Summary: Yoh and death. Yoh/Anna, as always.
For Kai 'nee-chan
Storm
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It was storming, and he was dying and afraid.
It wasn't death itself that scared him; it was more of Anna's reaction. He wasn't afraid of death. To a shaman, death was simply a passage to the next place; to a Shaman King, death was nothing at all. Death, for Asakura Yoh, was not something to be feared. He, who dealt with the dead everyday, did not fear the inevitable.
It had come slowly at first; dimmed eyes, cracking bones, the feeling of walking through water, muffled voices in his ears.
He was not worried, though he knew better than to think it was anything but death. He almost welcomed it. He had fulfilled his dream; he lived a peaceful life, and it was time for him to go. Anna hated this particular attitude of this, he knew, but he couldn't help it.
He didn't want to tell Anna, but she could guess, and he knew that she probably did.
"You…" she opened her mouth but no words came out.
"Yes," he said.
"I don't want…"
He finished for her. "I don't want to leave you," he said, so gently, she thought her heart would break.
"Yoh."
"I love you."
"Don't."
"I'm sorry."
She covered her ears to stop the words, but he drew her to him, so gently, gently, his fingers the lightest of kisses.
He said good-bye the next day. Good-bye, to everyone, to everything he ever knew, he ever would know.
She was Asakura Anna, and she did not cry.
She did not go with him to say good-bye, just stayed in the house with a hopeless determination to keep normalcy, to keep routine.
He was saying good-bye to the stars, the moon, and the sky when the sky broke, and the downpour of rain soaked into him. He came inside, sopping wet, and Anna forgot herself and began to order him to do twenty laps inside the house after a shower. You're getting the floor all wet, she was going to say with a deep scowl. She stopped abruptly, gave him a fierce stare, then left to their room.
He did not follow.
That night, she held him close to her heart, slender fingers grasped tightly around his thin wrist, his own fingers wrapped around hers almost soothingly.
She was Asakura Anna, and she could not cry, but she said, "I love you," softly, the words lightly grazing his skin. A sudden gasp and lightning struck to illuminate his smile if only for a moment. His grip loosened, but hers did not.
She could not bring herself to let him go, even when the warmth drifted from his skin, even when his limbs began to stiffen. His death was so effortless; it pained her to see how easy it was to move from one world to another.
She would cremate him the next day, in the quiet of the morning, aided only with her own strength. The fire would dance before her eyes, hot and burning, but she would not shy away. Amidamaru would try and help, but it would be futile, she was the only one who could do this. Then she'd notify Manta to tell the others. There would be a funeral, and she would not cry, though many others would.
She would continue to live, and only on the anniversary of his death would she finally cry.
It was eerily quiet. She still had him clasped in her hands. Sighing, she finally let go, pulling the blanket over his head. His passing was as gentle as the slope of ocean waves.
-end-
Thanks to frogdance for pointing out to me that they cremate, not bury dead bodies.
Inspired by a beautiful Yoh death fic that is not on ff.net and by Saviour Sickness by Cyril Avenue. Lovely, lovely fic.
~meemee
This was the original drabble that I expanded to make Kai 'nee-chan's gift:
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It was storming, and he was dying and afraid.
It wasn't death itself that scared him; it was more of Anna's reaction. He wasn't afraid of death. To a shaman, death was simply a passage to the next place; to a Shaman King, death was nothing at all.
He didn't want to tell Anna, but she could guess, and he knew that she probably did.
That night, she held him close to her heart, slender fingers grasped tightly around his thin wrist, his own fingers wrapped around hers almost soothingly. A sudden gasp and lightning struck to illuminate his smile if only for a moment. His grip loosened, but hers did not.
His passing was as gentle as the slope of ocean waves.
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