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Not exactly YnM fic
This... is a sequel to my long Yami no Matsuei fic, Mercy of the Fallen. Except that this is not actually a good story. My beta-readers gave me useful suggestions as to how it could be made a good story, and I will totally use them at some point, but I just don't have the energy right now, because it involves a great deal of plot, which this just doesn't have. But I'm posting it anyway, because I kinda like it, and I think it's kind of a fun character sketch-- what do these characters look like eight years later?
Better
Years in the Bodhisattva’s service did not mean that Tsuzuki no longer cried. But now the feelings swept through him, deep and racking and then gone, like spring rains leaving behind a fresh sky. Now he mourned, and then finished mourning.
It was what he did on the day that Saki, finally old enough to reach the counters, slit his wrists with the kitchen knife.
Tsuzkuki and Hisoka were there almost as soon as it happened, but they didn’t do much besides be there. Oriya wrapped unnecessary bandages around his foster-son’s arms, applying them carefully, even though the wounds were fading from Saki’s left wrist before Oriya had finished wrapping the right. Saki sat still, face blank, unresisting. Oriya finished with the bandages and simply wrapped his arms around the boy, rocking him back and forth, just as he had when he first brought him home. Hisoka remembered the hours Oriya had spent then, holding the shrieking, terrified infant—singing, chanting, sometimes just talking, as Saki screamed, on and on and on. Until finally Saki had tired, quieted, willing to let himself be held and rest until he got his strength back enough to scream again. It had taken months, before the periods of rest were longer than the periods of screaming. Months after that until the screams confined themselves to his dreams and first hour after waking. Saki walked when he was three, spoke when he was four—well, but late. He had spent the first year of his life on terror, and it hadn’t left time for anything else.
Now… Hisoka and Tsuzuki stayed with Oriya until Saki slept again. “We’ll be back if you need us,” Tsuzuki said. “In a second. Less.”
“Or if I don’t?” Oriya asked, and the hint of humor in his voice reassured Hisoka. The sword-master had aged these past eight years, and just now he looked particularly grey. “We’ll be fine, shinigami. I’ll talk to his psychologist, we’ll change his medications. It’s just… these things happen.”
Tsuzuki nodded, not trying to put a better face on the situation than it deserved. “We’ll be back.”
“You always are,” Oriya said. “Take it easy.” Tsuzuki and Hisoka nodded, and disappeared.
At home on their bed, Tsuzuki sobbed in Hisoka’s arms, four of their dogs clustered around and nosing him worriedly. “I wanted it to be better for him,” Tsuzuki gasped. “Not worse.”
Than it was for you, Hisoka thought, the projected question met with affirmation so quickly it barely registered. “It’s hard,” he said aloud, reflecting the feeling—unfair, sad, gut-wrenchingly disappointing. He could usually tell his feelings from Tsuzuki’s these days, but not now, when they were so similar. He held his lover close, just to comfort him with his presence—I’m here. We’re together in this. I love you.
Presently, the tears slowed, enough for Tsuzuki to sit up and laugh at a dog, who had managed to wedge his entire body underneath Tsuzuki’s armpit and between the two of them, and was earnestly licking his chin. “Thank you, Shin-kun,” he said politely, too smilingly for the formality. “That’s very helpful.” The dog thumped his tail enthusiastically. Tsuzuki sighed, ruffling his ears. “Poor Saki-chan.”
Hisoka left his hands on Tsuzuki’s arms, his eyes on the clean white paper of the wall. “He does have it better, you know. He has us. And Oriya.”
“I had Ruka.”
Yes, and with that thought came, too complex for words, all of Hisoka’s feelings on the strengths and failings of Tsuzuki’s sister. Tsuzuki shrugged acknowledgement. “And a village that hated you. And no-one at all to tell you what you were.”
“You don’t think that’s his problem?” Knowing what he is?
“Being what he is, maybe, part of it. Not knowing.”
“Mm.” Tsuzuki stretched out on his back, all seven dogs (Yukiko, Yoko and Harry having come in from the garden) clambering around and on him, tails wagging. “Let’s go back tomorrow.”
“Sure,” Hisoka said. “That’ll give you enough time to get all the dog hair off the futon.” Tsuzuki shot him a wounded look, and Hisoka smirked, almost enough to laugh. Hisoka leaned over and stroked Tsuzuki’s hair, adding his own weight, so that Tsuzuki was covered completely with warmth. Tsuzuki just looked up at him and beamed.
They talked about it more, of course—with each other, at length, with Oriya, more tersely. Saki didn’t seem to want to talk. He spoke about other things, with his usual solemnity, but on this subject, he was silent.
That lasted for a few weeks, until Hisoka sat up at the office, shaken. Tsuzuki noticed it immediately. “What?”
“Oriya,” Hisoka said. “He’s worried… Saki’s crying.”
“What happened?” Tsuzuki was tense, ready to move in a second, but not until he knew what was going on. Their co-workers watched them, interested, ready to help at need.
Hisoka concentrated. “Nothing,” he said, slowly. “He just started crying.” He thought about it. “They’re okay, I think. But we should go by after work.”
Tsuzuki nodded, and returned his focus to the job in front of them, clean and certain.
After work, though, his focus was just as clearly on Saki. The boy greeted them at the door of Kou Kakou Rou with a hug for Tsuzuki and a bow for Hisoka, just like always. Hisoka studied him as he stood up. Saki’s purple eyes seemed brighter, less distant. Emotionally, he felt calmer—the deep, dragging despair lightened and dissipated. His face was clear, showing no sign of his earlier tears… although, Hisoka reflected, with his healing abilities, that wasn’t surprising. Still, there was something tremulous about the boy—and if he felt deeper, the fear was there again, creeping and relentless.
“Saki-chan,” Tsuzuki said, hefting the boy in his arms and setting him on a hip. Normally, he’d complain cheerfully about how heavy Saki was getting, and Saki would give his small smile. Not today, though. “Hisoka said you were sad, today?”
Saki shook his head solemnly. “I wasn’t sad. I was just crying.”
Tsuzuki ruffled his hair with a free hand. “What were you crying about?”
Saki studied Tsuzuki, and Hisoka was struck, yet again, by the parallels in their faces—Tsuzuki holding himself in miniature. The resemblance grew more and less pronounced as Saki grew older—more, as his baby face molded itself into Tsuzuki’s adult features, less, as Saki’s expressions became more mature and more clearly different from Tsuzuki’s smile. Saki fixed his hand around the lapel of Tsuzuki’s coat. “Let’s go inside.”
Oriya met them in the traditional bedroom he shared with Saki, the clean lines of the walls and wood floors disrupted by brightly colored toys and games. “Shinigami,” he greeted them tiredly. He looked at Hisoka and thought, clearly, take him? I need sleep… Hisoka nodded. Oriya ruffled Saki’s hair, saying “Take it easy, kiddo. Play with Tsuzuki and Hisoka for a while, all right? I’ll be down the hall.” Saki nodded, and Hisoka felt only a moment’s flutter of fear from him. Then he nestled into Tsuzuki’s arms, which tightened around him comfortingly. Oriya half-bowed his head and stepped out.
Tsuzuki sat down cross-legged, shifting Saki to settle in his lap. Saki played with the ends of the trenchcoat’s sash, folding them over each other in his hands. Hisoka knelt across from them. “You don’t feel sad,” Hisoka agreed. “It feels like today’s not so bad, that way.”
Saki nodded. “I feel better. Shouko-sensei says the new medicine is working.”
“That’s good,” Tsuzuki said encouragingly.
“Mm,” Saki said, “But now I can think better.”
There was fear in the words, and Tsuzuki glanced at Hisoka, puzzled, to confirm that he’d heard right. Hisoka nodded. “What did you think of?” Tsuzuki asked.
Saki’s hands worried the sash, his eyes dropping to watch them. His voice dropped to a whisper. “My brother.”
It had been a long time since Tsuzuki and Hisoka had feared Muraki. That wasn’t true for Saki. “What about him?” Tsuzuki asked.
Saki’s voice went even lower. “He could get me.”
Tsuzuki hugged him tightly. “Nope. He couldn’t.” He looked down at Saki in his lap. “Do you know why?” Saki shook his head. “I bet you do. Remember the story? What happened at the end?”
Saki twisted, facing away. “Kwannon took him away. And he died.”
“That’s right,” Tsuzuki said.
“But you died,” Saki said.
“True,” Tsuzuki said. “But we decided not to go on to a new life. Your brother did. So he’s gone.”
“But,” Saki said, clearly confident that his argument was irrefutable, “then he’s in a new life! So he got born again as a different person. So he’s in the world somewhere. And he could get me again!”
“He’d be younger than you,” Hisoka pointed out. “Less than seven.”
Saki shook his head. “He could still get me. He’s mean. ” He was trembling.
“Hey.” Tsuzuki snuggled Saki to himself again, and Hisoka felt the boy’s need for reassurance fighting a deep conviction that touch means hurt means pain. Tsuzuki felt the tension and ignored it, sitting perfectly still. “He won’t get you. Do you know why?” Saki shook his head fractionally. “Because you’ve got two senju* on your side.” Saki said nothing. “And if anyone ever tried to lay a finger on you, me and Hisoka would be there like that. We won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Saki thought about that for a moment. “But what if you were busy? With work?”
“Then one of us would take care of work, and the other one would come and help you.”
Saki shook his head. “But what if you were too far away? In another world or something?”
“Then we’d come as soon as we could,” Tsuzuki said. “And in the meantime, your dad would take care of you. You’ve seen him sparring with Hisoka, right? You know how strong he is.”
Saki shook his head. “He’s not as strong as you. My brother is stronger than him.”
“Not if it’s about you,” Tsuzuki said. “Love makes people stronger. Your dad could beat anyone, if it was to keep you safe.”
“No, he couldn’t,” Saki said. “What if they had magic? He doesn’t have any magic.”
“You do,” Tsuzuki said. “We put up wards all over your whole house. Remember? No-one can get in.”
“But what if I’m at school?”
“Then… then your teacher will look after you,” Tsuzuki said, but Hisoka could hear the doubt in his voice. Hisoka felt it, too. This wasn’t helping, he thought. Saki felt just as frightened, just as convinced that he wasn’t safe. It wouldn’t matter what they said—this wasn’t a simple desire for a hug and a reassurance that he was loved. It went deeper.
“No,” Saki said. “My teacher doesn’t have any magic at all. She couldn’t do anything. ”
“Well,” Tsuzuki started.
Saki didn’t let him interrupt. “And my brother would kill her. And my dad. Really fast. Faster than you can teleport. And then he’d get me!”
“No,” Tsuzuki said. “He wouldn’t. Honestly, Saki-chan. We will protect you.”
“No,” Saki said, starting to sob. “He’ll get me! He’ll get me! He will!”
“Saki,” Hisoka said.
Saki blinked up, startled out of his panic. Probably, Hisoka thought, he hadn’t heard Hisoka raise his voice in years—maybe not since their flame-filled rescue of him. Certainly never to him. Hisoka met Saki’s gaze. “Do you know what Kwannon-sama would say?”
Saki shook his head, wide-eyed. For all that senju and demons were a normal part of his life, Saki had never met their divine boss, and he was still in awe. Hisoka stood. “Come out to the garden, and I’ll tell you.”
Saki hesitated, obviously not wanting to leave Tsuzuki’s lap. Tsuzuki frowned, wondering at Hisoka—you sure? Hisoka nodded slightly, and Tsuzuki pushed Saki gently, urging him on. Slowly, still crying, Saki stood, leaning against Tsuzuki’s chest. Hisoka made no move to reassure him—just held out a hand. Hiccupping slightly, Saki took it.
Hisoka said nothing as he led the way to the garden. It was autumn in this part of Earth, and the maple leaves were falling over the garden, covering the stone path, the large rocks and raked pebbles in brilliant crimson. Hisoka sat down on a smooth stone, facing a taller one, where Saki sat, so that their faces were level. Hisoka gave him a moment for the sobs to slow. They did—this was strange enough to make Saki wary again.
“Do you trust us?” Hisoka asked.
Saki nodded, then stopped, confused. “Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
Saki looked away, picking up a leaf. “I know you would come to help me. But what if…” He hesitated, then went on when Hisoka made no move to interrupt him. “What if you couldn’t?”
“Then we couldn’t,” Hisoka said.
Saki stared at him, shocked, but somehow not entirely shocked. “He’d get me.”
“Yes,” Hisoka said. “Like he got you before. Or like he got me.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “And then you’d get rescued, one way or another. Just like we were before.” He cocked his head, thoughtful. “What would that be like?”
Saki shook his head. “Bad, Soka! It would be terrible.”
“Yeah,” Hisoka said. “While he had you, it would be very bad. I remember. But what about when you were safe again?” Saki just stared at him. “Are you safe now?”
Saki wrapped his arms around himself. “No,” he said, whispering, horrified. “I’m not safe.”
“Why not?”
Saki glared at him, obviously tired of having to repeat this. “He could get me.”
“No,” Hisoka said. He moved forward, so that he was less than a foot away from the boy, holding his attention with his gaze. “I’m not asking about the future. Right now, Saki. Right this very instant.” He breathed slowly, his voice and feelings even, letting the boy’s fear run through him and away. “Is he hurting you right now? Is he here?”
Saki looked around. The garden was still, peaceful. A maple-leaf fell to land in the koi pond, sending out gentle ripples. “No… but he could!”
Hisoka slipped off the rock to kneel in front of him. “Give me your hands, Saki.” Slowly, the boy obeyed. “Is it all right if I change how you feel, to show you what I mean?”
“With empathy?” Saki asked, stumbling over the word. Hisoka nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Hisoka said. “Look around.” Saki glanced over his shoulder, worried. “What do you see?”
“Nothing,” Saki said.
“Nothing?” Hisoka said, careful not to sound amused—he remembered how much he’d hated adult condescension at this age. “I see red leaves… and white stones…”
“Oh,” Saki said. “The pond. And you. And the house.”
“Good,” Hisoka said. “What do you hear?”
Saki thought about it. “Um… the water-clock? And the cars outside. And that crow.”
“Mm,” Hisoka said. “And your breath.”
“You can’t hear breathing!”
“Try it.”
Saki sniffed, and opened his mouth to breathe out. “Okay. But only if you try hard.”
“Don’t try too hard,” Hisoka said. “Just breathe like always. But pay attention to it.” His voice was soft, calm. “Pay attention to everything—whatever you see, whatever you hear. Just notice it. There’s a lot to notice. Right?” Saki nodded, fascinated. Hisoka let the feelings build between them, and slowly, let his own calm overrule Saki’s fear. “Saki. You’re safe, now.” He felt the cool air on his face, Saki’s warm hands in his own. “You weren’t before. And maybe sometime later, you won’t be again.” The fear rose again, and Hisoka let it, lifted it from its roots, let it drift away. “But now, you’re here. With me. In this garden. With the leaves, and the crow, and the sky. You’re here, you’re now. Not then. Not there.” Saki’s wide purple eyes met his, and Hisoka gave him a half-smile. “Right here. Right now.” He let the feeling of safety expand—relaxed, eased. Safe. “Nothing is hurting you now. Is it?”
Saki shook his head, slowly. “Soka,” he said, “it was scary.”
“Yes,” Hisoka said. “It was.”
“I don’t want to be scared again.”
Hisoka shrugged. “You will be,” he said. “And then you’ll be safe again. That’s how it goes. But the fear won’t last forever.” He held Saki’s feelings, as gently and surely as he held his hands. “Nothing can. Not fear, not sadness—not hate. They all fade. They come and go.” He looked around, instilling it in Saki’s mind—the smell of burning leaves drifting on the breeze, the reflections of branches in the pond. “Are you safe, right now?”
Hesitantly, Saki nodded. “Yes.”
“Good,” Hisoka said. “Let’s go find Tsuzuki.”
Saki stood, picking up a leaf to bring inside. Hisoka followed, still feeling the moment’s calm. It won’t last, he thought. We’ll be back again, maybe next week. I’ll have to do it again, and again, and again.
But not right now.
Hisoka met Tsuzuki’s eyes as they came back in, ready to fill him in on everything. Tsuzuki just smiled, and turned to thank Saki for the leaf, bright as a flower. He’d gotten good at taking the pleasures of the moment. They all had, Hisoka thought.
Better. It wasn’t perfect. It would never be perfect.
But just now—it was good.
That would do.
End.
*Senju is a bit of a pun, as “senjuu” means “full time-worker”, but “senjukannon” means “thousand armed Kannon,” making Tsuzuki and Hisoka two of her thousand arms.
Better
Years in the Bodhisattva’s service did not mean that Tsuzuki no longer cried. But now the feelings swept through him, deep and racking and then gone, like spring rains leaving behind a fresh sky. Now he mourned, and then finished mourning.
It was what he did on the day that Saki, finally old enough to reach the counters, slit his wrists with the kitchen knife.
Tsuzkuki and Hisoka were there almost as soon as it happened, but they didn’t do much besides be there. Oriya wrapped unnecessary bandages around his foster-son’s arms, applying them carefully, even though the wounds were fading from Saki’s left wrist before Oriya had finished wrapping the right. Saki sat still, face blank, unresisting. Oriya finished with the bandages and simply wrapped his arms around the boy, rocking him back and forth, just as he had when he first brought him home. Hisoka remembered the hours Oriya had spent then, holding the shrieking, terrified infant—singing, chanting, sometimes just talking, as Saki screamed, on and on and on. Until finally Saki had tired, quieted, willing to let himself be held and rest until he got his strength back enough to scream again. It had taken months, before the periods of rest were longer than the periods of screaming. Months after that until the screams confined themselves to his dreams and first hour after waking. Saki walked when he was three, spoke when he was four—well, but late. He had spent the first year of his life on terror, and it hadn’t left time for anything else.
Now… Hisoka and Tsuzuki stayed with Oriya until Saki slept again. “We’ll be back if you need us,” Tsuzuki said. “In a second. Less.”
“Or if I don’t?” Oriya asked, and the hint of humor in his voice reassured Hisoka. The sword-master had aged these past eight years, and just now he looked particularly grey. “We’ll be fine, shinigami. I’ll talk to his psychologist, we’ll change his medications. It’s just… these things happen.”
Tsuzuki nodded, not trying to put a better face on the situation than it deserved. “We’ll be back.”
“You always are,” Oriya said. “Take it easy.” Tsuzuki and Hisoka nodded, and disappeared.
At home on their bed, Tsuzuki sobbed in Hisoka’s arms, four of their dogs clustered around and nosing him worriedly. “I wanted it to be better for him,” Tsuzuki gasped. “Not worse.”
Than it was for you, Hisoka thought, the projected question met with affirmation so quickly it barely registered. “It’s hard,” he said aloud, reflecting the feeling—unfair, sad, gut-wrenchingly disappointing. He could usually tell his feelings from Tsuzuki’s these days, but not now, when they were so similar. He held his lover close, just to comfort him with his presence—I’m here. We’re together in this. I love you.
Presently, the tears slowed, enough for Tsuzuki to sit up and laugh at a dog, who had managed to wedge his entire body underneath Tsuzuki’s armpit and between the two of them, and was earnestly licking his chin. “Thank you, Shin-kun,” he said politely, too smilingly for the formality. “That’s very helpful.” The dog thumped his tail enthusiastically. Tsuzuki sighed, ruffling his ears. “Poor Saki-chan.”
Hisoka left his hands on Tsuzuki’s arms, his eyes on the clean white paper of the wall. “He does have it better, you know. He has us. And Oriya.”
“I had Ruka.”
Yes, and with that thought came, too complex for words, all of Hisoka’s feelings on the strengths and failings of Tsuzuki’s sister. Tsuzuki shrugged acknowledgement. “And a village that hated you. And no-one at all to tell you what you were.”
“You don’t think that’s his problem?” Knowing what he is?
“Being what he is, maybe, part of it. Not knowing.”
“Mm.” Tsuzuki stretched out on his back, all seven dogs (Yukiko, Yoko and Harry having come in from the garden) clambering around and on him, tails wagging. “Let’s go back tomorrow.”
“Sure,” Hisoka said. “That’ll give you enough time to get all the dog hair off the futon.” Tsuzuki shot him a wounded look, and Hisoka smirked, almost enough to laugh. Hisoka leaned over and stroked Tsuzuki’s hair, adding his own weight, so that Tsuzuki was covered completely with warmth. Tsuzuki just looked up at him and beamed.
They talked about it more, of course—with each other, at length, with Oriya, more tersely. Saki didn’t seem to want to talk. He spoke about other things, with his usual solemnity, but on this subject, he was silent.
That lasted for a few weeks, until Hisoka sat up at the office, shaken. Tsuzuki noticed it immediately. “What?”
“Oriya,” Hisoka said. “He’s worried… Saki’s crying.”
“What happened?” Tsuzuki was tense, ready to move in a second, but not until he knew what was going on. Their co-workers watched them, interested, ready to help at need.
Hisoka concentrated. “Nothing,” he said, slowly. “He just started crying.” He thought about it. “They’re okay, I think. But we should go by after work.”
Tsuzuki nodded, and returned his focus to the job in front of them, clean and certain.
After work, though, his focus was just as clearly on Saki. The boy greeted them at the door of Kou Kakou Rou with a hug for Tsuzuki and a bow for Hisoka, just like always. Hisoka studied him as he stood up. Saki’s purple eyes seemed brighter, less distant. Emotionally, he felt calmer—the deep, dragging despair lightened and dissipated. His face was clear, showing no sign of his earlier tears… although, Hisoka reflected, with his healing abilities, that wasn’t surprising. Still, there was something tremulous about the boy—and if he felt deeper, the fear was there again, creeping and relentless.
“Saki-chan,” Tsuzuki said, hefting the boy in his arms and setting him on a hip. Normally, he’d complain cheerfully about how heavy Saki was getting, and Saki would give his small smile. Not today, though. “Hisoka said you were sad, today?”
Saki shook his head solemnly. “I wasn’t sad. I was just crying.”
Tsuzuki ruffled his hair with a free hand. “What were you crying about?”
Saki studied Tsuzuki, and Hisoka was struck, yet again, by the parallels in their faces—Tsuzuki holding himself in miniature. The resemblance grew more and less pronounced as Saki grew older—more, as his baby face molded itself into Tsuzuki’s adult features, less, as Saki’s expressions became more mature and more clearly different from Tsuzuki’s smile. Saki fixed his hand around the lapel of Tsuzuki’s coat. “Let’s go inside.”
Oriya met them in the traditional bedroom he shared with Saki, the clean lines of the walls and wood floors disrupted by brightly colored toys and games. “Shinigami,” he greeted them tiredly. He looked at Hisoka and thought, clearly, take him? I need sleep… Hisoka nodded. Oriya ruffled Saki’s hair, saying “Take it easy, kiddo. Play with Tsuzuki and Hisoka for a while, all right? I’ll be down the hall.” Saki nodded, and Hisoka felt only a moment’s flutter of fear from him. Then he nestled into Tsuzuki’s arms, which tightened around him comfortingly. Oriya half-bowed his head and stepped out.
Tsuzuki sat down cross-legged, shifting Saki to settle in his lap. Saki played with the ends of the trenchcoat’s sash, folding them over each other in his hands. Hisoka knelt across from them. “You don’t feel sad,” Hisoka agreed. “It feels like today’s not so bad, that way.”
Saki nodded. “I feel better. Shouko-sensei says the new medicine is working.”
“That’s good,” Tsuzuki said encouragingly.
“Mm,” Saki said, “But now I can think better.”
There was fear in the words, and Tsuzuki glanced at Hisoka, puzzled, to confirm that he’d heard right. Hisoka nodded. “What did you think of?” Tsuzuki asked.
Saki’s hands worried the sash, his eyes dropping to watch them. His voice dropped to a whisper. “My brother.”
It had been a long time since Tsuzuki and Hisoka had feared Muraki. That wasn’t true for Saki. “What about him?” Tsuzuki asked.
Saki’s voice went even lower. “He could get me.”
Tsuzuki hugged him tightly. “Nope. He couldn’t.” He looked down at Saki in his lap. “Do you know why?” Saki shook his head. “I bet you do. Remember the story? What happened at the end?”
Saki twisted, facing away. “Kwannon took him away. And he died.”
“That’s right,” Tsuzuki said.
“But you died,” Saki said.
“True,” Tsuzuki said. “But we decided not to go on to a new life. Your brother did. So he’s gone.”
“But,” Saki said, clearly confident that his argument was irrefutable, “then he’s in a new life! So he got born again as a different person. So he’s in the world somewhere. And he could get me again!”
“He’d be younger than you,” Hisoka pointed out. “Less than seven.”
Saki shook his head. “He could still get me. He’s mean. ” He was trembling.
“Hey.” Tsuzuki snuggled Saki to himself again, and Hisoka felt the boy’s need for reassurance fighting a deep conviction that touch means hurt means pain. Tsuzuki felt the tension and ignored it, sitting perfectly still. “He won’t get you. Do you know why?” Saki shook his head fractionally. “Because you’ve got two senju* on your side.” Saki said nothing. “And if anyone ever tried to lay a finger on you, me and Hisoka would be there like that. We won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Saki thought about that for a moment. “But what if you were busy? With work?”
“Then one of us would take care of work, and the other one would come and help you.”
Saki shook his head. “But what if you were too far away? In another world or something?”
“Then we’d come as soon as we could,” Tsuzuki said. “And in the meantime, your dad would take care of you. You’ve seen him sparring with Hisoka, right? You know how strong he is.”
Saki shook his head. “He’s not as strong as you. My brother is stronger than him.”
“Not if it’s about you,” Tsuzuki said. “Love makes people stronger. Your dad could beat anyone, if it was to keep you safe.”
“No, he couldn’t,” Saki said. “What if they had magic? He doesn’t have any magic.”
“You do,” Tsuzuki said. “We put up wards all over your whole house. Remember? No-one can get in.”
“But what if I’m at school?”
“Then… then your teacher will look after you,” Tsuzuki said, but Hisoka could hear the doubt in his voice. Hisoka felt it, too. This wasn’t helping, he thought. Saki felt just as frightened, just as convinced that he wasn’t safe. It wouldn’t matter what they said—this wasn’t a simple desire for a hug and a reassurance that he was loved. It went deeper.
“No,” Saki said. “My teacher doesn’t have any magic at all. She couldn’t do anything. ”
“Well,” Tsuzuki started.
Saki didn’t let him interrupt. “And my brother would kill her. And my dad. Really fast. Faster than you can teleport. And then he’d get me!”
“No,” Tsuzuki said. “He wouldn’t. Honestly, Saki-chan. We will protect you.”
“No,” Saki said, starting to sob. “He’ll get me! He’ll get me! He will!”
“Saki,” Hisoka said.
Saki blinked up, startled out of his panic. Probably, Hisoka thought, he hadn’t heard Hisoka raise his voice in years—maybe not since their flame-filled rescue of him. Certainly never to him. Hisoka met Saki’s gaze. “Do you know what Kwannon-sama would say?”
Saki shook his head, wide-eyed. For all that senju and demons were a normal part of his life, Saki had never met their divine boss, and he was still in awe. Hisoka stood. “Come out to the garden, and I’ll tell you.”
Saki hesitated, obviously not wanting to leave Tsuzuki’s lap. Tsuzuki frowned, wondering at Hisoka—you sure? Hisoka nodded slightly, and Tsuzuki pushed Saki gently, urging him on. Slowly, still crying, Saki stood, leaning against Tsuzuki’s chest. Hisoka made no move to reassure him—just held out a hand. Hiccupping slightly, Saki took it.
Hisoka said nothing as he led the way to the garden. It was autumn in this part of Earth, and the maple leaves were falling over the garden, covering the stone path, the large rocks and raked pebbles in brilliant crimson. Hisoka sat down on a smooth stone, facing a taller one, where Saki sat, so that their faces were level. Hisoka gave him a moment for the sobs to slow. They did—this was strange enough to make Saki wary again.
“Do you trust us?” Hisoka asked.
Saki nodded, then stopped, confused. “Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
Saki looked away, picking up a leaf. “I know you would come to help me. But what if…” He hesitated, then went on when Hisoka made no move to interrupt him. “What if you couldn’t?”
“Then we couldn’t,” Hisoka said.
Saki stared at him, shocked, but somehow not entirely shocked. “He’d get me.”
“Yes,” Hisoka said. “Like he got you before. Or like he got me.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “And then you’d get rescued, one way or another. Just like we were before.” He cocked his head, thoughtful. “What would that be like?”
Saki shook his head. “Bad, Soka! It would be terrible.”
“Yeah,” Hisoka said. “While he had you, it would be very bad. I remember. But what about when you were safe again?” Saki just stared at him. “Are you safe now?”
Saki wrapped his arms around himself. “No,” he said, whispering, horrified. “I’m not safe.”
“Why not?”
Saki glared at him, obviously tired of having to repeat this. “He could get me.”
“No,” Hisoka said. He moved forward, so that he was less than a foot away from the boy, holding his attention with his gaze. “I’m not asking about the future. Right now, Saki. Right this very instant.” He breathed slowly, his voice and feelings even, letting the boy’s fear run through him and away. “Is he hurting you right now? Is he here?”
Saki looked around. The garden was still, peaceful. A maple-leaf fell to land in the koi pond, sending out gentle ripples. “No… but he could!”
Hisoka slipped off the rock to kneel in front of him. “Give me your hands, Saki.” Slowly, the boy obeyed. “Is it all right if I change how you feel, to show you what I mean?”
“With empathy?” Saki asked, stumbling over the word. Hisoka nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Hisoka said. “Look around.” Saki glanced over his shoulder, worried. “What do you see?”
“Nothing,” Saki said.
“Nothing?” Hisoka said, careful not to sound amused—he remembered how much he’d hated adult condescension at this age. “I see red leaves… and white stones…”
“Oh,” Saki said. “The pond. And you. And the house.”
“Good,” Hisoka said. “What do you hear?”
Saki thought about it. “Um… the water-clock? And the cars outside. And that crow.”
“Mm,” Hisoka said. “And your breath.”
“You can’t hear breathing!”
“Try it.”
Saki sniffed, and opened his mouth to breathe out. “Okay. But only if you try hard.”
“Don’t try too hard,” Hisoka said. “Just breathe like always. But pay attention to it.” His voice was soft, calm. “Pay attention to everything—whatever you see, whatever you hear. Just notice it. There’s a lot to notice. Right?” Saki nodded, fascinated. Hisoka let the feelings build between them, and slowly, let his own calm overrule Saki’s fear. “Saki. You’re safe, now.” He felt the cool air on his face, Saki’s warm hands in his own. “You weren’t before. And maybe sometime later, you won’t be again.” The fear rose again, and Hisoka let it, lifted it from its roots, let it drift away. “But now, you’re here. With me. In this garden. With the leaves, and the crow, and the sky. You’re here, you’re now. Not then. Not there.” Saki’s wide purple eyes met his, and Hisoka gave him a half-smile. “Right here. Right now.” He let the feeling of safety expand—relaxed, eased. Safe. “Nothing is hurting you now. Is it?”
Saki shook his head, slowly. “Soka,” he said, “it was scary.”
“Yes,” Hisoka said. “It was.”
“I don’t want to be scared again.”
Hisoka shrugged. “You will be,” he said. “And then you’ll be safe again. That’s how it goes. But the fear won’t last forever.” He held Saki’s feelings, as gently and surely as he held his hands. “Nothing can. Not fear, not sadness—not hate. They all fade. They come and go.” He looked around, instilling it in Saki’s mind—the smell of burning leaves drifting on the breeze, the reflections of branches in the pond. “Are you safe, right now?”
Hesitantly, Saki nodded. “Yes.”
“Good,” Hisoka said. “Let’s go find Tsuzuki.”
Saki stood, picking up a leaf to bring inside. Hisoka followed, still feeling the moment’s calm. It won’t last, he thought. We’ll be back again, maybe next week. I’ll have to do it again, and again, and again.
But not right now.
Hisoka met Tsuzuki’s eyes as they came back in, ready to fill him in on everything. Tsuzuki just smiled, and turned to thank Saki for the leaf, bright as a flower. He’d gotten good at taking the pleasures of the moment. They all had, Hisoka thought.
Better. It wasn’t perfect. It would never be perfect.
But just now—it was good.
That would do.
End.
*Senju is a bit of a pun, as “senjuu” means “full time-worker”, but “senjukannon” means “thousand armed Kannon,” making Tsuzuki and Hisoka two of her thousand arms.
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And this was very good on today, because today is special and this made it special-er. XD
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I suppose I should have known that Tsuzuki and Hisoka wouldn't let that happen. Well... I knew they would try, but I didn't know if they would succeed. I'm glad to see they have a chance.