A schizophrenic parade of visions raced in his mind's eye. The intrusive memories—true or fabricated—culminated with the blaring horn of an endless train, and a flash of the haloed silhouette of the Ayanami that sat in the train car, blocking the amber sun. The choir of voices that followed was unmistakable.
"What do you wish for?"
Shinji's eyes opened, snapping him back to reality. His sense of hearing followed shortly after, and he felt just how loudly he'd been letting Track 26 play in his SDAT. But even through the music, he could not escape reality, not entirely. Ever since he'd returned from the core, things were simply not the same. He lay on his side on the small futon and let the thought ferment in his brain.
After his... peculiar experience, he could fully admit to himself that he piloted because it made others treat him kindly, it made them treat him the way he always wanted to be treated. But despite the epiphany, his life was still fraying at the edges. He'd rescued everyone from the ribbon-armed angel, but instead of praising him, everyone around him had grown more distant. Asuka would avoid him when she was home, and that in and of itself was becoming an increasingly rarer occurrence. It was only when Lieutenant Ibuki decided to have mercy on him that he learned what was going on, at least according to her: Asuka was jealous of his sync rate, as well as extremely upset at her own failure to defeat the angel. At this, Shinji reacted with anger and incredulity: how could she put her stupid combat record over everyone's lives? But after considering it briefly, he realized the depths of his hypocrisy. He had selfish reasons for doing what he did, why wouldn't others have theirs? If only he knew how to properly convey this sense of understanding to her without somehow incurring her wrath.
Surprisingly, Ayanami had been no different. He could previously pride himself on being able to talk to her, but now whenever they met in NERV HQ or at school, she'd simply looked away or find some plausible reason to excuse herself. At first he thought she felt guilty about not telling him about Toji and his status as the Fourth Child, but honestly, whatever reasoning she had was quickly becoming irrelevant. Why would she abandon him too? Wasn't she happy that he was back? Why did he have to chase after people to get them to spend some goddamn time with him?
As for Toji and Kensuke, the former's life completely ruined by Shinji's own hand, and the latter now suspicious at best and paranoid at worst. As soon as Kensuke learned that Toji had been chosen, he immediately grew jealous and resentful. He believed that Toji had joined Ayanami, Asuka and Shinji in some sort of pilot clique, and stopped interacting with them shortly after. As for Toji, Shinji didn't even know if the boy was angry at him, he'd been too much of a coward to even visit him and ask.
And then, there was Commander Ikari, and he was on a category of his own. The putrid misery that had stagnated in Shinji's heart ever since his abandonment could not be felt more viciously these latest weeks even if he tried. He wondered if he could ever forgive the man after countless betrayals. And to his great shame, even his once white hot anger had been subsumed under the weight of the business-as-usual attitude in his routine at NERV. It'd become nothing more than a dull ache, a realization that there would never be an opportunity to truly mend things with the one person that Shinji could officially consider family.
A high pitched squeal caught Shinji's attention. He removed one earbud and tried to make out the source of the sound. It was like laughter... no, more like a wail. It was definitely Misato's voice.
He swallowed in apprehension and slowly put the earbuds on the bed as if they were made of crystal. He tiptoed to the edge of the threshold and peeked into the kitchen where he saw her on her knees, crying in a way he'd never seen before. His immediate reaction was to run back to his bed and cover his head with his pillow. Yet another calamity had befallen them, and he just couldn't take it anymore. Besides, there was nothing he could do for her. He put on the earbuds again with a trembling hand and tried his best to drown out the terrible noises.
It was surreal, that she was the adult and he was a kid and yet she was the one bawling her eyes out for some reason. It had to be bad. Surely it was something out of his control, something he'd be unable to do anything about. Yet a part of him pierced through his cynicism and wondered if that ought to be enough to stop him from trying.
Throughout his life, he'd tried to help people, and it never paid off. Not Toji, nor his sister, nor Rei, nor Asuka, nor himself, no one could say they ended up better off after Shinji Ikari's meddling. Everything he touched was ruined, everyone he met would indirectly or otherwise suffer the pain of Eva—the pain of living. Misato herself had recently told him:
"You're the person you are now because you piloted the Eva. You can't reject your past or who you were."
He remembered that day well, the day he'd finally found the determination to decide his future for himself, before it was stripped away from him once more by the lure of the praise and kindness that came with piloting. To change from someone reluctant to ever commit to someone so desperate for validation that he'd go back on his word every time, it was unbearably pathetic. He stewed in the negative thoughts and his brain felt like it was being covered with thick slime. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl, as if to make the experience as excruciating as possible. He started sweating. Track 27 started playing.
When he felt the pit in his stomach grow so cold that his body curled up on its own, a thought appeared in his mind—a ray of light to save his ego from ultimate despair. It was the rest of Misato's words. She'd said, "What you need to do is think hard about what you want to become, and choose for yourself."
"What I want to become," he mouthed in silence. His breathing became erratic and shallow. His lips became a flat line and he and fought against fear as he somberly lay there, sinking in the mattress. He'd just selfishly thought about his good acts, but what about the good that others did to him? He was living under Misato's roof, after all. Her flirtatious teasing had gotten a smile out of him more than once. She'd grown dependent on him for piloting, and he on her for companionship. While he stupidly waited for the Commander to take up the civic responsibilities of being a father, she was right there at home and at work and in school when needed. She'd waited for him to return all those days inside the core, and she was there the very second he came back. For the briefest of moments after escaping from Unit-01, Shinji had felt what it was to be loved.
He inhaled and his lungs filled with life and he willed himself up, tossing the pillow away. He walked through the threshold despite his ever colder feet and only stopped once he'd reached the kitchen table.
Misato blinked through her tears in an effort to recognize who or what was now in front of her. She could not even muster the will to ask if he wanted anything, and it'd be impossible for her to talk coherently even if she wanted to. But he didn't need to be told anything. Shinji stepped forward slowly but without hesitation. He knelt in front of her and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder.
If she initially felt uncomfortable at this, she was too shocked to show it. Suddenly, the simple warmth of a friend overwhelmed her and she began sobbing loudly once more, and the bitter tears kept flowing and flowing until no more would come out. As the minutes went by, the feelings of rage and despair eventually mellowed into grief and then finally reluctant acceptance. At some point, Shinji had joined in her weeping, but neither of them questioned it. Except for their ragged breathing, silence eventually reigned in the apartment.
"Thank you," she whispered beside him, and they both rocked back and forth slightly. She felt him nod and squeeze her gently. They'd silently agreed to stay like that for a little while longer.
Shinji Ikari was just a child, and it was true that there was nothing he could say to comfort her in this moment.
But he didn't need to say anything.