Work Text:
The back of her hoodie is slashed. She can feel the wind on her skin—she shivers with it.
It's not right. It's not supposed to be felt there. Why—
Below cloth torn open by claws, there are light scratches—she had dodged almost in time to avoid the rips.
No no. They aren't supposed to see.
Her mind lingers there, focused on the wrongness of the air touching her there—
Not on a hunt, not where they can see.
She feels them too, on either side of her, pressed tightly against her, both supporting her.
No no. That's not right either. She needs to be holding herself up.
She tries to take some of the weight off, tries to straighten her spine and walk on her own and—
—
—
—
She finds herself trembling as her vision comes back to her, bright white fading away—and now she is in the air, pressed against someone and—
It hurts it hurts it hurts
A strangled groan leaves her mouth where it is pressed against someone's shirt. She can't—
Electricity runs up and down her leg each time she is jostled, trying to take her mind back into the darkness.
She can't
Sound tries to filter in past the sharp ringing in her ears, and when had that—
Oh God it hurts
She tries to focus on what they are saying. She can hear them now, both frantically talking at the same time as each other. None of it wants to make sense. She—
—
—
—
Brightness now—the dim street lights have turned into one bright light above as she turns her head to look. Her eyes tear up at the intensity of it, before Mira's head coming into her field of view blocks it out.
Mira. Oh, Mira is holding her.
"—lmost there, jagi. We're almost there."
The live wire still races beneath her skin, but at least it's not the sharp sharp sharp repetition of before.
Are they standing still?
Her head lolls to the side, mind lagging. Zoey is there, wide panicked eyes looking at her, part-reflective silver behind her.
Oh. The elevator.
And then the door are opening with a ding and movement is happening and—
No. please. no more.
She thinks she might say that one out loud, might even scream it—begging them to stop.
They don't.
—
—
—
She's crying and panting, but she's on a soft surface now, and still—only the throb throb throb of agony without motion is left. Her eyes roll, searching the room. Both of them are here, moving around her. She tries to focus on what they are doing, but they swim in and out of sight blurrily.
Then Zoey is above her, putting something in her nose—she feels a soft misting of medication. It rushes over her like cool water spreading through her veins, trailing a path down her body.
The excruciation that is burning its way up her leg lessens but doesn't leave. She whimpers—both from the relief of it and from the pain that stays.
"We gotta cut off your pants, Rums, so I can see…"
And that sends fear shooting through her body. She can't close her hand around the reason why—pain and pain relief slowing her thoughts down, muddling them up, floating them away—but they aren't supposed to see her exposed, aren't supposed to see her weak.
If she could just remember why.
If she could just…
She loses herself for a moment or a lifetime.
But she comes back to the feeling of her now-sheared pants being pulled off of her legs.
Bad bad bad. Wrong wrong wrong.
She opens her eyes, frantic—and when had they closed?
They aren't looking at her face, both of them looking down at her leg in horror.
Her eyes jump past it, focusing on everything else in the room but that.
Zoey leans in, looking closer and her breath brushes over her leg and—
Bright White Bleeding Agony
How can the ghosting of her breath hurt so much?
After a moment, she can hear herself begging again, muffled ears clearing slowly.
Zoey comes to the head of the bed then, asking her to swallow something that tastes pungent—bitterness heavy on her tongue. Then she puts a hand on either side of Rumi's face and locks eyes with her—searching back and forth, trying to give a reassuring look.
Movement
Mira moves up, away from her lower half, bringing the bloody shears toward the waistband of her hoodie.
No no no no
This isn't right
That's most important, she knows. They have seen her legs before, but where the patterns visibly crawl down her ribcage is a barrier she can't let be crossed.
A well of power within her that she only almost recognizes takes hold—
And
She
Is
—on the ground now, dragging herself backwards through the doorway, ignoring her leg still screaming in pain.
And they are turning toward her with wide horrified eyes.
And of course they would be scared and horrified. She's done something undeniably demon in front of them to stop them from seeing that she's a demon. What kind of twisted irony is that? A sob breaks free, loud in the room without her hands to catch it—too busy holding herself up.
They both take a step toward her, faces shifting.
And what are they shifting to? She is afraid.
Something about her face must stop them.
She doesn't—
Why aren't they attacking?
It's the only thing she thought she knew with certainty, that demon hunters kill demons.
Their mouths both move, but the ringing is too strong now to hear anything but that and her own quickstep heartbeat.
Her head sags forward, adrenaline trying to leave without her consent.
And so her eyes stray down.
And so she sees it.
Patterns everywhere, on both legs is what she sees first.
But more than that—
There is the wrongness on her left leg.
She hears herself gasp, a ragged desperate thing.
Mixed in among bruising and the devastation just below her knee, the patterns crawl along like ink, so black that they look like a void moving upon her, creeping up from her knee.
She shudders. What had—what had happened?
And then, as more of the pain rushes back in, as more of the fatigue seeps in, she finds herself tilting back without her permission—her hands don't want to support her now.
Just before she can fall, she feels a pair of hands catch her, and as they lower her down, she sees a familiar streak of gray on black hair above her.
And she—
—
—
—
She gasps awake back on the bed, breath and heart both racing.
The hot burning magma is stronger again, fighting against the river of relief that had come before. But the panic that instantly fills her chest almost matches it in intensity.
They had—they had seen.
Her eyes dart around the room, hardly registering Celine next to her, mind too busy looking for the danger.
"Rumi, look at me." The command in Celine's voice brings her back to her training days and overrides the fear, dread, terror, and her gaze snaps to lock in on Celine's face.
She looks calm.
The animal in her mind latches onto that—her denmother is calm, so there must not be a threat.
She tries to respond, but all that comes out is another groan.
The pain still creeps higher on her thigh each moment.
"Rumi, listen to me. There is no time—I need Zoey and Mira to help me. You don't need to be afraid. They already know. Can you stay calm for me, Rumi?"
They already know? She—she doesn't—
A bolt of pain shoots through her head and she can't help but groan. Then Celine is pulling Rumi's hands away from where they are clutching at her face, and when had she—
"Rumi. It's going to be okay. I need to call them in now."
All she can do in return is pant weakly, trying to keep her mind tethered to what Celine is saying.
And then Celine is calling out, and Mira and Zoey are rushing in, and then there is not much but
Pain Fear Agony
as they hurry around her, each of them having a task and doing it. Mira is wrapping something around her leg, low on her thigh. Zoey, lower down her leg is applying something to her skin around the bite with a brush—it burns. All the while, Celine stays at the head of the bed, putting a hand on each side of her face—the coolness of them a balm—and starts singing something, long and low.
Rumi's mind can't latch onto the words—if they are words at all and not just inarticulate noises rising from some deep place inside of Celine.
The hurt doesn't leave, not fully, but the blaze starts to settle into an ache she recognizes—an injury still, and a painful one at that, but not the otherworldly intense burning of before.
And as it does, her mind starts to come back to her in pieces.
The Demon emerging in front of them, some strange thing they have never seen before, face almost all teeth.
It's not alone, of course. When has a demon ever come after them alone?
They slowly become divided, and then she is facing it solo—hoodie already slashed open from the chaos of the melee.
It's only a brief lapse of her focus, just for a moment—Mira cursing in the distance—but when she turns her head to glance toward the sound, it all goes wrong.
Another demon creeping up behind her as this one lunges into her—trying to land a bite, sharp white glistening teeth aiming for her neck—and she is falling back onto the ground, back feeling the impact.
She holds it off from her neck, Chilseong-kal blocking the desperate attempt.
A Shin-kal then, piercing the one that tripped her. Feet pound as Mira and Zoey run closer.
They distract it enough that she can start to get out from under it, scrambling backwards with one hand, the other holding her guard.
The Demon knows it's running out of time.
It bites at the only place that is left for it.
One last desperate strike and needle-like teeth latch around her shin just below the knee and stab into her, sending a wave of pain up.
That one bite is enough.
Even as it disperses into pink smoke above her, the agony starts.
Pain Deep and Burning and Stealing her breath away.
Zoey and Mira quickly help her up, ready to help her limp home to tend to the wound, but there is a wrongness seeping into, her fear increasing.
And her mind loses some part of itself—becomes some desperate whimpering thing, cowering in shame.
And It's Not Right.
She reels with it, the deluge of memories. Of course they hadn't attacked her—they have known for months now what she is, and accepted all of her and have held her on long days and longer nights.
So why had she—
Rumi only registers the silence that had taken the room as it is broken—each of them watching her with bated breath as she looks back up to see Celine speak. "Are you back with us now?"
Her voice only comes out a rasp as she replies—her throat sore in a way she knows is from screaming. "Yeah…"
She can see the tension leave all three of them, Mira sagging most visibly, sinking onto the bed. Zoey's hand loosens where it was gripping hers tightly.
The blaze is only half-gone now, contained to the lower part of her leg and weaker, a smolder now instead of a wildfire. She looks down to see it, to see what kind of damage is causing this feeling, and the sight of it steals her breath.
Her patterns on her leg are still blackish on purple—the color crawling up her leg until a line of written-on bandage cuts it off—she knows the symbols well. On this side of the barrier, her patterns glow their now-normal iridescent, though the colors swirl, agitated.
"What—" This time, hearing her croak, Celine flows into motion, grabbing a glass of water from next to the bed and bringing it to her lips. Rumi brings shaky hands up to hold the bottom, drinking greedily before trying again. "What is happening?" Her eyes flick back down to the leg that looks so foreign. She sees now the symbols also written around the bite, black ink hardly visible for the crawling tendrils of her marks.
Fear
"We aren't quite sure. This seems similar to a demon that I've read of in the records, but I can't be certain yet. I will have to go to the hanok and consult them once we know more." Celine nods firmly, looking resolute, before continuing. "We've halted the spread for now, and I would like to narrow it down more before we attempt anything more permanent."
She feels her eyes widen as she listens. She can imagine what the risk might be. If they try the wrong thing to try and fix this, to expel it, the Honmoon might just try to expel some part of her.
Mira turns back toward her leg and busies herself again as Celine talks. The punctures still bleed sluggishly—she can see they were much more focused on the demonic aspect than the physical wounds from the bite—and so Mira sets about cleaning them tenderly.
It still makes her wince, but it feels more removed—pain meds working more effectively without her panic getting in the way. She almost feels woozy with it, eyelids trying to pull down—calling for her to rest.
But she can't yet.
She blinks hard and bites the inside of her cheek to try and focus. She can taste the drop of blood that wells up when the pressure of her canine is a little more than she meant it to be. "We can…" Another long blink. "We should go with you, to… to help."
Mira scoffs—under her breath—as she applies a light coating of one of their balms, meant to accelerate the work of the Honmoon.
Rumi can't quite understand why, her thoughts dragging. She thinks they should. She could help. A yawn seizes her, and she loses her rebuttal before she can say it. She feels Zoey come closer to her on the bed then, bringing their linked hands up to her chest, while her other strokes through Rumi's hair lightly.
Her eyes zero in on Mira's hands—long graceful fingers tending to her so gently—even as they talk more around her.
And she watches with drooping eyes as Mira dabs at each puncture mark before moving to the next, carefully wiping away the blood that has welled up, avoiding the nearby ink.
Zoey's hand in her hair. Mira's hand on her leg. All three of their voices low and warm and comforting, fighting against the ache in her spirit.
Her eyes slip closed.
—
Her leg is meticulously bandaged when they rouse her, all three of them looking serious, Mira and Zoey in disguise now.
It's Zoey that speaks. "We are going to all go to the hanok, babe. So we can figure this out and… take care of it."
Celine nods at her, reaching over and gently squeezing her arm—just once, but touching her patterns all the same—before and goes to step out of the room.
Rumi feels tears prick at the corners of her eyes and the next swallow comes thickly—these meds can do this to her, even without the added emotional impact of Celine touching her marks so willingly.
But she's still glad it's just Mira and Zoey in the room now, who have seen her at her worst over and over again and held strong.
They help her up and help her step into pants—careful of the inked-on marks spanning much of her leg that are keeping the demonic effect at bay.
She is breathing heavy by the time they get her ready, both of them supporting her from either side as they limp her out of her room and down the stairs carefully.
Celine waits, focusing intently on her phone, typing rapidly—stress present on her face.
They give her another dose of meds before they get in the elevator, and the car ride to the airport becomes much of a blur, her mind only able to focus on the warmth of them beside her and the sound of Celine occasionally talking to the driver.
And then before she knows it, she is settled on their private plane, still nestled in between them.
And the weight of her eyelids again overpowers the lingering burning pain.
—
The intensity of it starts to ratchet back up when they are about halfway to Jeju, bringing her out of her doze. It's different now, the pattern of it giving her just enough time to think it's fading each time before the taint again tries to slam into the barrier.
She knows that beneath her pants, the ink is sizzling away, the clock tick tick ticking down.
Her hands tighten around the blanket in her lap that someone has rested over her.
It's not long before a whimper forces its way out. Not long before the trembling starts. Not long before Mira curses from next to her, noticing her decline.
Not long before all three of them surround her, singing from the Honmoon within and wrapping it around her without.
She shivers all the while, her mind trying to carry her away.
And so the plane ride goes, pain and fear bubbling up within her and warring with their voices.
But they make it to the island without the barrier failing.
And they make it to the compound without that too.
They set her up on the couch.
And then it's another round of trying to stall it—reapplying symbols onto skin. Another round of measures that will only hold for so long, draining her spirit all the while.
She drifts into a fog then, focus pulled between the sensations in her leg and the sounds of them around her—pages turning, low talking, pacing steps.
Until, some small eternity later, the sound of triumph emerges from Celine's mouth.
Mira and Celine rush away to prepare the ritual room, while Zoey stays with her, humming and pushing back the hairs clinging to her forehead with sweat.
And then Mira returns, and they get her up and walking between them, each step part agony and part determination.
They bring her into the circle, helping her carefully step over freshly painted symbols. She feels short of breath from even the short walk, more sweat beading on her forehead.
The presence in the patterns of her leg rattles harder against the bars of its cage.
Her spirit is tired.
They lay her down there, head resting on a pillow—and then they set up around her.
More symbols applied to the ground first—a reinforced barrier.
Then they form the triangle—Celine at her head and Mira and Zoey each at a point extending out from her outstretched hands.
And then they begin, voices rising together.
It goes from her chest down, spirit—buoyed from the Honmoon, buoyed from them singing next to her—following the path of her blood pumping down down down. It's refreshing at first, the feeling matching the color, ice blue spirit bringing coolness through her veins.
Until it crosses through the barrier—one way—and meets the thing that isn't her.
Any amount of relief she had gotten is washed away in a flash as the Honmoon fights against the presence that almost matches her demon half in pitch.
She screams.
Fire and ice meeting. You would think they would be forced to find an equilibrium somewhere in between—temperatures naturally meeting in the middle.
Maybe normally.
But not when they both have minds of their own.
She screams, louder than she probably ever has, loud enough that it's all she can hear, loud enough that it drowns out any trace of them, loud enough that her voice tries to break, to crack.
It just keeps going. The ice of the Honmoon growing colder, trying to help, but hurting all the same. The other only growing hotter, trying for one last desperate attempt at life.
The tension ratchets higher. Every muscle in her body is taut, her body straining.
What felt like wildfire before now feels like the sun burrowed into her leg, the burning heat unlike anything she's ever felt, concentrated now at the place just below her knee, at the bite.
She's still screaming, her voice growing hoarse not enough to stop it.
Each moment, the size of the burning shrinks more, but the intensity doesn't lessen, growing inversely to the size. The wall of ice around it thickens.
It's a pinpoint now, a pinpoint of agony that she will never forget the feeling of.
And then—
Pressure pressure pressure—
And her Honmoon-aided spirit washes it away.
All the sound in the room stops in a moment.
And she goes limp.
It goes from one extreme to the other so quickly—her mind struggles to recognize if her leg is even still there, is still connected to her body.
Three worried, tearful faces above her.
She can't hear them.
She can't even—
A gasp, lungs remembering how to work.
Air and sound flood in at the same time.
Her ears remember how to hear.
Her body remembers how to shake.
Her mind remembers how to—
—
—
—
There is warmth on either side of her—comfort, not like the burning of before—and softness below.
She inhales deeply through her nose.
They are with her. She can smell them both. A balm on her exhausted soul.
She blinks heavy eyes open.
And there they are, both looking intently at her, faces hovering above her, arms propping them up.
"Hm—" her voice cracks even on that one low note.
And then they are hushing her, Mira rolling away and Zoey pulling her closer—nuzzling into her.
She follows Mira with her eyes, watches as she steps gracefully over to the small table and brings back a water bottle dripping with condensation—cracking the lid along the way.
They help her sit up, and she feels the injury as her leg moves, but it's nothing like the burning pain of before.
They help her drink the water with still shaky hands, and then Mira sinks back down onto the bed, arms curling around them both, nose pressing into Rumi's neck.
Her exhale shudders out onto the sensitive skin there before she pulls away to speak. "How are you feeling, Rums?"
She tries to take stock of herself—wants to answer them honestly—but it all feels so removed compared to the prior intensity, except for the…
"Tired."
"Okay, jagi, let's rest some more." Zoey pulls them all back down as she says it, getting a laugh. The now-empty water bottle falls to the wooden floor.
She dozes in and out, but it's not long before she feels tears building in both eyes. She had hated feeling that way again, like she was… "It was like I was back there. Back before you both knew. The fear…" Her voice hoarse, her mind fighting her—she's proud she got the words out.
They both wrap even closer around her, clinging almost desperately now.
"The look on your face… I…" Mira sounds choked up in a way that is rare for her.
Zoey pipes up then. "If we ever see another of those viperfish-looking demons, I'm aiming for it with all I've got."
A watery chuckle tumbles out of Mira. "Yeah. We aren't going to let them get you like that again, jagiya." She nuzzles into Rumi again, resolve spilling out of her mouth and onto Rumi's shirt. "Never again."
And she believes it.