Knife's Edge
Yukine screams in Yato's mind, a long, drawn-out wail of pure terror, a shriek of absolute horror and a cry of no, no no no no. Yato can hear the fear, hear the despair and pain and horror and disgust, and the last emotion is the one that sets his lips in a grim, thin line and his heart ache, because he never wants that emotion directed at him or his shinki, ever. But he's nothing if not determined, nothing if not stubborn, and even as his heart turns to lead and his stomach coils into painful knots, he forces his legs to move, charging for the akayashi in front of them, the akayashi that was once their friend. He lifts his arms high, sekki heavy in his hands, and yells a single command.
"Don't hesitate, Yukine!"
But damn it, Yukine is too pure, too innocent and sweet and naive, and the boy can't bring himself to slice apart a friend, even if the friend has turned into an enemy, even if the friend can only find freedom in death. He falters, and the blade turns dull and even heavier in Yato's hands, so that it's all Yato can do to drag the metal across the monster's side. The death must be painful; it's not a clean, smooth cut - it's a long drag of heavy steel raking a gouge in the creature's flesh, and Yato bites his lip, hard, because he knows it hurts, he knows that the once-friend-turned-enemy was once a little boy, a smiling little boy with brilliant green eyes and a crooked grin that lit up the whole area and made Yukine and Yato smile too, and that kid didn't deserve this, never this. Yato knows Yukine is hurting; he can feel it as a steady, burning ache in his chest and a painful, painful searing scar on his neck.
And Yato is hurting, too, the burns in his neck and chest nothing compared to the broken, helpless pain in his heart, the desperation clouding his world; but he'll ignore his own pain for now, because Yukine is crying in his mind, sobbing and gasping and wailing, and Yato thinks that the boy is hyperventilating, which can't be good, not at all.
The akayashi dies, the tainted soul of the brilliant child finding release; but Yato knows that Yukine won't see it that way, and for once, he wishes he wasn't right. Of course he has to be right, the one time he desperately wants to be wrong.
When he releases Yukine, the boy collapses to his knees and screams, a choking, gasping scream mixed with sobs, saliva dripping from his open mouth as he gags, retching until his lunch makes a reappearance in the form of a vile, acidic liquid that spills from his lips. Yato drops to one knee by his side, rubbing his back and muttering reassurances that Yukine will be alright, everything will be okay, and hey, it's fine now, it's fine,
and he can't hide his hurt when his shinki shoves him away with a screamed "don't touch me!"
Yukine's got tears beading in his eyes and some mucus dripping from his nose, but he glares at Yato, a burning glare that reads, "this is all your fault", his mouth curling in a snarl. A quick glance reveals that the boy's hands have curled into tight white fists, so small compared to Yato's own, and Yukine bares his teeth, gasping out an angry, desperately hurt question.
"Why? We could've saved him! We could've found another way… We didn't have to kill him! Why?!" And this is when Yukine lunges at Yato, grasping his collar and dragging him close, so that their eyes meet, searing, burning orange glaring into Yato's own.
It hurts, the way the boy's eyes are an accusation, a furious verdict of guilty, even though Yato knows it was the right thing to do. Yato can't help his response - it's a knee-jerk reaction, an automatic defense he throws up in times of pain. He brings up an arm, snatching Yukine's wrist and wrenching it away from his collar, bringing his other hand up onto Yukine's shoulder and digging his fingers in deep.
"There was no way to save him, damn it!" Yato snarls, a furious growl that Yukine probably doesn't deserve but that Yato cannot help. "Do you think I've never tried?"
That's what it comes down to in the end. Yato knows firsthand that there is no way to save a soul so far gone, no way in the world. Just because the person was precious to you, just because you think you cannot survive without him or her, it does not mean that there will be a way to save them, where for the hundreds, thousands, millions of people before there was no hope.
Every person that was lost before was a precious person to someone else, and they were lost all the same. Yato is not naive enough to believe that he is special, that he will be blessed where the rest were not.
He's lost precious people because of that understanding, people who thought he didn't care, people who thought he did not value their lives, people who, like Yukine is doing now, blamed him for not trying harder. And he's lost precious people to the other side, too, lost precious shinki to the transformation into akayashi.
Every single time a shinki has turned into an akayashi, every single time his friend has turned into a monster, he has killed it himself. It's during those times, times like this, that he feels so empty and hopeless and scared, fiercely, fiercely scared because he realises just how fragile humans are. He feels like he's made up of nothing but facts and centuries of painful, terrifying knowledge, like there's only one painful way to go and no way to back out.
He feels like he'll outlast both Hiyori and Yukine and he's desperate, desperate not to do that because then he'll be all alone again, he'll have to keep living on, the loss of his two best friends adding to the pain he's already shouldering.
"There's no way to save them, once they've gotten that far," Yato says, his voice exhausted and a perfect reflection of how he feels; he's so tired of the cruel, painful cycle of pain and loss and death.
"But-" Yukine wants to object, and Yato stares into the boy's carnelian eyes, with the shocking realisation that Yukine is young, so young, the years of his life a mere speck compared to Yato's centuries of experience. He doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry, because he is so responsible for this tiny waif of a child, this innocent, naive creature that doesn't for an instant see the world the way Yato does. Yato doesn't know how he's supposed to look after this boy, this strangely unassuming kid, when he's got so much blood on his hands and sows death and pain everywhere he goes. He's scared he's going to break Yukine too, that he's going to take so much from the child that the kid shatters.
It's terrifying and ironic all at once and Yato thinks that it's some sort of divine punishment that someone as tainted as him has to look after such a pure child. It's all a huge joke, he thinks, because he's grown so close to this little wisp of an existence, so close that the kid's almost a son or a little brother or sort of both to him, but Yato is so tainted and dangerous that he's sure he's gonna break the child and then the heavens will laugh, because this is payback for all the lives he's taken, the lives he's ruined. And he wants to be like Yukine, naive and innocent and pure and harmless, but when he tries he just comes across as stupid and foolish and troublesome, and dammit, he's bringing people trouble again, but how is he supposed to stop when the alternative is bringing them death?
He's like a naked blade, and Yukine is like a… a soft toy, maybe, or a kitten, that's just walked up to the blade and is nuzzling against it, and Yato just knows that he's gonna hurt this child.
It's terrifying, it's so scary, and Yato feels his eyes become bleaker and duller because that's how he copes with pain, with fear; he withdraws, and if he's not being threatened, if he's not going on the offensive and doesn't want to hurt anyone, he tries to make himself all dull edges and dead blankness, so that he never cuts anyone, he's just a dull blade that even the unassuming kitten cannot be hurt by.
It's maybe the wrong move, or maybe it's the right one, Yato doesn't know, he just knows that Yukine sees something in his eyes, and the boy stops talking, the fury and accusation and blame fading from his carnelian eyes to reveal fear and despair and pain, and then the tears that were pooling there fall, like tiny diamonds that drop to the ground, catching light from the street lamps.
And Yukine's shoulders slump and he throws his head up and cries, wailing and sobbing and gasping and saying he's sorry, he's sorry that he's blighted Yato, he's sorry he blamed Yato, he's sorry that he wasn't fast enough to save their friend, he's sorry, he's sorry, he's sorry, but Yato's not angry at all; the boy was simply hurt and scared and lost and angry and needed someone to blame, so even if it was Yato it doesn't matter because this is Yukine, this is Yato's sort-of little brother, his almost-son, and he's so tiny and innocent and scared, and Yato just wants to make it better. Yukine looks so lost and despairing and hurt, and Yato doesn't know what he's doing, but he finds himself leaning forward and suddenly he's holding a warm body in his arms, and he freezes because he doesn't know what he's doing - what if he's done something wrong or he hurts Yukine or does something he's not supposed to? Yato only knows that before, when he was in this situation, he'd wanted somebody to be there for him, he'd wished that there was someone left, and now he's here and Yukine's scared and he just wants to help…
and suddenly Yukine's head is tucked tightly against Yato's shoulder, snug in the crook of his neck, and Yato's jersey is wet with tears and snot already but he couldn't care less, because Yukine's heart is thudding hard and fast against Yato's chest, like a little bird fluttering in its cage, and Yukine is pressing against Yato like a toddler clings to its mother, in a way that screams fear and begs for protection.
Yato responds by holding the trembling child tighter, rubbing soothing circles on his back and muttering reassurances, ignoring the screaming pain on his neck and the painful burn in his chest, because they are nothing compared to the broken, helpless pain in his heart and the desperation clouding his world, both of which are slowly dissipating as he holds the kid - his kid - close and realises that he's not alone this time, there's somebody here for him and there is somebody left.
And once again, he doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry; he's wanted someone there for so long, and now that he has someone, it's a fragile, breakable little kid who is really, far too pure and far too sweet and really so innocent, a kid who Yato is scared he'll break, a kid who is all the things Yato wishes he was but can't quite be, so instead he buries his face in Yukine's soft blond hair and holds the boy close and vows, vows that he'll do everything he can to keep that innocence in this child, that he will not let the world beat the naivety out of the crying boy in his arms.
He'll be strong enough for the two of them; he'll be the one responsible for all the painful understandings and terrible knowledge, and Yukine can just be there to make sure Yato stays in line, to fight with and fight for Yato but never, never ever be put under direct fire - Yukine will be the one to decide what Yato cuts, and Yato will make sure that he protects Yukine, so that the boy is never, ever hurt.
Yato can't shield Yukine from everything, but he'll try to protect Yukine from the worst of it, like the pain of being ignored and forgotten and all alone, the pain of being used and being nothing but a tool. He'll make sure Yukine is never lonely, never abandoned or hurt, and he'll try his best to keep the child as far from the pain in their world as he possibly can.
Yukine sobs wordlessly into Yato's jersey and Yato holds the boy tight, willing himself not to tremble, to be strong for Yukine - fragile, breakable Yukine - if not himself,
and if a single tear traces a shimmering path down Yato's cheek and falls into Yukine's mop of soft hair, well, Yukine's too upset to notice anything, and Yato sure isn't going to tell him.
It's enough that Yukine's here when before, Yato had no one.