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Madoka had made a contract.
There were many things, countless things Homura had prepared herself for and that she could always find a way to manage and handle. She could throw herself into the thick of battle at a moment’s notice, ready and willing to risk it all over and over, on an endless march of danger and near misses. It was expected, it was anticipated, and it was something she could always find a way to get through.
No matter how many times she saw it, though, she was never prepared to enter a labyrinth and see a flurry of pink at the center of it all, taking every risk that Homura would stand in her place for without hesitation.
It was barely a week in. She had sought out Madoka immediately, begged her to consider her own safety, the worth of the life she was living. She thought she had gotten through to her, for once, that maybe she could keep her away.
But Madoka had made a contract.
Somehow, Homura moved from being in the midst of battle, watching Madoka pull back the string of her bow with a breath more entirely stolen than just baited, to standing before her as the labyrinth fell apart around them.
The witch must have died, at some point. Homura probably helped with the efforts.
All she could see, all she could process, was that Madoka had made a contract, and that it was too late.
“I know… I know you didn’t want me even talking to Kyubey, and I don’t mean to worry you, Homura-chan.”
Didn’t mean to? How could she not have, after ignoring Homura’s warnings so completely? She wasn’t succeeding at anything but worrying her, with even the rescues performed likely being short lived. No one would be safe once Walpurgisnacht got there, and any daring rescues even Madoka managed would be pointless.
“It all happened so quickly, and there were a lot of innocent people in danger, so I just had to make a deal with Kyubey.”
The wretched creature had run off somewhere as soon as Homura had shown up, unfortunately knowing better than to have a proper argument in front of its newest recruit. That left Homura without a proper target for the anger boiling in her heart, for the venom that she could feel gathering.
Kyubey deserved Homura’s ire, and far, far worse.
But didn’t the doomed ‘innocents’ that made Madoka do this deserve it as well? It’d nearly be forgivable, to jump into the line of death if it had been Sayaka Miki, or even Hitomi Shizuki. Homura would personally not forgive them for as much, but the choice would still make sense. She didn’t understand why Madoka would make such a choice for no one that important. She couldn’t stand that Madoka would willingly accept inevitable death, accept Homura losing her, for absolute nobodies.
How could she expect anything else from Madoka, though? Madoka would always choose the kindest option, choose whatever would be the best for anyone else. She was too good to even consider another option, no matter what Homura wanted from her. She wasn’t selfish like Homura was.
She would never be mad at Homura for giving into her best instincts. She’d even believe Homura still had those to lean on.
“I promise, I’ll always be really, really careful in battle! I won’t take any big risks, or anything like that, so you won’t have to worry.”
Stepping onto the streets with the intention to find witches was too big a risk to begin with. So much as speaking with Kyubey was too big a risk. Allowing it to turn her into a soul gem was a risk that couldn’t be taken back, couldn’t be undone, couldn’t be remedied.
There was no use in being careful when her entire existence was already doomed, a ticking time bomb of emotions spiraling and waiting to spill over in despair that couldn’t be contained, until she was lost to Homura again.
Being careful never helped before. It never could. There was no safety for a magical girl, no way out of the darkness, no end but the miserable death awaiting them.
Even if Madoka went through every battle flawlessly, never got so much as a scratch, that wouldn’t save her from Walpurgisnacht, and it certainly wouldn’t save her from herself once her misery overwhelmed her wish.
“If it would make you feel better, we could go on patrol for witches together! That way, we can keep each other safe!”
Was Madoka even safe with Homura?
She had gone into battle with her countless times, but it always ended the same in the end, even if she could keep the danger at bay for individual instants. Staying by her side never fixed anything long term.
Sometimes it made it worse.
Homura could still remember the cold metal pressing into her palms as she held her gun up with both hands, trying to keep them from shaking so badly that she missed the shot and made this worse, more painful. She remembered Madoka’s face already twisting in pain, agony at the transformation that only she could stop. She remembered taking aim at a soul gem already corrupting, moments from bursting.
She remembers pulling the trigger, and Madoka going limp.
“... Would that help?”
Homura’s attention, wandering further and further from the present in a swirling mess of memories that couldn’t come to pass again, snapped back to the Madoka in front of her, now looking so worried and concerned.
“You haven’t… said anything, yet, but I thought…”
Madoka was worried about Homura, the one who had already failed her so completely. She was looking at her with those kind eyes clouded over in distress, and it was her fault. She was the one who made her upset, the one who couldn’t comfort her, the one who couldn’t keep this situation from happening in the first place.
It was her failure that led them both here, to this place, again and again, on a loop Homura couldn’t escape from while still holding onto Madoka’s hand.
A hand that kept reaching out to her regardless, a hand that forgave ad nauseam.
How could she even consider anger at anyone but herself? How could she look in the face of the only one who could ever accept her and feel anything but shame that it was possible? How could Homura not at least give her the false comfort of kind words?
“... It’s fine. I’m sure you will be able to handle yourself, now that you’re here.”
The only words Homura could speak sounded despondent, the dishonesty seeping into them to sound uncaring. It wasn’t the apology Madoka deserved, and it wasn’t the confirmation she wanted either.
Madoka’s expression somehow fell even further, clearly disappointed, and Homura ached knowing it was her fault. That lasted only an instant, though, before a hesitant and likely fake smile took its place.
“I’m still sorry even if it is fine. But… I’m not sorry that I’ll be able to help you, now.”
The world fell into a blur once more at those words.
Madoka was always helping her, in more ways that she could imagine, in more ways than Homura could ever hope to repay with her endless failures. There was no way to communicate that she didn’t need to be a magical girl to do so, didn’t need to wield a bow or stand by her side in a hopeless fight.
She never had to, she never should have, and Homura couldn’t let her make that choice again. Homura couldn’t lower her into the grave herself again. Homura couldn’t stand to watch Madoka die even one more time.
The word goodbye passed her lips without thought, and was returned in turn, but without the awareness of how final it was.
As soon as Madoka was no longer within sight, lost in the labyrinth Homura trapped her in personally once more, she reached for her greatest wish without a moment to consider another option.
This timeline was another dead end.
It was time to try again.