Aofery: Angst often puts me in a strangely good mood too, which seems a little worrisome sometimes XD Yeah, it was a bit of a nod to "Ricochet". Speaking of which, I'm also writing a longer fic inspired from something from that...just need to finish the last couple chapters finally. Ha ha, thanks.
Guest: Sorry lol I always write things long before I post them. I try to space out posting a little bit instead of dumping it all at once, too, especially since I go through and edit each chapter again right before posting. But they're coming lol Just give it a few days :)
Part 3
It was the god's job to safeguard their shinki's past. Their life and death and name. It was a god's most deeply guarded secret, and one they kept so that their shinki could have a clean slate and a chance at a second life after death instead of spiraling into the basest human emotions and crossing the line.
Yato had made a fatal mistake once by divulging these secrets to Sakura, and he had sworn to never do it again. Now, he didn't have a choice.
Yukine's secrets had been carefully hidden away in a quiet corner of Yato's heart and lovingly guarded. Now his name, once scrawled so big and bright across Yato's heart, was cracking apart. The name that had acted as a seal to suppress the other name and the memories that went with it.
A guttural whimper tore from Yato's throat as his heart was forcibly pried open and its most precious secrets were forced through the bond linking his life to Yukine's. His hands flew to his chest and dug claw-like into his skin as if he could squeeze it back shut, but the secrets slipped through his fingers like water. Like sand falling through the hourglass, ticking down the last few precious seconds.
Somewhere behind him, Hiyori screamed.
"I'd stay," Father said, his voice sounding far away and muffled like he was underwater, "but I really am busy. If you can't bring yourself to finish off your hafuri, I'm sure Bishamon would do it for you. I'll give you some time, but do try to be ready in a couple weeks. I've got plans for you."
Yato barely noticed him disappearing. All he could see was Yukine with his amber eyes blown wide and glassy as he was bombarded with everything all at once. Everything was pain and breaking and heartache, until it felt like Yato's heart would explode under the pressure of the anguish and grief and panic.
"Don't leave me in here," Yukine said in a breathy whimper. His eyes stared past the god to something he shouldn't be able to see, and Yato could feel his name cracking apart. "Dad, why…? Why would–?"
"Stop," Yato croaked. "It doesn't matter anymore. He doesn't matter anymore."
"Name…?" Yukine's brows drew together over unseeing eyes. "My name is–"
"Yukine!" Yato cried. "Your name is Yukine!" He stumbled forward on unsteady legs, even though it felt like every part of his body was shaking itself apart and breaking along with his heart and Yukine's sanity, and threw his arms around his kid to pull him close. Yukine's arms dangled limply by his sides as he continued to stare blankly. "I named you, remember? You have to–have to remember. I gave you a–a name and a place to belong and a second chance to live."
He was crying now, ugly sobs that garbled his words and made it nearly impossible to breathe. He clutched Yukine to his chest tightly, one arm wrapped around his back and the other hand tangled in his hair to press his face close. Tight enough that it should hurt, that it made Yato's muscles seize up. So tight, too tight, but not tight enough to keep Yukine from slipping away.
Yato squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head as the tears ran down his face and dripped into Yukine's hair. He couldn't do anything. Blight stung and prickled at his skin, and he wondered if it was just from the ayakashi wounds or if Yukine's transformation was already eating away his body. He was too afraid to open his eyes and see what his kid was becoming, and hopeless, desperate grief pushed out a torrent of useless words.
"You can't do this to me again," he sobbed, his breath hitching and shuddering. He rocked back and forth, hugging Yukine tight while his body shook and shook and shook. "Hold–hold on, Yukine. Please… You can't cross the line. You didn't cross before, remember? You came so–so close, but you came back to me. You came back. I t-told you, remember? I gave you a person's name, so live as a person. You have to live. You have to–have to–"
His knees buckled, and he dragged what was left of Yukine to the ground with him. For the first time in a millennium, he really, truly wanted to die, just to make the blinding agony disappear. It hurt, everything hurt, and the words tasted like ashes in his mouth and sliced his tongue like knives until they were just bleeding out of him. The words hurt more than anything, because he knew they were useless. He was helpless to stop the world from shattering around him, no matter how much he begged and pleaded.
"Please, please…" he moaned, hunching over into the ground as he cradled his dying child in his arms. "Your name is Yukine, and you are mine. You are mine. Don't you dare die on me. Don't you dare let him kill you again. Don't…don't leave me. Don't you leave. You were supposed to stay. You were supposed to stay with me forever, remember? You were the only shinki who ever pledged that to me. You're stronger than this. Come on, come on, you have to fight it. Yukine, please. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please don't leave me alone again. I–I l-love you s-so much. Please don't go. Don't…"
He barely even knew what he was saying anymore, just let the words spill from between his lips in a choked stream of lifeblood. All he could do was squeeze Yukine tighter and tighter, hold on for the last few seconds while he still could. Before Yukine was gone forever.
And then arms closed around him too, circling around his sides and clasping behind his back and forcing all the breath out of his lungs as they squeezed tight like a vise. His head jerked up and his eyes flew open.
Yukine was shaking all over too, but he looked up. His eyes swam with tears that were fast falling loose to drip down his face.
"I-it's okay," he choked out. "I'm okay. We–we're okay, Yato."
Yato went deathly still, staring down in frozen shock. It was impossible. But Yukine still looked like himself, hadn't yet slipped across the line. Yato reached down inside himself in a desperate, wild panic. There was Yukine's name, still printed across his heart. It was cracked, shaken, dulled, but it was there. It was there.
He dissolved into sobs again. He didn't believe it was over, not by a longshot, but he had his kid for a few more moments. He slumped over bonelessly and held Yukine close and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. He was all out of words. All he had left was pain and relief, fear and tears.
Yukine was small and warm in his arms, but crying and shaking almost as much as Yato. The snarled mess of emotions—dangerous emotions—did not abate or unwind, only tightened further and further until Yato's chest was so tight that he couldn't breathe. All the empty parts of his heart—each hole, big or small—ached and throbbed. Each missing name clawed down deep into his chest. Yukine's name was still there, damaged but still there, but he was terrified that it would still disappear with all the rest.
"What happened?" Bishamon demanded from somewhere behind him. Yato barely heard her over his keening, barely cared.
Hiyori mumbled something. Yato realized she was kneeling beside them. He could feel her arm around him, hear the tears in her voice even though it was too quiet for him to make out the words. He wondered how long she had been there.
It was hard to tell when his entire world had shrunken to the crying boy he clung to. Yukine was crying like his soul was being torn out and his pain bounced around the god's chest, and it only made Yato cry harder.
Bishamon snarled out a low curse and reverted all her shinki in a clipped litany of names. "Everyone, go home."
"I'm sorry," Yukine was sobbing into Yato's chest, and the god wondered how long he had been choking up a rambling torrent of words. "I'm okay. Please stop crying, Yato. I'm sorry."
But Yato couldn't stop. He wondered if, after all these centuries, Father had finally broken him. Centuries of pain and heartache and memories flooded through him all at once, as if now that he had finally started crying and grieving, he couldn't stop and had to face everything he had done his best to ignore for so long. And Yukine's own emotions only made Yato feel worse and worse. Yukine should be happy and innocent and free, and it killed Yato to feel his kid so upset, so broken.
A hand closed around his arm. "Yato," said Bishamon in a steady voice, "I need you to let go of him. I think we need to separate you for a few minutes."
"No!" Yato flinched away and hugged Yukine tighter, ready to fight anyone who tried to take his kid away.
"Yato, you're hurting him."
The words cut like knives, and he released Yukine as if burned. Yukine was still clinging to him and sobbing his heart out, but Hiyori was coaxing him into letting go too. The shinki disappeared again behind a film of tears.
"I'm sorry," Yato moaned. He didn't want to hurt Yukine.
"It's okay," Bishamon said gently as Hiyori disentangled Yukine. "Listen, Yato, you two are a mess. It's upsetting him to see you so upset, and his emotions are making you even more upset. You're bouncing your pain back and forth and amplifying it. It's a vicious cycle. Come with me for a few minutes until you calm down, okay?"
She pulled him to his feet, staggering under his weight, and started drawing him away. They made it all of two steps before Yato panicked and started flailing about in her grip. If he left, who was going to make sure Yukine didn't fall apart and cross the line? What if he left and came back to find Yukine gone? He couldn't leave his kid, not now when Yukine was so fragile, so vulnerable.
"No!" he burst out, panic tightening his voice and making it crack. "You don't understand, I have to–!"
"It's okay," Bishamon said again, calm like she was soothing a spooked animal. "Hiyori is taking care of Yukine. She'll make sure he's okay. You trust her, don't you?"
Yato wavered, his sluggish brain going back and forth. He did trust Hiyori, but he was still terrified of leaving Yukine behind.
"But–"
"Yato, you aren't helping him right now."
That was right. There wasn't anything he could do, was never anything he could do. He wasn't made to save or protect, but kill and destroy. He couldn't change anything.
He went still and limp, slumping back against his captor and burying his tears in her neck. She stiffened but kept a tight grip.
"Kazuma," she said sharply. "I thought I told you to go home."
"But–" the hafuri tried, somewhere on Yato's left.
"Now. Make sure everyone gets back. I'll be along in a bit."
"But what…? Are they…okay?"
A short pause. "I'll take care of it."
"I'm going to kill him," Yato sobbed. "I'm going to fucking kill him."
Father had been wrong to think that killing Yukine would bring Yato crawling back this time. He could break Yato, crush him into a million little pieces, but the god would never let such a thing go unpunished. And if Yukine survived, Yato would fight the world, the underworld, the heavens themselves to keep him safe. Either way, he was going to rip Father's smug face right off and make sure he never acquired another.
"Calm down, Yato. Come on, it's alright."
He clung to Bishamon as she slowly guided him away step by painful step before finally giving up and lowering them to the ground. Yato curled up and cried like a child until he didn't know what he was crying about anymore.
Maybe it was everything. Everything Father had forced him to do over the centuries. Sakura's death. The impossible problem that was Hiiro. Every single hole in his heart where a name was missing—a name that he remembered, because he remembered every name long after it was ripped away. The emptiness each missing name left within him, and the centuries of loneliness. Everything each one of his friends had suffered because of him and Father, especially Hiyori and Yukine.
Yukine. Yukine, who had been shattered yet still lived. Yato was afraid, terribly afraid, that this fragile state of affairs might not last. But Yukine was alive, and some of Yato's tears were born of a sharp, sweet hope that threaded through all the pain and crashed over him in a wave so beautiful that it hurt.
It had been a very, very long time since Yato had last cried like this, and he couldn't stop until he'd wrung every last tear out of his battered heart. Until he was left hollow and numb and exhausted. He'd forgotten that feeling, the one that came after a torrential crying jag and could be either the most exquisite kind of hell or the most cleansing peace. He hadn't decided which this was yet. Maybe both.
"…He's safe," a voice was saying. "You're okay. You're both going to be alright. Breathe, Yato. It's alright."
He pulled in a deep lungful of air, and it was sweet and clean and cleared some of the fog from his head. He dragged in another for good measure, because it felt like he hadn't breathed in centuries. The knot in his chest had loosened enough for him to fill his lungs all the way down, and a quiet voice in the corner of his mind that was slowly waking from its painful haze whispered that Yukine's emotions were easing. It still hurt, but not as much, not as sharp.
As much as he still didn't want to be away from Yukine, he had to grudgingly admit that it was good to have put a little distance between them. It wasn't just that they were upsetting each other by being upset, but Yukine's increasingly negative emotions had become more and more unbearable through the bond and had almost certainly helped push Yato to break down so completely and be unable to pull himself back together. And the worse Yato's state had become, the worse Yukine felt and the cycle continued.
Yato pried open his eyes, sore and aching and gummy with tears, and wondered hazily why he was clinging to someone like he was drowning and they were the only thing keeping his head above water. Tilting his head up, he found himself staring into worried amethyst eyes. The soft, gentle expression was one he had often seen directed at shinki but never at himself.
He jerked back, his face burning as he realized he had been sobbing all over Bishamon, of all people. Hazy snippets of half-formed memory brought it to his attention that he had behaved in an utterly humiliating fashion.
"S-sorry," he rasped, pressing his fingers to his forehead in a vain attempt to quell the throbbing in his skull.
Bishamon sighed, and she looked more tired and sad and soft than gloating. "At least I had Kazuma to help me through the hard times. You…really had no one, did you?"
Yato's fingers ceased their kneading and went still. Maybe she was right. Maybe this had just been the thing that finally sent him over the edge and sent all his broken pieces clattering to the ground no matter how hard he tried to hold them together. Maybe he had been mourning and grieving for everything he had lost and done and become over a thousand years of painful existence all at once.
He had never really given himself time to mourn before, not for more than a few moments at a time. Even when he was miserable and losing hope and hurting, he had been careful not to let himself break too much in case he couldn't pick the pieces back up after. He had always kept his moments of vulnerability brief and contained, and carefully packed away any troublesome memories or emotions so that he could glue his mask back together for the world.
He wanted to say that he didn't know why it had all come crashing down now, but he thought that he did. He would have still had Hiyori and Kofuku and Daikoku and Kazuma and even Bishamon, and he could have picked up the pieces and kept on living just like he had always done every time he had shattered over the centuries. But…
He had given Yukine too much. He had grown too attached, even though they had barely known each other for a heartbeat by the reckoning of a god's lifespan, and let Yukine's name creep out farther and farther until it encompassed everything that was left. In a very real way, they shared a heart now. Yukine would have taken everything with him. For a terrifying moment, Yato had been completely empty, hollow, void. He hadn't been able to ignore or avoid or hide the things he didn't want to feel, didn't want the world to see.
But Yukine had lived. Yato's heart was aching, damaged, missing great chunks, but it still beat in his chest because Yukine's did.
"He didn't cross the line," he croaked instead of answering.
"No, he didn't." Bishamon smiled, although it was subdued. "He's alright."
"It's not over." Yato's shoulders slumped, and he dropped his hand to lace his fingers together in his lap. He stared down at them blankly. "Father will know it didn't work soon, and he could make another move. And even if he doesn't… Yukine's still in a dangerous position. If he starts losing himself, he could still cross."
"Good thing you're already planning to get rid of the sorcerer, then," Bishamon said dryly, and Yato coughed out a laugh like dead, brittle leaves. "Yukine survived. He's strong. And you'll be there to protect him and help him when things get difficult, right? You guys are tough. I'm sure you'll pull each other through."
Yukine was a survivor. Yato could feel his name there still, battered but stubbornly clinging to the place it had carved out for itself in his heart. Things weren't over, but he had to believe they would win in the end. He couldn't bear to imagine the alternative.
"Can I see my kid now?" he asked, his voice small and thin.
"Of course," said Bishamon. "If you think you're ready. Just be careful. He might still be a little fragile, and seeing you so upset was upsetting him too."
Guilt seared like wildfire in Yato's veins. His breakdown had been ill-timed. He didn't want to do anything to make things more difficult for Yukine and possibly push him over the edge. He should be focusing on helping Yukine through, not falling prey to his own emotions.
"Yeah," he mumbled.
Bishamon stood and reached down her hand, and this time Yato took it and let her pull him to his feet.
"It's alright," she said. "I, for one, understand. It's traumatizing for us too, especially when we deal with their trauma at the same time. I don't think anyone can blame you for freaking out a little. Just be cautious."
Yato nodded and followed her past a stream of pedestrians going about their normal day like the world hadn't just turned upside down. He still felt hollow and scooped out, but he wanted to see Yukine now and reassure himself that his kid was okay.
Bishamon turned the corner into an alley, and Yato's feet dragged to a stop as he spotted Yukine and Hiyori huddled on the ground, talking in hushed tones. He let out a shuddering breath, something finally loosening in his chest at the sight of Yukine.
Hiyori said something and nodded at the gods, and Yukine turned around. His eyes were red and watery, and he looked so small. A quiet pain Yato recognized as worry pinched his chest.
"Yato!" Yukine scrambled to his feet and rushed down the alley to throw himself at the god. Yato stumbled back a step at the force, but wrapped his arms tightly around the sniffling shinki in return. "Are you okay?"
"Am I okay?" Yato's laugh rattled in his chest like a cold wind shaking the windowpanes on a moonless night. "I'm more worried about you."
Hiyori threw her arms around the both of them. "I'm so glad you're both alright!" she wailed, her voice thick with tears.
Yato freed an arm to wrap around her too. "Thank you for looking after him," he said quietly.
"Of course. I was so scared, but I'm so happy that you're okay."
"Yeah." Yato untangled himself from both of them before taking Yukine's face in his hands and forcing the shinki to meet his eyes. "Listen, Yukine," he said solemnly. "This is important. You can't tell any other shinki about this, okay? Not Daikoku or Kazuma or anyone. It's too dangerous, and it could push them over the line to become ayakashi. We already lost Tsuguha. We don't want to lose anyone else."
Yukine's eyes widened. "Tsuguha…? That's what…?"
Yato's gaze slid to the side. Bishamon's eyes had clouded over and her lips were pressed together in a tight line. And because she had reached out to him when he was breaking, he reached out to squeeze her hand.
She started in surprise and then gave him a watery smile. "We're such a mess, aren't we?"
"Well, what's new there?" he asked with a dry sort of humor.
She nodded once in understanding. He felt an odd sort of kinship with her in that moment. Not only because they had both lost shinki to the secrets they should have kept, but because they were both old and a little broken in a way that someone who hadn't lived for centuries couldn't truly understand.
He turned back to Yukine.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I know it's horrible. You shouldn't have ever… Yukine, listen. You're going to have to be careful. You can't dwell on it. That's a different life, and obsessing over it will lead you into crossing the line. But if you ever need to talk about it, if it's ever bothering you, you talk to me, okay? Don't try to do it alone. Come to me when you need support with this. Promise me."
Yukine's lips trembled. "I promise."
Yato sighed, shoulders slumping again, and ran his thumb across the smooth skin above the ridge of Yukine's cheekbone just below soft amber eyes. He couldn't understand why anyone would want to hurt such a precious child. Such a child was made to be loved and cherished and protected, and deserved a family who would do so. Yato couldn't rectify the great injustice Yukine had suffered, but he would give anything to heal even a small part of it.
He was probably not the best person for the job, battered and bloodstained and jaded as he was, but he would try.
"How did you pull through?" asked Bishamon. "That's so rare… Nana did, but she's…different. If we know how… Maybe we can help protect the other shinki."
Yato's hand fell away from Yukine's face. "I don't know," he said tiredly, resignedly. "He's just a tough kid."
"Not really," Yukine mumbled. His lips were trembling again, and he snuffled pathetically. "You talked me through the whole thing. You were there, even when things got bad. You were afraid this would happen, weren't you?" Yato nodded once. "That's why you've been so weird. Why you told me about the naming."
"Naming?" Hiyori asked. "What do you mean?"
Yukine's eyes clouded over with tears again, but he didn't look away from Yato's tired gaze. "You used your life to give me a second chance at mine. You wrote my name on your heart so that I would have a place to belong. You named me, and I am yours. You told me that. You told me to remember that." His voice wavered and cracked as his tears spilled over again, and Yato could feel his face crumpling. "And I did," Yukine said past his tears. "I remembered."
Love and pain, relief and grief, joy and sorrow seared white-hot through the empty well the tears had left in Yato's chest. He didn't collapse back into a puddle, but quiet tears gathered in his eyes as he pulled Yukine close and hugged him tight again. He wanted to hold him forever, never let go.
"I couldn't cross the line," Yukine sobbed into his chest. "How could I? That has nothing to do with me anymore. My name, my real name, is Yukine. How could I cross the line when I belong with you?"
Yato trembled under the weight of such innocent trust and loyalty.
"Always," he whispered into Yukine's hair, his voice quivering. He cradled his kid close as he rocked back and forth and buried his face in the nest of downy blond hair. "You will always have a place here."
Maybe he had made a mistake getting attached so quickly and handing over so much, but he didn't care. Yukine could have his entire heart, holes and all, and Yato had no regrets. Maybe it was about time he'd found something worth fighting for.
He reached down to find where Yukine's name was printed. It was cracked and scarred and frail, but it glowed brighter than the sun once more, Yato's guiding light to lead the way and hold back the dark. He took hold of that name and all its broken pieces and held it together with every ounce of determination he possessed. Yukine was strong, but Yato would hold him together when he was failing and fragile and weak.
After all, Yato had promised him a place to belong in his heart. If he had to finally glue together all the shattered pieces of his heart to do it, if he had to hold Yukine together in this moment of weakness, if he had to be strong enough to keep them bound together, he would. He would do anything to keep that promise.
He would keep a home open for Yukine, even if he had to mend their heart to do it.
Note: I did say that it was super self-indulgent. Tbh I'm far more enamored of the idea that Yukine would totally fall apart if this happened (mostly because it seems a little more realistic), but I wanted this pretty badly too lol
