content warning: self-blame, reference to death, reference to depression
Takeru instinctively pulls her in his arms just in time to protect her from the impact, narrowly avoiding several lines of paper lanterns set for the night's festivities. They lay a second on the sand, his arms locked around her, hers tucked agaisnt his chest, feeling each heave as they catch their breath, until he comes to his senses and pulls away.
He stands to hold her at arm's distance, frantically checking her every inch for a trace of the shadows that infected her. Finding none, with relief he sighs "It's gone,"
Looking away she replies, "No, it's not."
"No—"
"We need to accept—".
"Don't give in."
"We had to— "
"Fight it! We'll—"
"Listen so we could—"
"Fight it together."
"Listen!" she shouts, pulling herself from the grip of his clenched fingers, that he only now realizes had been boring into her shoulders. As he gently releases her from his hold, a heavy silence falls, filled only by the sound of the tides flushing across the shore.
"We were called to that world because we had to face the darkness, Takeru-kun."
"We've already done that. And we beat it every time."
"This time we had to listen. It spoke to me."
He knew she talked to light — or at least, it talked to her, through her — but this was just ridiculous.
"Takeru-kun, we want the same thing."
"I want nothing to do with it."
"We both want—"
"Enough of that."
"Balance."
The word catches him off-guard. What they fought for last summer. What they were fighting for all along, before they even knew it.
"What do you mean?" he asks warily, still worried at any moment she could succumb to some dark influence.
"It needed us. It needed our light."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"'Darkness without light is nothing. Light without darkness is empty. Even hope, before the taste of despair, is simply naivete.'" she declaims. "That's what it said."
The boy knits his brow trying to process her words.
"Takeru-kun, we can't fight it, because it's a part of us. We're part of each other."
In his head he goes over all that she's said and all they'd seen. Weeks of sleepless nights replay in his mind.
"What does that have to do with the nightmares?"
"It needed us to remember. Or we would have lost it, with all those memories."
"Frankly, would have been fine with me," he says with an edge.
"We needed to remember too, Takeru-kun."
"Why?" he asks, in almost a cry.
"We needed to so we could—"
"Can't we just—"
"Forgive ourselves."
"What do you mean?" he asks once more, the earlier edge in his voice now dissolved into only exhaustion, from losing sleep, from running nightmares, from losing his best friend to the darkness, only to find her making no sense at all.
Hikari turns from Takeru to face the sea, as if the waves hold the answers they seek. With a sigh, she sits on the sand and starts to explain.
"Meicoomon was the last. Wizardmon, the first."
When he responds with an only further furrowed brow, she continues: "I've never told anyone, but from the night I first got my digivice, I counted the days in their deaths."
Takeru reaches to put a hand on her shoulder.
"Wizardmon, Chuumon..."
Recognizing this sequence, Takeru continues it, "Piccolomon, Whamon."
Hikari nods. "I lost count after the Numemon. All those deaths, because of me."
"The Numemon weren't your fault."
"Not only the Numemon. All of them."
"They sacrificed themselves for all of us, Hikari-chan."
"No, they had to. Because of Vandemon, because the Dark Masters took control, because you all had to leave the Digital World—"
"It was everyone's decision to go."
"To find me," she concludes.
At that moment, something clicks in Takeru's head. Memories from their first return to the Digital World come flooding. Back then, he thought she was simply driven, as Taichi was, as they all were. Now, it is suddenly clear precisely why she had been so committed to their cause, from ocean depths to brutal deserts to the tip of Spiral Mountain, to see it through, even if it killed her, as it almost did.
"No, Hikari-chan, that's not your fault."
"But it is!" she cries. "If I hadn't missed camp, if I were just..." she says, words failing, tears falling, with the weight of this offense that she has only now found the audacity to admit.
Takeru's hand falls from her shoulder to stroke comforting circles onto her back, hoping these may still the shudders of her heavy heart, wishing he could collect all her sadness in his hand and toss it out into the sea.
His hand lingers until her sobs die down, and he feels her breathing fall back into a regular cadence. They sit in this silence as the tides stretch across the shore to brush their toes.
If only to fill the silence, Takeru admits his own sin, "Maybe it's not as bad, but my parents split because of me."
At his confession, Hikari slowly lifts her head.
"I caught them fighting one night, and that was it. The next day, we were packed."
She turns to find his somber smile. This time, it is her hand that reaches to rest on his shoulder.
"I was always thinking, if I just hadn't caught them that night. Maybe…?"
They sit there in the weight of their guilt, stirred only by the tides skimming their feet. Both wish the waters brushing their skin might somehow wash them of their sins and escort them into the eternal sunshine of a spotless mind.
Both know though, that it cannot.
The silence is broken when Hikari finally says, "I don't think that's your fault, Takeru-kun."
Takeru looks up surprised, but with ready response: "But if I hadn't caught them then—"
"They might have just split another night," she says before even realizing it. When she does, her hands fly to cover her mouth, as she finds him staring at her, just as stunned at her sudden frankness.
"I mean," she says a little more carefully, "Did they really say that was the reason?"
Takeru takes a moment to think before answering, "I guess we never really talked about it. I just always kind of knew."
"Why'd you think so?"
Takeru stares dumbstruck for a second, before letting out a somber laugh. "I don't know," he confesses. "But that's the thing. Who knows? Maybe things could have been different if I hadn't done that one thing that night."
In his mind plays a lifetime of what ifs: if he hadn't cried out that night, if he had been a better kid, if his single mother didn't have to work twice as hard.
Each day he comes home to their apartment, full of warmth from Yamato's cooking. His mother calls out from the den to welcome him home. She is just finishing an article, while his father sets the table. His brother calls the family to the still steaming meal, and they all come together to talk about work, or the weather, or whatever families talk about around a warm dinner table.
"Maybe," says Hikari, bringing him back to reality, back to empty apartments and packed TV dinners.
She pauses, considering it further. "And maybe not. Maybe the whole thing was so much bigger than one thing, one night."
When he responds only with silence, she continues, "Takeru-kun, whatever happened between your parents, that's between them. No matter what you may or may not have done, it's not your fault."
"Maybe it wasn't even their fault. Sometimes things just don't work out. There isn't 'guilty' and 'innocent', only figuring out how to pick up the pieces."
Takeru has no idea what to say, hearing words like these for the first time in his life. After taking a moment to process them, he concedes, "I know you're probably right, Hikari-chan."
She permits herself a smile.
"It's just, just knowing is a little easier than believing it," he continues. She could only sigh, understanding precisely what he means.
"But Hikari-chan—"
She looks up.
"Thank you," he says, and a small smile returns to her lips.
After some consideration, he looks her straight in the eye and says,"I don't think anything's your fault either."
"Well, that's different."
"And true."
"I don't know. If I weren't..."
"Sick. You were sick."
"Weak," she says, finally admitting it, remembering everything. Children crying at the convention center. All the Numemon she couldn't protect. Nyaromon corrupted by the weight of her own despair. Odaiba in chaos, all because of her, twice.
"You're human," he says plainly. "Sometimes we're fine and sometimes we're not. And when we're not, the only thing we have to do is whatever it takes to get better, even if it means we have to make some difficult detours."
Hikari sits there speechless, considering his words she isn't quite ready yet to accept.
"Remember that time in Mugendramon's city?" he asks suddenly.
She nods, though a little uncertain. She isn't sure if she's more surprised that he remembers this, or that she barely does. It's mostly a blur: the heat of the desert, shade at the bus stop, and soft sheets in a quaint little mansion (or was that a dream too?)
Next thing she knows, her head is on Takeru's backpack. She's cradled a nest of dry leaves, Tailmon and Takeru right by her side.
"I wish we'd noticed earlier. I wish we'd just let you rest before it got that bad."
"I'm sorry, Takeru-kun. I just didn't want to burden everyone."
"No need to be sorry. I'm sorry. We should have paid more attention."
"Please don't be sorry. I should have tried harder to keep up."
He stares at her, almost exasperated for a second, before letting out a little laugh. "I'll stop if you stop," he says in jest.
She looks at him confused.
"We're neither guilty nor innocent, is that right?" he asks with a smile.
"That's different!"
"It's not a sin to be sick, Hikari-chan. It's not a crime to miss some things, or make mistakes when you aren't doing so great."
"And it's not your fault if you didn't notice anything off at the time either."
"All that matters is you get better, and we could pick up the pieces after, right?"
Save for some annoyance at him using her words against her, she could almost agree. "Unless you've made too much of a mess..."
"Hikari-chan, it's not your fault if bad things happened while you were out of commission. It's not on you that bad digimon took advantage of that."
"I really wish you gave yourself a break more, cause when you don't," he pauses, trying to figure out what he feels, before eventually confessing, "I worry about you."
She turns to him, as if to confirm if she heard him right.
"The worst was when you got really sick in that desert."
"I know you've seen worse Takeru-kun."
"No, really. I'd already lost Patamon once. Yamato, twice that summer alone. But with you it was different. All we could do was watch and wait. But if we'd lost you then, I wasn't sure if we could have gotten you back."
"We were so helpless. It was terrifying," he finishes.
"Takeru-kun, I'm so sorry I put you through that."
He sighs. "If I accept that sorry, could we be done apologizing for things that aren't your fault?"
"Right. Sorry," she says, and he bursts into laughter. When she realizes why, she starts laughing as well, and says "I'll try if you try."
He extends a hand to her and says, "Deal?"
As she reaches to shake his hand, she hesitates and says, "But it might take some work."
He nods and with a gentle smile replies, "I guess we could work on it together."
She nods, finally taking his hand in hers.
Before heading home, they decide to wait for the sunrise. As they wait, they count the paper lanterns lining the Odaiba bay. In the dim light of dusk, they sit dully across the curve of the shore. Only under the veil of evening will the lanterns gain their light, to twinkle into the darkness and illuminate the night.
Someday, they may be able to move forward from all this, to finally accept their darkness and forgive themselves for having it. They might look back at all they had and hadn't done, and accept all that was and couldn't be. If the road to that day is difficult, they could at least take comfort in the fact that they were not on it alone.
They miss the sunrise.
After all the sleepless nights, sitting on the shore, shoulders leaning on the other's for support, they fall asleep just as the sun peeks over the horizon. As the surf continues to recede, they fall into the first restful slumber in weeks, and they dream.
Takeru is sitting on their old sofa, back at their apartment in Setagaya. It's the summer after the separation, and he's waiting for his mom for dinner. Primetime anime are done for the night, and all that's on are boring grown-up talk shows, but he keeps them on so he doesn't feel so alone.
Mama called that morning to say she'd be late, but she's never been this late. He's hungry and starting to worry when she rushes through the front door. He stood to greet her, but before he could even say a word, she lifts him up into an embrace and they spin once around the room.
She settles down only to hug him tighter and bury her face into his hair. It's then when he notices her snuffling, and the tears falling on the back of his neck.
"Mama?" he says, about to cry himself.
"No, no, baby. Mama's okay. Mama's happy. So happy," she says, wiping her face with the starched sleeve of her blazer. She sets him down to search for something in her large business bag. When she finds it, she pulls it out in a flourish and spreads it across the living room floor.
She flips to the very end of the broadsheet, only to backtrack a page or two. Once on the intended spread, she scans the bottom corner, points to a block in tiny text, and says, "Takeru, look."
Takeru is terrified for a moment, because he doesn't yet know how to read. The paper doesn't have the usual cartoons that his picture books do, so he has no way of guessing what it might say. His tears truly threaten to fall, until he kneels on the page to see precisely where his mother's pointer landed.
It's the characters of his name. At least, his new name. The one he got when he couldn't be an Ishida anymore. Takaishi.
"My name!" he says with a gasp.
"That's right, that's our name, baby. That's your mama."
Takeru's eyes widen as he looks at her, then back on the characters on the page. They don't say 'mama' exactly, but he does vaguely recall seeing her write something like it on some of his school forms and letters.
"Is it yours mama?" he asks.
"Yes, it's mine, baby. That's my article. Mama's a real writer now," she says, tearing up even more before pulling him back into her arms. They sit on the living room floor, enveloped in each other's embrace, until Takeru's tummy growls and his mother laughs through her tears.
He is so hungry but he doesn't even mind, because for the first time in months, his mother laughed. When she spun him around the room, it was almost like before — before he messed up, before Yamato stopped talking to them, and before she got sad.
These past few months she'd had maybe a hundred part-time jobs: at the kombini, at the library, at the old people store down the street that made her smell funny. When she'd get home, he'd try to tell her about his day, about school, or all the funny little things she used to love to hear, but she wasn't who she used to be. She was always too tired and she never smiled anymore. He worried she'd forgotten how to.
The day she got an interview at the local newspaper was the first time he'd seen her excited in a while. When she got the job, she hummed while washing the dishes.
At first he hated her new hours, and waiting all alone for their late dinners every night. But as the days went on, he felt something changing, coming back to life.
Tonight, he was sure he saw it: a sparkle in her eye, a light he thought she'd lost. That alone told him that things might not be the same, but they could be alright, and perhaps they could both learn to smile again.
Trees of toys ring like chimes in the mid-morning breeze, as the sky showers the nursery with hundreds of new digieggs. They come in every color — from gilded merigold to cerulean specked. Each egg bounds and bounces off the spry village floor.
This is the Village of Beginnings, after the fall of Apocalymon.
Hikari follows Takeru into the center of it all, where he, his partner, and another digimon each cradle an egg in their arms and eagerly start to stroke them.
"What are you all doing?" she calls out.
"We're hatching digi-eggs!" Patamon replies. Just then, a pearly egg with golden stripes rolls across her step, and she stops to pick it up.
"Will they all hatch?" Hikari asks.
"Yes," the other digimon answers. "Lots of digimon will be born from these eggs. The future of the Digital World starts right here!" As they say these words, Hikari watches amazed as only more digi-eggs stream in from the sky. Hundreds of little lives, about to start before their very eyes.
Takeru calls for her and says, "Would you like to join us?" She nods, and begins to gently rub the pearly egg in her arms.
"This village is where digimon are born and reborn," says the other digimon, Elecmon, the guardian of the village.
"Reborn?" Takeru asks, "You mean all Digimon could be born twice?" Perhaps remembering his own digimon, whose egg he himself saw materialize before him.
"Twice, thrice, as many lives as they need!" Elecmon exclaims.
"So all of our friends who…" Hikari falters, unable to utter the word. "They'll all be back here soon?"
"Ah," Elecmon starts, scratching his head. "I can't say soon, but maybe someday. Legend has it that the path back to life isn't so straightforward."
"But Patamon was reborn immediately!" Takeru cries.
"Eh, Patamon had a partner. It's a little easier if you have that sort of bond to fall back on, to pull you back."
"But not all digimon do. Most have to find their way back on their own, and some find it sooner than others," explains the guardian digimon.
The children sigh. Hikari fears if the damage is too great to undo, if their fallen friends may never find the way to return.
"It may take a while, but when they find it, we'll be right here waiting for them, ready to welcome them back to life."
"Will they be the same as before?" Hikari asks.
"Almost never," Elecmon responds. "You might keep some things, and pick up others on the way back, just as much as you need to live again."
"If that's completely different, that's okay. There's room for all in this world anyway," the digimon decides, right as a few dozen baby cots pop up around the nursery. The two child digimon go off to tend to them.
Takeru and Hikari are left to themselves, surrounded by stacks of digi-eggs growing only taller by the second. Remembering the task at hand, their attention returns to the digi-eggs in their arms.
"Takeru-kun," Hikari calls. He lifts his gaze from his egg to her crestfallen face.
"Do you really think our friends will find their way back? And get reborn?" she asks, still looking at the egg that feels so foreign, looks so small and sterile in her hands.
"I don't know, Hikari-chan," the inflection of doubt drumming clear in his voice.
"But I hope." he concludes, turning to her with a smile.
Just then, Hikari feels a quiver in her palms, a flutter of life from the egg in her hands. She turns to Takeru to check if he saw it too. The excited expression on his face confirms that he did.
At this alone, that is barely a breath and hardly a heartbeat, she may permit herself to hope as well. Perhaps this was what their allies were placing on her all along: not responsibility for their demise, but their faith in new life, one that could be better than the last. Perhaps that was what awaited them, if they found their way back, if they could return.
As Takeru joins her in rubbing life into this egg, now shaking, almost bursting into life, they could only continue to hope.
a/n: that was a trip but thank you for somehow getting to the end! it's a bit ooc ((cause these babies never talk in canon)) but i just really wanted to get them to talk about their issues and try to support each other through them
ngl this is also just a self-indulgent lot of things my friends and i hope to remind ourselves of, meshed with a bunch of adv. references. congrats on getting to the end of this monster of a fic and ngl i'm also just glad to be done with it so i could move on to other things, so congrats to us T_T feel free to comment what you think i'm tbh worried this might not have made a lot of sense and if it didnt i am sorry ^_^;
i hope yall stay alive and well, and always find your reasons to come back to life and hope again 💖💖