AN: Yes, this is a Hisui route right now, for those that couldn't tell. It's clearer on the Beast's Lair forums where the chapter titles are available before I post them, but Healing Hands is Hisui; Origami Blades is what Akiha's route is titled, Synchronized Body for Kohaku. When I'm done with Healing Hands, I will be moving on to Origami Blades and writing that route out.

Fate/Far Side: Healing Hands

Interlude

Soul's Wish

To Shirou's eyes, the moonlight was veiled.

It was too fast, too sudden, had him sure his heart had skipped a beat and his nerves had jumped right out of his skin and crawled away. The street had been empty before, but now, suddenly, that beast of a man had swept up within his vision, just past where Saber and Archer argued, lifting the stone sword into the air. The great girth of the weapon masked the light, casted a shadow, and Shirou was certain there would be no escape.

Archer went right; Saber left. Somehow, despite the whirlwind of speed the giant Servant came down on them, both made it safely out of the splash zone as the great sword cratered the asphalt where they had just been.

"Saber!"

"Archer!"

They must have, despite the bickering, been planning some level of tactics, as the a gust of wind swirled up in their wake, carrying twin scimitars further into the air than they could have been thrown. Two more cut through the gale from below, and the four blades homed in on Berserker like moths attracted to the light.

And Illya, stepping out from behind a lamppost, the bottom obscured by a promotion for a local clinic, grinned as she watched the weapons skim harmlessly across Berserker's skin. "Try harder, mister no-name Servant."

Even facing their indomitable enemy, Archer turned a grin over his shoulder at the petit Master. "So, it would be alright for me to utterly destroy your Servant?"

No retort could be made as Berserker shot through the gloom, swinging first at Saber, who deflected the sword-swing aside, and then a single bound brought him to Archer, who ducked under a swing and ran full-tilt further up the hill.

Shirou and Rin glanced at each other and then split like their Servants, Shirou moving to the left side of the street and Rin to the right. The four of them now made a rough square about the giant such that he could not move to attack any of them without turning his back on at least one.

All they needed was a critical hit, and even this giant would be brought down.

Berserker seemed to have some sense of that, as he apparently decided on turning his attention on the most dangerous of the four. He charged in after Saber, completely ignoring a telephone pole in his way, which snapped as if sheared by a giant pruning shear as the giant's arm bumped into it.

The creature howled like a werewolf and brought a torrent of swings down on the woman, who barely raised a block overhead, barely rolled beneath a swing meant to decapitate, who barely shunted aside a diagonal cut that would sent her sky-worthy.

And despite the beastly attacks, despite the towering enemy and his lightning-fast strikes, the Servant in blue could not help but turn her eyes further up the hill as her temporary ally intoned words of magic.

"The blood of a knight will be spilled."

The red knight smirked, not at his opponent, but at the other knight-Servant. Though he said nothing, there was a gleam to his eyes and an upward tilt of his lips that taunted: look familiar, Saber?

A sword, black and tainted, shuddering as if it could cry out in suffering if it but had a throat and a mouth and words to erase what was written upon its blade.

"Take the other one out, Berserker!" Illya's command pierced even the ringing of steel.

Saber tumbled back out of Berserker's range as the crash of another near-miss destroyed the barrier wall separating the street from a gaggle of buildings. She rolled up to her feet, flew down the sidewalk, and almost crashed headlong into Shirou. Grabbing her Master's arm, the woman in blue leapt completely clear of the monstrous Servant as it turned one last swing her way, then reversed direction up the street toward Archer.

The red knight was balancing the sword against a bow, as if the weapon were capable of flight. "The light of the lake will yet fade."

Something in the gleam of the weapon, or the fact that Saber had gotten clear, or perhaps the dangerous air that Rin's Servant seemed to take on made Illya revise her command, "No, Berserker, defend!"

The moment the brute raised his arms, Archer dove laterally, placing Berserker on a marginally higher plane atop the hill, Illya to the red Servant's back—

Shirou and Saber in line behind the towering Berserker. He raised the bow and drew back the sword upon the string. "Imitation dark blade—"

And Saber, gritting her teeth in understanding, knew she had no other choice, both if they were to survive and the entire neighborhood was to be left standing. She pushed Shirou back and raised her weapon. "EX—"

A twisted and black energy formed. "Arondight."

Golden light suffused the other side of the street. "CALIBUR!"

Shirou watched the slow rise and fall of Saber's chest as she slept and wrestled with himself.

He hated how that battle had gone.

Or specifically, how little he had mattered.

Of course, there was not anything of substance to truly complain about. The crash of golden and black light on Berserker had crushed the giant, though the energy of both had seemed to somewhat cancel each other out and no raving explosion had decimated the neighborhood. Saber had gone inhumanly still afterward—something now, he understood, was her trying to maintain her front of stoicism even as her prana was going dry—and he could only stand back in amazement.

And then horror, when Berserker's upper chest and head had reappeared from beneath the smoke and sizzle.

The tittering from Illyasviel had sealed their fate; Berserker, she explained, had a stock of eight more lives after that hit. His Noble Phantasm gave him a cat's expectancy plus more, and he had only expended one when fighting Lancer previously, and the dual-strike of Saber and Archer's Phantasms had depleted a mere four more.

And Saber, Illya had said, was now almost depleted.

Shirou had examined Saber closely, seen her grinding her teeth so hard it must have been damaging, and thought of the sword that Archer had just made.

If only—

Archer, though, was already in action. The red knight had jumped atop another power pole and said something new:

"I am the bone of my sword."

Shirou sighed.

"Master?" Saber's eyes peeked open.

Shaking his head, he gently pushed down on her shoulder when she moved to sit up. "It's nothing, Saber. Keep your strength up and rest."

Green eyes darted to one corner of the room, and though the lethargy in her expression remained, there was something new there as well, a look of disappointment. "I am sorry to be in such a state…I know it must frustrate you that my inadequacy as—"

"Saber, it isn't anything like that," he said, giving her a smile. "If anyone should complain about inadequacy, it should be you. You're in bed now because I can't do anything for you as a Master."

"No, I—"

"Saber." He fixed her with a stare. "There is nothing wrong with you." He gave a scowl, his face twisting at both thoughts now playing through his head. "That guy, he said it, loathe as I am to agree with him."

Must be tough, having a Master like him, the red knight had spoken, even before they had fought Berserker.

"Archer pointed it out," Saber whispered. "I heard him say it after he defeated Berserker."

"Yeah. 'Saving everyone is a naïve dream. There will always be those that will destroy you, just as I could have now. And you were saved only because another was sacrificed.'"

"Do not think that I am a sacrifice," Saber said fiercely. "I do not agree with him on that matter."

Shirou grinned. "Yeah, I had a feeling."

Silence descended, long enough for Shirou to think that Saber had returned to sleeping, her eyes closed and her breath a steady pulse that faintly brushed along the hairs on his arms. But then, her gaze still locked behind her eyelids, she asked, "Why do you feel you must save people?"

"Saber?"

"Please, explain it to me. I want to understand your motivations for participating in the Grail War, even if they are not for the Grail itself."

"You sure you aren't just, agreeing with that guy?" Shirou said, half joking.

"I…" she sighed. "Do not agree with him on most things, Shirou. But his words are concerning, even though they come from a place of wrongness. There is something…unhealthy about your desires."

He did not know how exactly to explain it, how to put it into words. They were, of course, more like a force driving him than a tangible, physical reason. The memories as they leaked into his head, the feeling of that scorching fire, the look on his father's face—

"I want to stop being the one saved," Shirou said, eventually. "I want to save others, with these hands. With this life that others have made up."

"Should you not simply live your life? Live what was gifted to you?"

"Maybe." He chuckled. "Probably."

He thought of his father, of how peaceful Kiritsugu Emiya had passed on from this life, and how possibly, just maybe, he had contributed to that gentle smile—

"But if I can save even just one life, it would make this life worth having lived, worth having been saved. I can't even save one, the way I am now. So maybe it's an impossible dream."

Saber's eyes opened, and they looked very far away and sad. "In my time, it was unavoidable. Perhaps it has changed, but, I do not see it being so. Saving everyone is a dream only one who has never stained his hands can speak of." She looked frustrated by this fact, but clearly, accepted it as fact. "Can you, after holding a sword that has taken life, truly say the same thing?"

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, he thought, just in passing, that perhaps she, too, desired the same thing his father had from him: an answer to that dilemma.

"I may not have taken life," Shirou admitted, "but I am responsible for lives lost. Even if that responsibility is just as fleeting and naïve as the dream to save everyone, I could have helped others when I didn't. I could have tried. I could have failed, but done so without a guilty conscience." He shrugged. "So, why can't I try now, even if it makes me a hypocrite? If the idea is worth pursuing…impossible, crazy as it may be…shouldn't I go after it?"

"And what if you had tried? What if you had tried and had failed?"

He stared at her, the faint tremble to her voice disquieting him. She suddenly sounded more afraid than he thought possible—

And he realized, with a start, that, perhaps, just this once, he could be strong.

"Then I would be proud of trying. If only I had been given the courage to do so, instead of wallowing in fear like I did."

Though he did not know what had happened in her life, he knew it now: that one who sought the utopia as she had should never have the regret necessary to desire the Grail.

For one who tried, but failed—

To one that had not tried, and lived in return—

She had the strength he desired.

Snow was falling, though it stuck only in the coldest of places; even against the eaves of the Emiya house, it turned to water and dripped down beyond the porch.

Illya stood amidst it, a girl in winter, twirling about even though it was not her first snowfall.

Shirou watched from the porch, Saber sitting next to him, calmly snacking on the Pocky he had brought for everyone. Illya had finished hers, Rin was still absently munching, Saber about two-thirds through. Shirou wondered if it had been a good thing, though, since Archer took every moment Rin was snacking on hers to argue another point of their strategy as a Master-Servant pair.

"So how long do you expect for them to build up Saber's strength? A decade? Are we going to be sitting on this final fight between the two of us for ten more years while that idiot takes his time funneling her energy?"

Munch. "I don't want to win this thing without Saber at full power. You think I want to hear Shirou complain that he was given the short stick?" Bite.

"Short stick? I'll give him the longest sword I have if it'll make him happy. Maybe it'll make him feel more masculine."

Snap. "I'd swear you're as obsessed with Shirou as a teenage girl with a crush." Crumble.

"Only answering to all the projecting you're doing onto him. What's with the food, anyway? Disappointed you didn't go with your prana exchange idea and get to bite him instead?"

Crunch. "Stop sounding like a jealous girlfriend, Archer."

Shirou glanced back, ready to admonish the both of them; if Archer really wanted to battle, it was up to Saber whether they were ready. But motion caught his eye back outside, beyond where Illya twirled, and he snapped his head back toward the opposite end of the yard.

And just like that, the war had changed.

Barely anything, mere white amidst the dark sky, and far enough away that it could have just been the snow playing tricks on his eyes. But it was not that, he knew, and before he could fully comprehend it, his feet were moving and he was charging out into the winter air.

"Shirou, don't!" Saber tried to reach out and take hold of him.

He did not listen, though, slipping just beyond her grasp and charging in, his thoughts only on the victim that would come from this. It did not matter that he could not stop it, could not win; he just had to try. Despite all of this going on around him, despite his ineptitude, despite his helplessness, he had to reach for it, had to at least see if he could make any difference whatsoever—

"Trace, on!"

The paired scimitars formed in his hand and he placed himself between Illya and what he now saw to be a white mask, ready to deflect any incoming attacks. He could do this, something in him had started to grow, and he knew he could at least imitate Tohsaka's Servant, if not copy him completely.

The demonic figure, his mask staring at him in mockery, removed a shroud from his right arm. The black fabric rippled like a dancing flag, revealing the demonic arm beneath, bent back at what should have been the wrist, wavering as if behind the haze of the summer heat…

"Zabaniya—!"

The horrible sound of flesh being torn assaulted his ears, followed by a deep pain within his chest, one he could never recover from.

Blood splattered the frosted grass.

He had moved before Illya to guard her from any attack—

And Saber had placed herself before him, for the same reason.

"Saber!"

The woman collapsed back into his arms, blood splattering her armor and dress above where her heart should be.

Assassin drew another Dark with the left hand, holding onto the bloody red muscle within his right. The white mask hid all traces of amusement, though everything about the Servant screamed otherwise. A Servant down, a Master about to die, and the Grail would be his—

"Trace, on."

The voice was not from the boy holding his broken Servant, but from the porch of the house. Both red knight and red magus stood there, the latter staring up at the former in shock, as the Archer-class tossed twin scimitars in a wide arc to Assassin's left.

The white mask tilted marginally, uncomprehending—

Then Assassin leaped straight up as the blades whirled in from behind him, arcing back toward the ones dropped to the feet of the red-haired boy. They clattered on the ground against their opposites, though none paid any attention.

Archer and Assassin staring each other down.

Rin making her way to Shirou.

Illya standing over the two, her expression unreadable.

And Shirou holding the dying Saber, helpless as ever.

The battle fell away as Saber's body fell.

Shirou dropped Kanshou and Bakuya to catch her, his mind gone blank, his only thoughts to how he knew, without even seeing, that she would die and he could do nothing to stop it.

He realized either she was heavier than he thought in her armor, or his muscles had completely given out, as he half collapsed to his knees beneath her weight, his arms around her waist, and he wanted to say something. But words burned up in his throat until all that was left to reach his mouth was ash, and he choked out nothing but useless air.

She was still moving, somehow, though her heart had been ripped from her chest, though a gaping hole now sat above her breast, though any normal human would have ceased living right then and there.

Her armor dissipated like the snow melting about them, and he held his hand over her wound without thought, knowing intellectually it would be pointless but feeling he had to do something—

"…ya," Saber coughed out, more blood than words. "Illya…"

Illya knelt next to them, her eyes on the hole at Saber's chest, her face betraying nothing more. "Saber?"

Though Shirou did not understand it, Illya did when Saber, her voice no louder than the touch of snow, said, "Magic."

"It isn't…" Finally, the look on Illya's face took on desperation, and she seemed tinier and more afraid than she had whenever facing an enemy down. "It'll be incomplete!" she said, her eyes wide.

Somehow, Saber shrugged her shoulders, and Illya crawled in closer. Rin fell in before them, roughly between where Archer and Assassin faced off, her instinct to watch over them—

Saber's head lulled aside, enough that Shirou could lean over her and meet her eyes. Despite everything, the boy felt incapable of crying, and he felt for once like cursing this, cursing how his Saber would die and he would not even shed a tear over it, because he was already so twisted and unnatural to begin with. He wanted to say that to her, wanted to explain that she would be mourned, that she was human, and here, and that she had not failed him in any fashion…

And even as he saw tears in her eyes, even as he saw her smile, and even as he felt as if his heart were the one torn out by them—

He had nothing he could do.

My country—

It is lost to me, forever amidst the sands of time.

I tried, and I failed.

I cannot, and no longer should.

But to you, who has not yet faced that impossibility—

I want…

A clattering, smaller than the sounds of steel against steel.

A blue charm in the shape of a Japanese sword, the silly thing he had given Illya while shopping one day.

And the heavy body, fading from between his arms, against his chest, her gaze still with him, a faint smile on her bloody lips.

…I want to save you, Shirou…so one day you will be saved…

The girl in blue was gone, stained snow the only sign of her prior existence.

Battle still raged, now with a new voice.

"How dare you take something that does not belong to you, you ingrate."

It was faraway, though, and even Rin was standing more at ease.

Shirou belatedly realized he was staring at black boots amidst the faint white and green of the yard. He shuddered, looking up at the Servant before him.

"This is what happens when you cling to your ideal, Shirou Emiya," Archer said. "You will forever only know suffering if you persist in placing others before you."

And yet, despite the pain and anguish, despite the rage and frustration, despite the feeling like he was helpless once more—

He knew, finally, that this red knight was wrong.

Tears finally fell, for the completely wrong reasons.

She had, after all, smiled at the end.

Healing Hands, Interlude, End