A/N: This is going to be more than a little AU and use a major plot point from the game Project Zero II: Crimson Butterfly (Fatal Frame II) but not enough for it to be an actual crossover. I have tried to adapt these two to fit together so apologies if it doesn't. There are warnings attached so if you cannot stomach descriptions, at some points graphic, of these then please press the back button in your browser. Thank you.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or Project Zero, rights belong to the respective parties. I do not make any money from this and this is a work of fan fiction.
Warnings: Violence, Murder, AU, Yaoi
Pray
Sayonara aishita anata
Sayonara aisareta watashi
Farwell, you who loved me
Farewell, I who was loved
Re:pray – Aimer
Prologue: The Ritual
It is believed aroud the world that when twins are born, the one to be born first is the elder. However, that is not the case. The first born is the youngest for it is seen as weaker and therefore the elder lets it's sibling be born first. In essence, it is the second born child that is the eldest twin. At least, that is what we have believed for years in Karakura. Although, personally I don't believe that the younger is necessarily weaker, but rather it is the eldest that is weaker, for it is the eldest that is the coward, the eldest that does the unforgivable to save their own neck. Twins are two halves of the same whole, at least that's what I have always thought and felt. Maybe that's why no one lasts for long after the ritual, because they're merely living half an existence. It's hypocrytical of me to criticise when I know that if the time comes, I will do the same thing; commit the ultimate betrayal to the one who is dearest to me; commit the ultimate sin - Hitsugaya Toushirou, Diary October 13th
The room was littered with white candles, softly glowing to illuminate the two figures in the room. Two boys, no older than thirteen, stood facing each other in the middle of the room above an intricate circular design. The boys in question wore matching outfits of traditional hakama and kosode of the purest white. They were joined with a single length of crimson rope that was tied around each of their waists. Their attention was drawn away by the clang that echoed in the vast underground room from the wooden staff that had been brought down swiftly, yet abruptly upon the stone floor.
"Lets us begin the ritual to seal the Gate," an elderly man stated with authority, placing both his hands upon his staff.
At the man's words the two boys turned back to each other. They were identical in every way from their spiky, black hair to the small scar on the inside of their right wrist. They were truly two halves. The only difference between them were the tears slowly falling from the teal green eyes of one as he looked at his younger brother. He did not want to do what he knew that he had to, yet it was too late to try and prevent the inevitable. Still the tears fell.
"Nii-san, nakenaide."
"Demo..."
"Daijoubu, I accepted it long ago. We need to keep the village safe."
The younger moved to kneel, forcing his brother to mirror him. They remained so, the pristine white of their hakama being stained by the rustic earth, the candles surrounding them flickering in the non-existent breeze.
The elder glanced toward the reason that they were there. A gate, seemingly moulded out of their surroundings, with intricately designed carvings stood at the northern end of the room. No-one had ever been close enough to the gate since its creation to see what the doorway actually consisted of, but from the centre of the room, it appeared to be nothing more than an elaborately decorated shoji.
The young boy knew that his brother was right, that they had to keep the village protected, yet he wished that there was some other way for them to do it. He moved his gaze back to his younger brother, away from the deathly beauty before him, readying himself as best he could for the task that was to come; the task that he must perform to save them all.
The flames suddenly roared, changing dramatically from amber to a deep, piercing blue. He looked at his younger brother, the latter with a soft smile upon his face, neither regretting nor blaming. If the teen did not know any better then he would have thought that his mirror was at peace with not only himself, but all that was to come. His brother had always been the more rational out of the two of them. He didn't know if he could do it and he certainly did not want to.
The thirteen men along the southern edge of the circular room began to chant and each drew their katana from its sheath at their waist, holding them aloft in front of them. The time was drawing near for the completion of the ritual. The tears continued to fall. The elder of the two raised his hands and lay them to rest upon his other selfs shoulders. His arms shook as his hands lay there, waiting for the moment that seemed to take an age.
The chanting abruptly stopped and all thirteen men pointed their katana at the two boys in the centre of the room. The time had come. The flames of the candles continued to flare with azure light. He lifted his hands from where they lay against his brother and brought them to rest softly, hesitantly against the sides of his neck, fingers entwined in the hairs at the nape of his twins neck. The tears continued to fall.
He stood there looking in to his brother's face as his hands trembled. He would do what he had to do but he would not take pleasure in the task. He tightened his grip and readied his resolve. His brother smiled at him. He did not know it at that moment, but he would be haunted forever by that smile. He would be forever haunted by the words that he would hear.
He began to squeeze, turn his hands in to a vice, a weapon. He began to cut his brother off from what he needed to survive, to live. His brother's eyes started to become blood-shot around the edges. His fingers hurt; his hands hurt. His heart hurt. He wanted to give up but he couldn't, not now that he had started. The tears continued to fall faster, almost in a constant stream down his face. It was nearly over, he could feel it, feel his brother starting to slip away him. He poured the last of his strength in to his task, his eyes never leaving his brother. He would do his brother the courtesy of watching until the end, it was the least that he could do.
His brother's lips started to become pale and tinge with blue. As his brother's eyes slipped closed, he whispered hoarsley, "Arigatou, Onii-chan".
He wept as the ritual ended, his brother's lifeless form crumpling upon the earth.