A/N: Hi all. You guys are probably tired of getting these stories by now; but there's a new chapter coming out and I feel like the community is getting a bit more active. In this story I hope to take a slightly more mature stance on Casca's recovery, but avoid as much melodrama and edgy angst as possible. It's more about moving forward than reclaiming what was lost, but never forgetting what made you. This is really three short chapters all, signaled by line breaks, but all function as an exposition of major themes throughout this story.

Hope you enjoy.

1. She Speaks

Guts followed the soft and inviting voice of the Flower Storm Monarch as she called to him in the dense, dark forest. Gorgeous foliage of many colors adorned the tall trees around them. The canopy was thick enough to cast a lazy shade over the landscape, but porous enough to allow fleeting rays of light to splatter the green canvas. As he walked slowly with heavy trepidation, he could see her beauty being illuminated by those very rays of light. In that dress, she stood out like a wildflower amongst a bed of weeds. Her brown skin and sinewy black hair complemented the scenery, and her large, dark brown eyes glistened when the rays hit them just right. It was like she was some exotic fairy tale princess.

He longed for this day. The day to finally speak to her and hear her soothing, strong voice reply in kind. Her words had a power over him that no one could ever replicate. No, not just her words. Her very being. Just her being alive was enough to soothe the wounds across his tortured soul. Finally, he could be with the real Casca.

They had so much to talk about. Yet, as he approached her, struggling against the lump in his throat, she could scarcely say two words before her expression suddenly changed. His heart sank.

She let out a screech so wretched, so full of pain that he froze in his tracks. He frantically looked over to Farnese and Schierke, who rushed to her aid, but she waved her arms, swatting them away. She grasped at her hair and face, pulling and contorting it in every direction before falling to her knees.

Guts pleaded earnestly for this to just be a dream, to whom he didn't know. He reached out his right arm– his good arm, he made sure of it– but she crawled away. Her visage was marred with a terror he had hoped to never see again. She bolted deep into the woods, never ceasing the screams. His arm dropped to his side and he cowered, not wanting her to see him. However, his heart was shattered. His dreams; defeated and buried. He stood there.

The wailing continued in between gasps for breath and Guts was at a loss. He just stood there. Everyone was watching, eager to see their reunion, and some wanted to help. But the palpable sense of dejection exuded by Guts' posture and countenance made them keep their distance. What could do that even the Flower Storm Monarch couldn't do? What could they do that even he couldn't do?

"Go to her, Guts" an echoing voice in his head prodded him. The same one that had called him to this tree. "Go to her and be her rock. Be her tether to this world unless you want to lose her forever."

Still confused, he responded. "How can I… Look at me. Look at her. I…"

"Be her sheath, Guts. Protect her. Come to her as you are. As the man she has longed to see, wholly, scars and all."

He let the Monarch's advice ruminate in his mind, trying to decipher her cryptic message. These supernatural types always spoke in ways he swore was purposefully designed to confound him. He looked at his hands, bringing the right one up to brush over his eye socket. Across his face were grooves and ridges where scar tissue formed or knicks healed inwardly.

"But I'm not the same man she remembers…" he reasoned.

"You are. She's seen it all. She remembers it all. She was there, beneath it all. Trapped in a dream she couldn't escape. But there was always someone she wanted to meet. It was you, as you are. The human named Guts" the Monarch advised, slowly fading into a soft echo signaling her departure from his psyche.

It was true that Guts had changed. Years of constant battle against creatures whose sole existences are dedicated to causing humans grief ate away at his mind, soul, and body. Staring into the darkness and fighting a war he had only a sliver of hope in winning reflected back unto him in the most wicked of ways. He didn't deserve her and he knew it. Not after the things he did to avenge those fallen comrades he had no claim to. Not after the things he failed to do for her in her most trying times. Especially not the grave sin he committed against her… He prayed that she didn't really see it all.

Even so, he gritted his teeth and began running after her. So afraid of what he was about to experience. Genuine fear for the first time in a long time. But Judeau's words crept into his mind and fed his spirit.

"Take her with you. Even if you have to drag her. If you don't, she'll…"

She was his commander. His comrade, with whom he's seen so many battles. His friend and source of strength. The mother of his…

"I have to reach her." he thought to himself, remembering how she gets under stress. Remembering the cliff. How he wished there were no cliffs where he was headed.

"I will never leave you again. I promise."

As if he was given some divine guidance, a latch on his prosthetic loosened inside the armor and made both it and his armor dangle. He understood now.

Guts unhinged his sword and cape and began taking off his armor piece by piece. He ran to her, following the sound of her wails and the trail she left. The cool sea breeze fell upon his skin like a soft blanket on a warm, arid night. Though his body ached from the battles in the armor, and the Astral wound across his chest and back began its painful throbbing, he walked to her unfazed. Lastly, he unfastened his prosthetic arm cannon and simply dropped it on his way to her, never taking his eyes off of her. The air pierced his sweaty nub like prickly little needles.

"Casca…" he said dryly. This time, she didn't run away.

He knelt before her, signifying that they were on the same level. She looked like a cornered animal. Petrified, frozen with fear. He extended his arm and brushed the hair out of her face. Then, he gently pulled her in to embrace her.

She initially struggled, but his grip was unyielding and his warmth was almost like a shield. They stayed this way for some time, until her cries were controlled enough that he could utter some kind of consoling wisdom.

"It's okay, Casca. It's over now. You're alive, and that's all that matters now. Just feel alive."

He knew it would take more than a few terse sentences about how everything was better now, though. He wracked his brain to figure out what an appropriate path to follow was. It would take some time before he could get her to speak. Throughout the ordeal, he fought back his own tears.

"Remember the curse of the battlefield? There's no time to wallow in regret and loss," he spoke into her hair, "We have each other now. We have to hold on to what we've got and keep moving forward. As long as our commander is alive, the Band will always live."

She was silent. To him, it was a good sign. At least she'd stopped crying. He was getting through to her. He repeated his mantra in her ear over and over.

"I will never leave you again. Never."

"I promise."

Pulling his head back to see her face, she was still crying; and he was heartbroken once more. It was apparent that she was fighting her urge to wail. He wiped the tears off her face and caressed her head in his hands. All he needed was for her to be strong so they could talk. They had so much to talk about.

"Speak to me, Casca" he begged. It's all he ever wanted for these past years which felt like generations. When he was angry, her words calmed him. When he was unsure, her words could make up his mind. When he knew he was wrong, she would put him in his place. That's the way its been since the day he met her. The way she managed to subvert whatever barriers he had created to keep people out was not an aspect that was lost on him. Casca's influence on his life was profound.

A few sniffles broke up the silence here and there. To his own credit, Guts was very patient.

"Dammit Casca, plea-" he murmured before being abruptly cut off.

"Why?" Casca's hoarse throat managed slip out, solemnly in tone.

His eyes lit up and he snapped his head back to see the curve of her lips as she finished the word.

"Why what?"

She lowered her head into his shoulder as if she was ashamed to let him see her.

"Why did this happen to us?"

Guts chose his next words very carefully. He tried to avoid any heavy topics, but the way she asked– or rather, what she asked– stirred an intense anger and hatred from deep within him. After all, if he hadn't done what he did to his so-called comrades, this conversation would never have even had to happen. For all Guts knew, this moment in a different timeline could be under entirely different circumstances if it wasn't for that bastard. There was no explanation that they didn't know all along.

Though his heart was full of fire and brimstone, he was silent. Stoic and pensive. He didn't know how to answer her question in any meaningful capacity. Instead, he just positioned himself in a way that their foreheads could touch, so he could gaze at her. She knew he meant well.

Casca sniffed and wheezed, tightly gripping his tunic. Fighting the tears for so long, she finally relented. He would be there for her.

2. Offspring

Hours passed and the day finally transitioned into night. At times like this, Guts passively thanked his luck that he was safe here. Away from the apparitions that sought to drag them to hell. Away from the fighting.

The pain in his body seemed to be slowly fading. Maybe it was the air or the healing effects of the island, but he could swear that his body was getting better. He didn't know, nor did he particularly care. Being next to her like this. It felt right.

He ran after her so fast he didn't really pay attention to where they were. They were at the mouth of a small cave covered with vines and moss. Without a word, he took his tunic off and placed it over her shoulders.

"It's getting cold and dark. We should head back" he said over his shoulder as he stood up.

"No. Let's just stay here for a while."

She looked up at him with a forced smile. He could tell. He could see through the farce, and visualize the true emotions she hid.

"Fine. But let's get safe. I'm going to get firewood. We'll stay in the cave." He started searching in the immediate area; not wanting to stray too far and lose sight of her. Periodically watching while he gathered the fuel. She didn't move so much as a twitch until she hung her head between her arms and knees. He could tell she was crying again.

A yellow-orange tint engulfed the walls of the cave as the fire began to pick up. Guts couldn't keep his eyes off of her face. It was almost pitiful to see the proud warrior she once was imprisoned. Yet he knew that she was still the same woman. She may not ever be like how she used to, but her name is still Casca. The most important thing that kept him from succumbing to the darkness in his soul. His commander, partner, and the mother of his lost child.

"That child is an omen. One day, it will bring woe upon you both." he recalled of the Skull Knight's warning.

A child shouldn't have to pay for the sins of their parents. He remembers the day it was born. In a way, it still haunted him. That misshapen pile of vaguely human looking demonic flesh would follow him around. Seemingly taking pleasure in torturing him and forcing him to relive whatever painful memories he was trying to run away from. It always knew his location, never ceasing its unwanted intrusion. If Guts was totally honest with himself, he meant to kill it. Demons are demons.

At least, at one point, that's the way he felt. Upon seeing Casca deliver it he was furious; however, he hesitated to harm it. Something about the way Casca wanted to keep him– or IT, rather– made him lose his kill drive just for a second. That's what Guts told himself. But what stopped Guts from killing him all those other times?

When the Skull Knight told him it was his child– that Casca had been pregnant with their child– he cried. He cried even after seeing the baby's grotesque form. Guts would find himself periodically thinking about him. Or her. Or it. Wondering what it was up to at any given time. Maybe somewhere in Guts' heart, someday, he could admit that he too longed for his child.

Sometimes, brief windows of cathartic introspection gave way to new perceptions of his child's actions. In some ways, the child helped Guts. He would follow Guts around and show him sides of himself he ran from. Horrible things he did but meant to ignore in pursuit of his goals. Reminding him of things like letting that man Vargas die or sending the souls of those lost children to the vortex just so he could kill those who wronged him. The demon baby was proving to him that he still had some humanity left and he felt disgusted by his own actions, so he tried to run from them in order to become a necessary monster.

Without their child, Guts would've never known Casca was in danger. He would've lost her and, in turn, lost himself. Ever since then he hasn't seen their child, but he wished to see it at least once more. At the bare minimum he could thank it for saving their lives. More than anything, he wanted to apologize for being the way he was before. Of course, he would never admit this.

Guts was so focused on his tangent of thoughts over his child, he'd forgotten to stop staring at Casca. There was a way the hue of the flames reflected against her skin that entranced him. They conjured up memories of a hilltop. Just her and him watching everyone from afar. Watching the little campfires. Surveying everyone's dream together.

Observing her features in the light, he noticed that she kind of favored somebody he's seen before. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

3. Broken

"Maybe I am an omen. Maybe I'm just bad luck." Guts said aloud as he sat across from Casca.

It was hard to get her to talk, and Guts himself was never much of a conversationalist. Thanks to the overwhelming emotions he felt, though, it seemed like he could talk about anything with her right now and not feel out-of-place. It was more like talking to her than with her, however. It never mattered anyway with her.

"When I was a boy, they would always be callin' me names. All of my father's mercenary comrades. 'He's bad news, Gambino,' or 'You know he's an omen'," he stated, "I'm startin' to think they were right."

Casca cocked her head in confusion. "...the father you killed?" She dryly responded. He couldn't tell if she was taking a dig at him or genuinely asking.

"Yeah, that one. He was the closest thing I had to a father. For some reason, I feel like I'm becomin' more and more like him every day." He thought about his child as he spoke. To the kid, he was probably like Gambino.

Casca gave him a quizzical look, but it quickly turned one of anger. Just like the old her. "You feel like the same man who sold you out against your will?"

He knew she wouldn't understand. She was right, his dad was a monster by various standards. Guts knew that. But there were times where he seemed to genuinely have empathy and he taught Guts his only way of life. But it wasn't only Gambino that taught Guts empathy.

"What you don't know is that I had a mother, too. Well, I had two mothers. One was a corpse. The other found me, raised me, and died when I was just barely startin' to remember things. But I remember she was always so good to me and I wasn't even hers. A mercenary's wife with a heart of gold. That's probably why Gambino loved her even after she died. Losing someone so pure because of a monster not even worth his own weight in silver… it's enough to drive a man mad." Guts continued, solemnly. He lamented his own existence. Never knowing how to do anything but fight, but sometimes he wished he'd have died before he had anything worth losing.

Casca was getting sick of hearing him like this. Furiously, she snapped, "Guts, stop! What does that even have to do with any-"

"You asked why this is happening to us earlier. That's my answer," he retorted loudly, yet not full on shouting, "Don't you see the pattern? Wherever I go, whoever I love, they suffer because of me. My parents, the Band, you." When he said he loved her, she couldn't help but blush a little, but was soon overcome by more frustration.

"I love you, Casca. And I went out and formed companions again because I can't be with you and fight for you at the same time. I don't want to hurt them or you any more. I can't take back what I've done to you. The years I've left you alone when you needed me the most. Everything I've done to you…" For some reason, when he said those last words, he couldn't look her in the eyes. He couldn't bear to admit his guilt and his shame. Nobody is perfect, he thought, but nobody is as fucked as he is either and still proudly call themselves human.

That proclamation must have awakened something in her, because she began trembling soon after. If it was from rage, fear, or sadness, he couldn't tell.

"You mean this?" Casca spit, as she jumped to her knees and pulled her dress down to show her beasts. There it was. The mark of his teeth. The fruits of his perverse labor. Proof that she was there. Fuel to the fire that continued to blacken his already scorching soul. "You knew, Guts! You knew what it meant to me! How I felt! You yourself know how it feels to be so helpless… and yet, you..."

Casca stared him down. She wasn't as angry at what he'd done to her as she was disappointed. Not just in his actions that day, either. In his actions for the next few years after and in his behavior. She remembered being a prisoner in her own body while desperately wanting to escape the dream called Elaine so she could see Guts. It's what her heart wanted. It wanted to prevent seeing Guts like this. He ran away from her and from the pain of Griffith's betrayal, and there he was in front of her with his head down. Too ashamed to look her in the eye.

"I was lonely in that cave. Erika and Rickert were good to me, but they weren't there that day. They couldn't understand. Nobody else could possibly understand. I needed you… and you left." she said, dropping to sit and covering her breasts with her crossed arms. Her voice much lower than before, barely a quiver.

The gall it took to drag her from Elaine back to Casca and be unprepared for what comes next was so unfathomable that she couldn't understand if it really was him. Enough so that it made her cry again. As it was, being Elaine is what kept those feelings from resurfacing. It kept her mind and soul intact. She couldn't handle everything alone.

Guts could feel her eyes change focus, so he stopped looking away. He hated seeing her cry. But in true Casca fashion, it was her disposition that spurred him into action. He pulled the cloth back over her breasts gently before holding her chin up so he could look her in the eye as he spoke.

"D-don't touch me!" she protested, becoming cognizant.

"If you were really there, inside, when I… did what I did… Then look into my eye." He asked as he gazed into her eyes, that brazen look she had known him for. Searching for fragments of Elaine's memories. "Casca, that wasn't me. I can't just explain away assault, but I want you to know that it wasn't me. You see it, don't you?"

Something was wrong with the way he looked. In fact, she could see it that day by the tree when he assaulted her. Fearing for her life, she fought back, but was powerless against it. It was almost like he was frantic or possessed– like a mad dog solely focused on devouring what's in front of him. She'd seen him like that before, but never to this extent.

Elaine struggled against it, and as she did, behind his glassy eye, she could see it. An ominous black beast taking control of the man who was usually caring and gentle towards her. Casca screamed Guts' name to get him to come to his senses, but Elaine wouldn't listen. Elaine never listened. That's all she could recall before passing out from the pain.

By her expression, Guts knew that Casca understood what he meant.

Guts shuffled closer to her. "You get it now? There are still things in this world I need to explain. I can't tell if I lost control from the stress of dealing with you in that state or from not having the strength to keep demonic possessions at bay, but I know that monster is a part of me. It might seem like the damage I took from the Eclipse was just to my body, but that's wrong. My heart was broken and cracked, too. And I foolishly allowed myself to keep breaking until I was saved by my friends..." he thought about the joint effort everybody took to keep him and Casca together before finishing his statement, "...No, my family."

For some reason, calling them his family made him feel uneasy. To claim them as someone he loved meant that he was putting them directly in the crossfire; however, for all they did, calling them anything less would be outright disrespectful. Puck, Godo, Rickert, Isidro, Schierke, Serpico, and Farnese. The others. She has much more to thank them for than him. Yet here he was, tasked with bringing her back into their twisted, warped reality. Truth be told, he was expecting them all to lend him their help one more time– to get back a completely different Casca, no less.

"Nothing I can do will erase what I've done. No half assed apologies or promises to save you. You have to want this, Casca. It's your life. Either way, I intend to win this war and keep you and my companions safe by any means. That's all I can do to make things right. That's why I'm... going to…" Guts trailed off. He caught himself before he revealed his plans too early. What was it with Casca and making him talk too much? He almost gave himself up again. Hopefully she didn't catch on.

That's right, he'd left her once during their days as mercenaries and regretted it. He left her again and regrets it now. It's like every time he leaves her, he comes back and realizes all he had left behind.

Unlike the last two times, though, if he left, he didn't plan on coming back. It's do or die; no more regretting what was lost. Casca's survival depended on it. This was more than revenge. That smug bastard was taking out his enemies and spreading his influence. That's why he killed Flora. That's what the mages told him. Logically, they would end up on his itinerary, and Guts couldn't have that. He wasn't going to wait for death to come to his doorstep again and take everything else. For Casca and all of his companions: This time, he was going to strike first.

Casca came into him, embracing him and dropping her tears onto his shoulder.

"That can wait," he thought, "I've got to take care of something else first."