery! Most of it had gone to food and the small apartment he was renting!

Was this karma? Karma for hurting someone? Did he upset someone, some ancient spirit or god maybe, and this was their revenge? What was the reason for this? What could possibly justify this happening to him? He doesn't deserve this. He has kids to take care of for gods sake! He has friends, a good job, kind neighbors. He finally has people who care about him. Him, as a person. Why him? Why now?

He would die cold, in pain, and alone. 

He should have died like that.

HE SHOULD HAVE DIED.

(But look at you here, still kicking.)

[There’s a piece of him that’s still trying to believe none of it happened]

"Wha-what the fuck." Your vision was spotty, heart pounding in your chest so loud you could hear it in your ears. A dream. A memory. Not a good one. The details blurred in your mind and kept escaping your grasp, like the tides coming in and out after you threw a seashell into it, never to be found again.

The more you tried to recall what the memory was about, the more it disappeared. And, soon enough, it was gone. All you were left with was the dread and fear and the horrible, sticky wet feeling of blood running down your body. All you were left with was the pain of injuries long gone, forced to lay on the cold, unforgiving floor of an unfamiliar room because there was nothing that could help you get out of the sheer agony that plagued you. 

Your eyes started to close, the pain, stress, and fatigue that came with waking up too early hitting you like a truck. You blinked fiercely, trying to keep your eyes open. Blink-blink-blink-blink. It was a futile effort, as your eyes were dropping and your mind was becoming a foggy mess.

"It's dark," you mumbled.

Thud