I do not own Ao no Exorcist.
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It seemed as if it was only a moment after Mineko pulled the bedcovers over her head that the chime of the morning alarm dragged her away from the comforting embrace of sleep. Such a feeling might not have been far from the truth either, for she hadn't looked at the clock before returning to bed, but knew that it was well past one o'clock—maybe even past two—when her head hit the pillow. She freed her arms from their linen confines and rolled to the edge of the mattress, blindly reaching for the switch for the bedside lamp. As soon as she swiped it, she dropped back down onto the mattress, groaning at the glow on the other side of her eyelids. The noise of protest was suddenly interrupted by a short coughing fit that drew her attention to a roughness in her throat.
"Hm." She frowned into the pillows as she swallowed and wondered if she had slept with her mouth open, or if perhaps she was sick from a night spent in a chilly attic.
Unlikely. It's probably just allergies.
She needed a shower and another dose of painkillers for her arm before starting the morning routine, the latter of which should work for her sore throat as well. Exhaustion would have guided her straight to bed after her survey of the attic if not for the stiff ache of her wrist and forearm. So she had set herself on a detour to the medicine cabinet, her affliction keeping her awake for a time even as her breathing evened out in the dark. The pain had subsided in the hours since, but as she moved her arm in bed now, she could still feel it running through her limb, dull yet persistent.
By now the repetitive drill of her alarm was annoying, and she lifted her head and squinted against the light to find the button to turn it off. She let out a resigned huff that did nothing for her throat and pushed away the blankets and got out of bed. Bleary-eyed, she shuffled around the room, pulling out her robe from the closet and tripping over the rug on her way to the large dresser where she stored her undergarments.
The second-floor hall was dark when she poked her head outside. It was only just too early for Maria to be up and getting ready for the day ahead, and Sakata wouldn't wake for another few hours while he was home. She eased away from the privacy of her room and into the open space with feline stealth. She did not harbour any false hopes that no one had heard her closing the attic stair earlier this morning; the last thing she wanted was to disturb anyone again at her unnaturally early arousal.
But the soot sprites are out of the attic. I might have made some noise, but that's one less problem to worry about today. Her overnight activity would need an explanation however, one with flawless logic and reasoning.
Shouldering the bathroom door further ajar, she reached in and hit the light switch with her elbow before depositing her armload of clothing, towel, and comb. The door clicked shut behind her and she twisted the lock.
Sorting through the bottles and boxes in the cabinet, she found an antihistamine for her throat and double-checked the dosage information before swallowing another capsule.
Eyes glazing over, she began to undress, grimacing when her socks came off. Regardless of where her slippers had disappeared to, she needed to find another pair to use. I just can't understand why they would throw my things out? Trying to erase me. Wish Sakata had heated floors. That would be nice. Also wish he had an elevator. Much quieter getting around. Not sure where he'd put it, though. Her eyebrows lifted in amusement. Right where the stairs are. I'm sure he has the money.
In the middle of her mind-wandering, her hands stopped their work with the sweater gathered beneath her chin. The skin on her stomach and chest was dark, as was the fabric of her bra, as though she had walked through a cloud of soot. She brought her fingers against her ribs and rubbed, smearing the color but not removing it, although the pigmentation transferred to her hands like a powdery grease. "I-is this from the sprites?"
She flipped her top around and found the inside of the fabric stained black. "Crap."
Maybe it would come out in the wash?
Spinning around in front of the mirror, she noted the layer of soot—what else was there to call it?—was not only covering the front of her body, but the entirety of her back as well. Removing the sweater revealed a peppering of smudges down her arms.
There hadn't been a lick of black on her (that she could see) after she released the sprites. Was it the oil in her skin? Perhaps there had been some residue, some shed from those little bodies that mixed with her sweat overnight, and this was the product?
Avoid skin contact. Wash thoroughly with soap and water. Now that she knew, she would be more careful in the future.
Twisting the shower dial, it wasn't long before clouds of steam brushed against the glass in the cubicle, painting over the clear surface with layers of fog. Mineko finished removing her clothing and set the bundle of fabric in the tub. She would wash them separately from the rest of her belongings, just in case. Adjusting the dial again so the water would not burn her, she stepped inside the shower.
Mineko snapped the handle around and the water shut off, the heat clinging to her skin for a couple of seconds before cooling. Blood racing in her ears, she shoved open the door and stumbled out, sucking in a deep breath that was cut short by the sharp pain in her chest.
Something's wrong.
Her throat burned: no longer the scratchy discomfort she woke up with twenty minutes ago, but the sting of infection. She tried to take a deep breath once more and stuttered again. Wrapping her towel around her, she collapsed on the toilet, leaning back against the tank as she tried to get her breath under control.
An allergic reaction? Anaphylactic shock? If one of those was indeed the case, she needed to get to a hospital. She needed to call EMS. The shower had been a bad idea, had triggered something dormant, sped up some immune response.
She grabbed her clean bra off the counter and worked her arms into it, not bothering to dry off. Panting, her towel fell away as she reached for her underwear, gripping the counter tightly as a wave of dizziness hit her.
Get help. NOW.
Mineko let the underwear go and pulled herself up, balancing one hand on the countertop and struggling into the sleeves of her robe, not bothering to tie the sash. She stepped towards the bathroom door, her fingers finding the lock quickly, but with anxiety conspiring against her, it took multiple attempts for her shaking hands to open the door.
Maria-san. Maria-san.
The cold air of the hall rushed to greet her, and for a moment, she doubted herself, questioned if the shower had just been too hot and she was over-reacting. Her lungs expanded fully, oxygen filling her chest and providing the most blessed feeling of relief.
Deep within her center she felt something build, something like a burp, or acid reflux, and she gagged, tried swallowing it down, and erupted into a coughing fit. The pressure that had momentarily eased in her chest constricted again and she rushed for the doors on the opposite end of the hall, gasping for breath. My throat's—!
At Maria's door, she pounded her fists in a jumbled rhythm against the wood.
"Maria!" The sound of her voice was foreign, dry and hollowed out, as though she shouted at a whisper. The effort alone had her bent over, choking, and her fists slowed. She could not have been standing there very long when a door opened for her, but it was not Maria's.
"Matsumoto-san?" Sakata squinted at her in the dark, his tone disapproving. Still bent at the waist, Mineko clutched the doorframe as she turned to face him, unable to read his expression. "What is the meaning…" His words trailed off as he likely noticed her state of undress. The hall light flickered on overhead.
"I-I—" She closed her hand over her exposed chest, fingers digging for fabric that wasn't there. He could see her. He could hear her. Surely he heard how she struggled for air, observed how her body heaved with the effort.
"Help!" Sakata's voice boomed from beside her, louder than she had ever heard before. "Help!"
A hand landed on either shoulder, bracing her as she tried to speak. "Are you hurt?"
She choked again, lifting her palms to seize Sakata's robe. I can't breathe! Slowly, she began to sink, dragging Sakata with her towards the floor, and she felt him strain to keep her from toppling. People in black, blue, purple—Maria-san—appeared at the top of the stairs, crowded into the narrow hallway.
Her back hit the floor, and the remaining air was forced from her lungs.
Suemitsu tucked the young woman's arm beneath the blankets, noting the coolness of her skin through the thin nitrile barrier. He sighed to himself, quietly pulled off his gloves and tossed them in the small waste bin. These small tasks—adjusting her head and limbs in the blankets and pillows, making sure the IV was secure, monitoring how she was doing on the ventilator—gave him the chance to collect his thoughts before having to engage with the group in the far corner of the room. When everything was set-up to his satisfaction and there were no more ideas that needed mulling over, he left the bedside, minding the boxes and equipment lying about.
The suite, initially serving as storage and a shared space for Nakamura and him, had been re-purposed in the last hour to function as a treatment room. The medical equipment was here and so were the drugs. Everything that he would need in a health emergency within reach. But not this one. Not for a human. This had nothing to do with his assignment.
He approached the small gathering, trying not to let his gaze linger too long on any one person for worry that it would answer what everyone was surely wondering before he could speak, and then there would be little room for his words. The woman in the bed would not hear their conversation in her current state; nevertheless, he kept his volume down.
"She's had prolonged exposure to coal tars—a lot of coal tars, by the looks of it. The ventilator is necessary for her to breathe." His eye was drawn to Maria, watched as her brow furrowed further.
"There have always been a few floating around the estate, but we've never had an issue with them before—" She cut herself off, hand hovering over her mouth. "The attic." A multitude of expressions worked their way across her face. "Mineko-chan was talking about pests in the attic. I thought… But she didn't say anything…?"
"Exposure to a couple coal tars over an extended period in a place as large as this wouldn't cause issue, but she's had extensive physical contact with them." He turned to Sakata.
"That greyish pallor you commented on: all over her torso and arms. Due to their physiology, their kinship to Astaroth, they shed particulates, like dandruff in mammals, so to speak, that's potent against organic matter. The respiratory system is typically what we see impacted by them first, and most severely. Matsumoto-san's lungs are in bad shape."
Maria turned to her assistant, looking so feeble and diminutive in the bed, the nearby monitor beeping faintly in support of such an assessment.
"This is all my fault." Sakata touched her arm, tried to console her. "It is. I've been so tied up making sure things run smoothly for our guests that I've neglected the ones who call this place home. Now that we know what's wrong, what can we do?"
Suemitsu brought his hands behind his back and squeezed his fist, wearing a countenance that felt uncomfortable. He spoke haltingly.
"Science and medicine have progressed rapidly in the past decade. We've accomplished a lot at our facilities, and that has been a great help to staff in our field of work… We did not… I assume Matsumoto-san hasn't been vaccinated for…"
"No." It was Sakata who spoke up. "No one here interacts with the other kind." He glanced down at Maria and his confidence wavered. "We leave them alone and they leave us alone." The caretaker started wringing her hands, a movement Suemitsu found very distracting.
"I do not carry any vaccines with me. Dr. Gedoin will have them at the main laboratory or at any one of his smaller branches, I'm sure." His gaze travelled to the spectacled woman who sat quietly in an antique chair, somewhat distanced from the others. Seeing his request for confirmation, she nodded once and adjusted her glasses.
"It would take time and resources to get the medicine delivered here. In your professional opinion, how long does she have?" Maria glared at the woman before turning to him with anticipation.
"If I'm being optimistic, six hours. I've given her what medicine I have, and she's already on oxygen. At this point, I can only make her comfortable." Maria's face went slack.
"How soon could the medicine arrive?"
"Twelve hours." There was no sympathy in the Captain's tone.
"But—"
"We are not miracle-workers, Maria-san. You must realize that even if we administer the vaccine, your assistant will not be restored to health. Her body is rotting from the inside out. The medicine will suspend the process, but her organs, her tissue will be beyond the point of repair. It will not save her." The heavy pause that followed seemed to weigh down Maria's shoulders.
"You do not care about anyone aside from your holy Commander."
The room went silent again, and Suemitsu watched Homare's hand curl into a fist on the armrest. Remaining in her seat, she matched the intensity of Maria's accusation with icy composure.
"I'll send for the medicine, if that will ease your conscience, caretaker. I understand this is an undesirable turn of events, and you are acting to the best of your ability with the information you have. It is only natural to wish to preserve a life, especially when it is of value to you. But I would advise you to consider the facts, and disentangle them from your personal feelings. My thoughts are of everyone this situation affects. Who are you making this decision for, Maria-san?" Maria pulled her arm from Sakata's grip, and he gave a murmur of protest but did not follow as she stormed away to the bed.
Stepping closer to the chair, Suemitsu asked, "Did you mean it? About requesting the vaccine?" Homare sent him a scathing look and pushed herself off the cushion. She glanced at Sakata and then to the bed before turning back to him.
"Of course, I did."
"What's going on?"
Suemitsu gingerly turned over the hand cradled in his, face impassive. The mottled skin around the joints held together, although he noted the way it tightened, threatening to tear and bleed as he carefully manipulated each fingertip towards the palm. The new elixir was working on the tissue marginally faster than the rot. It was a small improvement from the batch produced three months ago that could do no more than repair damaged organs at the same rate as decay, but after years of meticulous research and a lengthening chain of failed trials, such progress was ground-breaking. In another two months, he mused, he might even be able to remove the bandages.
"The caretaker's assistant is dying. Matsumoto-san." There wasn't a good time to share this information, and he didn't really want to be the one sharing it. On the other hand, things might play out worse if the Commander was kept in the dark until Matsumoto died. Deciding to stick with simplicity, he continued, "She's been over-exposed to coal tars." He set down the bony limb and plucked the fresh roll of gauze from its packet beside him, pulling at the end corners. "I expect she'll pass on before noon."
It was terrible news, but he couldn't bring himself to feel anything more than a muted sadness for the woman he spoke of. Matsumoto had been kind and helpful the few times she was around—nervous, too, he thought. By no means did she deserve to have her life come to this end; but there were seldom few who did. In his profession, he met many who ran into the same bad luck as her, and the results were often the same. The familiarity didn't make it any easier to accept, but he found that believing that this was the natural course of life made the outcome more digestible at the end of the day. Life and death must go hand-in-hand.
"I don't understand…how this could happen. We spoke yesterday… Has she done this to herself?" Suemitsu paused a moment in consideration before he picked up the naked limb.
"You think she exposed herself intentionally?" His voiced laced with curiosity, he glanced into the green eyes of the bed-ridden demon king. There was that light again, vibrant though his body was withering. Fingers unwinding the spool, he began to wrap his arm with a practiced efficiency.
"I believe the consensus is that what happened was an accident. I don't think anyone has acted with ill-will against Matsumoto-san, if that is what you're suggesting. But I cannot say if it is her own doing, either. It's an awfully way to go." The man before him took hold of his forearm in a weak grip, stilling his hands.
"Will you speak to Matsumoto-san for me? Ask her—"
"I beg your pardon if I was not clear in my earlier phrasing, sir, but she cannot speak. She is unconscious and will remain so until…" He didn't need to finish. "I'm sorry."
There was nothing he could do to assuage the frustration in those emerald eyes. The ailing assistant had inspired some unwarranted fascination in the Commander that neither he nor anyone else on the premises could explain, that the demon himself was uninterested in talking about.
At first, Suemitsu had carried suspicions that there was something special about the young woman, something of value she could provide to their organization that she was being discreetly scouted for. Now he leaned in the opposite direction. Matsumoto-san was average, dare he say, boring and unassuming. And yet, there had been the destruction in the guest hall while she was secluded with the Commander, an event for which they still had no suspect or motive. Today she was covered in coal tar shed—but had never given any indication that she possessed the sight. It was as if something was happening around Matsumoto-san. He supposed it was a bit of a mystery. Maybe that's what drew the Commander's attention? Yet it all seemed so insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
Removing the man's hand from his arm with ease, he finished wrapping in silence. As he smoothed the gauze over each knobby knuckle, he asked, "Can you move comfortably?" Curling the digits into a half-hearted fist, his patient nodded.
"Suemitsu-san." He lifted his head. "Will you do something for me?"
This wasn't a normal request, or he would have just asked. His wordless response an open invitation to speak, he folded his hands in his lap and listened.
"Give Matsumoto-san the elixir."
That was not what he was expecting.
For the first time since the start of their conversation, his tone lost its evenness and he felt his forehead crease. "Sir, I cannot—this elixir was developed for you. You're aware of the potential impact on humans… Even if I were to administer it, the chances of her surviving are miniscule. Most of the test subjects—"
"I understand." He felt his shoulders droop with relief. "It will put an end to…her suffering, in one form or another."
"Er…" Shaking his head as if doing so would rid him of every additional concern that cropped up, he tried again. "I think this is a matter that should be discussed with everyone. Homare-san especially—" The Commander was nodding: a barely perceptible tipping of his chin.
Yes, Homare-san will talk him out of it. He listens to her. Sometimes.
"Then, I will call for her." He stood and hurried to the door, giving instruction to the man standing on the other side who eyed him with a trace of concern. It was true that he was talking a little too fast, his gesticulations more animated than usual. Despite these irregularities, the guard departed on his errand without a fuss and only one half-look over his shoulder.
When Suemitsu returned to the bedside, the Commander was staring out the window at the grey scenery beyond the porch. He still needed his legs wrapped. It would only take a few minutes for Homare to come stomping in, no doubt, and make his job all the more difficult.
"It's very considerate of you to want to help Matsumoto-san." He began to burrow through his box of supplies, looking for the longer rolls of gauze. "I'm sure she would appreciate your concern."
Even he had considered that the elixir might be an option, until common sense changed his mind a half-second after the thought. This wasn't a controlled environment; it was a house. He hadn't arrived with the intention of performing experiments, losing the trust of the owners, or potentially creating a mess if Matsumoto passed into a state of undeath.
Setting several packages aside, he tilted his head towards his distracted charge, hoping to get his attention. "I'm going to wrap your legs now, sir. Is that all right?" A thoughtful hum, and those otherworldly eyes finally swivelled back in his direction.
"I want to help her, Suemitsu-san. We have the means to." He twisted his neck further to emphasize the tubes of fluorescent liquid draped on the pillow above his shoulder.
Someone knocked sharply on the door, and Suemitsu startled.
The Commander settled back in his pillows, closing his eyes part-way. "Tell me why we should not."
The room was awash in warm colors with all the lights that had been switched on. Deep autumn reds, oranges, and faded greens blurred together overhead, easy on the eyes. Her eyes were burning.
Mineko blinked slowly.
There was something on her face. No, it was in her mouth.
Can't speak. Can't… Hurts. It hurts! She tried to move her arms, and a new set of colors came into view with a series of muffled noises. Hurts!
How to communicate when she could not form words or make a sound, could barely lift her fingers? How could she ease the pain tearing apart her insides?
Something between a cough and a gag broke her silence and her eyes darted wildly, trying to focus on her surroundings, hone in on something other than the agony that was stealing her breath.
A firmness closed around her left hand, squeezing tight, and she attempted to reciprocate, letting out a choked moan when her rigid limbs refused to obey.
Stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it!
But the figures only hovered around her and made their unintelligible sounds, every so often repositioning some part of her or coming close to her face.
Unable to do anything, she waited, silently begging whatever gods or spirits there might be to steal her consciousness away.
