He was exhausted.

Everything hurt, inside and out.

His skin was stained with blood and soot, his bare feet bled profusely, and his limbs were so worn-out he could only stagger. But he couldn't stop trudging onward, because in his ears resounded the flow of water. It was getting closer, step by step, and he was so parched. His mouth was arid; his tongue felt as though it were coated with sand. The man craved water as though he had never consumed it in his whole life.

A choked cry of surprise escaped cracked lips when a root protruding from the ground made him stumble. Its thorns pierced his ankle, but he barely felt it. It was a wound no different from the many others he already had on his body, from cheeks to fingertips, and he knew he looked as though he had been flagellated without mercy.

Surely, he thought, fate must be a sadistic executioner.

Not for scoring his skin with cuts. Fate could take his arm, his leg, it could also take his life for all that it mattered to him at this point. Fate's cruelty showed when it simply stared at him while he lost his little brother in the fire. Shizuo bet that if fate had a voice, and a body, it would have split its side laughing at his fucking stupidity.

But Shizuo wasn't delusional. He knew fate was just a scapegoat to avoid placing blame on himself. But the guilt's weight was unbearable. It cracked even his stone-like bones, and lacerated bundles of muscles strong as metal wires.

More than anything, the act of thinking drove his mind to the edge of madness, the pain his heart being squeezed out via his throat tipping the scales towards insanity.

I want to die.

He desperately wanted to, but thirst kept his body on autopilot, making him flounder in thick vegetation like a fish trapped in a web, until his eyes focused on the brook where clear water flowed. When he managed to disentangle himself from the thick spirals of vines that shielded the stream like a castle's fortification, his skin had been reduced to a maze of bleeding cuts.

Shizuo moved the unconscious man he held onto the grass near the bank, as carefully as he would have handled with a bird with a broken wing. Then, heedless of his own injuries, he dashed to drink, filling his mouth with the fresh liquid. He blissfully wiped away the thirst, sip after sip, until he felt fully satisfied. Then, Shizuo ducked his head under those crystalline waters, washing away soot, blood, and tears from his face and out of blond tresses.

As drops dripped down his body, he felt life return to his limbs. Since his senses returned to full clarity, he found himself surrounded by such an idyllic place that he was left gaping. The stream meandered through rocks, shielded by the thick vegetation of an uninhabited land. Above its crystalline stream, luxuriant trees casted their shadows on the slightly sloping ground, covered by grass.

On that green carpet lay the injured man he had carried in his arms all day long.

His arch-enemy.

The breeze ruffled black strands that covered a once pale face now dirty with soot and tears and blood. The same stains were mirrored all over the body that had once had been unreachable, but now was injured, defenseless. Even if the raven's clothes were ripped and blackened, the blonde wondered how he could have mistaken them for his brother's uniform. Izaya's clothes were grey, not military green, how could have he-

Shizuo's expression clouded.

In few hours, he failed all the goals he had established in his whole life.

He forced himself to observe the smaller man, trying to assimilate the bitter truth: he hadn't been able to kill him. When he had been about to deliver the deathblow, his hand had stopped pushing and he had realized that he was crying his heart out. For the man he hated most, nonetheless.

If only I could stop and die.

Not only had Shizuo spared Izaya's life; he had realized he couldn't leave the other man dying in that godforsaken field, even if he was sure the world would be a better place without the louse's web wrapped around it. For the moment, he decided to not question his impulsive decision to take Izaya with him. However, Shizuo was well aware that if he didn't take care of him, even doing something as small as trying to make him drink some water, the flea would die before the blonde decided what to do with his life.

Reluctantly, he stepped out of the stream and approached his nemesis.

As he looked at the unconscious man, Shizuo couldn't come to terms with the fact that Izaya didn't seem Izaya at all while he wasn't awake. It seemed impossible, but that defenseless body on the ground was still the one of the man he loathed from the bottom of his heart. It was the first time he gazed at the louse's face without feeling the urge to send him straight back to where he came from: hell.

His fingers shivered when he took the slender body in his arms and lifted it from the ground. He stepped back into the brook and sat down on the streambed. Cold water brushed his waist, and he had to hold the man on his lap firmly, or else the flow would have carried his senseless body away.

It scared him, the realization of how rapidly he got accustomed to the touch of Izaya's body against his own. He found it almost soothing, the way Izaya's head warmed his chest. Maybe it was simply because there wasn't enough room in his heart for anger, overfilled as it was with grief and self-loathing.

Despite laying in cold water, Izaya didn't wake. Shizuo didn't think it was a good idea to force an unconscious man to drink, so he decided to hold off until Izaya no longer slumbered. His gaze went blank as he surrendered to the stream brushing his aching limbs.

Shizuo didn't know what to do now, and not only with the flea. He hadn't even the slight idea of what to do with his life, or where to go. He had just kept walking through uninhabited territories, where breathtaking landscapes came in succession, even more beautiful than the ones he had seen in his dreams.

Everything outside him had been alive and blossoming in the warm sun, despite how rotten he felt inside. Shizuo swore that nature itself had decided to mock him by denying any sign of empathy. Even the cloudless sky above him refused to become an extension of the man's grief, since it was out of question for it to cry for his sad destiny.

After hours of wandering, Shizuo still hadn't been able to fathom why he kept crossing hill after hill. Perhaps, he thought, it was only to find a good place to die like the lonely beast he was sure to become.

For the umpteenth time that day, his thoughts slipped back to Kasuka.

If he hadn't been busy holding the flea, his hands would have found his hair, ruffling, pulling, uprooting blond strands until physical pain washed away the guilt eating him alive.

Suddenly, a slight movement from the body in his arms made him come back to reality. Shizuo looked down, and verified that Izaya was now awake, but it seemed the shadows of unconsciousness hadn't unraveled completely from his soul. Red eyes were unfocused, and Shizuo was glad to see that they didn't recognize him. He was aware that, now more than ever, he couldn't bear their usual state of annoying slits burning with sadistic interest.

In such a state of mind, he couldn't bear the Izaya he used to know.

The man in his arms started to wiggle out of his hold, trying to shove his whole head in the stream, in the attempt to satisfy his unbearable thirst. But firm hands kept him still.

"Oi, flea."

This fucking flea is going to drown himself if he doesn't stop moving like this!

"Calm down, dammit!"

With one arm, Shizuo trapped the raven against his chest. He cupped the palm of his own hand and took some water for Izaya to drink. As soon as he realized what he was doing, embarrassment tinted his cheeks and ears scarlet.

No, no, no, no. I don't give a shit about this louse, I'm not gonna do it.

He shook his head with such decision that the movement gave him a headache. Shizuo refused to do such an embarrassing thing. Sooner or later, he convinced himself, the flea would manage to take the water with his own hands. However, as soon as he decided to wait, he noticed the bruises and the swelling just below Izaya's hands.

Izaya's wrists were sprained.

The responsible party was no one other than himself. The sight left him shocked; he hadn't been aware that he made use of so much strength. Izaya's desperate attempts to free himself brought him back to reality and his current responsibilities.

Shizuo decided to ride out the embarrassment.

He took as much water as he could in his cupped hands before he brought them to Izaya's lips. They were cracked, dry as Shizuo's own just few minutes before, and he knew how unbearable such thirst was.

Izaya drank greedily, sucking every drop of water from his hand.

Shizuo jolted when soft lips opened up on his palm and he perceived the flick of a tongue. His first instinct had been to draw the hand away, but he knew that such a small amount of water surely wasn't enough to alleviate the man's thirst, so he forced himself to bear it.

He even let him lick his fingers.

Izaya was desperate in his thirst, trembling and panting for more water, so Shizuo kept on ferrying water to his mouth, until the raven stopped searching eagerly for his hand and fell unconscious again. Shizuo moved Izaya's head to rest again on his chest and kept the other man close.

He remained still, trying to understand what had happened. Not once in his life had he imagined he would ever do such a thing for the flea.

Shizuo shot a shy glance at his worst enemy.

Half of his face was buried in Shizuo's dirty shirt, but on the other half the blonde could see that the water had washed away a bit of soot from fair skin. Droplets of water slid down Izaya's thin neck, cleaning the skin and displaying a wide, red mark that, if Shizuo looked carefully, resembled a hand.

Hazel eyes widened.

Why I am so shocked?

Then, as his body acted of its own volition, he stood up and started walking again. Still carrying the unconscious man in his arms, he waded across the stream and delved into another wall of brambles, destination unknown.

Shizuo was sure that, at the end of that day, or the next one perhaps, he would have expended every drop of his inhuman energy, and finally death would overcome him. In the meantime, he only had to put one step after the other, in order to let that physical pain numbed his severed soul. It was the only way his instinct knew to anesthetize the grief. Shizuo didn't considered himself a thinker; rational thoughts couldn't soothe his stirred blood. He had always tried to convey every strong emotion he felt with actions.

By the time the thick wall of vegetation gave way to a clearing, his mind had already lost lucidity. He ignored the rumbling coming from his stomach; he wouldn't stop once again to search for food. In the end, it didn't matter, after all. It would only have delayed the void he was craving for - the lack of feelings, the lack of pain, the lack of regret.

Hours passed by and a hot afternoon arrived. The landscape alternated between open fields and rows of wooded hills, and Shizuo hadn't yet chosen his burial place. No, their burial place.

Since the few minutes in the stream, Izaya hadn't woken up, not once. For all those hours he remained unconscious, his head still nestled on Shizuo's chest. Through his shirt, Shizuo felt the smaller man's temple burn with fever, probably due to an infection setting into the wound in his knee.

Shizuo wasn't delusional. He knew they both would die soon, whenever it was that his legs stopped working, or soon thereafter.

Around his stumbling feet, nature was wild, uncontaminated by human hands. Every time Shizuo reached the top of a hill, survival instinct made him scan the view. But there wasn't even a road, or a house in sight, just an endless expanse of green as far as his eyes could see. However, in the end, what did it matter to him? It wasn't his salvation he was searching for, but a way to atone what he had done to Kasuka. And he began to fear that even death wouldn't be enough.

Every now and then, Shizuo wondered if Izaya was already dead, as badly as he had been injured. Whenever this doubt flashed in his mind, he stopped walking and held his breath, trying to perceive the other man's through his own skin.

Still alive.

He didn't know why, but every time he realized that he wasn't alone yet, he sighed with relief. And then, he restarted walking.

Shizuo had half-crossed an infinite field, scarlet with poppies, when he realized that he had carried Izaya with him because he couldn't stand to die alone. There was too much of nothing around him. In those lands forgotten by human hands, nature was so majestic that he wouldn't feel at ease without the warmth of Izaya's body against his own.

He couldn't stand loneliness.

When the sun began to disappear beyond the high hills on the horizon, he barely could feel his limbs. Both his arms and legs had lost all sensation, but he still kept walking as best as he could, holding his unconscious enemy. Tears had stopped falling hours before, but the pain in his heart only grew as his mind struggled to accept that he wouldn't see Kasuka never again.

Shizuo didn't believe there would be still something of himself after death. It pissed him off listening to the chattering of people who constantly wracked their brains about the afterlife, and made assumptions about questions to which, clearly, there would never be an answer. He was far from being a philosopher, of course, but he wasn't a simplistic person either. Like every human being, even if he didn't consider himself one, he had questioned himself about life, and about death. It didn't take much time before he had come to his conclusions: he decided to stop worrying about death because until he was alive he still was, and after, he simply wouldn't be anymore.

In that moment, however, he hoped for afterlife to exist. Just to see Kasuka one more time. He wondered if he should pray to God for the second time in his life, or if he should pray for a god to exist.

More now than ever, Shizuo realized it had been a mistake letting Kasuka join the army with him. Shizuo knew his brother's place was in their village, in the house where the grandparents who had raised them since their parents died dwelled. Sooner or later, the villagers would have forgotten that he was the monster's little brother, and they would have started to reintegrate him into their society. Kasuka was such a quiet and gentle person that Shizuo was sure he wouldn't have caused trouble to anyone.

Not like me.

The pain scorching his feet, and the exhaustion of his mind, reminded him of the voyage he and Kasuka had made to reach the Military Academy. It had been rough. They had walked for whole days, and they were just two boys, barely more than children. It had been so exhausting that even his monstrous limbs felt worn out. But Kasuka hadn't complained, not once. He hadn't asked to stop either, and firmly refused to let his brother carry him. Shizuo knew Kasuka had been at his physical limit when they knocked on the door of the Academy, even if he hadn't let it show.

To everyone, his little brother's face looked like a blank canvas. To Shizuo, the sense hidden in those invisible drawings had always been right in front of his eyes.

I'm the only one to blame, he kept on repeating in his head, over and over, until words lost meaning.

Twilight tinted the clouds on the distant horizon crimson, scorching his chest with the premonition of the last glimmer before the curtains fell, and darkness descended on his existence.

Shizuo's physical limit was reached in a field studded with wildflowers, in the dead of night.

Barely conscious, he tottered and, as he tried to regain balance, his knees gave up. The blond soldier crumpled to the ground, laying on his side. He still held Izaya in his arms. With his last effort, he hugged the smaller body tighter, to keep the soothing warmth close to his chest.

Before he lost consciousness, Shizuo thought that, all in all, that wasn't a bad place to die. Their coffin would be made by tall grass, the smell of soil, and the beautiful clear sky above them.

I don't deserve it.

Then, his mind fell into darkness.


A few minutes later, a thick cloud covered the moon, and sank the whole landscape in utter darkness. A gust of wind ruffled the grass and made the foliage swish, as a black-clad figure materialized and slowly approached the two unconscious men laying on the ground. Through the darkness, it was barely possible to distinguish that the body had feminine features. The black ruffles of the Victorian dress she wore managed to show only few expanses of fair, translucent skin. The trumpet sleeves hid her fingers, and the full skirt covered her feet, only enhancing the illusion that she hovered on air.

She was beautiful in her supernatural grace.

Her features would have been human, if wasn't for the trail of black smoke streaming from her pale neck, continuously flowing out, as if there was an inextinguishable blaze contained within her body. Her head, instead of being perched atop her neck, rested under her left arm, eyes closed shut as though it was in a deep slumber.

She was a headless being.

A Dullahan.

At her back stood her wagon, whose wheels were made by human bones. It was towed by a headless charcoal black horse. He impatiently beat his hooves on the ground and shook his mane. A neigh resounded in the air, despite the animal being as headless as his master. From his neck came out only a thick, black trail of smoke.

The headless woman approached the humans, and the head under her arm came awake. Green eyes opened wide, and pierced the darkness with their inhuman sight.

Her duty was to call out those two names, and take their owners' life away with her.

When she neared the two men, however, she stopped walking and her headless neck tilted to one side, curious.

The Dullahan was far from being omniscient. The knowledge she needed was limited to humans' names but, inexplicably, she couldn't help herself from being interested by these two men. They seemed like lovers, or very close friends. Hidden in the darkness, she had seen the blonde carry the raven haired boy in his arms until his legs gave up and, right now, they waited for death together, in a tight embrace.

But the most interesting part of all this was the sensation the Dullahan felt when she directed her glance on them.

Deja-vu.

She couldn't explain the reason why she felt some kind of bond with them.

Izaya?

Shizuo?

Especially with Shizuo. All of that man was so familiar that she could hear his voice resound like an echo in her subconscious, like she had listened to it so many times before.

The woman couldn't name the feeling warming her shriveled heart. It didn't even correspond to a word in the language her thoughts spoke. Never, in whole centuries of life, had she experienced a similar sensation.

The headless woman asked herself if, perhaps, she had known them in a past life, or in an alternate universe. The thought alone unsettled her; although she was a supernatural being, she felt the anxiety of recognizing her existence as a part of a larger and completely inexplicable system.

A loud neigh stopped her train of thought, and made her jolt. The woman realized she was delaying her duty, and her trustworthy Shooter was losing patience. With a shake of her neck, she decided to overlook that awkward sensation and complete her duty as Dullahan.

Above her arm, her lips opened. She was ready to utter the two names-

Silence.

Another neigh broke the deafening quiet, and a blast of wind rustled her silken dress.

Then, more silence.

Her mouth was open, but no sound came out of it.

She couldn't kill them.

Not because she wasn't capable. This should be a cakewalk for a spirit of death like her, if it wasn't for a remote part of her mind suggesting she would regret it, sooner or later. Despite the fact that claiming human lives was rooted in the depth of her nature, like sleeping or walking, there was that sensation that made her stop her own voice from blurting names like usual. Pale hands crossed on her chest and trembled, as smoke came out from her neck in a turbulent flow, mirroring the turmoil in her conscience.

What to do?

The inner voice coming from her severed head whispered, with its usual mellifluous tone, "Do it, it's your duty, and your nature as Dullahan. They're not like you, you're an immortal spirit, they're mortal beings. There could never be any bond between you and them. You couldn't be more different, more incompatible."

However, the sensation in her guts was adamant: Don't do it.

It didn't matter how much she tried to ignore it; despite the fact that it was only a feeling, it had the strong, sure voice of certainty.

She decided to delay the two men's death for the time she needed to rationalize those sensations.

She turned, jumped on her wagon, and left that place with the same silent grace she arrive with. Until the place where the two men rested was out of sight, she kept turning her neck to look back at it, incapable of explaining to herself what had happened there.


After the headless woman went away, stillness reigned again on those uninhabited lands.

But it didn't last for long. A cone of light scorched the darkness, and soon a man holding a flashlight approached. He was out of breath, as though he had run like hell for a long while. His eyes searched for something hidden in the darkness and, when they didn't find it, he fell to his knees.

His hands tangled in dark brown strands, eyes wide open and unfocused under thick lenses. His heartbeat was still frantic, but more from adrenaline than effort. He was aware that once it slowed down, it would leave only remnants of bitterness.

It scorched the blood in his veins, the pain of unrequited love.

Hands closed in fists, teeth gritted-

Help...

He perceived it. His ears had caught a lament, the call of a barely audible voice. At first, the man jolted with fear, since there was nobody in sight.

He was a doctor and, as a man of science, he had tried to find an explanation based on the knowledge of physical phenomena. But the man was also aware that those uncontaminated lands were reigned by things beyond the human comprehension. Presences whose existence blurred the boundary between life and death.

Curiosity overwhelmed him, as he lifted his head and tried to observe where the voice came from. But it wasn't enough. He stood up, and began searching in the tall grass for the source of the sound.

Help...

His heart pounded frantically, from both excitement and fear as his mind guessed at what he could find hidden in that field.

Suddenly, something from behind his back yanked him and panic struck him. Cold sweat dripped from the man's forehead, and his heart almost burst in his ribcage. His rational way of thinking, however, drove away the fear, and made him understand it was only his white lab-coat that got caught by a bramble. He exhaled, trying to slow down the heartbeat before restart searching.

Somebody... please...

It was a male voice. It was so weak it that it would have been impossible to hear if there had been an extra puff of wind. When the bespectacled man located the place where the voice came from, he immediately rushed toward that spot. As he arrived at the source of the sound, his grey eyes widened in surprise behind the glasses.

Two men were laying on the ground. One was tall and blond, the other a smaller, dark-haired boy about twenty and something years old. From under his spectacles, the doctor's gaze shifted quickly from injury to injury, trying to understand the whole situation. The men's bodies were covered with a variety of wounds, from superficial scratches to deep cuts, burns, and, on one what it seemed a gunshot wound.

The blond was unconscious and held the smaller man in a tight embrace. The latter was awake, but barely, his red eyes half-closed. With difficulty, the boy's mouth was trying to formulate the words to call for help. When he spotted the man in lab-coat who stood in front of him, he tried to lift one arm, and then he lost consciousness.

The doctor knew there was no time to lose.


A/N: Thanks to my beta, Aira Kay!