He used to call her Veena. That nickname would roll off of his lips easily as he shuffled the papers of a report, and turned his eyes skyward in exasperation.
(There was always a smile, a tiny one, lingering at the corner of his lips.)
And then he didn't.
Because he wasn't there anymore.
"I'm...the one...who...betrayed you."
She wanted to shout, to scream no you idiot no don't you see? You saved me! You see all these other things clearly, but why, why can't you...?
The words got stuck in her throat, and she could only sob and scream without voice.
It did not bring him back, for even a god was powerless against this.
She tried to hold on to him, but he was already gone, shattered into fragments that scattered into the wind.
In that moment, she was lost.
Bishamonten stood, a lost god but a god of justice still, and went on to do her duty, cutting down the corrupted beast that remained of her family.
After the first unstoppable burst of tears, Bishamon wiped her tears away, and did not cry.
In the days following his death, Bishamon did not cry.
She did not cry, even though it felt just as painful as it did so many years ago. At times, in the darkest hour in the night, when the air became suffocating despite the emptiness of the mansion, she found herself an inch away from crying out a name.
Ka-!
...Oh, right.
And she pressed her lips shut, biting them so hard that they bled.
She has no right to call that name. She lost that privilege several hundred years ago, when Ka-he swallowed the pain in his heart to save her, the selfish goddess. She should not have said what she did to him, words of don't leave me I only need you I'm so alone Kazuma Kazuma Kazuma why did you betray me I exile you Kazuma don't die don't leave me. That only hurt him more in the end.
She has no right to cry. She lost that privilege when she had cried, leaning into those solid yet fragile shoulders, adding on to the burden that he already carried. She lost that when his blood splattered on her hands, and he saved her from herself, again-
Vaisravana turned over on the bed and pulled the blankets over her head.
It was going to be a long night.
She started wandering the grounds of her mansion.
The very earth was wounded, gaping holes and gashes laying open soil. Scars of the disaster would litter this place for decades, perhaps even centuries.
Bishamon gently traced the trunk of a tree, damaged in the battle. Its vitality was fading, barely hanging on to life by a thread. The spirit of it felt lost in pain and confusion, even so many days after.
She pushed a morsel of her power into the tree, and watched it recover a bit. Its leaves were just a little greener, its weakened trunk just a little stronger. The god smiled, the expression painful but right, somehow, on her face.
"From one lost soul to another."
For she was lost in a world where the only reliable guide was gone.
She would have given him sakura once upon a time, for that was his shape as a shinki and his kind heart in the blossoms.
Bishamon could only sigh at the asphodels now, and never has a flower seemed so bitter.
Bishamon half-expected the familiar rage to boil up when Yato and his blond shinki showed up, but all she could call up was a profound exhaustion. The war god could only stare tiredly at the other god, who was solemn and quiet in a way she has never seen him before. The expression seemed oddly fitting on his face.
"...so. How are you holding up?" The jersey-wearing god said, his tone awkward. Beside him, his shinki, Yukine, shuffled uncomfortably.
"...As well as could be expected. The rebuilding is...coming along." Vaisravana said. She felt...removed, somehow, from this conversation. "But...it feels...different. I..."
"Gods have hearts as well, Vaisravana." Yato's words cut directly to the root of her doubts. "We just have older ones that are just as easy to hurt as the human ones, and hurt for a lot longer. Divinity has regret as well. You of all gods should know."
Something in his voice struck an understanding in her, and the god sighed.
"Ah...I've always wondered. That's why you did not fade through the centuries, even without overt followers. Human regret is endless, after all." Bishamon closed her eyes. "You didn't just grant evil wishes, but sad ones, as well. Some people want to forget you, but your very nature is to linger. Your domain is regret."
The other god's voice was flinty and hard, the voice of someone who didn't like who they were and what they did. "Among other things. Which is part of the reason your shinki sought my help all those years ago."
Turning away from the god that the world wanted to forget but never could, she saw the tree she had tried to heal yesterday.
It was dead.
More days passed, and there were both ups and downs.
There were days when Storms raged, and the Ayakashi screeched and attacked with their cruel claws. She continued granting the wishes of her followers, but it seemed like they never ended. The blows of her weapons were either too strong and needlessly destroyed the surroundings, or were too weak and required second strikes and left her open to attack for just a few crucial moments. More often than not, she returned to the mansion wounded.
But then there were days when the sun warmed her, and her other shinki laughed and hugged her and she spoke the kind words in her heart that she foolishly did not before. On those days, the world seemed kinder, and Bishamon felt less lost.
It was on one of those good days that Yato visited again. This time, he had a bottle of saké in hand (which he shamelessly admitted he took from Tenjin. Bishamon couldn't find it in herself to berate the other god, for the old scholar did need to cut back on his boozing no matter what he said, and it was a beautiful bottle of saké.)
They opened the alcohol under the tree that died, and got roaring drunk.
"And...what do you know," Yato grinned and slurred his words, pointing at something at the base of the tree. "Look, right there. Who shaid there can't be new beginningsh out of regretsh?"
There was a tiny sapling, alive and flourishing, growing with a will, under the tree. For a moment, she thought she could hear Kazuma's honest, exasperated laughter, and maybe it was just the saké but she no longer felt lost.
Her shinki were hilariously mortified to find the two former enemies completely plastered under a dead tree and its sapling.
(The sake was the best she had ever tasted.)
AN: Inspired by the heartbreaking yet beautiful works of sinemoras09. Seriously you guys, go read them, it's wonderful.
This fandom and this pairing both deserve more works. Of course, being a miserable person, I had to write sadfic for it.
In the language of flowers, sakura mean kindness, association with the supernatural, and the momentary nature of life. Asphodels mean "My regrets follow you to the grave".
Also on AO3! I'm zerotransfat on there, so...find me!
Drop the starving author a review?