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Looking back, Iori was ashamed to admit that he hadn’t been paying all that much attention to Takeru that morning. Though if he were being fair to himself, there had been no pressing reason to. The sun was bright, the breeze was delightfully cool, and there had been a remarkable lack of bickering among the team today. Armadimon padded along beside him and hummed some off-tune digimon song he couldn’t place.
Iori was content.
He trailed along behind the others on the way to the next digimon village. They were in no hurry. Patrols these days had been uneventful. Relaxed. Enjoyable. The biggest thing driving his feet forward now was the first stirrings of hunger. The steady tap of his bag against his back assured him he had more than enough lunch to fill up and even more to share.
Ahead of him, Takeru glanced back. Iori gave him a delayed, distracted smile.
The second time as well.
The third time, however, was accompanied by a furrowed brow and a swat like Takeru was shooing away a bug. Iori’s peaceful haze faded away. There were no insects small enough in the digital world to be a casual nuisance.
Iori opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Takeru huffed and turned around to walk backward. He looked out over Iori’s head, squeezing the straps of his backpack repeatedly.
Patamon pushed higher on his shoulder, rubbing ear to ear and knocking Takeru’s hat askew. “Again?”
”Yeah.”
Iori looked behind them and saw only the dancing grass and the mountains in the distance. Armadimon paused too, cocking his head, and then hurried to catch up.
“What are ya looking for?”
Takeru groaned. “I don’t know...”
“Is something wrong?” Iori asked when Takeru didn’t continue.
“That’s not you, is it?”
“I haven’t done anything, I think.”
“What was Iori not doing?” Armadimon asked.
“He thought I was poking him,” Patamon chirped, his tone turning haughty. “I was not.”
“I said sorry,” Takeru said with a small, forced laugh. He tripped a bit on his own shoes and turned back around.
Iori expected him to say something further, but Takeru didn’t explain.
Iori wasn’t worried, per se, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Takeru was more bothered than he wanted to admit. Iori caught the slightest stiffening of Takeru’s gait. Saw the way his backpack twitched and he jerked forward with an extra-long step. Takeru didn’t look back this time.
Their shadows swayed along ahead of them, and the longer Iori looked at them, the darker they seemed to grow. He stared, and they bled out around the edges, reaching for others to join-
“Woah, you’re stepping on me!”
Iori blinked rapidly at Armadimon’s yelp, his feet tumbling back to their proper track. He shook his head and looked again.
The shadows were only shadows.
Iori changed his mind. He was worried. He hesitantly reached out to Takeru along their bond and like always, met a dead end. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to quell his frustration.
“The sun getting to ya?” his partner asked in mild concern.
“I- Sorry, Armadimon. I’m just- Ow!”
Iori stumbled back and rubbed at the corner of his eye where one of the zippers from Takeru’s backpack had jabbed.
Takeru was frozen in the middle of the path.
Takeru didn’t acknowledge the collision. When his voice came, it was only a breath. “What?”
The others slowed, turning back to look at them. Takeru stared into the distance. There was an odd look on his face that sent something curdling in Iori’s stomach.
“Takeru?” Hikari asked. “What’s the matter?”
“I heard...” The moment stretched and he snapped out of it, looking around at them uncomfortably. “Something’s been touching me.”
Miyako laughed, a short, stilted sound. “Uh, something that’s not Patamon?”
Takeru didn’t rise to the bait, suddenly twitching away from what Iori could only see as thin air. “Is this not happening to anyone else? I swear I heard a laugh.” He glared at nothing. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny anymore.”
“I don’t think anyone here is doing anything. Is it possible that there’s a digimon that’s invisible?” Ken asked their partners.
“It’s possible,” Wormmon said. “But I don’t know any that live around here.”
The other digimon mumbled their agreement.
Iori searched the air around them for a shimmer, a flicker, anything that might indicate what was harassing his friend. He came up empty. A passing cloud blotted out the sun and masked the landscape in mottled shadows.
“When did it start?” Hikari came to Takeru’s side.
“I don’t know. An hour ago? After we left the Pyokomon village. I thought it was my backpack, and then I thought it was Patamon, but its not-” He spun around and nearly dislodged Patamon, the little digimon squeaking and clinging to his shirt by the claws. “It doesn’t make sense anymore. It’s like, nonstop now.”
“I don’t see anything, man,” Daisuke said, leaning forward and squinting hard. “You said you heard laughing?”
“Yes.”
Iori swallowed. “What did it sound like?”
“Like whoever it was wasn’t trying very hard to cover it up. And not in a nice way.”
Nobody liked that. The sun came back out, and despite the warmth it brought, Iori shivered.
“It could be a digimon spirit or something that wants our attention…” Hikari said, not sounding terribly optimistic. She scooped Tailmon into her arms and held her close. “Maybe we should go home. We can ask Koushiro about it.”
“If it was a spirit don’t you think it would try to contact you instead?” Takeru said, his mouth quirking in a strange half-smile that was not returned.
“I’m all for going home before whatever it is decides to bother the rest of us too. We were heading toward a TV anyway,” Miyako said with a jerk of her head. “We can visit the Koromon village tomorrow. They’ll understand. Come on, this is giving me the creeps.”
Iori was glad to hear someone else say it. He was more than happy to leave. He sped up and hurried alongside Takeru, Hikari on his other side like a pair of watchdogs. Grass slapped at his calves and the trees roiled. The sun beat down on them and Iori’s palms grew slick.
He kept his gaze away from the shadows.
“It’s not…” Hikari hugged Tailmon tighter and glanced at Takeru out of the corner of her eye. “It’s not the Dark Ocean, is it?”
Iori’s heart skipped a beat.
Ken looked back to them for a moment, his face pale. “I don’t think- You don’t hear waves, do you?”
“No, just someone hissing- Would you stop it?” Takeru ducked away and nearly bowled Hikari over. She grabbed his arm and sped up.
“Hissing?” Tailmon asked.
Takeru dug a finger into his ear. “I can’t understand what they’re saying, and it’s definitely on purpose.”
“I kind of don’t want to know,” Miyako said, sounding just a tad hysterical and breaking into a jog.
“Me neither!” Patamon crawled up to perch on Takeru’s head.
Daisuke disagreed. “I do. Wouldn’t that make it easier to figure out who this guy is? Or girl? Or digimon? Then we might know how to get them to cut it out.”
Relief spread through Iori like a balm when he spied the glint off a screen in front of them. It wasn’t far, nestled in the roots of the sole tree decorating the meadow. They could go home and talk to Koushiro about it, and-
Takeru’s legs were ripped out from under him. He went down hard and rolled twice, sending Patamon and his hat spinning into the grass.
“Takeru!” Iori wasn’t the only one who shouted.
Takeru sat up, face scrunched and his knees scuffed and dirty. “Okay,” he wheezed. “Officially not cool.”
Ken’s mouth was a thin line. “Did you trip?”
“No,” Iori and Takeru snapped at the same time.
He held out his hand and Takeru took it, but when Iori pulled, Takeru stayed firmly where he was. Alarm flashed over his face. Iori pulled harder. Dug his new sneakers into the dirt and heaved. Takeru held on with both hands, arms straining.
“Takeru!” Patamon wrapped his little paws around Takeru’s collar and tugged.
Daisuke grabbed Takeru’s wrists, adding his full weight. “What’s going on?!”
“He’s stuck,” Iori said completely unnecessarily. His heart jackhammered beneath his ribs.
“No shit!”
“Ow- Ow, just stop- Ah!” Takeru came unglued from the ground and all three of them went sprawling.
Iori coughed, Daisuke’s knee jammed in his gut. He got to his hands and knees, Armadimon’s cries coming muffled beyond the mild ringing in his ears. He wasn’t sure what he’d hit his head on.
“Everybody up!”
There were hands urging him to his feet. Ken’s. Armadimon’s paws. Iori only had eyes for Takeru. They were jogress partners. They were supposed to protect each other. How could Iori protect him from something when they had no idea what it was?
Takeru made it three whole steps toward the TV before he faltered.
“I can’t see.”
Hikari was there, their eyes identically wide. She cupped his face. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I can’t see!” His gaze darted around fruitlessly. It went right through Iori as if he weren’t there. Takeru groped at his head like he was trying to pull someone’s hands off of him.
“Takeru-”
Takeru went rigid, and ice slid down Iori’s spine at the expression that stole over his face. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, horribly wrong.
“Go. Hikari, take everyone and go home.”
“No, Takeru! We’re not leaving you.”
Takeru reached out, finding her and shoving at her shoulder. “Hikari, it's Pinochimon!”
Hikari recoiled.
“Go!”
Too many things happened at once. Takeru was wrenched away from her and nearly off his feet once more. He bent, and his backpack was ripped from him and slung halfway across the field. Hikari and Daisuke shouted. Iori cringed at the piercing light of Patamon and Tailmon’s evolutions.
Miyako booked it for the TV.
Iori didn’t know what to do. Something ugly had taken up residence in his chest. He knew that name. Taichi had talked about him once. A long time ago. Iori’s brain couldn’t pull the information out of the sludge of fear that had overtaken him.
Takeru turned to the sky, an unpleasantly familiar hardness overtaking him as his eyes cleared. He crossed his arms. “Wow. That was petty. My lunch was in there. Now what am I going to eat?”
Iori internally reached out to Takeru and was met with a void. No. No, this time it was more than nothing. Takeru was gently, firmly holding him at a distance. Iori withdrew. The hollow beneath his ribs ached. He wanted to run to him. Iori felt like a statue, his feet refusing to move while everyone else scrambled.
Miyako was at the TV, yelling for Ken. Daisuke darted after, asking questions no one answered.
“Holding a grudge? Real original. I’m shocked,” Takeru scoffed. “All this time and you’re still boring and predictable, huh?”
Takeru was shoved to the dirt and held there.
“He could be anywhere,” Angewomon replied to Hikari’s directions in agitation. “Who knows how far his cameras can reach. We’re nowhere near his forest!”
Takeru was subtly trying to get to the TV, but Pinochimon wasn’t letting him. He knocked him around and yanked at his clothes. Iori watched in mounting horror. He drifted closer, hands wringing and mouth dry. His heart pounded somewhere between his chest and throat. He felt sick.
“Leave him alone!” Hikari pleaded.
She ran to Takeru and he hugged her fiercely. She hooked her arms around his neck- And then he was gone. Hikari screamed.
Iori jolted forward, reaching helplessly out at the empty space.
Takeru reappeared twenty feet to the right, looking completely unsurprised at having abruptly teleported. He looked to them and shuddered, tipping his head away.
“Over my dead body,” he said coldly. “Yeah, you would like that, you sadistic little freak. This is why you don’t have any friends.”
His head snapped to the side.
“Takeru! Stop antagonizing him!” Hikari cried, a tear spilling down her cheek.
Angemon swooped down and tried to shield Takeru from Pinochimon’s sight, but he kept blipping away just as he was in range.
Daisuke soared around the edge of the meadow on ExVeemon, a blur at the corners of Iori’s vision. Ankylomon thundered after him. Iori hadn’t even noticed him evolve. Angewomon shouted instructions to them and rose higher, a beacon in the increasingly cloud-smattered sky.
Takeru disappeared and Iori whirled- He was nowhere. Nowhere. Takeru was-
Takeru was right in front of him.
Iori’s lungs squeezed. His breath stuttered. He reached out once more, with both his heart and his hands this time, and less than an inch from connecting, Takeru was dragged away from him. A strangled noise escaped Iori’s throat.
Takeru’s eyes were pained. Apologetic. It was so completely absurd for him to be sorry that Iori felt a spark of rage. No digimon had ever toyed with them like this. What on earth did Pinochimon have against Takeru? Iori lunged forward and grabbed Takeru’s hand.
A brush of skin. Another teleportation a foot back. Another. Another. Iori chased along, terrified, frustrated tears brimming hot.
Takeru reappeared and threw himself at Iori, swinging him behind his back like Iori was the one being threatened.
“Stop messing with him! This has nothing to do with him, alright?”
Iori held onto Takeru, the sharp sting of self-loathing pricking under his skin. Why couldn’t he say a single word? Why couldn’t he block out the sounds of the others yelling and the pounding of his pulse, and just do something useful?
Takeru’s heart raced against his cheek and Iori felt his own attempt to match the pace. Or was Takeru’s trying to match his?
Hikari was at the TV. Koushiro’s voice rang out over the long grass.
Takeru’s arms were torn from him. Takeru stumbled back a step and froze, eyes growing round with an apprehension that made Iori want to vomit.
“Don’t,” Takeru whispered. “You don’t need to-”
Iori moved and Takeru pinned him with a look.
Takeru twitched, eyes scrunching shut and then wide open again.
A line appeared on his cheek. A curve that started under his eye and lazily made its way downward before circling all the way back up. A thin, red line that began to weep…
“H-Hikari!” Iori cried as blood dripped to Takeru’s chin.
“He’s trying!” Hikari’s shout came through a sob. “He’s trying!”
More lines drew themselves onto Takeru’s skin. His knuckles were white, fingers knotted in his shirt. His breathing became frantic gulps. “Stop it. I don’t want to play with you anymore.”
Iori bit back a hiccup. “Let- Let him go.”
A voice spoke an inch from his ear, dripping with glee. “I don’t want to.”
Iori flinched and Takeru made an aborted motion.
“Pinochimon, don’t,” Takeru said, his words trembling. “He’s no fun. He doesn’t even know the rules.”
A second doodle made its way over Takeru’s forearm. Iori couldn’t hear Koushiro. Couldn’t feel the breath in his body or the tear tracks on his face. Distantly, he sensed a waver. A dangerous crackling.
Takeru was not perfect.
Pinochimon raised Takeru’s bleeding arm and for one tenuous moment, nothing happened.
“No!” Takeru shrieked. He choked on a pained gasp and tried to get away. Takeru’s palm turned pink. Red.
The wall between them disintegrated and a wave of unadulterated panic slammed into Iori with all the force of a heart attack. Takeru was yelling. Crying. Scrambling. Held in place by the invisible vice grip on his wrist.
“Stop! You win! I lose! I’m scared! The game’s over, so stop!”
Iori crashed into him. Wrapped his arms around Takeru’s middle and screamed just as loud. Fear scorched into him from all sides. There was no escape. His heartbeat was a rhythm he did not recognise. There was heat in his hand that was not real.
Angemon appeared in a flash of feathers and wrapped around them both, blocking them off from the rest of the world. Takeru buried his face in Iori’s shoulder, pained sobs muffled in his shirt. He curled tighter, muscles spasming.
There was a noise from beyond.
Takeru glitched, multicolored pixels snapping into reality- And then Iori’s arms closed around air.
A cry was punched from his lungs, but Angemon had already scooped him up and was flying at a breakneck speed toward the TV. The last thing Iori heard was a victorious laugh echoing through the digital world.
Iori tumbled ass over teakettle into a room, Patamon’s squeaking all around him. This was not the classroom computer they’d used to go on their venture this morning. There was smooth wood flooring under his back. He skidded into a laundry pile and when he opened his eyes there was a bunkbed looming over him.
Hikari and Taichi’s room.
Safe.
The yelling and banging and the crush of fear still seizing Iori’s lungs disagreed.
Iori scrabbled to his feet, dodging their frightened partners and following the noise. Following the blood smeared on the floor and the splatter by the doorknob.
“Onii-chan! Mom!” Hikari cried. “Onii-chan!”
“She’s not in her room,” Miyako called from further in the apartment. “Koushiro says he doesn’t know where Taichi is! No- I don’t know, call Jou! Get him here!”
Iori sped through the living room and to the bathroom, passing Miyako on the phone. Daisuke got out of his way. Ken slammed open a first aid kit on the bathroom floor, but saw Iori skid into the room and immediately backed into the corner to make room.
The sink was gushing, Hikari trying to hold Takeru’s hand under the faucet and get gauze on his face at the same time.
“Somebody get me Onii-chan!” she demanded.
“I don’t- Daisuke!” Ken held his hand out and received a cell phone. He smacked it to the counter, already ringing.
Hikari jabbed it with her elbow and threw it on speaker.
Iori was dizzy with fear. He blinked hard and pushed past it, grabbing the new pile of gauze and replacing Hikari’s spot. Takeru hissed and flinched away from his touch only to yank his hand out from the sink and vomit into it instead.
Iori hugged him to keep Takeru from slipping on the water splashing to the floor. Takeru’s face was wet with tears and blood. He shook head to toe, curling lower and catching Iori’s eye. Iori’s heart felt like it was ripping itself apart.
The ringing suddenly stopped.
“Hey, Daisuke! What’s up?” Taichi’s voice rang through, tinny and distorted.
“Onii-chan!”
“Hikari?” Taichi’s tone shifted. “Hikari, what’s the matter? What’s wrong?”
“You have to come home, now!” she said, her voice cracking. “Onii-chan, Pinochimon is back!”
“What? Fuck. Wait, what do you mean he’s back? Did you see him? Are you okay- Shit!” His voice came loud. Close. Urgent. “Where’s Takeru?”
Takeru threw up again and he and Hikari sobbed in unison.
“Not dead,” Takeru croaked.
“Koushiro got him back to our place,” Hikari said. “We’re all here.”
Iori wiped the blood from Takeru’s cheek and a little puppet face grinned out at him. Iori clenched his teeth at the hatred that seared through him. At the words cut into Takeru’s arm.
Am I boring now?
Rapid footsteps clapped through the speaker. “Fuck, fuck, fuck- I’m calling Yamato.”
Takeru jolted. “Don’t! Taichi, don’t call him. You know what he’ll do! Pinochimon won’t bother playing with him!”
“Takeru, if the Dark Masters are back, he’s not- If anyone can’t go back to the digital world, it's you. I don’t even want to think about what Piemon would do if he got his hands on you. You go nowhere, do you hear me? I’ll deal with Yamato.”
Hikari whimpered at the name and Takeru’s teeth chattered. Iori’s vision swam for a moment. He gripped the countertop and pushed Takeru to sit on the lid of the toilet.
“Hikari, you don’t go anywhere either,” Taichi ordered. “Both of you stay put until we can figure out how many of them are back, alright?”
“Okay,” Hikari agreed.
“I’ll be there in five. Are you guys going to be okay?”
“I don’t think anyone here is okay,” Daisuke said with a brittle chuckle.
The footsteps sped up. “I’ll be there in four.”
The call dropped and the apartment was too quiet in the wake of it.
Takeru cradled his head on the counter with his uninjured arm. Shivers rattled through him. Hikari still had his hand in the water, but it was blistering anyway. Silent tears poured down her face.
“Is there… Is there burn cream?” Iori managed to speak past the lump in his throat.
Ken held out a small tube.
It was minutes before they were able to convince Takeru that the cream might do him better than the water. Iori took that time to cover the cursed drawings with gauze and tape. Now no one would have to look at them. He prayed they wouldn’t scar.
Another two minutes of no one quite being willing to towel dry his hand to put the cream on.
Taichi was late.
Ken finished applying a generous layer of cream and for the first time since they got back, Takeru drew a full breath.
“Do you want to go lie down?” Hikari asked with a soft sniff. “Or do you think you might throw up again?”
Takeru blinked sluggishly up at her and gave a quavering hum.
“Does he need to go to the hospital?” Daisuke asked nervously.
Hikari looked to Takeru. “Do you?”
Takeru stared at the wall blankly. “I don’t know… Jou’s coming?”
“Koushiro’s trying to get a hold of him,” Miyako said, clutching her cell phone to her chest.
Iori felt like he was sinking, down, down, into a part of himself he didn’t know was still there. The part of him that didn’t want to think or feel or do anything. He looked away from Takeru and accidentally met his own reflection in the mirror.
Red-rimmed, puffy eyes looked back at him, glazed with a muted anxiety. He swallowed tightly. There was blood in his hair, and drying near his ear, and crusting on his hands. Takeru and the others trailed out of the bathroom and Iori stayed. He stepped forward and mechanically washed the red away.
When he was done he was more wet than dry and it didn’t occur to him to ask for a change of shirt. He padded to the bedroom, Armadimon’s concern a distant prickle.
Takeru had curled up on the bottom bunk, facing the wall. Hikari slipped in behind him and hugged cautiously around his middle. A raw sound came muffled through the pillow and Hikari responded, pushing closer. Patamon perched protectively beside his head, puffed up and growling and exactly as furious and hurt and despairing as Iori felt beneath the haze of not now.
Hikari was at his side. Patamon was at his side. They had been for so much longer than Iori. For a brief, grief-ridden moment, he felt that there was no room for him.
It must have been just enough for Takeru to feel, because along their bond came a sudden, unprecedented tugging.
Iori picked his way through the room and crawled up on the bed as if pulled along by strings. The mattress dipped as he went, and gently, oh so gently, Iori slotted himself into the space between Takeru’s elbows and knees. It had been a long time since he was grateful for being so small.
Takeru opened his hand and Iori took it, both squeezing a steady pressure.
No one said anything. Ken scrubbed the blood off the floorboards. Miyako left and came back with ibuprofen and a glass of water. It dripped all over Takeru’s shirt but he managed to get some of it down before lowering back to the bed. Daisuke watched them for what felt like an eternity.
“What did you do to this guy?” he asked.
Takeru’s answer came flat. “Humiliated him, I guess.”
Iori clenched his fists in his lap. Pinochimon deserved it. He deserved so much worse, and Iori wanted to be the one to do it. He wanted to be the one to ensure Pinochimon never came anywhere near Takeru again. The thought was jarring. It went against the morals that had guided him through life. Even more shocking was that Iori couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when Takeru was still shaking. Not when the smallest shift of his hand made him inhale sharply, his face pinched.
When all of this was behind them, Iori would need a long talk with Grandfather.
“There haven’t been any disturbances in the digital world for months.” Ken sat down in the desk chair, most of the digimon flocking to him and climbing into his lap. Worried whines were soothed by his hands, though his own face was deeply troubled. “How was a digimon able to do this? He must have been in another zone entirely. Koushiro said there was nothing notable nearby.”
Hikari sat up slowly, keeping a hand on Takeru’s shoulder. “I don’t think Pinochimon is interested in… bothering other digimon. Even when the Dark Masters were in power, he wasn’t like Mugendramon. He only seemed to want to…” She didn’t appear willing to finish the sentence.
“Torture people?” Daisuke attempted.
Hikari looked stricken and Takeru made a noise Iori never wanted to hear again.
“It wasn’t this bad last time,” Takeru said to the wall. “He must have made new dolls.”
“Dolls? Like voodoo dolls?” Miyako asked.
“I stole the other ones. Deactivated them. He only messed with us then, but it could have been so much worse.”
“Like this?” Iori murmured, his throat raw.
“He’s dangerous.”
“That’s an understatement,” Daisuke said with a grimace. “Are you going to be okay?”
Takeru didn’t get to answer. At that moment, the door to the apartment burst open and everyone startled, the digimon all jumping to defend their partners. Takeru lurched upright, breathing heavily.
Taichi and Yamato ran into the bedroom, wild-eyed and looking for him.
Taichi strode forward. “Holy shit, Takeru. What happened?”
Takeru avoided his gaze, hunching over his knees. “A lot.”
“Takeru.”
Even without their bond, Iori could feel the tension radiating off Takeru at hearing his brother speak.
“Taichi, I- I told you not to,” he said stiffly.
Yamato moved around Taichi and loomed over him. Almost robotically, he reached out and peeled back a corner of Takeru’s cheek bandage, ignoring Takeru’s stuttering protests. With blue eyes blazing, he stood back and seethed. “Oh, I’m going to kill him again.”
Taichi gripped his arm before he could take a single step toward the computer. “We’ve already been through this. Stop it.”
Yamato knocked Taichi’s hand away. “I’m not just going to sit around and let Pinochimon get his giggles for- for cutting up my brother? For carving his face into Takeru’s? What, threatening to blow his knees out wasn’t enough?”
Takeru flinched. Iori leaned into him, growing mildly nauseous.
Taichi blocked the computer. “I’m asking you to be reasonable. Pinochimon would just love it if you tried to find him. For all we know, that’s exactly what he means for you to do.”
“I don’t care!”
“Yamato.”
“That little asshole-”
“Would love to kill you! As would any of the Dark Masters. I’m asking you to wait one day.”
“Get your hand off me, Taichi.”
Takeru had stopped shaking. He was so still Iori wasn’t sure he was even breathing. His eyes were fixed on his brother, round and holding some emotion that Iori couldn’t put a name to.
“We don’t have any idea what the situation is. We wait for Koushiro.”
“He hurt Takeru! While I did nothing! Twice! You can’t stop me.” Yamato had his digivice in hand and raised it toward the screen.
Frustration exploded in Iori’s chest like a rope snapping. Takeru lunged.
“Stop it!” He slapped the digivice out of Yamato’s hand. “Would you both just stop it!? I’m so sick of you two fighting!” The bandage on his cheek strained to stay attached and he pressed his hand to it. He whirled on Taichi. “Stop telling him he can’t do stuff! You know it pisses him off.”
He spun and got in Yamato’s face. “You can’t go to the digital world! You’d be picked off before you even found Gabumon. Do you think I want you to die? Do you think that’s going to make me feel better? Do you think killing Pinochimon is going to turn back time and make it so that he doesn’t-” He cut himself short and swallowed an angry sob before blazing on. “You’re so selfish sometimes, Nii-san! I didn’t want Taichi to tell you because I didn’t want you doing this!”
Yamato reeled back, pale face going shades paler.
“Look, I’m sorry about last time, okay?” Takeru’s eyes watered and pink appeared through the gauze. “I’m sorry I kept yelling at you. You kept treating me like a baby! I wanted you to be proud of me. I wanted you to think I was cool, so I pretended I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t fine, alright?” His voice cracked and Iori felt wretched. “I was scared! I wanted you. And I’m scared now and I don’t think I can handle if you leave again!”
The apartment rang in the wake of his outburst. There were tears making their way towards Iori’s chin again, his whole body aching with a loss that was not his. He knew Takeru felt things deeply. He had known that Takeru wasn’t always alright.
He had not been prepared for this.
Taichi ground his teeth, glaring a hole in the floor.
Yamato crumpled inward, guilt clawing all sense of composure from him. He timidly reached out but Takeru sidestepped his hand.
“Just... stop it. My head hurts.”
“Teeks?”
Takeru dismissed him entirely and dropped back down onto the bed, shuddering. Hikari shot both brothers a disappointed glower and snuggled back up with him.
A war raged in Iori’s head. He wanted to be here, and yet…
He slid off the bed and pointed to the door. “Go. Living room. Now.”
Taichi and Yamato didn’t dare disobey.
Iori dusted his fingers over Takeru’s shoulder and dipped close. Caught Patamon’s gaze. “I won’t let him leave.”
Takeru’s eyes fluttered open for a moment and he nodded, gratitude overflowing.
Iori waved his hand and everyone but Hikari filed into the living room. He carefully closed the door behind them, taking a moment to collect himself. How on earth did Takeru do this? How could he act so put together all the time? He wiped his face on his sleeve and blinked hard.
“Iori…” There was quiet alarm in Miyako’s question.
Iori shook his head. “Takeru needs to go to the hospital.”
Yamato choked back a wounded noise.
Miyako and Taichi exchanged a hesitant glance. “Jou is on his way,” Taichi said.
“Call him. Have him meet you there if he wants. Takeru needs to have his hand looked at by a real doctor. He might need stitches. He’s bleeding through the gauze.”
“Jou-”
“I’ll take him if no one else feels like it,” Iori bit out. “But I think he’d rather you do it if you can stop acting like idiots.”
Yamato’s fists clenched white-knuckle tight, but his voice was solemn. “I’ll take him.”
Iori stepped aside and gestured at the door. “Take Hikari with you. Patamon too, if you can get away with it.”
“Of course,” Yamato whispered.
Iori backed to the wall and watched as Taichi and Yamato convinced Takeru to go with them. As Taichi called Jou and Koushiro. As Hikari helped Patamon into a backpack. As they flanked Takeru and went to the door as one.
Before they crossed the threshold, Takeru sent one meaningful look back to Iori, their bond thrumming a question.
I’ll be here when you get back.
The door shut with a click and Iori sagged. He could feel the weight of the others eyes on him and he deliberately kept his gaze on his dirty shoes. They waited, and Iori was grateful. Takeru had been through enough. He didn’t need this too.
As soon as Takeru felt far enough away, Iori buckled. He slid down the wall and ended up in a heap, overwhelmed gasps pulling from his lungs. Remembered fear and terror and guilt and uselessness tore into him, both his and Takeru’s.
He wasn’t the only one crying. Daisuke thumped to the floor next to him and yanked him in for a side hug so tight it was painful. Ken lowered himself down in front of them, nearly as pale and shaky as Yamato had been. The smell of bleach lingered on his hands.
“...Iori?” Miyako asked gently.
Iori nodded frantically.
Miyako swore and flung herself onto him. She squeezed and squeezed and Iori fell apart. “That’s horrible. I’m so sorry, Iori. It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s not usually like this, I promise!”
“What’s not like this?” Ken asked.
Miyako faltered.
“Bad f-first time sharing,” Iori hiccuped, Miyako’s hair getting in his mouth.
Ken and Daisuke surged closer, Iori unable to tell where one friend ended and another began. He buried himself in them. He was safe. He had been safe. Takeru had kept the attention on himself. Even through all of that, Takeru had been trying to keep him shielded. Protected.
“But you’ve been partners for over a year…” Daisuke said.
Iori shivered. Shrugged.
“I don’t know how Takeru can do it,” Miyako mumbled. “Hikari closed herself off for two weeks one time and she was exhausted. Neither of us could stand it.”
“He’s private,” Iori said weakly, needing to defend him.
“He’s been through a lot more than we know,” Ken said, something haunted in his eyes. “He probably didn’t want to scare you.”
Iori laughed through his tears.
“Jeez, are you going to be okay too?” Daisuke said.
“I don’t know,” Iori admitted. Heat rose inside of him, a simmering, smoldering violence. He curled tighter as if he could hide from it. “I don’t know. I- I hate Pinochimon. I’ve never hated anyone before.” He cried harder. “I don’t want Yamato to do it. I want to kill him.”
Daisuke whistled.
“Okay, but we’ll wait for Koushiro to do his thing,” Miyako said, not arguing. “We’ll figure out what the hell is going on, and then…”
“Have at it,” Daisuke said with a mirthless laugh. “No one is going to stop you.”
“Really?” Iori had expected pushback. He wasn’t sure if this was a good development for their group, but it was vindicating.
Ken nodded. “Really.”
A sudden nervous strum came to his heart and Iori jumped, looking through the wall like he could see the hospital from here.
“What?” Miyako leaned back.
“How far can you reach?” Iori asked absently, focused on the vibration.
“Pretty far… I’ve never measured,” Miyako said.
“I’ve gotten to Tamachi,” Daisuke said, quietly proud. Ken smiled at him. “If he’s at Teishin General, he’s putting some effort into it.”
Iori held tight to the feeling. Soaked it in. Takeru was okay. Takeru was asking for him. A tear slipped down his nose and Iori gathered up everything he had. Pushed back along the connection.
I’ll be here. I’m waiting for you. You and me together.
A moment and then…
Relief.