Not now.
Not yet.
The demon could have lied to him, even while dying. Watari might be perfectly fine. Something inside him begged to differ though.
He climbed over fallen statues, frowning as he noticed that each and every single one had come down from its niche in the wall or its pedestal, and was lying like it had collapsed in mid-stride. The pictures and tapestries were ripped, as if something had exploded out of it.
Something nagged at his mind and he tasted the faint metallic touch to the air, charged with a power he had experienced before, but never like this. Never so concentrated.
Watari?
And then he saw it.
A motionless figure among the remains of what had been the altar once, buried underneath the chandelier. There were two statues laying crumbled next to the body, one leaning on the altar. It looked like another saint. Tatsumi's shocked blue eyes locked on the still form. Sooty, formerly blond hair spilling over the debris-littered ground. And blood… so much blood.
"Watari!" he breathed.
Tatsumi stared at the fallen shinigami, eyes wide, breath catching in his throat. He had seen many injuries in his time as an angel of death; he had fought demons and devils. He had had to treat his own cuts and bruises and broken bones. His healing factor had taken care of them after a while. Though he now had a desk job and only went out in emergencies or when they were undermanned, he had an intimate knowledge of injuries of all kinds.
But it was something else to gaze upon a person close to him, his partner – and not just a colleague any more.
There was a soft hooting noise and a flutter of tiny wings. 003, Watari's pet owl, flew in through one of the many broken windows, landing on the remains of the statue closest to the unconscious man. She looked sadly at him, hooting in distress.
Tatsumi felt with her. He was more than a little distressed himself.
"Watari… 'Taka…"
There was no reaction from the slender form. He sank to his knees and touched the motionless figure, felt the torn fabric under his fingertips, wet with blood. The professional inside him started to assess the damage while the private person was horrified at the mess. He carefully removed parts of the chandelier, throwing them carelessly aside.
Watari had lost a lot of blood and his healing factor had yet to kick in. It was probably the demon's work. Its sibling had gloated with the fact that they had the ability to limit a shinigami's recovery, even completely inhibit it. One wrist was clearly broken, as were two of the slender fingers. There were deep wounds in both arms as well as equally deep puncture marks in the left leg that were still trickling blood. Bite wounds, Tatsumi thought. Bite wounds from a demon. Those always spelled trouble.
It looked bad.
There was a soft whimper coming from the blond man as Tatsumi palpated the ribs, diagnosing at least two broken ones. Golden eyes flickered open, clouded and filled with such pain, Tatsumi nearly drew back. Watari blinked slowly, trying to focus on him. His breath caught in his throat and he gasped as the pain crashed down on him.
"Yutaka?" the older shinigami asked, voice gentle, private, only for him.
"Over?" Watari asked.
"Yes. It's over."
A breath of air. "Good." Those normally humor filled eyes slid closed. "You?" Watari whispered hoarsely.
"I'm fine."
"Good… The soul?"
"Taken care of. There wasn't much left of him, sadly."
Increasing tremors raced through the bloodied form. Shadows churned and Tatsumi tried to calm down. His emotions affected his abilities and the shadows reacted to it, wanting to lash out and kill the demon again and again. Yes, he was fine, but Watari… He shouldn't have left him!
"Not… your… fault… Mine. Not strong… enough…." He coughed and groaned softly.
Tatsumi stared at him. Not strong enough? He looked at the chaos of inanimate objects, the clear evidence of life breathed into them to defend their master. No other shinigami could do that. Watari had been chosen by Enma like everyone else. You didn't just make it here because you looked good!
And Watari did.
He squelched down on that inappropriate thought. Now was not the time.
"You are not weak, Watari Yutaka," he hissed. "Stop that!"
003 made little distressed noises, anxiously flapping her wings.
Those expressive eyes met his. "You beat… him. Not… me."
Now where did that come from? He had just arrived. Tatsumi had done squat in this fight. His own battle had been in the now very much ruined chapel where the second demon had found death.
"You annihilated that thing," Tatsumi begged to differ. "As I did with mine. Don't tell me you're weak!"
Watari chuckled painfully, then winced and tried to curl up. His healing factor was truly off. Tatsumi stopped him from moving and the younger man whimpered more as he was wreaked by waves of pain. Blood started to trickle once again.
"Hurts," Watari managed.
It was such a child-like whimper, Tatsumi felt everything inside him yearn to be able to relief his partner's pain.
"I know, 'Taka," he murmured, stroking over the blood-matted hair. "We'll talk later. We'll go home now."
Golden eyes clouded over, breaths coming in soft pants, and Tatsumi brushed back the matted strands, smiling tenderly.
"Everything will be fine."
He prayed it would be.
Tatsumi had used a portal close by to enter the realm of Enma-Daiou,
Watari in his arms. His partner was completely out of it, eyes closed,
blood-smeared and bruised face pale. Tatsumi's clothes were drenched in
blood, but he didn't care. All he cared about was the man in his arms.
003 fluttered around them, eyes on her master.
His arrival had been noted and others ran toward him, among them one
of the most powerful, if not the most powerful, shinigami under Enma's
command.
Amethyst eyes caught blue ones and Tatsumi met Tsuzuki's level gaze.
There was nothing of the carefree, smiling man, just the stricken countenance
of someone who had seen too much suffering and death in his time, too.
A soul that lived with the guilt and knowledge every single day. Tatsumi
read the same pain in those inhuman eyes he felt, but for different reasons.
Tsuzuki and Watari were very good friends.
And there was something else. It tickled the edge of senses, made him
aware of the brief flare of Tsuzuki's powers. It was a power under tight
control, a power that rivaled Enma Daiou's, a power that could level everything
if Tsuzuki ever lost it completely.
He never had.
"Let's take him to the hospital," Tsuzuki said calmly and the other
nodded.
Invisible waves of darkness flickered around them, touching and caressing
the Shadow Master's powers, both entwining and forming something like a
protective shield around the injured form Tatsumi carried. The others moved
back, looking uneasy, except for one person.
Hisoka joined them, young face serious as always, no emotion in his
green eyes.
There was no real doctor in Meifu. Shinigami rarely needed one due to
their healing abilities. For more severe injuries there was the hospital
and Watari was their resident stand-in when it came to medical help. Now
he was in need as well, but there as no one truly qualified. Still, help
was given by those who had some rudimentary knowledge, and Tatsumi assisted
in stripping the thankfully still unconscious man of the ripped and soiled
clothing. He tried to ignore the deep wounds, the bruises, the contusions,
but it was hard to do so.
Watari looked terrible. It was a miracle he was still breathing. As
the assistants peeled the pants off, which they had to cut because the
dried blood had glued them to the wounds, Tatsumi swallowed heavily.
Tsuzuki hadn't moved. His serious expression spoke of his mood, of
his thoughts, and his closeness to Tatsumi was testament of his silent
support. Power churned, barely controlled, as anger rose. It was so rare
that the younger got truly angry. His shields, the cheerful façade,
usually protected the others from seeing what lurked underneath. Not this
time.
Absent-mindedly Tatsumi noticed how Hisoka had distanced himself, was
trying not to be in the way of the powerful emotions of the two men, but
the young empath was already struggling.
"What happened?" Tsuzuki finally asked, the energy waves around him
quieting down a little.
Tatsumi exhaled slowly, centering himself, trying to ignore the medical
helper taking care of his partner.
"We thought there was only one. There were two. They played us," he
murmured, trailing off.
He briefly closed his eyes, feeling his insides clench. A warm hand
touched his shoulder, squeezing it, and he gave Tsuzuki a thankful smile.
The younger man's face was full of shared pain and emotions. Once upon
a time he had fallen for this man. They had been partners for three months
until Tatsumi had put an end to it. He couldn't work with the other man
– but not for reasons that had anything to do with Tsuzuki as a colleague.
It had been of a personal nature. A very personal nature.
Up until the day he and Watari had gotten together, Tatsumi had never
been clear whether or not Tsuzuki had really known the true reasons behind
that terminated partnership. They had still remained friends. Tatsumi had
never told him about his feelings, about his blossoming love and affection.
Then Watari had entered his life, his private life. The surprise had
been the revelation of Tsuzuki that he had known about Tatsumi's feelings.
It had occurred in a small café, both men drinking tea, Tsuzuki
nibbling at the sweets he had ordered for himself. Warm, amethyst eyes
had met usually so controlled blue ones, smiling, easily telling him that
he was okay with it.
"I'm glad you found Yutaka," the shinigami had said softly. "And I'm
flattered by the feelings you harbor for me, Seiichiro."
"Asato…"
The smile drew him in, grew impossibly gentle. "Your love, even from
afar, helped me survive many bad days. I owe you far more than my life.
Thank you for feeling this way."
He had been speechless, thunderstruck, and embarrassed.
Tsuzuki had known.
He accepted the love Tatsumi had felt, and still felt in a different
way. They were friends, shared a bond so deep that no one could fathom.
And ever since Tsuzuki had finally realized and accepted what he was, what
he harbored, he had become more balanced than ever. Tatsumi had only heard
rumors and had his own suspicions as to what had brought on the realization
and the strange acceptance of the fact, but it had to do with his shikigami.
"Seiichiro?" a soft voice jolted him out of his thoughts.
He blinked and looked at Tsuzuki.
"What happened?" the other wanted to know again.
He inhaled deeply. "Watari killed the one attacking him, but he used
up everything. He gave life to everything in that church, each and every
single statue, picture and tapestry image. I never knew he had such… life
force…"
And he hadn't. Watari wasn't someone to go around infusing his power
into inanimate objects. They all knew he could do it, but up until now
a single image or little drawing had been the most. Never such a massive
scale…
Tsuzuki nodded. "He'll recover, Seiichiro," he said softly, only loud
enough for the other to hear.
His first name coming for the dark-haired shinigami was like a little
curl blossoming inside him. Tatsumi shot Tsuzuki a small smile that relayed
everything he felt.
"Yes, he will."
And when he was better, they would have a talk about Watari's self-consciousness
where his powers were concerned. Watari Yutaka wasn't weak; he was a force
to be reckoned with. That Tatsumi was more powerful meant nothing, neither
in their work relationship, nor in their private one.