a/n: (sorry it's REALLY long)
um, hey there, if there's anyone to be saying 'hey there' to. perhaps this calls for a re-introduction: hello, CATS fanfiction archive of 2014. i am rawrrkitty, an ancient writer who left this poor, sad fic here in 2011 and effectively abandoned it. it became a proverbial child lost in a supermarket and i, the blundering, inadequate parent, drove home without it.
anyway, lack of closure has always pissed me off, so i'm actually going to finish this. you may ask, what brings this on, oh rawrrkitty?! even if there's no one who cares, let me have my little ramble. i'm entitled. i've just finished school and now that that's done (and that pokémon alpha sapphire is out cough cough) i've been drowning in nostalgia. and in my old fics. and uh, like i said, lack of closure is terrible, me not finishing this story is terrible, and so i'm going to fix that. right now.
that being said, most of this was already written – it was just… not good? i was unsatisfied with it even when i wrote it (hence not uploading it) so i basically went through and tried to make it all a little more cohesive, tried to make improvements where i could. which means that the rest of the fic will most likely have a different tone and style from the first chapter, unfortunately. i mean, i was fourteen when i wrote it and i'm nearly eighteen now (practically a whole new person!), so i don't think there's anything i can do about that except rewrite the first chapter, and hey, i'm actually sort of fond of the first chapter.
sorry if it's not even that great anyway. i haven't written much over the past three years or so. maybe i've actually gotten worse at the whole writing thing, idk. aaaaaaaaaalso if it's of interest, i do also intend to upload a conclusion for 'better before' and finish 'scars like spiderwebs' although those are going to take me a little longer since i never wrote anything more for them. i'm hoping to get it all done before i turn eighteen – on the 31s t of december – which may be an unreasonable goal, but it would be nice. like i'm heading off into the abyss of adulthood and leaving my times in the CATS fandom in the sun. what's with all the shit metaphors? it is 3 am, leave me alone. without further rambling from me, here's the fic. or the second chapter of it. chapters should be out every few days. woo.
It was much later that Mistoffelees realised he was wrong about things getting better.
He dreamed after that night. He dreamed of the stars in the sky, starry eyes and red, red lips. He never quite knew what he was doing, but that was beyond the point. He was doing.
He woke up in the middle of the next day, hands splayed on the pristine sheets. His fingers were shaking, clenching the material in tight fists. He pulsed all over, a thunderstorm pounding within a fragile body. He jolted out of bed and threw up into the toilet, head hanging weak over the lip of the bowl. And he still shook.
This had been long coming.
He laid his head on the rim of the toilet for a few weary moments. Started retching and heaving again but nothing came out, or maybe, he wondered, he was choking out his very essence into that toilet. He wiped his face before stumbling back to bed, telling himself that the roiling sensation in his chest would go with some more rest.
Instead, he dreamed of not being able to breathe. Choking and retching and sobbing dry and wheezy.
He'd been a fool to think that the aftermath of conjuring up Deuteronomy would be bearable. Caught up in the silver light of the moon and Tugger crooning those words, those encouraging words beneath which lay faith that Mistoffelees had thought impossible. But the cost of the magic was claiming his body – would eat him from the inside out if he didn't do anything about it. But what could he do?
He woke this time to dark-bright eyes. Tugger had invited himself into Mistoffelees' den, apparently. Mistoffelees attempted to comprehend his presence, as well as the fact that he could breathe.
"Heya," Tugger grinned. "Still in bed, huh? And they call me lazy."
Mistoffelees stared, eyes crinkling all round the edges in what appeared to be deep thought. And then – and then he was retching again. He beat a fist into his pillow, his face contorted under the strain of the magic. Tugger took two rapid steps back. The noises Mistoffelees were making were wretched, desperate.
"Hurts," he managed to gasp out.
"You're sick," Tugger realised. "Oh Bast, Misto, wait right here."
So Tugger ran out, tripping over the doormat as he went, and Mistoffelees stifled the terrible noises that were wrenching out his throat and thought about breathing. Just breathing, one two one two one two. And then he realised he was breathing too fast, so one two three one two three.
It was hard for Mistoffelees to describe the feeling of being consumed by magic. It didn't attack his body, but it tingled in his mind, a reminder of what he had yet to give. It gnawed on his very soul. And the feeling of knowing he had so much to pay, debts that would never disappear – no, he was in too deep.
Tugged returned alone. The relief was evident on his face when he saw Mistoffelees quiet.
"Uh, I'm back. People are coming. It's okay, Mist."
Mistoffelees kneaded the straw mattress with his claws, stared past Tugger and through the open door behind him. And he said, "No. They can't come."
Tugger was startled. He fidgeted nervously on the spot, fingers twisting in the strands of his mane. "Everything will be okay if you let Jenny and Jelly look at you," he tried.
That was when Mistoffelees snapped. He couldn't help the words that began to flow out of him. "It's won't be okay, Tugger, and Everlasting Cat help you if you think it ever can be. Can't you see it? Can't anyone?" Mistoffelees' voice was still ragged and raw, the scream he ached to release pushed back into his lungs. "How can we just live when we know that we're constantly taking, taking, taking, asking favors from life? Borrowing moments? Helping ourselves to mystics and magic and no, Bast, life's not as kind as we all believe. It doesn't just give and give, Tugger. It takes, too. Leaves us to rot in death and laughs at our foolishness.
"This world exists in a cycle of creation and destruction… so where does my magic fit in? Where do I fit in? If I create miracles, what is destroyed as a result? See, see, creation is unnatural: watch the erosion of the land by the tide, the beautiful red death of a white mouse at the jaws of a predator, the ground bucking and splitting in an earthquake, and anyone, even you, can see that destruction is the voice and soul of nature. What I'm doing is wrong. It is to defy laws that bind this very world, and nature wants to punish me. Look at me suffer, Tugger. Don't I deserve it, after all?"
Mistoffelees was entirely aware of the manic sound to his voice, the strangeness of his words, in a detached sort of way. Tugger stared, all amber eyes – the sunlight slanting across them – and lips a dusty red, hands loose at his sides, hip cocked in that I'm-such-a-heartthrob manner. Not a sliver of comprehension passed across his face and Mistoffelees resented that; it frustrated him, because could Tugger not see what he was getting at?
"I believe in you, Misto," Tugger said simply, his voice pathetic and small. He fell to his knees at Mistoffelees' bedside, crooking an elbow over the mattress and letting his fingers caress the velvet of Mistoffelees' ear.
Mistoffelees' gaze shifted to Tugger's face, to a cat who lived for love, for loving, a cat who wouldn't understand the fear Mistoffelees was experiencing. Mistoffelees knew no one here would understand. And quite suddenly, the honey-amber of Tugger's eyes was stifling – though none the less charming.
"Misto," Tugger breathed, a near purr.
The proximity, Mistoffelees realised. It was affecting Tugger, just like the other night. He wanted too, he did. But Mistoffelees had little in his mind but aching terror. He couldn't be here anymore, and if he was going to leave, he couldn't leave any broken hearts. He had to go now.
Mistoffelees, in a sudden movement, sat up and leant over Tugger. From this perspective, Tugger didn't look quite so big. Mistoffelees' hand shot out, roughly cupped Tugger's cheek. Tugger's breath hitched.
Slowly, Mistoffelees edged out from beneath the covers, knees sinking into the mattress. His other hand snaked out and grasped at Tugger's mane, gripping tight and pulling. Tugger's breaths came shallow and quick.
"Yes, Misto," Tugger urged in a coarse whisper, leaning his head into Mistoffelees' hand.
Mistoffelees stared at Tugger, aching. Just aching. He inched forward, pressed his forehead against Tugger's. Tugger was warm, the sort of warmth that accompanied the gentle sunlight in spring. And as Mistoffelees' lips brushed over the bridge of Tugger's nose, he imagined himself, middle finger raised to magic. I'll beat you. Even at the cost of this wrenching desire.
Here we go.
Mistoffelees looked to the ceiling, said "Look at me" to no one in particular and shoved Tugger to the floor in a bundle of mane and shattered pride. Mistoffelees grunted as he leapt over Tugger and plunged out the door, knocking aside the healers that were about to enter his house.
Already, he felt a little lighter.