Author's Notes: This chapter was the hardest so far to write. Still not sure about some of the parts, and just in general about whether I -wrote- it well. Ah, well. If I put it off any longer, it would've been in danger of never getting finished. ^^
Thanks to everyone, btw, that responded to tell me whether I was getting everyone in character or not. ^_^ That's -very- much appreciated.
Warnings? Yaoi. Angst. Implied nonconsensual. Sap.
===============
Outside Looking In
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Chapter 5
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It drifted in quietly at first, like a sound might have-- a distant feeling that tickled at the back of his mind, not truly enough to alert him. It set him on edge, though, and Tsuzuki shifted without waking, brow furrowed with the beginnings of discomfort.
It was the loneliness that finally forced him into consciousness: a devastating mental wail of it hung in the air and lingered, choking the man as he fought his way into a sitting position. For long time, he simply breathed, taking in gasps as he fought down the emotion that wasn't his. Beside the couch, his pillow lay forgotten on the floor.
His best efforts to keep it at bay weren't working; that much became obvious when the other feelings began trickling in to join the first. Loneliness, larger than all the rest, hovered above them like a dampening cloud, but everything was frighteningly clear. Hatred, of a sick and aching sort. A gnawing dread with no real focus. Slow and quiet misery. Hunger. Pain. And so very, very lonely.
With a wrench of realization, Tsuzuki knew where the feelings were coming from. For all the times that Hisoka had aided them on assignments by finding a person's emotional residue, the violet-eyed shinigami had never really understood what he meant by it. Now, it was painfully obvious; under the loneliness, under the fear, and sadness lingered a sense of Hisoka, a sense that the boy was attempting to fight his way through... and failing.
Without stopping to consider the judgment behind his actions, Tsuzuki was on his feet and heading for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He ignored the shaking in his hands, opting instead to fist the fingers, digging short nails into the palms.
If something had happened... If something had happened to Hisoka while he was downstairs -sleeping-...
He threw open the door, staring intently into the dark room beyond. The emotions were still thick in the air, heavy and oppressive. Frighteningly raw. For a moment Tsuzuki stood breathing heavily, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
After what seemed a small eternity, the man was able to pick out Hisoka's pale form among the sheets. A few quiet steps into the room revealed that the boy was unharmed, and several more brought him to his partner's side. The wide green eyes were closed, and outwardly, he was peaceful. But still, the emotions battered at the older shinigami, threatening to steal his legs from under him.
He solved the problem by settling himself cautiously on the blankets, watching Hisoka as he slept. Carefully, Tsuzuki reached out to brush a strand of hand from the boy's face, ignoring the screams of protest from his newly-gained empathy. It staggered him to think that his partner was in so much pain, even as he slept.
And then the contact dragged him headlong into the boy's nightmare, and he understood.
* * *
Raining. It was raining again.
Did it ever stop?
The storm was a cold one, chilling and biting, but at least not big. The thunder was scary when it got too loud-- shaking roars that made the child huddle in a corner and fight not to cry.
~It's just a dream. Don't be afraid.~
But his back still ached from the last time they'd hit him, and he was hungry, and so he cried anyway. It happened less, now; sometimes the tears were gone when he thought they should have been there. Sometimes, he felt everyone else expecting him not to cry-- after all, why should a demon feel anything at all?
~I know they hurt you. I know you feel it.~
And he did. Not just abandoned and afraid, but the things that they felt. Hatred, strong enough to be nauseating, and all for him. It was buried there, deep down in their hearts, so it had to be true.
~It's just a dream. Hisoka, don't listen.~
He couldn't get away from it. It had always been there, thick and sharp, something to hurt him with. And if they said he didn't deserve any better, and they believed he didn't deserve any better... then maybe he didn't.
~No. Don't think that. Don't listen to them.~
He couldn't even tell anymore, where they stopped and he started. Their hatred was his, and every breath made the loathing stronger.
So... maybe if he just stopped breathing. Maybe if he just stopped living. They would like that idea.
~Who cares what they want? They aren't here anymore-- they can't hurt you. You're dreaming!~
But it was so real, everything that they gave him. Easier not to fight to keep the emotions out, easier to accept that he was the demon they made him-- after all, everyone else had given up on him.
~Not me. I'll never leave you. I'll never give up.~
When had it stopped raining?
Strange, that he could see the moon from his little window; it was wide and overbearing, a sick shade of red. The storm clouds still in sky couldn't dampen the blood-glow, and the walls did even less. Nothing at all. Because even as the child watched, the cold grey of the basement faded away with the rain, left him standing alone and in the open.
His eyes moved on their own, wide and green, full of a sick certainty for what he knew he would see. The woman's pain was thrumming through him, after all-- and her terror.
~Hisoka, wake up. Please wake up.~
Between the blood and the moon, the man's coat should have been stained red. But it was white, and his hair was silver, and he glowed like an angel even as he brought the knife nearer. It wasn't the child's own fear that made him run-- it was the fact that he no longer felt it from the woman on the hill.
Irrationally, the boy wondered if she'd been glad when the pain had stopped, if there had been a moment before she died when it hadn't hurt anymore. But then a strong hand closed around his wrist, jerking him backward and to the ground in the same motion.
~Hisoka! Wake up!~
It hurt.
All over his chest, and his arms; down his legs and between them; everywhere the man touched him was raw and burning. And fighting didn't work, and crying didn't work, and his voice was running out of strength to scream.
If only it would -stop-, if only he could get away, then he would stay still and be quiet, and let them hate him. Anything to make it stop. Anything to-
"Hisoka! Wake up!"
The dream broke with a great, shuddering gasp, and he was aware of the real world in fragments: arms around him, close and shaking; tangled piles of sheets and the sticky warmth of tears; electric light streaming in from the hallway, yellow and comforting.
Tsuzuki's voice filtered in more slowly, background noise at first, sounding as upset as he felt. "It's okay. It's okay, it was a dream. I won't let them hurt you." The realization came slowly that the man was smoothing his hair, stroking it in an attempt to calm him.
Making a small noise of distress, Hisoka tried to push him away, discovering too late that his fingers refused to unfist from his partner's pajamas. "Idiot," he choked instead. "Of c-course it was." He couldn't seem to get enough air; it was coming in uneven gasps, with little sobs in between.
The reply was quiet, and warm, and disregarded the insult entirely. "You're safe here." The boy had to fight a dizzying sensation of security as Tsuzuki's arms tightened around him. "That's all over now. I could never hate you."
"I don't care..." Hisoka began, only to break off as another sob strangled the words; it was a struggle to push the rest out. "...don't c-care what you think."
He didn't want to look at the man. Didn't want Tsuzuki to see him cry, didn't want to be this close, didn't want anyone to know what he felt, that he felt at all. But then his partner was tipping his chin upward, the gesture shockingly gentle after the violence of the nightmare.
The sincerity in the depths of the kind violet eyes was devastating. Tsuzuki had meant what he said. All of it.
With a soft cry, the boy buried himself in his partner's arms again, letting the horror of the dream work its way out with the sobs that shook him. And whether the man had discovered how to project emotions or Watari's potion had worn off sooner than expected, the young shinigami found himself wrapped in waves of contentment and affection.
Hisoka's last thought before he drifted into an exhausted, dreamless sleep was to hope that the violet-eyed man could feel the depths of his gratitude.
~end part 5~
Thanks to everyone, btw, that responded to tell me whether I was getting everyone in character or not. ^_^ That's -very- much appreciated.
Warnings? Yaoi. Angst. Implied nonconsensual. Sap.
===============
Outside Looking In
===============
Chapter 5
===============
It drifted in quietly at first, like a sound might have-- a distant feeling that tickled at the back of his mind, not truly enough to alert him. It set him on edge, though, and Tsuzuki shifted without waking, brow furrowed with the beginnings of discomfort.
It was the loneliness that finally forced him into consciousness: a devastating mental wail of it hung in the air and lingered, choking the man as he fought his way into a sitting position. For long time, he simply breathed, taking in gasps as he fought down the emotion that wasn't his. Beside the couch, his pillow lay forgotten on the floor.
His best efforts to keep it at bay weren't working; that much became obvious when the other feelings began trickling in to join the first. Loneliness, larger than all the rest, hovered above them like a dampening cloud, but everything was frighteningly clear. Hatred, of a sick and aching sort. A gnawing dread with no real focus. Slow and quiet misery. Hunger. Pain. And so very, very lonely.
With a wrench of realization, Tsuzuki knew where the feelings were coming from. For all the times that Hisoka had aided them on assignments by finding a person's emotional residue, the violet-eyed shinigami had never really understood what he meant by it. Now, it was painfully obvious; under the loneliness, under the fear, and sadness lingered a sense of Hisoka, a sense that the boy was attempting to fight his way through... and failing.
Without stopping to consider the judgment behind his actions, Tsuzuki was on his feet and heading for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He ignored the shaking in his hands, opting instead to fist the fingers, digging short nails into the palms.
If something had happened... If something had happened to Hisoka while he was downstairs -sleeping-...
He threw open the door, staring intently into the dark room beyond. The emotions were still thick in the air, heavy and oppressive. Frighteningly raw. For a moment Tsuzuki stood breathing heavily, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
After what seemed a small eternity, the man was able to pick out Hisoka's pale form among the sheets. A few quiet steps into the room revealed that the boy was unharmed, and several more brought him to his partner's side. The wide green eyes were closed, and outwardly, he was peaceful. But still, the emotions battered at the older shinigami, threatening to steal his legs from under him.
He solved the problem by settling himself cautiously on the blankets, watching Hisoka as he slept. Carefully, Tsuzuki reached out to brush a strand of hand from the boy's face, ignoring the screams of protest from his newly-gained empathy. It staggered him to think that his partner was in so much pain, even as he slept.
And then the contact dragged him headlong into the boy's nightmare, and he understood.
* * *
Raining. It was raining again.
Did it ever stop?
The storm was a cold one, chilling and biting, but at least not big. The thunder was scary when it got too loud-- shaking roars that made the child huddle in a corner and fight not to cry.
~It's just a dream. Don't be afraid.~
But his back still ached from the last time they'd hit him, and he was hungry, and so he cried anyway. It happened less, now; sometimes the tears were gone when he thought they should have been there. Sometimes, he felt everyone else expecting him not to cry-- after all, why should a demon feel anything at all?
~I know they hurt you. I know you feel it.~
And he did. Not just abandoned and afraid, but the things that they felt. Hatred, strong enough to be nauseating, and all for him. It was buried there, deep down in their hearts, so it had to be true.
~It's just a dream. Hisoka, don't listen.~
He couldn't get away from it. It had always been there, thick and sharp, something to hurt him with. And if they said he didn't deserve any better, and they believed he didn't deserve any better... then maybe he didn't.
~No. Don't think that. Don't listen to them.~
He couldn't even tell anymore, where they stopped and he started. Their hatred was his, and every breath made the loathing stronger.
So... maybe if he just stopped breathing. Maybe if he just stopped living. They would like that idea.
~Who cares what they want? They aren't here anymore-- they can't hurt you. You're dreaming!~
But it was so real, everything that they gave him. Easier not to fight to keep the emotions out, easier to accept that he was the demon they made him-- after all, everyone else had given up on him.
~Not me. I'll never leave you. I'll never give up.~
When had it stopped raining?
Strange, that he could see the moon from his little window; it was wide and overbearing, a sick shade of red. The storm clouds still in sky couldn't dampen the blood-glow, and the walls did even less. Nothing at all. Because even as the child watched, the cold grey of the basement faded away with the rain, left him standing alone and in the open.
His eyes moved on their own, wide and green, full of a sick certainty for what he knew he would see. The woman's pain was thrumming through him, after all-- and her terror.
~Hisoka, wake up. Please wake up.~
Between the blood and the moon, the man's coat should have been stained red. But it was white, and his hair was silver, and he glowed like an angel even as he brought the knife nearer. It wasn't the child's own fear that made him run-- it was the fact that he no longer felt it from the woman on the hill.
Irrationally, the boy wondered if she'd been glad when the pain had stopped, if there had been a moment before she died when it hadn't hurt anymore. But then a strong hand closed around his wrist, jerking him backward and to the ground in the same motion.
~Hisoka! Wake up!~
It hurt.
All over his chest, and his arms; down his legs and between them; everywhere the man touched him was raw and burning. And fighting didn't work, and crying didn't work, and his voice was running out of strength to scream.
If only it would -stop-, if only he could get away, then he would stay still and be quiet, and let them hate him. Anything to make it stop. Anything to-
"Hisoka! Wake up!"
The dream broke with a great, shuddering gasp, and he was aware of the real world in fragments: arms around him, close and shaking; tangled piles of sheets and the sticky warmth of tears; electric light streaming in from the hallway, yellow and comforting.
Tsuzuki's voice filtered in more slowly, background noise at first, sounding as upset as he felt. "It's okay. It's okay, it was a dream. I won't let them hurt you." The realization came slowly that the man was smoothing his hair, stroking it in an attempt to calm him.
Making a small noise of distress, Hisoka tried to push him away, discovering too late that his fingers refused to unfist from his partner's pajamas. "Idiot," he choked instead. "Of c-course it was." He couldn't seem to get enough air; it was coming in uneven gasps, with little sobs in between.
The reply was quiet, and warm, and disregarded the insult entirely. "You're safe here." The boy had to fight a dizzying sensation of security as Tsuzuki's arms tightened around him. "That's all over now. I could never hate you."
"I don't care..." Hisoka began, only to break off as another sob strangled the words; it was a struggle to push the rest out. "...don't c-care what you think."
He didn't want to look at the man. Didn't want Tsuzuki to see him cry, didn't want to be this close, didn't want anyone to know what he felt, that he felt at all. But then his partner was tipping his chin upward, the gesture shockingly gentle after the violence of the nightmare.
The sincerity in the depths of the kind violet eyes was devastating. Tsuzuki had meant what he said. All of it.
With a soft cry, the boy buried himself in his partner's arms again, letting the horror of the dream work its way out with the sobs that shook him. And whether the man had discovered how to project emotions or Watari's potion had worn off sooner than expected, the young shinigami found himself wrapped in waves of contentment and affection.
Hisoka's last thought before he drifted into an exhausted, dreamless sleep was to hope that the violet-eyed man could feel the depths of his gratitude.
~end part 5~
