A/N: A gift for pocketbookangel as part of Rare Pair Fest 2014
Giddy up and gold dust, all the cars turn to rust
You've got no means for wanderlust
Pastel trailer park, stars so bright to hide the dark
All is quiet in the yard
- Morgan Page, "The Longest Road"
The worlds are shifting out of alignment. Ulrike has foreseen this and no other futures. Soon, not even the most powerful of mages will be able to open the gates between worlds, and so Yuuri is left with a choice.
It's the same choice he was given before; he chooses the same again. He'll miss Shin Makoku, but it's not his home.
Their shoes left behind, they walk down the beach hand in hand until their toes touch the waves. At the first splash of cool water, Yuuri's toes curl. The fingers of his free hand curl with them, grasping for something he has no words for. But in the other hand is Conrad's slender fingers and rough palm, and it's enough to push him on.
So it's down they go, into the ocean's depths, beneath the waves, into the very folds of time and space. It's while they swirl together here, hands still clasped, that Yuuri thinks things will be all right. He's going home.
Home is Earth, is Japan, is Saitama. Home is the family that raised him for sixteen years. It's baseball and yakisoba and cultural fairs. It's biking home from school and walking his dogs on the weekends.
And yeah, home is Conrad, too.
"If it ever becomes too much for you," Conrad says, "I would gladly carry you away."
He expects Yuuri to laugh, to brush off his declaration as a joke. Yuuri will rise up to the occasion. He will continue being the Demon King regardless of political opposition from the likes of Lord Waltorana. Yuuri will persevere as he always has, and no matter how Conrad wishes he could shelter the boy, Yuuri will do as Yuuri does: he will charge into the fray.
But Yuuri isn't smiling; he isn't laughing. "Would you?" he asks.
"If that is what you need from me," Conrad says.
"Then I need to tell you something."
"Anything."
"It's about a mistake I made."
"Whatever it was, we'll fix it. I will do all in my power to set things right for you."
Yuuri scuffs his toe in the dirt. It's a childish move that contrasts eerily with the mature solemnity of his expression. "I made a mistake in coming back," he says. "I want to leave." And he sounds tired, so tired of this world with all its pomp and circumstance. The birthday celebration must have driven it in how differently Mazoku age and how Yuuri is considered fully Mazoku now.
It reminds Conrad too keenly of himself in his youth, filled with equal parts heartbreak and wanderlust. He had taken time off to travel, to get to know the world and himself. It had taken him years before he was ready to come back to Shin Makoku, and even then he was all too aware of his blood and subsequently shorter lifespan.
"Have you thought about this?" Conrad asks, but he knows the answer already. Yuuri doesn't even react to the question.
"You said you'd take me. I want to leave."
"Should we go barefoot?" Conrad can't resist cracking one last joke, to which Yuuri replies with a weak smile.
They say no more on the subject. Conrad takes nothing but the clothes on his back and his sword.
Murata shoves Yuuri into the puddle and falls in after him. They flail for a few seconds, gangly limbs getting into each others faces. The mud sucks their shoes down, gets under their clothes, in their hair, under nails.
Nothing else happens.
"Murata! What the hell was that for?" Yuuri shakes his soggy bangs from his face. He spits out a glob of mud water and glares at his friend.
"Sorry," Murata says, settling his glasses back in place. "I thought maybe you still had your powers."
Yuuri pushes himself up and offers a hand which Murata graciously accepts. They squelch their way to a nearby bench.
"Ugh, so gross! You owe me for this, Muraken. Big time."
"Yeah, yeah. We'll do that new conveyor belt sushi place, my treat."
"Your penance, you mean."
Murata offers a sheepish grin. "That, too."
Yuuri puffs out his cheeks trying to stay mad, but Murata knows he won't because Yuuri's just too nice of a guy sometimes. True enough, he lets out a huge exhalation and his mood returns to what passes for normal these days. Cheerful enough, but just a little bit sad. Wistful is probably a good word for it.
"What did you mean by that?" Yuuri alternates staring off into the distance with picking at the drying mud under his nails - basically anything to avoid looking Murata in the eyes as he asks. "I thought we had established that my powers had always been Shinou's?"
"Sort of. I thought… I still think you have powers of your own. Latent powers that were either being suppressed by Shinou or that you haven't grown into yet. I was trying to give you shock therapy."
"Huh. Are you kidding me? After that display you still think I have powers. And I'm pretty sure that's not how shock therapy works."
"You'd have to," Murata says in his best Sage voice. "If you didn't, Soushu wouldn't have made Shinou go after you in particular. He wouldn't have had to create you in the first place. Any old Double Black would do if they'd just needed a figurehead. All that effort Lord Weller put in to deliver your soul to Earth… You don't think that part's false, do you?"
"Of course it's not. I mean, I've gotten memory-flashbacks and everything. I know the soul part's real, but Soushu only said I was intended to be his vessel. So I'm a good magical conduit, or some kind of storage system like you. Didn't you say that's all you were good for in this body? Being a maryoku battery? Nothing says I have to have usable powers myself."
Murata shrugs because Yuuri has dug in his heels and there's no arguing with him when he wants to be stubborn. He could go on about how he thinks Yuuri will start to manifest powers of his own, given time (and maybe a few more shoves), but in the end he figures there's no point.
"Come on, we should get cleaned up," Murata says. He squelches his way off the bench. "Want to catch a movie after?"
"Sure. You think the people at the public baths will look at us funny?"
"Probably. They've seen worse, though."
"Think the Yakuza guys will be there this time? Will they be washing away suspicious looking 'paint' stains?"
"Honestly, Shibuya? After what we've been through, I think we could take them."
"Just don't slap them. They might take it the wrong way."
Murata bites back a smile. The world doesn't need Yuuri to be their savior anymore, and if having his subconscious suppress his powers is the only way he can be happy and normal, then he deserves to have at least that much. Just because he was powerful once doesn't mean that he isn't also a young man who's seen more than he should. So maybe, Murata thinks, maybe it would be for the best if the Mazoku were to leave Yuuri alone from now on.
Squish, squelch. They make their way to the bath house (There are no Yakuza.)
It's a muggy August evening in Middle-of-Nowhere America. One of the Square States, probably, but Yuuri's not too sure. He's really not too sure about anything right now. Things have been a blur since he started his cross-country "for the hell of it" roadtrip. All he knows for certain are the stars above and the warmth of the car hood underneath.
Conrad's there, too. Apparently the car hood is prime real estate.
They're laid down side by side, stargazing like they used to in Yuuri's distant dreams of days gone by in another world that might as well exist only in his imagination. Thoughts drift idly through his mind of how he should approach the situation, but it's Conrad who breaks the silence first.
"It's just as I remembered it here."
And Yuuri, because he's Yuuri and no amount of life experiences will ever beat the flaky motormouth out of him, says, "Why are you even here? What could possibly have possessed you to come stalk me down here, and how the hell did you even know I'd be in America?"
"A hunch," Conrad says, "because this is where we met for the first time."
"Uh, yeah, but no. I'm pretty sure we're in something like Montana right now, and I've never been here before. Neither have you, if Dr. Rodriguez's stories are to be believed."
"I meant the 'America' part, not the 'Montana' part. Technically I think we're still in the Dakotas somewhere."
"Whatever." Yuuri waves it off. "I know you, Sir Conrad Master-of-Deflection Weller, and I'm outright asking you why you'd leave your home to chase after me."
Conrad breathes in deeply and begins weaving a tale of a boy-king and his loyal knight. One day, a boy fell from the sky into a magical kingdom. He made friends and enemies; he fought and laughed and cried. Like all tales along this vein - Alice in Wonderland or The Neverending Story - this boy had to go home too. He had to grow up and leave his magical friends behind.
When he left, the people of the magical kingdom moved on. They wrote of their boy-king as a historical figure, but replaced him quickly with one of their own. Years passed and they remembered him only in stories and dreams and sometimes during talks of things such as educational reform.
"That's what they remember me for. Really?"
"Yes, really. There's also the statue of you with the pumpkin pants - remember that one?"
"Aw, man. I don't like where this is going."
"It was a very popular statue. They've made copies of it in most major cities."
"Are you sure that isn't a subtle jab at what a horrible king I was?"
"Wolfram approved them. You'll have to take it up with him."
"Oh, well, in that case I'm glad I came out looking like a person."
The things that they remembered their boy-king for weren't at all the things he really was, at least not to the knight, who spent years patrolling the borders as he used to, pretending nothing was wrong. It was an era of peace, and the knight was no longer needed, so one day he set off to find the former king.
"I passed by the River Tribe's territory, and Ondine offered to send me here."
"And that's it?"
"That's it."
"Huh." Yuuri idly smooths his palms over the car's hood. His left hand wanders a bit off course to brush up against Conrad. "Gotta admit it's nice having you here."
Their hands tangle as Conrad says, "I promised you my life, didn't I?"
"I can't believe Shinou came back." Yuuri shakes his head. "I mean, I thought there might be a chance that his spirit would stick around, but I didn't think he'd want his old post back too. Coming and going as he pleases… Being king isn't like dancing; you can't just cut in like that! Geez, what a prima donna."
"C'mon, Shibuya, think on the bright side!"
"Yeah? And what bright side is that? I was used by this guy. My entire life - hell, my previous life and god knows how many lives before that - were all just part of the game for him. He's lucky I'm not the type to hold a grudge, or there would be some serious retribution to be had."
Murata playfully punches him on the shoulder. "You can go home. That's the bright side."
"...Right. Not that this doesn't work out for me since I never wanted to be king in the first place, but my point still stands that, uh… What was my point again?"
"I don't think you got that far."
Yuuri tilts his head to the side, chin jutting slightly upwards. His eyes are squinted and his mouth is drawn in a serious line; he crosses his arms over his chest. "Ah!" Yuuri lifts a finger to illustrate the point that he forgot to make. "My point is that Shinou's a dick."
"You don't say."
"I do say, and because I'm your super awesome best friend, it's also my duty to tell you that I don't approve of you dating jerks and you should dump his ass. I get that he's maybe your ancient soulmate or whatever, but Murata, the guy's a dick. I'm sorry, but it's true and I'm not taking that back."
At this, Murata has to cough to cover up a laugh. "No, it's okay. I actually agree with you there."
"Oh… you do? Um, ah, I mean that's good! You should! It's good that we're in agreement! So…" Yuuri trails off with a bit of uncertainty in his voice that one might mistake for shyness. "So, do you also agree that you should come back to Earth with me? Instead of, you know, doing that consort thing Shinou was talking about."
Murata shrugs. "Basically, yeah. He doesn't want me, anyway. I told him I'm Muraken now, but he still keeps calling me Daikenja. It's annoying."
"I know, right? Who in their right mind would mistake nerdy Muraken with a legendary hero?"
The two boys nod in sage agreement.
"And besides," Murata says, "there's someone else I like now."