A/N: There are spoilers for chapter 124 and on in this fanfiction.
I'm afraid Fai is extremely hard for me to get a handle on, so this is the first time I've really written from his eyes, and it's limited third person in present tense, no less. It was a rather difficult piece to write, but I'm rather pleased with how it came out. Please don't hesitate to give me feedback!
He can only really remember the pain.
His memory is fogged before and after--through the fever and the ache in his head can hear murmurs, the sound of his own voice. Someone grabs him and shouts at him, a deep, angry roar, and he smiles weakly. He can feel fingers in his sweaty, tangled hair now, cradling his head like a child's, trembling and gripping so tightly it hurts. He gasps, and suddenly he can taste iron--blood. He swallows with some difficulty, and the blood slides down his parched throat, easing the stinging pain he feels when he breathes.
He feels a sharp stab of pain in his eye, which spreads through his body, and suddenly he's overwhelmed with pain, mouth agape, writhing on the bed he vaguely remembers being put into. He can hear screaming, horrible, bloodcurdling screaming somewhere in the distance that sounds startlingly similar to himself.
He looks around frantically but can't see anything. He's terrified, absolutely terrified, and alone with only the throbbing pain in his head.
A pair of hands firmly grasp onto him, and he lunges out with his own, touching the rough, callused fingers, the thick knuckles. His panting calms for a moment as his clammy, trembling hands travel past the wrists and onto damp fabric. He grips onto the shoulders, his stomach clenching as he's attacked again with another wave of agony. He's shivering and can't sit up straight on his own anymore, fighting the urge to get sick. He doesn't scream--his mouth is agape and he pants like a dog, but he doesn't scream. The occasional whimper escapes him, and he digs his fingers further into the shoulders he's clutching onto so desperately. He can feel the skin break and warm blood caress the tips of his fingers, and he wants so badly to lick it off and see if it will quell his stomach; his new desire for blood frightens him almost as much as the thought of letting go of the arms that are almost cradling him now.
He can taste bile and doubles over, retching, pulling the shoulders closer. Blonde hair and bandages fall over his face, stained with spit, sweat, blood, and tears. Even as he's gagging and crying, all he can think of is how grateful he is that the little girl is sleeping.
The throbbing is subsiding now, and he's growing faintly aware of his surroundings. He blinks, his vision coming into focus, and sees stained sheets and his own trembling knees. He looks up, head heavy, eyes falling on his blood-covered fingers. He's patted and teased and been thrown over these shoulders enough times to know who they belong to, and yet, his grip remains steady. If he lets go, the other might as well.
He's shaking, and it's hard to stay awake, but the pain is gone. The haze sets in around him again and the room begins to spin--he can't hold onto consciousness for much longer. He looks up into a sea of crimson, eyes as red as the blood on his hands, and he can't help but wonder how it tastes.
He gazes at the other, who's face is pale with worry, and tries to think of words to say, but is unable to speak.
It's dark.
He can hear a child sobbing, the low, raw cries ripping through the silence that has surrounded him for God only knew how long. Intrigued (or perhaps he's played the mommy long enough to gain the maternal instincts), he rises and looks for the source. It doesn't take long.
A small boy sits alone, knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. His wails have died down to whimpers now, and his back faces the older man. He feels familiar.
"Why are you crying?" He says quietly between the boy's sniffles, stopping just behind him.
"Get away from me!" the child screams, burying his face in his knees. The man frowns, kneeling down beside the child and touching him lightly on the shoulder. He opens his mouth to speak but his hand is slapped away by childish, dirtied fingers. He whips around, red eyes flashing angrily. "Don't touch me!"
He knows those eyes, and the boy seems to recognize him as well. His eyes widen, swollen from crying, and his cheeks flush as he gets to his feet. For a moment, the child looks as though he doesn't know what to do, and he takes the boy in his arms, wrapping long, thin limbs around the small, wracking frame. He whispers quietly in the little one's ear, stroking the coarse hair and feeling the tears soak into his shirt, and is horribly amused by the irony of his situation.
He can feel someone wrapping a jacket around his thin shoulders, and he awakens. He's in a room, and a bed, but he doesn't remember being here before. It's still dark, but he can see perfectly--he can feel hands on his arms, and a familiar, heavy green jacket. He looks up at the boy, who's aged quite a few years, and stares curiously. The hands still haven't left him.
"You were restless and mumbling," Kurogane explains, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. He takes a seat next to the blond on the bed, the corner of his mouth upturning slightly. "I guess you can't shut up even when you're sleeping." Fai smiles slightly, his hand going to the unfamiliar cloth on his face.
So, it all wasn't a dream.
"Where...?"
"The meat bun spat us out here," the ninja explains, resting one of his hands on a thigh. The other won't leave the blond's wrist. "We found a hotel and got a couple rooms."
"What about the money?"
A pause, then, "It's taken care of."
There's a long silence that borders on being uncomfortable, and Fai gazes down at the hand clutching his arm, wondering idly if the ninja has let go of him since they left the other world. He takes the hand, playing with the fingers, entwining them with his own. He remembers these hands, the ones that gripped onto him so tightly before he passed out, and brings the thick, rough knuckles to his lips; he is surprised to find they smell like the wizard himself.
"Kuro-sama," Fai murmers into the sticky, sweat covered fingers, and he can feel red eyes on him. "I had a dream you were crying." The dark-haired man snorts, and says gruffly, "I wasn't, so don't go telling some crap story that I was."
The wizard smiles half-heartedly, kissing a buised knuckle. He can vaguely remember the ninja slamming that hand into the wall and leaving an impressive dent, and he apologizes silently to the people they left behind for being such a nuisance.
He knows the dream wasn't all in his head, and the way Kurogane refuses to let go of him is proof of that. Perhaps he saw a part of the ninja he himself didn't know about--a weaker part of himself he refuses to acknowledge.
He can remember the ninja's words from not too long before this whole mess happened--"I don't care about your past." At the time, Fai had taken it as "I don't care about you," but seeing the proud man as he is now, he wonders if he wasn't mistaken. Even to an untrained eye, Kurogane looked worn, tired. The wizard would've blamed it on the whole mess with the boy and his clone, but...
He frowns, hand touching the black cloth over his eye once again. He was supposed to be dead.
"You made a deal with the Witch, didn't you?" Fai says, looking up at the dark-haired man. Kurogane's face is expressionless and pale, and he stares steadily at Fai--he knows he doesn't need to answer.
He feels a pang in his chest and his face falls, hand reaching out to run his fingers through short, dark hair. The wizard searches the red eyes for something, any sort of answer as to why he would do something so drastic just for him. He's distanced himself from people to keep this from happening and the ninja knew that. It was a mistake to get as attached to the kids as he was now, but when...? When had Kurogane's feelings changed so drastically? When had his feelings changed so drastically?
He can remember their first meeting as though it were yesterday--the crude insults Kurogane would throw, and the way Fai thought he could amuse himself by teasing him. It was always so much fun to get under his skin and watch his face flush red in anger as he shouted.
It seems as though he'd burrowed a bit too deep this time.
He finds himself wrapping his thin arms around the ninja's neck, fingers in his hair, breathing softly into the ninja's ear, "What was the price?"
Kurogane's body stiffens, and he can feel a strong arm wrap around his back, fingers clutching onto the thin fabric of his shirt. The ninja's breathing is off, as though he's beginning to speak but stopping himself before he does. Fai sighs, loosening his grip and beginning to pull away, but another arm wraps itself around him and pulls him closer to the dark, muscled frame.
"Don't let go."
The voice is quiet, breath hot and wavering in his ear--his voice is shaking, but Fai knows he's not crying. Kuro-sama is too manly to cry. But he feels the slightest trembling, and he feels the taller man bury his nose in his long, blonde hair, muttering something about how he didn't want the wizard to see his face.
The blonde presses his face into the curve of the dark, sticky neck, sighing and breathing in the smell of sweat, dirt and...
Blood.
A hand travels down to the collarbone and pulls away the partially unbuttoned shirt, exposing the marks he left on Kurogane's shoulder and gazing at them with interest. He finds himself fascinated by the deep crimson of the not-entirely-dried blood, intoxicated by the smell. He presses his lips to the scratches, licking along the thin lines and relishing the taste. Opening his mouth to bite down on the tender flesh, he stops himself just before he breaks the skin and lifts his head in alarm, remembering snippets of conversation now that his mind is clearer.
A vampire's ability to heal far surpasses that of a human's...
...The responsibility of keeping him alive must also fall on you.
You will be his prey.
"Oh..." The sound escapes his lips, the voice unfamiliar. Fai's fingers tighten on the stained white shirt as he realizes what the price actually was. "I'm..."
"There was no other way," comes the explanation, the voice soft in his ear, mouth moving against his neck. "I won't let you die so easily."
He feels his eye sting and water, and he can't help but pull the other man closer.
"I'm sorry," he whispers.
He feels the arms around him tighten and the face press itself into his shoulder, and he knows the other man wishes he could have the courage to say the same.