A/N: A short one-shot for TCRMommaBear, as a Christmas present. This was already posted on Tumblr last January, but, looking back, it had some interesting ideas on Creation mortality/death, so I decided to add it here. (Also, ffnet has been quiet in the TCR fics recently, so I wanted to add some life to the TCR page.) I'm not sure how much I headcanon this or whether I'll ever go any further with this, but it was an interesting concept to play with.
Enjoy.
Cat.
ooOoo
The Sanctuary was the extent of his world now.
How many times had he paced out the cobbled courtyard that marked the edge of his existence? How many days had he spent patrolling the limitations of his world? He was sure the courtyard hadn't always been so small, but now it felt stifling.
Twenty steps from the Bureau's doors to Toto's old column. Another twenty to the archway. Ten, if he ran. Barely enough room to swing a cat.
Not enough to live in.
The Sanctuary was silent now; the years had passed and Muta - as mortals did - had grown old and tired, until eventually there was simply a day he didn't wake. His lifespan had been far greater than the average cat, but even the Sanctuary could not prevent the inevitable.
And mortals aged so quickly.
Humans, especially. It took them so long to stumble onto their feet and find their purpose - if they ever did - that half their life was gone before they even knew who they were.
Not Creations, though. Creations were born - created - already ready for the world. They awoke with the dreams and desires of their artisans. They awoke with a purpose. And his had been simple. Help others. And he had done that all through his long life.
And for what? For an empty home and missing friends?
Haru had been the next to go after Muta.
Her death had been unexpected - a heart attack - and she was gone within two days. The Bureau had been away on a case and they had returned too late.
Of course, they had no way of knowing that at the time. And Haru had always seemed so indomitable, and had grown more so in her old age - it was almost too easy to believe that she would simply smack Death away with her favourite walking stick. But she hadn't, and she was gone by the time Toto had landed on the hospital roof.
After that, it had simply been Toto and Baron. No more Creations arrived at the Sanctuary's entrance, and Baron took on no more mortals as Bureau members. At first it was out of respect for their absent friends, and then it became their new normal, and finally Baron rationalised that mortals were too fragile anyway; their lifespans too short, their lives too easily cut short. It was easier without them.
But even Creations couldn't last forever. Eventually the magic that held them together began to unravel and dissolve away, and they would be left in their original form. Death, if such a thing was applicable to Creations.
Toto had kept his old age quiet. Perhaps it was because he hadn't wanted to worry Baron. Perhaps it was because he didn't want to admit his oncoming passing. Or perhaps it was because he thought Baron might insist he stay inside the Sanctuary, where the magic would keep him ticking over while he remained within its walls.
Instead, Toto had kept going, pushing himself on cases and adventures even as his wings weighed heavily on him and his feathers petrified to stone. By the time Baron realised the extent of Toto's dwindling magic, the damage was almost complete.
"I've lived a long life," was all Toto would say on the matter when Baron pressed him. "It has to end sometime."
And eventually there came the day where Toto ventured out into the Human World and didn't return.
Baron found him perched on one of his favourite ledges, now solid stone and as inanimate as the bricks he stood on. Toto's head was tilted down towards the crowds below, as if his last moments had been watching the world pass him by.
And then there was one.
Cases and clients had declined in the following years - the Cat Bureau was being forgotten as life and generations rushed by, and new solutions were offered to people's problems. Others filled the gap that the Bureau had left, and now there were stories of a mouse detective agency that solved mysteries, and even a tanuki society that helped other spirits in need.
No one remembered the Cat Bureau anymore.
Help others.
That had been his purpose, hadn't it? And so he remained, the last member of the Cat Bureau, taking up what few cases and clients fell his way. Of course, the Sanctuary did bring a few in need his way, but even that had dropped, as if the Sanctuary was being gentle in the challenges it offered.
And then there came the first twitch of tired magic.
It had begun in little ways - so little, that he hadn't noticed it. It was in the speed of his reflexes and the dulling of his senses. Slowly, the cold had stopped bothering him, and he realised he could no longer feel the warmth of the sun upon his fur.
Next came the more difficult part to cope with - the part where his body began to revert to its wooden state. At first, the toes were easy to ignore. Who needed toes really? (He quickly discovered that toes were somewhat useful in walking, but ignored it.) And then he had to rely on his cane - actually rely on his cane - when it started to spread to his legs.
And then there were odd patches that would revert to wood without warning. The tip of his right ear. The corner of his mouth. (And suddenly smiling became such an effort.) The back of his hand. Little things, that began to add up into larger.
And finally he had conceded defeat. He had retreated into the Sanctuary, which magic would keep him alive and moving - as long as he stayed within its boundaries.
He continued to help those who came to his doors - but only those who came to his doors. He could no longer venture out into the wider world to seek out those in need; instead he had to wait for someone to stumble into the Sanctuary. And even then, he could only help with advice and talking.
But that was help too. Wonders could be performed by offering a willing ear and a cup of homemade tea. It wasn't the Bureau work of his youth, but it was Bureau work nonetheless.
But the days where he went without seeing another soul vastly outnumbered those he did. He had paced the edges of his confinement so often that it was a minor miracle that he hadn't worn away the cobblestones by now. And every time he would stop by the archway.
He had no magic of his own now. Only the Sanctuary's magic kept him moving, and even then he could still feel the hollowness beneath his skin. It was one of the few things he could still feel. The Sanctuary might be able to give him his flesh and blood form, but it couldn't stave off all the effects.
If he stepped through that archway, there would be no going back. The moment he passed over that threshold, the Sanctuary's magic would be gone, and he would be nothing more than a little, lost wooden figurine. He would be gone.
Like Toto.
Like Muta.
Like Haru.
There was temptation in the peace that it promised him. He was old, he was tired, and most importantly, he was lonely. It seemed he had reached that part of his life where the universe stopped giving and started taking instead.
And still, he lingered.
A shifting of the air broke him from his thoughts - although that was all he had nowadays - and he felt a ripple of magic across his fur. He looked back. The house beside the Bureau was morphing - melting away and reforming itself into the shape of a small, homely cottage.
A new Creation was looking for the Sanctuary.
He stepped across to the new building, and ran a hand along the freshly-created bricks. Sparks of magic jumped out at him, and he could feel the life beneath his hand.
A new Creation was coming to the Sanctuary.
He could wait a little longer to greet them.