a/n: No, I have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote this. I just don't know, okay? But please leave a review at the end of it.

It's… really dark here. That was the first thought he had, an unusual thought, because he knew it was supposed to be dark. He knew it. Just like he knew he shouldn't open his eyes.

But, slowly, ever so slowly he opened his eyes to eternal white light, and the sense of floatiness.

It was the person standing across from him that caught his attention first. "K-Kami-yan?" The shocked whisper forced its way out of a constricted throat.

Tired, exhausted blue eyes stared at him. Bandages wrapped around the others head, as red blood trickled down the side, unimpeded. Strangely the bandages were a clandestine white- No… his entire body was wrapped in bandages, except for the right hand.

The right hand. He stared at that right hand, the only part of the person before him that wasn't wrapped in bandages. But that right hand looked like it ought to be the one wrapped in bandages.

It was twisted, bleeding, bent in wrong directions, and just looked painful. "What… What happened to you Kami-yan?"

The soft horrified question hung in the air for a single moment, before a low, low sigh erupted from across him. The thing that was Kami-yan, yet not Kami-yan at the same time, slowly lifted the right hand. A bandaged left hand grabbed the right by the wrist and squeezed.

A startled cry tore itself out of his lips as he leapt forward, grabbing the left hand and wrenching it away. "What are you doing? Aren't you already hurt enough?"

Again, those exhausted blue eyes turned towards him, as an empty, solemn voice asked, "Can you see me?"

"Wha… Kami-yan?" The confused question fell into the empty air, and those two blue eyes closed.

"You can't, can you? Do you know me for anything other then my right hand?"

"Of course I do." He was frowning, as he thought back to the times they had spent together. "You like Landlady Onee-sans. You like running away from problems when you can, You claim to have the worst luck in the world…"

Already the other was shaking his head, and repeated his earlier question. "Do you know me?"

It sounded eerily empty, as if the person across from him wasn't expecting the right answer. He desperately searched for the answer, face tugging into a frown. "Why are you asking such a question Kami-yan?"

"I'm tired. I'm so, so tired… I just want to rest for awhile." The sad, exhausted, beaten-to-the-ground tone was really beginning to grate on his nerves.

Kami-yan was Kami-yan. That boy didn't give up, nor allow despair to reach him. His hand reached out automatically, grabbing a bandaged left arm. "Kami-yan, what is going on with you?"

"Hmmm? Oh, I just came to drop off this right hand of mine. You need it, don't you?"

The smile beneath the bandages was twisted, cruel, and had a slightly uneasy quality to it. He felt his grip slacken at that grin. Once again a left hand rose and grabbed the right hand by the wrist, to squeeze and pull.

There was the sickly sound of meat tearing, and bones shifting. A severed stump bled into the air, as a broken right hand was casually tossed in front of him.

He was barely aware he had sunken to his knees, staring at the thing before him, as the voice spoke, "That's what you wanted, right? My right hand? That seems to be all anyone wants… I wonder if someone will see me."

"Just who are you?" The soft whisper drew its way out of his mouth, as he stared at the right hand that lay on the white floor, a pool of red slowly growing around it. "You're not… actually Kami-yan, are you?"

"Who am I? I was hoping you could tell me that. Kamijou Touma… It's an unusual name, it's one that speaks of greatness. All I want is to be normal."

It sounded like Kami-yan, however, was it really him?

He stared down at that right hand, paralyzed by indecision. What was he supposed to do at this point? What was he supposed to do…

The right hand, broken, battered, and seemingly dead lay before him.

Without really knowing why, he reached out, picked it up, and stood up. Those tired eyes were watching him, watching him move. He ignored those eyes, to instead gently pull an end off of the bandages on the face. "It isn't fair that your face is covered, even though your right hand isn't. What are you hiding beneath those bandages? Shouldn't your right hand be the one wrapped away without being seen? Afterall, it's a power that no one can understand, mmm, Kami-yan?" This person before him could be not Kami-yan, but he wasn't about to think like that.

Instead, without looking up, he began to wrap the right hand in the bandages.

Somewhere, some sane part of him was gibbering in terror. This wasn't going to work, it wasn't like skin, nerves and tendons would magically regrow after all. But still- but still…

He bent to his task, wrapping the bandages carefully down the right hand, slowly covering the bruised flesh from view. "Kami-yan, you're tired, right?"

"Yeah, I am." The voice wasn't so hollow now, and he could've sworn there was a slight twitch from the fingers he was slowly wrapping.

It could be metaphorical, if he was inclined to look so deep. But he wasn't, really. Because this was Kami-yan, and Kami-yan was Kami-yan, and even if Kami-yan was feeling depressed… it was only human right?

The bandage ended as he finished wrapping the hand, and slowly, the right hand tightened into a fist, and he looked up into the face of one Kamijou Touma, the one and only boy who could possess such a power.

But the blue eyes were still etched with a tiredness that went further then bone deep. "Hey, Kami-yan, you said that you were tired, right?"

Touma nodded, blue eyes showing his second emotion of slight curiousity. "Take a small break. I think you deserve it."

"Thanks… Tsuchimikado."

The spy grinned at the use of his name, and he nodded. "Go rest Kami-yan."

The other nodded, turned around. A back that was once slumped from sheer exhaustion now seemed lighter. "But- you have to come back."

"Heh. Maybe. I'll try." The words were spoken softly, as Touma seemed to fade out of sight. "Thanks."

Just a cryptic thanks, with a cryptic nod, and he wondered what else those bandages were hiding. After all, a face hid more then it showed- his hands reached out, as if to touch the disappearing person, but it was far too late.

He was gone.

And, on October 30th, his entire world shattered like some sort of illusion, that only a right hand could protect.