There is a growing wet patch staining through your clothing. You press your hand to the spot, and do not bother lifting it up to your eyes. You are no stranger to the sight and feel of it, the viscosity and stickiness. It is your blood. It is a lot of your blood.
Pressing a hand to the wound, you blink open bleary eyes. Above you, the setting sun makes it look like the sky is on fire. For a second, you are sure the blood draining out of your body is the palette of colours painting the sky all the different shades of red.
You stare, with eyes that have never been more tired, never been more clear, at the grand painting of all the times you have bled for this city. You stare, at your heart and soul laid bare, epithet and epitaph both, for the city to behold.
This is what it must be like to die, you think again, and close your eyes.
That is when you hear it, the crackle of electricity, unmistakable even amidst the howl of the evening wind. It takes all the willpower you can muster to open your eyes, and the stubbornness of a herd of oxen to lift your head up off the ground.
Looking up, you see her walking, calmly, away from you. At least that would be what a casual observer would think. You know better though.
There is a dangerous undercurrent running through the air. You can see it in her purposeful stride, and the sparks shooting forth from her bangs. Mikoto Misaka is on a mission. Mikoto Misaka is out for blood.
The bones in your legs are shattered, you realize as you make to stand. The only reason you have not passed out from the sheer agony is the adrenaline now coursing though your body. Your heart pumps it through your veins, and your stubbornness urges you onwards.
You cannot teleport anymore. The sensory overload from your injuries has you lightheaded and dizzy - too disorientated to perform the complex mental calculations needed. So instead, you crawl. Stubborn, feeble creature that you are, you crawl forward so desperately your nails scratch against the asphalt, leaving bloodied prints and a trail of blood.
You breathe in the fetid stench of your own blood and sweat, thankful then, for the evening winds that sweep by and carry the smell off and away. It cuts to your bones though, and makes you feel like a leaf in the wind.
For every step you crawl forward, she has taken four steps away from you.
Still, you press on. There are two things you have never been more sure about in your life. The first is that you love Mikoto Misaka with all your heart. The second is that you do not know the meaning of giving up.
Your hair is matted to the side of your head - a mix of blood, sweat and dirt. There is a cut upon your brow, you realise that now as blood seeps into your eye.
"Stop moving. Do you want to die?" She stops walking, but refuses to turn around and meet your gaze.
You want her to look at you for once in her life. You want her to see you as an equal.
"If that's what it takes to get you to stay."
She deigns to cast you a sidelong glance. "You're not strong enough to make me stay."
She gives you a pointed look, but then her features grow soft. The look in her eyes become unreadable. "You're not strong enough to come with me, either. Stay here, Kuroko. Stay safe. Anti-Skill will be here soon."
"I won't let you go." You glare at her from your place on the ground.
The Mikoto that she knows is stubborn and kind, and good to her friends. The Mikoto that she knows is no killer.
"What do you plan to do?"
"All that I can do."
She rubs sheepishly at the back of her neck. "Stay there and bleed at me, you mean?"
Through blood-stained teeth, you smile and focus on her, the one bit of your world that is keeping you grounded right now. You remember that fateful day at the bank, that beam of blue lightning from her railgun as it shot forth and saved your life.
Mustering the last bit of your strength, you teleport.
She catches you on instinct, and pulled along by the momentum of your weight, she falls backward and lands on her rear with an "oof".
"You're the most stubborn person I know, and that's saying a lot." She chuckles, and it is the most beautiful sound you have heard in the world. Despite everything you have been through, you cannot help but smile.
"You're not a killer, Onee-sama."
She hums, low and thoughtful in the back of her throat. Laying you down gently, she starts to take stock of your injuries.
"Anti-Skill will be here soon." You echo her words back at her.
She touches you, starting at the base of your spine, then moves on, fingers splaying out over your back. You feel the electricity from her touch even through the fabric of your clothes - a gentle pulse, soothing away the aches, cuts and bruises.
"Stay with me."
Her touch is so tender, like an act of penance. You let yourself get lost in the sensations.
You sigh and lean into her touch, allow your body to grow limp with exhaustion and your mind airy with relief. The weight of your clothes has grown steadily heavier, the blood loss made worse by your stubborn exertions. You breathe in her scent and forget for a moment the foul smell of iron in the air as her fingers linger on a kidney sized bruise along your abdomen. It will bloom black and blue soon enough.
Blearily, you look on as her ministrations continue. Her hands on your body, her attention focused solely on you. Is this not what you always wanted?
It becomes hard to talk.
It becomes hard to think.
If this is how you go, you think, then so be it.
Her fingers skirt the area of your open wound, and you flinch instinctively. She ghosts across it, peels back your uniform with hands as steady as a surgeon's to survey the extent of the damage.
"How well do you think you know me, Kuroko?"
Your unfocused vision sharpens as it meets her gaze. They say that the eyes are a window to the soul. Gazing into hers is like gazing into a storm - a tempest of emotions, each one battling for dominance. At the forefront you see both fear and despair.
You have never felt as close to her in that one moment, and you have never felt so far away.
What does it mean to be The Railgun in Academy City? What has Mikoto Misaka seen?
You make to say her name; you reach out to cup her face. You want to pull her against your chest and tell her that everything will be alright. You do not want her hurting so.
You want to, but you are so tired. It takes every ounce of the strength you have left to stay awake. Even at your best, you wonder how you would hold up in a fight against monsters that make even The Railgun despair.
"Anti-Skill always comes too late, doesn't it? I'm sorry, Kuroko. Grit your teeth. This will hurt. "
You open your mouth to question her, but she is too fast. It all happens in a flash, she steadies your body with one hand and presses the other to the open wound. Your hiss of pain is swallowed up by the blood curdling scream that tears out of your throat as your flesh sizzles and the wound begins to knit close.
Your hands find purchase on an arm and her back. Your fingernails dig in so deep, you are sure that blood surfaces even through the layers of cloth. Try as you might though, you cannot hold on. The pain is too much. Your hands slip away.
Her eyes are the last thing you see before blacking out, the dangerous glint of electric blue in the liquid sheen of her honey brown irises.
You wake with a jolt, drenched in cold sweat and shouting her name.
When the environment registers in your mind, you stop trashing about and stop trying to rip the IV-drip forcefully off your arms.
You see the world through haphazard snapshots of your environment - the sterile linen, the four walls and the smell of antiseptic, heady in the air. One image in particular stands out, the hand-painted murals of the cartoon animals lining the walls - you are at a hospital, the children's ward to be specific.
You want to laugh. After all you have been through all these years, after all you have done, this is how the world still thinks of you.
Your outburst has roused the other patients from slumber. Opposite you, a little girl no more than ten rubs wakefulness into her eyes and regards you like a strange animal, with curiosity and caution apportioned in equal parts.
From the far end of the ward, three nurses rush in and close in on you. One draws the curtains in a circle around your bed, closing you off from the world.
Another clicks a button connected to your IV-drip over and over again.
You do not know what the last nurse is up to. Before you know it, the world fades to black once more.
Your friends come to visit you one after another, as reliable and predictable as a flight of stairs.
Anti-Skill comes to take your statement.
Your parents fly in from god knows where. Your mother takes one look at you and bursts into tears. She rushes to your bedside and envelops you in a hug, pulling you against her bosom. She coos words of comfort into your ear. Your father's voice cracks when he says your name, but the hand he lays on your shoulder is warm, and his grip is firm.
For the first time in years, nestled in the comfort of their embrace, you cry.
Everyone comes.
Everyone but the one person you want to see the most.
The doctors say you pulled through by some miracle. You listen idly as you press a hand to the gauze covering the scar tissue of your wound.
You know better than that. There are forces in this world that are beyond your comprehension. There are monsters in this world in the guise of human skin.
It takes six months for you to fully heal.
It takes longer still for you to forgive her.
It will be two years since then before you will see her again.
Yo! I hope you guys enjoyed the story. Please share what you think!
Do you know the feeling you get when a new Railgun chapter hasn't come out in months? So you re-read the manga, maybe try your hand at the light novels, then move on to browsing FFN's archives. Before you know it, you've written a story yourself. This, I did...
The title is inspired by a song from the Magnetic Fields - Epitaph for My Heart.