((This chapter written by fandomslight))

Please…help me. It hurts. I can't stand this. Please…

Help!

The swordsman awoke gasping for breath, sweat dripping off his forehead. Those voices…what were they? Sure the Blue didn't have the greatest mental stability, but he'd never heard voices before. Was it just a nightmare? Hopefully that were the case—he'd be able to get over it much sooner.

He sits up, though the act is much harder than it should be, and it's painful no doubt. The Blue finds himself in an empty alleyway, lacking the memory of how he got here, or how he'd manage to pass out in a place like this. Then he looked over, and what he saw was enough to make his eyes go wide and make him scream.

His own body…beaten, bruised, bloodied, and worst of all not moving.

With trembling hands, he pulled himself off the ground, staggering backwards as he tried his best to piece things together.

Help me. Please get me out of here!

'Shut up!' he shouts, holding his head in his hands as he tries to shake the voices. He's alive…he knows he is. So why does he see his own body cold and lifeless on the ground in front of him. He looks back at himself, body shaking, weight unable to hold him up. The swordsman is soon leaning into the wall to keep himself upright. He feels like he could be sick, but was that even possible in his state? What was his state? 'Get up! What the hell are you doing laying there? Get upnow!'

Fushimi wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, silently screaming at himself to get up. This was all just some horrible dream that he'd wake up from…eventually, right? He'd already seen the scariest bit. This was bad enough so just wake up already!

Come with us. Help us!

He screams again, back to holding his head inbetween his hands. It hurts enough to make him fall to his knees, shaking in the fear that this might be real after all. What did this mean for him? Was he dead? The Blue didn't even remember how it had happened.

Then he hears a shuffling, and his head snaps up at the person who'd finally come to find him. Much to his further horror do his eyes set on the dark beanie and white headphones, and he jumps up as if standing between his body and the vanguard would prevent him from seeing.

But the Red runs right by him, straight to the dead body behind him. Saruhiko can't get himself to turn around and look, his feet planted in place as he hears screaming cries behind him. 'Misaki…'

Further fear sets in. If he is dead, that'd be the end of everything. Misaki would surely forget him now. After a little while he'd only be a memory in the back of his mind. Even more of a reason to try and will himself alive, though the act of trying to communicate with his own body was much too hard now.

A hand raises to his face, and he feels tears form at his eyes. It stings and he can't help but begin to cry out as well. 'I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, Misaki. For everything. I just…wanted you to see me like you saw them and…I'm so sorry.'

He stumbles back against the wall, sliding down until he hits the ground. It was like his body had lost all of its energy, and his feet just couldn't keep him up anymore. Seeing Yata try so hard, it tore at him inside. For so long they'd been fighting, petty arguments and clashing of weapons that they were unable to reconcile their differences.

And now he was—he hated to say it—dead.

The tears that had stung his eyes earlier were already streaking down his face. Usually he'd hide such a thing, but no one saw him anymore anyways. What was the point of hiding? The guilt of the years he'd been separated coming back to him; and here Yata was calling for help and trying to keep him going when it was a futile attempt. There was no saving him. Even if they did, hadn't his brain shut down for too long?

'I'm sorry, Misaki.' he whispers after a choked cry. 'I'm not as strong as you think I am. I'm not...'

Those voices come back, screaming at him louder than before…clearer than before. He's almost certain that he'll lose his mind, trapped and tortured with the pleas he hears.

Fushimi forces himself up—forces himself to drag his feet over to Misaki. They feel so heavy, the task takes more out of him than it should, and he drops back to his knees as soon as he's there. 'Misaki…it's okay.' He places his hand on the vanguard's shoulder, with little effort in tugging him away. He wonders if the other can feel it, though it's unlikely.

'You don't have to try anymore. It'll be harder on you. I'm tired, that's all. I'm going to sleep for a little bit.' And even as he tries to convince the other of this, he's trying to convince himself; but the tears don't stop.

'It's enough. Thank you, Misaki.'

At this point, Fushimi had really given up on any hope that he'd make it through this. It had been something he'd accepted the moment he didn't wake up the instant he tried forcing it. Nothing was happening, and he was just too tired to fight back anymore. He'd settle and go to the Hell that was apparently calling for him.

And maybe he didn't mind it so much anyways. Yata had come for him—had gone out of his way to look for him when he'd probably been missing for some time. It made him more than happy, to know that the other was thinking about him. It had always been what he longed for, obsessed over. At some point the idea of fighting for his attention through hatred had just failed to be enough, and he'd hoped for what they used to have.

Only to have his life taken from him—slipped away by something he still didn't know about. The memory wouldn't come to him. All he did remember was being out on patrol. Things were going completely normal and okay and he had been heading back to the building. There were shortcuts through the alleys, and he took them on such a constant basis that he was never bothered by them. And then…then…what?

It sends a pain through his head, and he has to rub his temples with his fingers to stop the throbbing of a headache. You'd think that after dying you wouldn't feel pain anymore—physical or mental; but he was dealing with both, and it hurt him more than he could manage.

He still hopes to pull at the vanguard until he gives up, knowing that things aren't going to go quite according to Yata's wishes this time. Maybe he just has little faith in life, but it just didn't look good for him. After all who knows how long he'd been here, motionless and dead to the world. It could have been minutes, hours. He didn't quite suspect days, thinking that he wouldn't even be here as is if he were truly gone.

That time was coming, though. Feeling so tired and not having the usual energy he did, Fushimi knew he wouldn't be staying much longer. He soon heard the sirens coming and pulled away, standing off to the side as he watched events unfold. Misaki had become a mess by this point—hysterics in every word and action. It sent a jolt of guilt through him. He caused this, and this was entirely his fault.

He watches as they move Yata into the ambulance to rest, a paramedic handing him a blanket and seating him on the bench inside the back of the van. He watches as the paramedics quickly move him onto a stretcher and continue compressions where Yata had left off. They're hooking him up to machines, clearly not finding any pulse or hearing any heartbeat.

It's pointless. Why are they still trying?

He moves to the back of the ambulance, peering in to see the Red leaning against the wall of the van, face blank and emotionless. Fushimi wishes he could call someone to pick him up. Izumo, maybe…or hell, maybe even Mikoto. All he knows is that Yata shouldn't be around for this much longer. 'I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise.' He mutters with a sad smile, 'This was one I honestly wanted to keep. I've let you down again, haven't I, Misaki?'

One, two, clear!

He hears the first shock, though nothing happens to him. Fushimi doesn't feel a thing from where he's at, and it only reinforces the idea that he's a hopeless cause that they're all wasting their time with. For a moment, his attention averts from Misaki, turning back to his own lifeless body as they try to shock his heart into working. When he reaches a hand up to his chest, he doesn't feel his heartbeat. The second shock was the same as the first, and he wondered how many paramedics usually attempted before calling it off completely.

One, two, clear!

There's a sudden pain in his chest, and it knocks the breath out of him. He's gasping for air as he falls to his hands and knees, eyes wide in shock. That…that should not have hurt the way it did. He hadn't felt the shocks prior to this one…so why was there a difference?

Then he hears a beep on the machine. It's quick and doesn't last long, but it was there, and he sees the renewed hope in the faces of the paramedics. The Blue, however, is still skeptical. If it had worked, then why was he still trapped on the outside like this? If his heart was really re-starting, wouldn't he be back on the inside struggling to wake up?

Paramedics start compressions again, too afraid to shock his body again. One too many would damage his internal organs, and could potentially stop his heart for good. He knows this—he's studied these things before. He wants to turn around and look at Yata again, but he's not sure if the vanguard heard the machine's noise. Turning around now meant potentially facing that hopeful face, and Saruhiko would break in an instant to see something like that be crushed. No, eh still didn't have faith in this at all.

But when they argue and eventually give in to shocking him one more time, he braches himself for the pain, still on his knees as they prepare yet again. This shock hurts more than the last, and he feels things going fuzzy around him. It's getting harder and harder to stay awake, but now he's worried about what falling asleep will do. It could mean that he was giving in to death, accepting that this last shock did him in. However, it could also be his body calling back out to him. If he decided to go into sleep, would he wake up still alive in the real world? This was his decision to make.

Did he try to remain awake in this world, or give in to the sleep calling to him?