It was always the same. Always. Just as they settled into peace and normality, and picked up the fraying threads of their regular lives, trouble would rear up once more. God, they never managed to catch a break, did they? And each time, each bout back in the line of fire, Taichi stood first. Carrying the weight of responsibility on shoulders which should long ago have broken. Shoulders which didn't deserve that burden. Shoulders which felt ever tenser as Yamato tried to ease the knots out of an evening, be that at home or in their latest campsite.

The novelty of camping in the digital world seemed to wear off faster every time they did it.

Eleven. Fourteen. Seventeen. Twenty. Twenty-five. Thirty. Thirty-four. Was there no end to it all? Would there ever be peace?

Some of the others had children now, and Taichi carried the weight of that too. He was leading parents as well as friends away into the wilderness now. Leaving whole families in the comparative safety of the real world, which would be no protection at all if they failed. Yamato always considered it a mingled blessing and curse that he and Taichi couldn't have children of their own. They were uncles at least; uncles to all the children of the Chosen. In the darkness of his watch, Yamato sometimes wondered if they'd all come to a silent agreement there. If anyone failed to come back… No. He wasn't going to tempt fate by thinking that.

Huddled round a fire, they slept in shifts. Taichi had first watch. Yamato took the next. They shared what company they could in the five minutes of exchanging their watch. The days were too busy. Marching, and searching, and fighting. On and on, cut off and split up, chasing an ever retreating goal of peace which Yamato could hardly seem to remember any more. It was weeks since he'd been home. Weeks since he'd had a night alone with Taichi. Weeks since any of them had slept the whole night through, even.

And there was a sense of inevitability when they found themselves back on Earth once more, lined up with their partners, a last barrier against evil bent on eliminating humanity and the digital world both. Yamato didn't even have it in him to be scared for himself any more. He was more worried about Taichi. Bent and bowed by the burden of leadership he'd carried for weeks and years at a time.

They flinched away from an explosion as their partners battled, and as Taichi wiped his eyes, smiling the broad, falsely confident smile he'd worn for days now, Yamato saw threads of grey in his lover's hair. When had that happened? Were they going to be old and frail before this was all over for good?

It should have been over. They'd won again, after all. Ragged cheers had broken out, and most of the others had fallen to their knees, weeping with mingled joy and relief as they clung to partners—human and digimon alike. But the ground was shaking, and Yamato felt sick, because how much more could this old island take? How many more explosions had to rock Tokyo bay before something gave?

Well, something was giving now, and it was the earth itself. Bucking and shaking: an earthquake right at the worst time.

Taichi rose, as he always did, barking orders left and right to get people to safety. Clear of the buildings, clear of the ruins of another battle. Getting everyone safe but himself. He was going to get himself killed at that rate, urging everyone along and then going back for the rest.

Yamato's side ached, and he was sure he'd inhaled more dust than could ever be good for him but he wasn't about to leave Taichi now. The man was an ass—as stupid as he was brave—and one of these days his courage wouldn't be enough.

That day wasn't going to be today, though. Not on his watch.

The buildings above them groaned ominously as Taichi herded stragglers towards the ocean, where several digimon waited to ferry them to safety. Yamato winced as chunks of masonry came tumbling down and Taichi darted off into a narrow alleyway. Their own partners were out for the count, exhausted by the battles they'd only just won, and handed off to the others for safekeeping. It was him alone versus an earthquake.

Taichi, versus an earthquake and his own goddamn stubborn insistence on being the biggest hero in the whole world. Jesus, and it wasn't even the first time.

Taichi had found a kid. Young enough that after dragging her from the rubble he could sling her on his back. He must have wrenched something either doing so or beforehand though, because as he made his way back along the alleyway, Yamato realised he was limping. He darted over and grabbed the small girl, hoisting her up on his shoulders and tugging at Taichi's arm to drag him out onto the street scant moments before heaps of rubble tumbled down into the gap where they'd been stood. The road was shaking still, but somehow they made their way to the coast.

The boats were gone, but they were far enough from the buildings that Yamato could no longer bring himself to care. Instead, they sank down to the ground, each leaning against the other with the little girl clinging tightly to Yamato's shirt. The earth shook around them and the kid sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder.

"You should have gone," Taichi said, but his voice was leaden and flat; no anger rested in his words. He was just as tired of all this shit as Yamato himself, and that was no secret between them.

"You have a track record of pretty much dying whenever I'm not around," Yamato pointed out. "Someone has to keep you with us."

Taichi didn't say anything for long minutes. Dust billowed out from collapsing buildings, enveloping them in thick clouds which obscured the ocean. Obscured everything. The rumble of the earthquake died away, but how long until the first aftershocks came as its chaser? Did anyone else even know where they were?

"Yeah, well," came Taichi's eventual reply. He was very obviously not looking down at the child in Yamato's arms as he spoke. "This time…"

He didn't need to finish. Hell, scratch that, he deliberately didn't finish, because even now, even here, even faced with the absurd, overwhelming hopelessness of it all, he was holding it together so he wouldn't scare the kid. Taichi, saviour of the whole goddamn world.

Taichi, getting to his feet as the ground started to quake once more, and holding out his hand.

"Come on," he said, and the steel in his face wasn't for Yamato's sake, that was damn well sure. "We can't stay here."

Yamato didn't bother pointing out that there was nowhere else. That the first earthquake had been strong enough that part of the harbour walls were already crumbling into the hungry sea. That if someone was going to come back and save what was left of this scrap of land, it wouldn't be today, not when half of Tokyo was lying in ruins, crushed by explosions and near-apocalypses, the leftovers cracked and shattered by the upheaval of the earth itself.

He got to his feet, settling the kid on his hip. Because the stupid thing—the really stupid thing—was that deep down, he'd never quite lost that faith he'd gained, somewhere years ago and a world away. That unshakable belief that if Taichi was still going, somehow it would all turn out okay.

"Alright," he said, eyeing the battered, cracked goggles around Taichi's neck. Held together by tape and pins and an endless amount of stubbornness and grit. "What's your master plan this time, genius."

"Well…" Taichi replied, and had the decency to look halfway sheepish as he looked around them, helplessly.

Yamato sighed.

Yeah. That was always the same, too.

A.N.: Welp, it's been a while, right? But hey, I found this amongst my Digimon fics while I was meant to be working on something else, and it was close enough to done that I just had to finish it up. It was originally part of a prompt week...last August sometime? Might have been for OTP week. Either way, it feels good to polish up an old WIP. Bit by bit I'll get the number of them down!