Title: out, out, damned spot
A/N: Title taken from a line from Macbeth.


Yato's touch soils things.

So when he holds Sekki, all light-and-shining blade, guilt makes his grip reluctant. Does Yukine feel the blood staining my hands? Yato wonders. They are too good for him, these wide-eyed, starry-expressioned children, too far removed from the grueling gravity of his choices. Only Hiiro, with her serene smile, understands. Only Hiiro has watched him slash and hack, all the while regarding him placidly, her brow smooth like a still pond.

(Brother, she calls him, unashamed.)

The surprise in her eyes when he breaks their bond, then, startles Yato slightly, because shouldn't she have known? This is what he always does: cuts things up. Snip, snip. Cuts murderers, cuts the innocent; Yato carves his childhood from his chest, hoping maybe in that dead space something new will grow, something pure and good and better than he is now.

(It feels like cutting off his hand.)

Maybe it'd be easier, if he could just die and be reborn. If he could start over from scratch, like Ebisu. But no—he has caused enough death to be afraid of it. Besides, Yato wants too much for himself; he is not as noble as Ebisu was—is. Even now, Ebisu's childlike gaze haunts him: "I think I fell in love with the world then, just like that."

How? wonders Yato. How, when the world is so ugly and bitter and scarred?

(Or maybe he's the one that's all of those things.)

But still—despite his memories of blood running in rivers, of metal clangs and gunpowder, the ground dusty and cracked, a part of him, green and growing, yearns to take root. He wants to stay. More importantly, he wants people to want him here, to need him around, and for the right reasons.

(Yato knows what it means to be forgotten. He is still learning what it means to be forgiven.)

"Oi—Yato, hello? You're being stupid again, aren't you," Yukine's voice is sharp and shining, like the blessed Regalia he is, and Yato can't help smiling.

("Argh, would you—st-stop it, you're being weird! Let me go, Yato!")

They are too good for him, these bright-eyed, starry-expressioned children. They bring all his flaws to the light; the rust-red stains on his hands are clearer when he's around them.

(But it is not too late to hope those splotches will fade with time.)

And they say his name without a trace of disgust. Without a wish, or a plea attached, just two syllables, sometimes three ("Yaboku," Hiyori tests out). He pockets their voices in the deepest corner of his mind, to remember even when he runs out of yen, even when he has no shrine. Their voices anchor him here. Stay.

He is still terrified of corrupting them, but he does not shy away from their touch.

(Hiyori's hands are cool around his. He closes his eyes and brings her fingers to his lips, praying that she is enough to be his healing water, to absolve him of his sins.)


A/N: I just really like the ideas about free will and right vs. wrong that are emerging as the manga progresses :D The godly morality/justice system is also kinda intriguing. Anyways, feedback is always appreciated! :)