Disclaimer: I do not own Tokyo Ghoul nor the characters in it.
Thanks to Obvious Pseudonym O'Flaherty for helping me improve this chapter. (The next chapters will also be updated to match the recommendations made in this chapter, so keep an eye out for updates) You'll know when a chapter has been revised if it says so at the top of it.
Revised
The noise of ruble shifting.
Amon woke up abruptly and uselessly tried sitting up, having forgotten there was no space for that. The movement jostled his crushed limb which had been thankfully numb just seconds ago, and he gasped painfully. It was on fire. He was dying. He was dying he was dying he was dying-
Amon pulled: hard. He didn't stop when heat prickled his pinned limb in warning, he did stop however when he felt a hot sticky liquid on him. It was comfortably warm, and for some reason, calmed Amon from the panic. That was until he smelled the coppery scent and heard the agonizing grunt.
Kaneki's kagune was spread through the whole support beam, and even with the enormous strength they possessed, they where trembling violently under the strain. The ghoul was hovering over Amon. How he had managed to maneuver himself on top of him, Amon had no idea. The boy's blood splashed on Amon, whom he seemed, for some reason, to be protecting. The dark liquid warm and thick, the effort having opened his closing wounds. The investigator knew he should be disgusted. Disgusted he had to be protected and that his protector happened to be a ghoul, but he couldn't afford the energy to care.
Rumble. Rumble. The rubble gives away.
Tears of effort fell on Amon's face from the ghoul above, accompanied by louder moans, echoing the exhaustion and strain laced in in Kaneki's visage. He could feel his limb tingling, hot and pulsating as blood rushed to the site, as the pressure eased away. Pain shot up from his leg like a bullet does out of a gun, and he couldn't help the moan that escaped his lips. He was a little relieved though; pain told him he wasn't dead yet. Unlucky for him that could change really easily.
Rumble. Rumble. The rubble gives away. Crack. Sometimes flesh is tougher than bone.
That's not good. "Eyepatch?" His voice was raspy, but that was as far as he would get in helping the ghoul freeing them. Pathetic.
Hearing Amon's hoarse voice seemed to be the ghoul's undoing. He opened his mouth and screamed, more warm tears hitting Amon's face, mocking him. He couldn't do anything to help. It wasn't even because he wanted to get out and get this over with, it was the screams; so hopeless and pained. It fit the ghoul in ways Amon would never understand, no matter how many times he mulled it over in his head. It was like Eyepatch was born to shout like that. His eyes wide open but unseeing.
Rumble. Rumble. A last push and the support beam is thrown off, but it is far from over.
All the weight that impeded the ghoul from freeing them came tumbling down from above. slabs and chuncks of concrete, dust like fog, and glass that threatened to slice his body. Amon scrunched his eyes tight, bracing uselessly for the weight that would be the death of him. It didn't come.
Crack. Crack. Slice.
Apparently Eyepatch wouldn't let any of it fall onto him, even if it cost him dearly.
A cloud of dust signaled it was finally over, and the youth slumped limply over Amon's probably broken ribs, completely spent. He was shaking violently, rattling every bone in Amon's body. His kagune slumped and twitched in sympathy before disappearing, turning into dust in mere moments. The wind and the taste of freedom chilled their bodies, and for a couple of seconds, everything was peaceful and quiet.
Until it wasn't.
Amons mind flashed; Red, Red, Red. The world boiled down to pain. Someone was shouting, wether in pain or shock, he didn't care anymore. His ears told him the sound was far away, but the strain of his vocal cords told him something else entirely. God, he was so tired, he didn't even care of what was bound to happen now that they were free. He was so tired and his leg burned and his ribs hurt and he can't breathe he can't breathe he can't-
Hearing the soft whimpering brought him back from his apparently inevitable path to the sweet unconsciousness. The body on top of him shook and gasped and choked and sobed and... Amon simply could not let this happen. The animal on top of him was a ghoul, but even animals weren't supposed to suffer like that.
Animal? He doubted it would make much sense to compare him to something else other than a mere animal, right?
As carefully as posible, Amon sat up, careful not to jostle the fraile body and his own damaged one. The boy was still slumped on him, limp as a doll, yet shaking like a leaf. He was cold. So tired.
So young.
Amon wraped his arms around the shaking form gingerly and unconsciously. Eyepatch seemed to be in a battle with his own panic for air and loosing.
Disgusting, you are a soft-hearted coward. Kill him now that you have the chance. Do it. He killed Mado. He killed him and he probably has killed hundreds before that. He deserves to die.
His arms crawling on what was left of the ghoul's back, which was covered in blood. The skin had been scraped away by stone and steel, leaving the muscles raw and exposed. Amon still huged his savior tight. That was until his hand touched a bump on the boy's shoulders. The complete fracture screamed, and Eyepatch's voice joined in, sending a wave of unwanted sympathy through the investigator. Amon left the spot alone and shushed him gently, rubbing the rest of his back to soothe the spomadic muscles. The ghoul was mumbling something, apparently had been mumbling for some time. Amon had failed to notice before.
"N-nine hundred s-sixteen, nine h-hundred nine, n-nine hundred two" the numbers were interrupted by pained gasps between them. Each one more frail than the last
It suddenly clicked, and Amon's heart sank to his stomach.
"For the purpose of this Declaration, torture is defined as the deliberate, systematic or wanton infliction of physical or mental suffering by one or more persons acting alone or on the orders of any authority, to force another person to yield information, to make a confession, or for any other reason."
Amon didn't mind studying torture methods and techniques in the academy, but he now wished for ignorance.
"Torturers make their victims recite things such as letters or numbers to ensure their victims will not disassociate from the pain, therefore making the chosen torture technique will be more effective. The victim, in recovery, might repeat the pattern. To stop the victim from having a panic attack... the rest of the words were lost to Amon in a hurricane of pity and guit.
He knew it was a stretch. He knew Eyepatch could be just counting to calm himself, but he doubted it.
It was like Eyepatch was born to shout like that.
It was like that indeed.
"e-eight hundred and n-ninety five, eight h-hundred and eighty e-eight"
The ghoul's arms hung limply by his sides, and Amon tightened his grip on the unnaturally cold body before him. "It's okay, it's over. Everything will be okay, just breathe."
It wasn't okay. His endless number recite stopped short with a pained moan.
Amon held him through his self induced panic and fear. The boy scrunched his eyes and tried to take a shaky breath, trying being the key word. He wasn't gasping anymore, but he was panting. Amon felt the boy's shoulders tense, preparing to attack him, he supposed; but he couldn't bring himself to let go just yet. In his state, he doubted the ghoul could do any damage to him anyway. To Amon's surprise, very slowly, Eyepatch moved his arms to hug the warm body back. He needed the warmth, badly. He was so cold.
Amon gritted his teeth and scrunched up his eyes tight when there was a quiet moan beside his ear, and the boy's arms fell back down, probably sore beyond belief. The crying intensified and with the little strength he had left, Eyepatch snuggled closer to the warmth to compansate the uselessness of his arms. The youth screamed, wailed and begged. Amon's eyes stung with the promise of tear as he shifted his body in response to huddle even closer and give as much comfort as he could.
It was like each of them had left who they were ment to be behind.
Investigator Amon was still stuck under the rubble, as so was Eyepatch. There was only a man holding a young man in the middle of the havoc caused between them, under the pale light of the moon. Only suffering and the little comfort that could be given. Little confort that would never be enough.
"W-why?!" The boy wept brokenly. He didn't even need to finish the question, they both understood. Why did it have to be like this?
"I-I don't know..." Amon didn't know how to feel. He didn't know anything other than the tickling of white hair on his neck and the cold threatening to take away what little warmth he had to offer. He didn't have answers to soothe the exhausted ghoul. He couldn't help him. And even if he could, he wasn't meant to; "I don't know," he whispered it again like it could change a damn thing.
They were still investigator and ghoul. Amon, wether he liked it or not, would still be forced to kill Eyepatch. They were still enemies. The CCG would eventually find them and kill the boy without qualms or hesitation. It was just the way it was. He was a human and the boy was a ghoul.
But just this once, Amon would leave himself behind and forget.
He had to.
Bring the flames!
