Work Text:
The farthest point Shiba could teleport to, measured vertically upward from the ground, was about a kilometer.
Technically, he could jump even higher, but beyond that, the temperature started to drop, and the air grew thinner, like on a high mountain, making it difficult to breathe, and those kinds of jumps always left him with a migraine. He had tried it once, just to test himself, and leaped so high that he had barely made it back. It wasn't that he had blacked out all at once; the sudden change in pressure had been so abrupt that, for a moment, Shiba had gone blind and deaf, or so it seemed, and then he'd had to teleport back immediately. He'd conducted those tests with the approval of his teacher in all things related to sorcery techniques, Hiroto-san (back then, he had been an attendant of the Soga clan), and that was the first time the man had ever yelled at him, saying that this simply wouldn't do. It was far too dangerous. Shiba had been around fifteen at the time, and the experience had scared him badly enough that, for the first time, he agreed with an opinion that would normally have infuriated him — he hated being lectured.
The fear of dying was a curious thing.
There were problems with returning after a fall like that, inertia being one of them. It had to go somewhere. So whenever Shiba jumped high and spent any amount of time falling, he usually had to teleport from that point to another one in such a way that the direction of his fall became horizontal instead. That gave him enough time to slow himself down. No matter how you looked at it, even his sorcery, which seemed to defy physics, still obeyed it, and things like energy didn't simply disappear. Shiba thought that was only natural. Everyone lived under the same laws; he'd simply become skilled enough to manipulate them so they always worked in his favor. After all, they were all part of the same world, and it couldn't possibly be that someone could shatter the laws of the universe without consequences.
That was what he believed until Ariu Mikaboshi showed him that, actually, following those laws wasn't necessary at all.
Meeting him had been like suddenly coming face to face with a wild bear. Or with a force of nature. A hurricane. A tsunami. There was nothing an ordinary person could do in situations like that, and for the first time, Shiba, considered one of the Sorcery Department's most valuable assets because of his abilities, understood just how terrifying a truly powerful sorcerer could appear to an ordinary mortal. He had felt like a tiny ant beneath the foot of a man about to crush it. The terror he'd experienced that day was unlike anything else Shiba could remember.
He returned as the only survivor, feeling not like a strong soldier defeated by an unimaginably powerful enemy, but like a pitiful weakling who hadn't even been able to save his partner from certain death.
He couldn't remain in the hospital, the rage he felt toward himself made him shake, but they wouldn't let him work either. Hasumi-san said he was useless in his current state. He couldn't pull himself together or concentrate, so Shiba merely wandered the corridors and occasionally carried papers from one office to another. They trusted him with nothing more. Delivering messages again... He wasn't fit for anything better. Rationally, he understood that Hasumi-san was simply worried about him and didn't want to burden him with assignments so soon after his injury. Without saying it outright, he was doing everything he could to suggest that skipping a couple of workdays would be perfectly fine. But Shiba couldn't see it as anything except proof of his own weakness and worthlessness.
Why was I the one who survived? Just so I could deliver a message?
Mashiro should have lived instead... Mashiro deserved it far more. He was younger. Kinder.
Mashiro. Mashiro. Mashiro...
Sleep abandoned him as well. Throughout the night, Shiba drifted between half-consciousness and reality several times an hour, unable either to fall asleep or to stay awake. His body couldn't go on like that forever, and eventually Shiba decided to jolt it awake, himself included.
Coming so close to death had a way of clearing one's mind.
So he jumped high into the night sky above the ocean.
He did it several times, though he always teleported back quickly, usually after falling no more than a few meters. The instant gravity began pulling him downward, Shiba's heart would hammer so fast in his chest, and he'd squeeze his eyes shut, refusing to look any longer at the deep blue night sky or the water glimmering far below. The next second, he'd collapse back onto his bed. Then he'd lie there for several moments, listening to the ringing in his ears and feeling his heartbeat gradually slowing, before finally slipping into a restless sleep that lasted longer than the brief dozes he'd managed before. Yet every morning, he still woke exhausted.
Several nights passed like that, and each time Shiba let himself fall a little farther.
On the fourth night, he teleported above the ocean once more, though not as high as before. The sensation of helplessly plummeting chilled his blood, but in that moment, it was exactly what he wanted — as though he were finally receiving punishment for failing to protect Mashiro and the others. He wanted to feel something besides the whistle of the wind and the pull of gravity, something...
That night, he appeared only about ten meters above the water. And once he was there, temptation overcame him again, and he dropped like a stone without teleporting back.
Everyone knew that when you jumped into water, you were supposed to enter feet-first or hands-first, otherwise you'd smack into the surface with your whole body. Simple physics, force distributed over surface area. Shiba wasn't much of a swimmer, but he'd heard that before. In the moment of the fall, though, he'd forgotten it completely and hit the water flat, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. When he found himself underwater, already quite deep beneath the surface, he involuntarily inhaled. The pain of the impact and the burning sting of saltwater flooding into his lungs sent him into a panic that drove every other thought from his mind. He tried to breathe again but couldn't. Darkness crept into his vision, and the surface was so far away... Truly frightened now, Shiba writhed helplessly like a fish caught on a hook, the last bubbles of air escaping from his mouth and floating upward...
Then his sorcery activated.
Long ago, master Hiroto had taught him to make his abilities forcibly teleport him to safety in the event of mortal danger — provided such an escape was possible, unlike what had ultimately happened during the battle against Ariu. Back then, fifteen-year-old Shiba had thought the idea was idiotic. As if anyone could ever hurt him! Ridiculous. But Hiroto had smacked him so hard across the back of the head that any desire to argue vanished, and Shiba learned it anyway. Now that lesson saved his life. The moment he shut his eyes, he opened them again somewhere entirely different, on dry land beside a house he didn't recognize. He collapsed to his knees, coughing violently, then vomited up saltwater before finally managing to draw a proper breath.
Shiba didn't have the strength to stand. His fingers dug into the wet earth. Not because of rain, the weather had been dry that day, but because his clothes were soaked through. What a shame, he thought distantly. That was my favorite pair of pajamas. Just a plain, stupid t-shirt... but Mashiro gave it to me for my birthday. Said he couldn't think of anything better.
Little by little, his heartbeat slowed into a normal rhythm, and his breathing eased from ragged gasps into steady breaths. But the panic and everything that had happened left him, already barely able to stay conscious, completely drained. He couldn't even get to his feet to teleport back. He couldn't summon the strength to jump into his own room and curl up on his bed again, afraid to close his eyes because if he fell asleep, he'd see Irishima again. See Mashiro die again.
So he remained sitting in the grass for some time, with no idea how much time had actually passed. Maybe only a few seconds. Maybe more than an hour. But when the back door, the one leading into the yard where he apparently was, opened, and footsteps rustled across the grass toward him, Shiba merely closed his eyes, not even wanting to lift his head. Whatever happens, happens. He was so tired. He didn't want anything anymore.
Apathy.
What had been the point of any of this? What was the point of living on, knowing that because of his mistake, so many terrible things would happen? Hiroto-san and Yoshinojo-san were dead. Mashiro was dead... They wanted to hand Chiaki over to the enemy. If only he'd been stronger... he could have killed Ariu... Then the enemy would have retreated, and everyone would have been happy. Then...
He just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up again.
Apparently, he lost consciousness for a short while from sheer exhaustion, because when he came to, he was no longer lying in the grass but on a sofa. The first thing Shiba heard was the whistle of a kettle on the stove. Then he realized he was wrapped in a large terry blanket. His t-shirt was gone — and his clothes altogether. Only his underwear remained, already dry. Had someone undressed him? Well, of course. He'd been soaked through. When he finally managed to open his eyes, he saw that only a single bulb in the chandelier above him had been left on, so the light wouldn't blind him. There was no one else in the room... Only a neatly folded stack of fresh clothes beside him. They weren't his. Whose were they?..
Somehow finding the strength to sit up, Shiba looked himself over. His bandages were gone as well, though no new ones had been put on yet. They must have gotten soaked too... It felt strange seeing his own skin covered in bruises and scratches, as though it were stained with dirt. He hurried to get dressed so he wouldn't shock the owner of the house, though he knew perfectly well that was unlikely, considering the person had been the one to undress him in the first place. When he finally leaned heavily against the back of the sofa, he heard movement from the kitchen. A moment later, the person who emerged was someone Shiba knew all too well.
So his subconscious had teleported him to the nearest safe place... at least, according to that very subconscious. Hiroto-san was dead. Rokuhira was busy, and besides, after the news about Chiaki, Shiba couldn't bear the thought of looking him in the eyes. That left only one person who wouldn't mock him. When Hasumi-san (obviously) approached him, holding something in one hand, Shiba struggled to focus his gaze on him. He should have thanked him for not leaving him lying in the grass, but he felt so exhausted that even opening his mouth was difficult.
Shiba had never seen him without his usual rumpled suit, and without it the boss seemed somehow smaller than before. Maybe it was the shoulder pads. Suits always made people look imposing... In his hands, he held a mug of something that smelled distinctly unpleasant, and when Hasumi held it out to him, Shiba forced himself to take it. Even though the kettle had seemingly just come to a boil, the drink was only warm... Some kind of herbal concoction.
Still, Shiba didn't complain and drained it in one gulp. Then he handed the mug back, and Hasumi simply set it down on the coffee table beside them.
"What happened? Why were you soaking wet?"
Shiba looked at him absentmindedly. After a moment's thought, he decided to be honest.
"I tried to drown myself."
The words came out far more easily than he'd expected. Just a fact. Oh, right. That had happened too.
He thought Hasumi would react the way he always did — jerk back and yell at him, something along the lines of, what the hell were you thinking, you idiot?! Life is a precious gift! That sort of thing. But Hasumi merely shook his head as though that had been exactly the answer he'd expected, then said bitterly,
"I'm glad you didn't succeed. Did you end up teleporting to me by accident?"
Something in his voice had changed almost imperceptibly, but Shiba couldn't catch the emotion behind it.
"Yeah..."
"That's a good thing too." A brief silence hung between them. "Shiba," when notes of pity crept into his boss's steady voice, it made Shiba uncomfortable, and he looked away, forcing himself to focus on the black vase standing by the window. "I'm suspending you from work for the next two weeks. Okay?"
"And then what? You'll fire me?" he laughed bleakly, but Hasumi didn't even smile. His expression only darkened further.
"I have no reason to fire you."
"But I killed Mashiro."
The words slipped from his lips before he even realized he'd spoken them. Silence fell for a moment, and Shiba's eyes flew open in panic as he finally understood what he'd just blurted out. Horrified, he looked up at Hasumi, but instead of anger or any of the emotions Shiba had expected, he saw only bitterness. And that bitterness wasn't grief for Mashiro. It was a pity for him.
A long, heavy silence followed. Only the clock on the wall kept moving.
Tick.
Tock.
"You didn't kill Mashiro."
When Hasumi's voice finally broke the silence, Shiba flinched.
"No. I killed him," he muttered numbly, feeling his tongue loosen more with every word, as though some invisible barrier he'd never noticed before had finally fallen away. "I taught him to risk. I showed him that sometimes you can ignore logic and keep going to the very end. He trusted me, and instead of staying on the beach after he was wounded, he kept fighting. It was me... I... I killed him..." Shiba felt his voice begin to shake, but he didn't have the strength to force it steady. "Because of me, he threw that sword at that bastard... I... He... Do you understand? When I... my neck... he saw it. Right before he died. He died... so horribly... you understand, right? And the only thing he was thinking about... was me. That I'd just... been killed. It's my fault. Mine alone. I killed him..."
I killed Mashiro...
I made his death so horrifying.
His eyes began to sting, but he refused to cry. Instead, he buried his face in his hands. I'm sorry, Mashiro. I'm so sorry. If only I'd been a better senpai, you wouldn't be a handful of ashes now. If only I'd been faster... Ariu should have killed me instead. You deserved to live far more than I ever did. Everyone liked you. Everyone saw you as a wonderful friend and colleague. All I ever bring people is misfortune.
Like a black cat.
Something warm and salty ran across his palm, and Shiba hastily wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He didn't want to lift his head. Crying in front of Hasumi-san like some idiot already embarrassed him enough. There was no need to humiliate himself further.
He thought that now, surely, his boss would tell him what an idiot he was. Or something like that. Or maybe he'd yell at him for waking him in the middle of the night and burdening him with these pointless hysterics no one wanted to hear. That would have been nice. Then he'd finally leave the Sorcery Department. Go with Rokuhira to the ends of the earth... and maybe somewhere out there he'd find a place to hide from the world, if only so he could stop bringing misfortune to everyone around him.
Like his own grave.
That would have been nice...
"Shiba."
When the sofa beside him dipped under the other man's weight, Shiba didn't move. He merely squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, unwilling to look anywhere at all. Better to stare into the darkness behind his eyelids, where stars danced, than to see yet more pity he didn't deserve.
A warm hand settled on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.
His own hands grew warm and damp. Disgusting.
"This is... an incredibly difficult situation. But there's one thing I can say with absolute certainty — none of this is your fault. None of it. You did everything that was expected of you. More than that. Anyone else..." Hasumi's voice faltered, and his grip on Shiba's shoulder tightened. "Anyone else would've broken long before you did. That interrogation... we never should have forced you to relive all of that, especially right after surgery. But even so, you answered every question. You gave us the most important information, even though it was so difficult for you. As for Mashiro... Believe me, your influence had nothing to do with it. You were his best friend. He would've followed you to the end no matter what."
"It would've been better if we'd never met. He'd still be alive."
He would've remained that proper boy in his perfectly made shirt, the collar buttoned all the way up, without piercings or the habit of smoking behind the corner. He would've been alive. But Shiba had killed him. Dragged him into his own world, changed him, and then...
And then...
That image stood before his eyes once more. A moment frozen in time. Pieces of Mashiro's body falling to the ground... yet while he was still alive, he'd hurled his katana at Ariu... the light fading from his eyes, only to vanish completely the moment blood poured from Shiba's throat, splattering his shirt and the ground beneath his feet, and realizing Shiba could no longer breathe.
"Why don't you blame me?.."
It would be so much easier.
Hasumi seemed genuinely taken aback by the question.
"What would I even blame you for?.."
"For everything. For Mashiro. For ruining him. For him dying because of me."
"Maybe you did teach him a whole collection of bad habits. That's true..." After a brief pause, Hasumi continued more firmly, and the tone of his voice sent goosebumps across Shiba's skin. "But there's one thing I'm absolutely certain of, and I'll keep repeating it to you as many times as I have to. You are not guilty of anything. Mashiro... he would've mourned you just as desperately. I know it's hard. It hurts so much that it feels like living is impossible. Like there's no strength left. But we'll have to keep living. We have to. For ourselves... and for those who've died. So that we can remember them."
Poor, poor Mashiro...
Who was going to remember him? No family. No one. Only the friend who had lured him into a trap and had become the cause of his death.
"Shiba. Look at me."
I can't. I can't, I can't, I can't...
When something touched his hands, he flinched. Then his hands were gently pulled away from his face, and he looked into Hasumi's eyes again — frightened at first, then quietly resigned.
There wasn't a trace of condemnation or anger on his boss's face. Only exhaustion. Ah... he was sad, too, and yet he still worked, still kept up appearances in front of everyone because he was a normal, responsible adult, while Shiba was a weakling who still hadn't managed to pull himself together after all these days. He wasn't a child anymore. One more year, and he'd be old enough to drink and smoke legally. And here he was, crying... like an idiot.
"Damn," he mumbled through his stuffed nose, then sniffed. "This is so pathetic."
"It's alright, Shiba. It happens. Sometimes it's good to act foolish and cry. Right now, you think you're already all grown up, but one day you'll reach my age and realize you were still just a kid, and crying at your age is perfectly normal. Your friend died, after all. And you yourself were hurt."
Then, more quietly, he said,
"Come here."
When Hiroto-san had taught him sorcery, he hadn't been cruel, but neither had he been particularly affectionate. He might pat him on the shoulder or smile, but no more than that. He had his own responsibilities, his own troubles. First, he'd been the heir, and then the head of the Soga clan. After that, Shiba had been trained at the Sorcery Department. Joji mostly yelled at him, while everyone else simply didn't care. And that was considered normal; he wasn't their child, just a colleague, albeit a younger one. No one had ever really cared about him. Mashiro had been the same — an orphan nobody wanted... But Mashiro had stayed obedient, while Shiba had lashed out and behaved like an unbearable brat, until Hasumi-san and Joji inevitably ran out of patience, and Chiaki's mother couldn't stand him at all, calling him a Kansai little bastard.
So he'd never really known much love or affection.
Not from adults, anyway. Friends didn't count.
Hasumi-san smelled of coffee. And a little of the herbs he'd brewed earlier. When he pulled Shiba closer, Shiba froze, unsure of what he was supposed to do. He simply obeyed, and when Hasumi embraced him and gently stroked his back, Shiba realized he had been trembling violently. He didn't know how to respond. But the feeling that, right now, he didn't have to keep up appearances, didn't have to bother with formalities... That he could simply fall apart in the most pathetic way imaginable, without pretending the way he had during the interrogation...
"We really did a poor job raising you, didn't we? You're so reckless, and yet you still torment yourself whenever you fail at something."
Hasumi's hand gave his back a gentle pat. Then it moved to his head, fingers lightly running through his hair. Shiba allowed himself to close his eyes.
"Don't blame yourself. And please... if it gets too hard, come to me instead. Cry as much as you want. But don't... try to take your own life. You don't deserve that in the slightest. I know you don't. Things like this... sometimes they happen. Whether we want them to or not... The only reason you survived wasn't that you ran away, it was because the enemy allowed you to. So..." Hasumi-san said firmly, "I'm glad. I'm glad that at least you survived. We're all worried about you. Even Joji. I didn't tell you that, by the way."
That earned a quiet chuckle from Shiba, but then he buried his face against Hasumi-san's collar, and Hasumi stroked his back again. Suddenly it felt as though Shiba were the smaller one, shorter and narrower in the shoulders, as though he were fifteen again, no older... Being beside Hasumi-san felt nice. Peaceful. Even his head didn't hurt quite as much anymore... Nor did his heart.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. It's alright. Stay here if you need to. A day or two, it doesn't matter. Pull yourself together. Rest. Sleep as much as you want. Alright? I'll be here. If you need anything, I'll help. I'll keep telling you the same things over and over until you finally believe me."
Shiba took a deep breath. He could feel the exhaustion washing over him again, but this time it wasn't helplessness. It was simply the desire to sleep, knowing there was someone beside him who cared. Someone who would wake him if the nightmares came back. And Hasumi-san wasn't going anywhere...
How nice.
"Thank you."
Perhaps Hasumi-san said something in reply, but Shiba never heard it. He had already slipped into sleep — deep and dark, without dreams or nightmares, filled only with a wonderful, comforting warmth of emptiness.