From the moment he woke up, Gundham felt certain that he would never be able to forgive the things that he had done. Of course, he didn't have all of his memories back then, but his final days on Jabberwock Island were as clear to him as if they had only just happened. He remembered starving. He remembered holding a gun against his head. He remembered being trampled underfoot in that stampede.
He remembered killing his own classmate.
It didn't matter that Nekomaru also woke up, it didn't matter that he did it to save everyone else from a slow and painful death, it didn't matter that the survivors reassured him that he had indeed saved them – murder was still murder, no matter what the reason behind it was. From those days alone, he felt impure, and it didn't get any better after that.
He remembered meeting Junko Enoshima and falling into her web of lies. Those memories were by far the most painful to think about. Looking back at them, he wanted to grab his younger self by the shoulders and yell at himself not to trust her, that she was the devil, that following her would only lead to ruin.
"No one else appreciates you," she had said.
"What's the point of wanting acceptance from people who've already labelled you as an outcast?"
"You don't need them to understand you."
"You don't need anyone but me."
Like a fool, he had believed her. He had been so lonely, so desperate for a human companion, that he had clung onto the first person to show him the slightest kindness like he was a parasite.
Of course, that was all she had seen him as. To her, Gundham was simply one of many fools to be manipulated into spreading her despair.
"You simply need to remove the people who stand as obstacles."
Ah, yes, his first victim. He couldn't remember their name, or anything else about them, besides the fact that they were a member of the reserve course, and the sound of their screams. He had isolated them during the 'parade', before unleashing several of the most vicious dogs he had come across in his career upon them. He had felt sick after that, but Junko had held him in her arms, whispering encouragements into his ear. After that, he had hesitated less.
He still heard the screams of the people he had killed in his nightmares, begging for mercy he had not shown them. He saw them too, some bleeding from scratch wounds, others dying slow and agonising deaths from snake venom, several so mangled they could barely be considered human anymore. However, worse than the screams were the ones who seemed resigned to their fate. They would always have malicious words for him. It doesn't matter if you save dozens, you killed hundreds, they whispered. It doesn't matter if you save thousands when you helped start an event that killed millions. No matter how much he tried to ignore them, to shut them out, to deny every word they said, he knew they were right. The actions he had taken all those years ago would haunt him for the rest of his life, and for good reason, too.
That night, he had another one of these nightmares.
Gundham can barely see anything in the fog that obscures his view as he walks aimlessly along the featureless grey ground. He has lost track of how long he has been walking for – it could have been minutes, or days. As he starts to slow down, the fog lifts. Gundham sees a woman, stained red in her own blood, walking towards him, clutching her arm, and wishes that the fog had stayed.
Please, she gasps, help me.
Gundham turns around and runs.
More people appear as he sprints away from the woman. A young boy with talon marks around his missing eye. A man crawling on the ground with horrific scratch marks on his legs, his clothes reduced to mere rags. Another woman, this one clutching the area where her ear would once have been. As Gundham sprints past these people, trying to block out their voices, he grinds to a halt.
The ground beneath him suddenly drops away, with no bottom in sight.
As he backs away from the drop, he feels a sudden pressure around his neck, and is dragged towards it. He clutches at his scarf, trying to draw in air, trying to turn around and take a look at the cause for this. He glimpses the black eyes of Nekomaru Nidai.
Then he is falling.
Gundham woke with a start. He didn't even realise that he was screaming until his door burst open and Hajime ran in.
"Gundham! What happened?"
Gundham took a deep breath before answering. "Nothing has happened, Hajime. You may return to your chambers."
Hajime gave him a sceptical look. "You're shaking like a leaf and you called me by my name instead of 'mortal'. Something's wrong, and I'm not leaving until you tell me what it is."
Gundham sighed and looked away from Hajime. "My conscience has been pestering me since we awoke. The visions that I am plagued with are none of your concern."
"…You've been having nightmares?"
"If that is what you wish to call them, yes."
"You could've told us about it. We're your friends, Gundham."
Gundham scoffed. "It would be an inconvenience to both of us if I–"
"Don't say that!" Hajime cut him off. "Don't act like everyone else is against you! We've all done terrible things, and if you think any of us are okay with what happened, you're wrong!" He was starting to tear up now. "If any of us could go back and change the past, we would. If we could stop all of those people from dying, we would. But regretting what happened won't change the fact that it happened, and besides, no matter how much we blame ourselves, we weren't the only reason for the Tragedy!"
Gundham looked at Hajime, shocked by his outburst. Then, he slowly pulled himself out of bed and walked towards him. Both of them were shocked when Gundham wrapped his arms around Hajime. He felt himself stiffen from the contact (how pitiful – even after all these years, he still wasn't used to it), but told himself to remain in that position. A few awkward moments passed before Hajime spoke up again.
"Um… thanks. I feel a bit calmer now."
Gundham smiled. Even after all that had happened, in moments like this, it felt like the world was normal again. Of course, there would be riots if any of them showed their faces in public, but it wasn't like he was unused to being alone.
If anything, fifteen supportive classmates was far more than he would have thought possible all those years ago.
{A/N: Thank you for reading this! Any constructive criticism is appreciated, and please, for the love of god, tell me if I made anyone OOC.}