Disclaimer: Don't own WK and this was just written for fun.
The end of the world came and went. It wasn't the first time Omi had seen the world ruse to the bring and pull back. In truth, he couldn't find all that much concern for the world or the woman standing between him and Youji. His concern had gone much more selfish. It was for Youji and himself.
"If you don't get out of my way, I will kill you," Omi said. He meant it too. He'd murdered only the marked to that point, those that others had condemned. Perhaps he was more executioner than murderer Never had he stared at someone and considered condemning them himself, voiding their life by his own judgment.
Omi knew most of what had happened since Youji's capture now. He knew that Youji had nearly escaped with the female prisoner. He knew this woman had tortured him. He knew she was the leader of a small group of vigilante police. Her comrades had fled or been non lethally dispatched by the rest of Omi's team. He also knew if she didn't get out from between him and Youji, he would kill her.
Her eyes were wide, white crazed. Her hands shook. He wasn't sure she wouldn't just shoot him. The strength to torture and condemn, these were things that were easier to start than to maintain. The human soul collapsed under grief and suffering. It either arose again as something much less than human, as the root of demonic myths, or it shattered and took all that was rational with it.
"Why? He's a terrorist! A filthy murderer! He will confess soon! You'll see," she said, hysteria and obsession coloring her words, making them like a terrifying gothic cathedral around her, protecting her from the last choice of demon or insanity. "He killed my brother!"
"Your brother died in a horrible attack. No one should die like that," Omi said, moving just a little to the side, dancing a slow dance of strategy with her. Beyond her, Youji sat in a metal office chair, something from the '40's that probably had been sold half price more than once. His arms were handcuffed to either arm and his head hung, chin nearly to his chest. His jeans were ruined beyond hope, scraped and torn as if he'd been dragged across the cement floor. Both of his hands were swollen, misshapen, and Omi wanted to jump on the woman and beat her until she felt what Youji must have felt. "We want to stop anymore innocent people from dying."
"Yes! Yes! We have to save innocent people," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "He can tell us where the bomb is. There is a nuclear bomb. People's skin will melt off. Have you ever seen what that kind of bomb can do?"
"We have stopped the bomb," Omi said, "The terrorists are all dead."
She spun towards Youji, pistol aimed at his head. "You hear that, you shit! Your friends are dead!" Just as quickly, she spun the pistol in her hand and brought it down towards one of Youji's battered hands.
Omi lunged, dropping his bow as her pistol hit his arms that shielded Youji's hand. His cry echoed in the cement room and a moment later Ken was there, blood and claws, his own kind of insanity shielding his humanity. The woman, whatever her path to monsterhood or insanity, Ken ended it there. Claws carved her throat and she hit the wall a rag of once humanity.
In a blink, the woman who'd tortured Youji was no more and Ken was there, a lion of leather and chestnut hair, bloody claws and energy. "Is he alive?"
Dropping to his knees, Omi sought out Youji's face. A shiver went over Omi's shoulders. "Balinese?'
"Hey, Bombay," Youji said, words slurred through swollen lips. "So the bad men are really dead?"
"Of course," Omi said, refusing to let his eyes move to the body of the woman. "We are going to get you out of here." From his pocket, he brought a small vial of acid, which he quickly injected into the locks of both handcuffs.
"The cleaners are on their way," Aya said, who'd been invisible in the shadow of the doorway until he'd spoken.
"Almost done," Omi said, carefully opening the cuffs. "Can you walk?"
"Depends how fast?" Youji hedged.
"I'm going to carry you," Omi said as he retrieved his bow and fastened it to his shoulder.
"I can walk," Youji complained.
"Cleaners," Aya said, just a slight edge of irritation in his voice, which really meant a great deal of concern in his thoughts.
"You can't carry me! I'm too heavy," Youji said, logic, but he was missing the true state of things. Maybe that is always the way of it. One things the morning will never become the afternoon, someone who wasn't a man becomes one, and Omi's arms were strong, powerful, as they slipped behind Youji and lifted him out of the chair gently. "I can walk."
"Shut up, Balinese," Aya growled and they were off, Aya on point, Ken covering them from behind, Youji in Omi's arms, his head on his shoulder.
Omi smelled of home and quiet nights, the comforting beating of his heart, and Youji slipped away from their flight, from the hurried descent down the stairs and away from the coming cleaners. Every now and then he could hear Omi murmuring to him, and he promised himself he'd be strong again later, after a while, right now, with Omi's fingers combing out his hair, Omi's words promising him that everything was okay, that he'd saved them all by telling the girl where to go, that was heaven.
He wasn't sure he was dreaming or waking and he wasn't sure he cared. "Omi, I love you. I love you. I wanted to touch your hair. You can't hear me, can you?"
"I can hear you," Ken growled.
"Let him alone, Ken!" Omi said. And Youji realized they were in the back of a van, going somewhere. Omi held him still. He still leaned against Omi's chest. "He's just hurt."
"Sorry!" Youji said, not sure why he was crying now. Nothing hurt anymore, really, nothing more than it had anyway, as he floated there in between Omi's arms and nothingness. Omi was only being nice. He couldn't love back. He was just being nice. "I'm so sorry."
(I'll try to get more done soon! I got rid of my phone that got my email, so now I will be more focused on my writing! I hope my writing improves again. It feels really clunky now. Thank you for reading!)