A/N: How has it only been like 2.5 months since the last update? Feels like a year.
Have fun!
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ZWEIUNDACHTZIG
TIMELINE X+N+1
Kisuke wearily trudged into the surveillance room and dropped into a chair.
Rin eyed him uneasily and let him breathe for a minute before speaking. "Um, sir? I... I know you had me working on the other thing, but I had to come in here when the alarms... Sorry."
"That's fine," Kisuke said.
Rin bit his lip, then ventured, "I... don't know what happened upstairs, but... the sensors... the ones inside the wards, I mean..."
"Fried?" Kisuke deadpanned as he listlessly called up sensor data on his own screen.
"Yes, sir," Rin replied. "I... can understand why. From how that felt from here. Had the sensors been one to two hundred meters away, they would have been fine. But the close proximity..." He sighed and shook his head in dismay. "Hmmmmm. But if you had them farther away, the wards on the property would block reception."
Kisuke sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose, pressing on his closed eyes as he tried to stave off a headache. "I may have to ward a radius of a couple city blocks next time," he muttered. "Buy myself time to… adjust."
"Next time? Sir," Rin asked with a frown.
Kisuke laughed weakly and waved him off. "Don't worry about it, don't worry about it," he sang halfheartedly. They had chosen to avoid telling Rin about the time shenanigans so he wouldn't slip and tell Kurotsuchi. Either of them. Kisuke had assigned him a task in another room in addition to turning off the screens that displayed video of the dining room so Rin wouldn't accidentally see the flashes of movement from viewing the timestop from the outside.
And Kisuke had gone and slipped. Only slightly, but it brought him back to himself a bit. Focus. Focus. Right.
"You can go back to the other thing now," Kisuke said, dismissal polite but clear.
He set what video and sensor data had been acquired before the power spike to play on a loop and brooded over it, watching dispassionately while leaning on his elbow and tapping his fingers on his face. Nebulous thoughts drifted through his mind like gossamer threads on a breeze; Benihime would help him try to make something of them later. What a mess. What a fascinating, disturbing, hopeful mess.
Hopeful instead of hopeless was a refreshing change of pace, at least.
Still. Why hadn't he spent this entire godforsaken timeline investigating the possibility of memory transference?
Because you thought other options would be adequate, Benihime said. Then you were understandably occupied with escalating damage control.
Kisuke sighed deeply, rubbed his eyes, and gazed up at the ceiling in thought as he shuffled priorities again. Which were the most important? The most secret? Which could be delegated? What needed cover stories to be told to who? Who was best to deliver them? Where was truth the best option? What should be saved for next time?
Kisuke really really really didn't want to mess with painstakingly adapting the sensors he had hardened for use around his incomplete Hōgyoku back in the day so that shielding sensors didn't interfere with readings, but it looked necessary. He had hoped to avoid sinking the time to do such a thing. It wasn't something he could delegate in its entirety, though Tessai could help.
Time. Ha.
Kisuke wondered if Homura hated the paradox of not having enough goddamn time despite time manipulation.
Anyway. Would there be lasting effects on any of the three who had been in the... resonance? How long would it take to debrief Ichigo, assuming he allowed himself to be debriefed? When would that happen? What should he tinker with first? What did he have time to tinker with before Ichigo was ready? What the hell had happened when those two's powers went wild? How did it happen?
There had been two moments when Kisuke felt something near fear: When Ichigo's face went slack, eyes staring blankly into nothingness as reflections of the girls' pink and purple light danced in them; and the shell-shocked paranoia that had Ichigo jumping like a startled bird at Orihime's familiar power. Ichigo's facial expression was nearly identical to the one he had worn the night Kūgo Ginjō stole his Fullbring and left him powerless once more. Ichigo crying was something that disturbed Kisuke on a deep, unsettling level.
"It was like I was there. In the ruins. In the rain. With the girls. And the gun. I couldn't stop it."
Kisuke had known that Homura was downplaying her trauma– especially from that briefly-mentioned incident– but had been too goddamn busy to put the thought the problem deserved into helping her with that. The Kurosaki family was helping immensely, but perhaps it needed to be a more organized effort. Something to consider.
And that wasn't even considering that if Ichigo had seen what had happened, there was a chance that Kaname had, too.
A monumentally powerful empath, a monumentally traumatized magical girl, and an Ichigo Kurosaki walk into a bar...
Benihime snorted. Chaos ensued.
Chaos ensued was the theme of Kisuke's life, it seemed.
Kisuke was admittedly not very good at handling other people's emotions and traumas beyond manipulating them. Given the task of resolving them, he was largely adrift except for pushing people to address things themselves. He had boxed himself off to a significant extent when he was in Second Division and though he had come a long way since, he still had one foot in that coffin– and it was the foot that supported him the most when things got bad. Now he had to account for trauma more gently. He had known it on an intellectual level, but somehow Ichigo's tears upon witnessing Homura's memories had driven it home in a way nothing else had quite managed. He had to figure this out as more than just a puzzle.
He would need to convince his next self to do the same. That might be... difficult.
Wait. A copy of Karin's video of Junko lecturing him might be very useful, there. With a bonus warning to take the woman seriously.
"I fail to see the humor in this, Kisuke."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You just sound so much like someone else who has lectured me on that in the past. It caught me by surprise."
"That implies you don't learn, Kisuke. I suggest you correct that."
Yeah. That would be useful.
Persistent beeping interrupted his thoughts. A glance showed that someone was calling the shop phone. Whoever it was, they were masking their number and very stubborn. Kisuke stared at the notification for a solid five minutes before idly picking it up, wondering what delightful surprise was on the other end. "High Spirits. We're a bit busy right now."
"Of course you are," a young male voice drawled. "That's exactly why I'm calling. What did you heroes do up here?"
Familiar. Hm. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, young man," Kisuke drawled in return, voice a threatening simper. "With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"
"Tch. All that mess and you didn't even bother to remember me?"
Egotistical brat.
Ohhh.
Kisuke smirked and waited until the voice huffed, "Yukio Hans Vorarlberna!"
The Fullbringer who had been part of and bankrolled the plot to cultivate then steal Ichigo's Fullbring last year. Smug tech-savvy teenage prodigy obsessed with video games to the extent that his Fullbring used a handheld game console as a focus. Vengeful little snot who had stolen all his father's money and ruined his business, then gloated about how happy he had been when he saw news of the man's suicide.
Kisuke did have to admire the finesse of the revenge even if he did think it was excessive. Excess made sense for a then-thirteen-year-old with the poor impulse control of a child with a gaming winner-take-all mentality and a mountain of resentment, but still. The kid sure knew his finance technicalities and hacking and had covered his tracks skilfully. But his revenge had ruined the finances and careers of all his father's company's employees, which was a step too far for Kisuke. These days, anyway; he favored precision strikes with limited collateral damage now. The little monster had a very narrow view of the world and his actions showed lack of concern for any consequences that didn't directly affect him.
Kisuke was glad the brat got spanked in battle by Hitsugaya. It had probably been a blow to his ego coming from someone who looked his age. Especially because Hitsugaya had turned that ego back on him in a simple mind-game that made him look like an idiot.
Kisuke wished he had been able to see that. The incident report Hitsugaya had written had been a delightful read.
Anyway.
"...Who?"
"The Fullbringer! From Xcution! Got one over on your designated hero?"
"You are treading on thin ice, my dear Yuuuuu-ki," Kisuke sang softly.
"You're showing thin skin, Looooser-hara."
Kisuke was not allowed to string up living teenagers to play puppet no matter how much they earned it.
Pity, murmured Benihime mental voice dripping with disappointment.
Well, Kisuke had been a smartass little shit back in his day, too. Didn't know how he didn't get strangled by someone in the Shihoin clan for it. Two could play the snarky smartass game. He just had to be careful about it.
"Why are you here and what really wiped Asunaro off the map?" Yukio droned.
Charming.
"First: Here? Second: You don't strike me as the sort to care."
Kisuke had kept track of the brat after the Xcution debacle, of course. The boy had used the fortune he pilfered from his father to found his own entertainment and gaming company, Y. Hans Enterprise. But last time Kisuke checked– three weeks ago when glancing around to see if setting up shop would step on any toes– the Fullbringer didn't have offices in or near Mitakihara or Asunaro. Sendai, yes, but not Mitakihara or Asunaro.
"I came down from Sendai to look sad about a subcontractor's HQ being erased and donate relief supplies for the cameras, then assess fire damage at a distribution center," Yukio explained grumpily. "And wooouldn't you know? The whole map is spiritually nuked and the flashiest wards around are at an address registered to you. And you erased your existence from decades' worth of Karakura records. And inserted a lifetime of records for residence and business in Tokyo. Among other things. Assembled players and changed your entire party's stats. Who are you trying to trick?"
"Oh, my, you really do your research," Kisuke cooed.
"The wards you have up are weirder than your Karakura wards, not to mention you being away from Karakura at all," Yukio continued. "What are you warding against?"
"Perhaps I felt like a change of scenery," Kisuke said breezily. Internally, he noted that if Yukio had spotted his wards, he needed to plan a way for the shinigami to "react" to them upon cleanup. Actually, he had better tell Twelfth to pause the pending mission.
...Wait. How close had the brat gotten to their location to pick up their wards in detail?
Yay! More calculations to be run! More notes about next time's security systems to make! Always a joy!
Yukio suspiciously asked, "Who are you hiding from and what are you shinigami doing that blew up an entire city?"
Kisuke raised a brow as he typed a message to Akon. "Oh, my. You think I did this?"
"I think you backed a team of noobs that treated a stealth game as a hack-and-slash and tried to brute force everything with no strategy."
Kisuke scowled.
"So is it over or is the final boss hanging around waiting to cost me even more money?"
"Well now, that depends on your view of when the game ends, doesn't it?" Kisuke trilled cheerfully.
"Was this a win or a Game Over?" Yukio asked.
"Also depends. Though if it wasn't a win it obviously would be Continue instead of Game Over, since we're alive to have this conversation. In that way, it was a win."
"What, you? Moving goal posts to start a new game on Easy Mode after a Bad End?" Yukio snarked. "Surprising."
Kisuke opened his mouth to retort, then paused. "Are you... interested in playing a new game on Hard Mode?" he asked coyly.
"Depends," the brat retorted. "Am I going to be forced on an escort mission?"
"Do you have subcontractor operations in Mitakihara?" Kisuke asked lightly.
"Obviously. What multinational tech firm doesn't?"
"What if I told you that we expect the next raid to happen in Mitakihara on May first?"
Doubtful silence, followed by a dry, "Got a crystal ball in that magic shop, you swindler shinigami?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," Kisuke said innocently. "And you have some nerve calling anyone a swindler."
"You call it swindling. I call it winning."
"You have a warped definition of winning."
"The smoking crater where my subcontractor's HQ used to be says you do, too."
Touché.
Kisuke leaned to one side and propped his chin on his fist. "Why reach out to me? Why bother?"
"I'd rather not attend more employee funerals than I have to," Yukio drawled callously.
Bullshit. But Kisuke would let it be for now. "Are you offering your assistance?"
"Are you looking for assistance?"
He went silent for a long minute as he considered his options. The brat's technical expertise could be useful. Having a griefer in his party might also be useful if he could be aimed exclusively at enemies. And kept faaar awaaay from anyone with the surname Kurosaki. Well, any non-Ichigo Kurosaki.
Kisuke didn't think he would ever understand Ichigo's sheer capacity to forgive. He would have tried to beat some of it out of the boy as a fatal weakness if it wasn't so bizarrely effective at turning powerful enemies into powerful allies. Kisuke just decided to let Ichigo do his thing and exploit the fruits of that forgiveness, quietly bearing what should be Ichigo's grudges and tracking the debts of the forgiven for him.
Yukio was also the sort to keep such a ledger, given his revenge and his background in finance. Perhaps an extra year of life experience had made him aware of the debt he owed for not paying for his treachery with his life.
He was probably also the type to loathe being in debt to someone. Hm.
...And if that was true, Kisuke might be able to leverage that debt over and over in every timeline for different things.
Within his Inner World, Benihime shivered mid-step with a thrill of anticipation.
Kisuke debated internally for a moment before venturing, "I might have some use for a tech-savvy NPC who provides information to the party. The Shinigami Research and Development Institute is rather busy and not well-versed in human media and internet communication and culture."
"Oh-ho~?" Yukio said airily.
Kisuke could almost see the kid sit straighter in his chair, almost see his chin rise in arrogance.
Benihime hummed and stroked a thread in in a small tapestry in the section of their textile store that was dedicated to the looms of the begrudged. Plucked it with a musical twang; played ego. Slid to resentment and stroked it into a low thrum.
"Quite," Kisuke chirped. "It is rather inconvenient. I do need to collect information, but I have much more... dire things to be doing to prepare Ichigo for the raid."
A crimson fingernail moved over several threads and picked at debt, then injured pride.
You owe Ichigo, you owe him, you OWE him, you owe HIM, YOU OWE HIM–
"What kind of information?" Yukio asked stiffly.
Kisuke leaned forward and steepled his fingers, a plan slotting together like a jigsaw puzzle. "In-depth curation and transcription of disaster coverage. Collection of data from human law enforcement, government, and military communications about everything Asunaro. Everything available about whatever buildings and occupants were at the epicenter– records both public and private. A deep dive into internet forums and conspiracy theories regarding Asunaro. Nothing is too outlandish."
A long pause of silence stretched between them as Yukio undoubtedly ran his own calculations.
"And what would you expect your helpful NPC to do with this information?"
"Turn it over in its entirety, with or without rudimentary organization," Kisuke answered immediately. "I know exactly what I want to look for. Collecting the raw data and sifting out excessive repetition is what I do not have time for."
"And you don't trust me enough to tell me what to look for," Yukio drawled.
"Precisely!" Kisuke sang. "Just like you don't trust me enough to stroll through my front door~!" He didn't bother hiding the sweet poison in his voice. The brat understood they were both playing a game. "But also, I don't want to give you a reason to unconsciously dismiss something that may end up relevant after all."
"Oh? Has that happened recently?" Yukio asked lowly.
Fuck.
...Admitting it could actually work to Kisuke's advantage, though. Feed that drive to be superior.
"Oh, no, critical hit~" he lilted softly.
"I'll send direct contact information to Kurosaki," Yukio said smugly before disconnecting the call.
Just in case Kisuke was lying about Ichigo's involvement. To make trouble if he was lying about Ichigo's involvement. Smartass.
Kisuke heaved a gusty sigh and threw himself back in his chair, then wheeled himself around the room while spinning in circles as though recalculating his route in some internal GPS.
It was a risk. A big risk. But with so many other human allies busy or upset, delegating this task could be a major relief. If he got good intel, maybe he could push the Fullbringer into taking on the Sōju-tracking that Isshin was probably going to be way too busy teenager-wrangling to continue.
He needed to talk to Ichigo and give him a heads-up.
§ x § x §
It turned out Sayaka wasn't a very good Mario Kart driver when her brain was broken and reassembling itself. Kyōko was mostly staying on the track– mostly– but Sayaka kept veering off into walls or nothingness whenever she had another thought. And she was having a lot of jumbled thoughts.
Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo went the little thing that dragged her stupid kart back onto the track. Over and over and over.
How many times had they not believed Homura?
"This is... not the first time I have met you."
Really. How many times?
"I am no longer certain. I lost count in the forties."
"People rarely believe what I say and do not heed my warnings."
How many times had they not believed her?
Sayaka looked back on all the serious talks with Homura that she had been around for and internally cringed so hard she thought she would implode.
How many times had they not believed her?
"I am aware of how unbelievable this must sound. So if you are willing to do an experiment, I would like to prove my claim before I move on. As a show of good faith."
Prove her claim. Show of good faith. Experiment on her.
Madoka looked down at the Soul Gem in her hands. "You— you just gave me your soul?!"
Homura couldn't hide the tremble of her hand as she put it back on her lap.
Homura had been afraid. And handed her soul over to them anyway.
"I will collapse and stop breathing."
How many times had they not believed her? How desperate had Homura been to convince them? How desperate had they made her?
"If word of Homura's powers was to spread," Mr. Hitsugaya had said with a really intense look on his face– protective. "There may be those who would be... tempted. To take her. To experiment on her. To weaponize her. To kill her."
Yet even though she had been scared, Homura had trusted them enough to perform a dangerous experiment on herself that really gave them absolute power over her. And she eventually told them about the time stuff. Late, but that she did at all was suddenly humbling.
How many times had they not believed her? How dare they not believe her until now?
Crash. Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo. Your hands shaking in anger wasn't a good thing for driving. That was something she should remember when she grew up. If she ever did.
"You must witness it to understand. I have explained to... other girls, and they did not truly believe me."
Other girls.
Them.
Sayaka herself.
Crash. Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo.
How many times had they not believed her?
Homura looked up at them with sudden ferocity. "To accept a magical girl contract is to sell your soul and sign your death warrant. Do not do it."
A vision of Homura's temporarily dead body flashed in her mind's eye, seared into her memory. Dull, unblinking eyes and the unnatural stillness of the absence of breath, made all the more unnerving by how the girl had been staring at her intensely before her face went slack and her body crumpled to the floor.
How many times had they not believed her, that she would resort to something so drastic?
"I have seen magical girls fall myself. My... friends."
"I am the only survivor of my original team of five."
Friends. Original team of five. Only survivor.
Us us us us Madoka Mami Kyōko– Sayaka herself.
Crash. Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo.
"Girls who have already contracted don't believe me when I tell them. They don't want to believe me because it's too late for them. That's why I've taken the time to explain this to you." Her face went hard but her eyes were desperate. "Please, don't contract and become magical girls!"
How many times had they not believed her? Not taken her advice?
"I know of a girl whose entire family ended up dead because of her wish intended to help them."
Sayaka glanced at Kyōko and immediately cut her eyes away, ill.
Oh. And the don't-take-her-boots incident.
"That's very thoughtful of you," Madoka had complimented Homura. "I never would have considered that. It's almost like you know her."
"This is not the first time I have encountered a homeless magical girl."
Homura did know Kyōko. And all of the cascading fallout of her wish. Where it led her. What little things she clung to.
"It doesn't matter how well you think you know what you want— or what you think someone else wants."
Sayaka took a deep breath and thought of Kyōsuke. Her hands trembled on the game controller. Her kart veered off the course again. Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo.
"It almost always goes bad somehow. I—" Homura paused and looked between them with a wretched face. "I— don't want to watch you fall. Either of you. So please: Don't contract."
How many times had she really watched them actually fall?
How many times had they not believed her?!
How many times had they ignored her warnings and gotten themselves killed– or worse?
Crash. Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo.
"I did not know any of this before I contracted. I was tricked. I found out bit by bit afterward."
"Oh. If you had known, would you have done it?"
The magical girl had stared at her. Sayaka hadn't gotten it at the time, but it was a thousand-yard stare of... grief? "There were... extraordinary circumstances for me. My hand would have been forced. So given that specific set of circumstances... possibly."
"My wish... was intended to protect a girl who had already contracted."
Which of them?
...Wait. What with the way Homura had lost it at the table... the way she tended to listen to her when upset... probably Madoka.
"I believe Homura," Madoka had stubbornly repeated after that first-not-really-the-first talk.
Had Madoka been the only one of them to believe before this? Wait, but if... if Madoka... died every time, did she contract anyway? Why?!
Sayaka wasn't sure she really wanted to know what had happened there. But–
"My wish... was intended to protect a girl who had already contracted."
"And how did that work out?" Sayaka's damn fool mouth had asked Homura. "Did it get someone killed like that other girl's wish?"
The now-obvious answer seemed to be yes. All of them. Dozens of times over.
Crash. Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo.
Sayaka had never hated herself more than at this very moment. How Homura hadn't throttled her right then and there was a mystery. She would've deserved it. Dozens of times over.
She remembered how Homura had tilted her head slowly, eyes flinty. "I am unsure whether the Incubator is capable of telling direct lies. Just do not automatically believe everything it tells you."
"But we should believe everything you've told us?" Sayaka had sassed back.
HOW MANY TIMES HAD THEY NOT BELIEVED HER? HOW DID SHE KEEP FROM RAGING AT THEM FOR BEING SO STUPID?
Sayaka thought of the night– just a few days ago– the night Homura wrenched her up by her hair and glared into her soul with violet fire in her eyes as she snarled, "You will hide with that body and not say a word to any other Incubator terminal that shows up or I will make you regret your entire existence."
Oh.
Crash. Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo.
She was stupid. So stupid.
"I... like... you. I do not want to see you sell your soul and trap yourself in that contract. Either of you."
"You did not tell me in this timeline about your vow to not attend the symphony until Kyōsuke Kamijō could return to the stage. Other iterations of you confessed it in a handful of timelines."
It suddenly occurred to Sayaka that "Stranger Danger" might be a really cruel nickname.
Crash. Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo.
"In the vast majority of the timelines in which you contracted, your wish was to heal his hand."
"Did— did you help Kyōsuke?!"
"For your sake. To keep you from contracting. I am so... tired... of seeing you die."
"It would give me greater peace of mind to know you are safely sitting at the café. If you were to be injured because I made a single mistake... I could not bear it."
How many times had Sayaka contracted and died? She wanted to go back in time and slap every one of her... other selves? Was that a thing?
But really. How many times had she died?
It was a question her mind had been flirting with asking and skittering away from for... how long had they been playing this game? Had either of them even won the race? Had Kyōko set it to just drive endless loo–
...
Oh.
Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo.
Sayaka didn't ask Kyōko. Kept her mouth shut. Kept driving.
Like Homura did.
Thought more.
"We had seen another magical girl's Soul Gem turn black and were drawn into her labyrinth. My... friend— our leader— put all the pieces together during the fight and killed another of the girls we were with as soon as the labyrinth was gone. Then she tried to kill me."
Which of them? Which of them?
"That girl was... a good leader. A good teacher. She was a veteran when I contracted and she taught me a great deal. But the truth broke her. "
A veteran had to be Kyōko or Mami. And Kyōko didn't really strike her as the leader/teacher type.
...Wait.
"Unless Tomoe learns the truth and does not snap, I absolutely do not want her at my back."
"She doesn't want to be here if Tomoe reacts badly," Hitsugaya had said when they were about to... put Mami's soul back in her body. "She's seen it too many times before."
She's seen it too many times before.
Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo.
Mami's face tensed in offense. "What makes you think I'll react like those other girls? I'm not them!"
Homura stared at her, face disturbingly devoid of emotion and eyes far away for a minute before she pursed her lips, then frowned. She did not answer.
"You don't know me!" Mami added hotly.
Sayaka glanced at where Mami was cuddling with Hitsugaya's aunt. The veteran looked deeply shaken and haunted. Had she come to the same conclusion?
Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo. Oh, she hadn't been watching the screen. How long had she been staring?
"Another friend reacted quickly and killed her to save me. But she turned into a Witch a couple weeks later."
Who turned into a Witch? Who did Mami kill? Who saved Homura, then turned into a Witch herself?
Did it happen different ways different times?
Which one had she been? What had she done?
A vivid and horribly trivial image flashed in her mind: the part in the Sailor Moon manga where Chibi-Usa stole her mother's magical crystal– basically a Soul Gem– on a dare to prove she had power herself, got her family and entire planet rendered comatose by the villain, was tricked into becoming the evil Black Lady– "You have shown me the darkness in your heart; I can help you realize your unknown potential; I can make your wishes come true"– and doing things that eventually led to Sailor Pluto, her closest friend, using Time Stop and dying because she had been such a stupid stupid stupid little girl who didn't understand that the grownups had been trying to protect her out of love.
How many times had she been too stupid to understand that?
"Have you... tried to talk girls like us out of this before?"
Homura's face went utterly blank as she stared at Sayaka. "Yes."
"Did... they listen to you?"
"Rarely, if ever," Homura immediately replied, her face creepily intense.
Madoka hesitantly asked, "What... happened to them?"
Homura's grave face turned to her. "Dead or Witches. All of them."
All of them.
Had she been all of the different kinds of deaths, at different times?
How many times? How many times had they not believed Homura?
Crash. Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo.
"Homura had to— had to attack me to help me. I— I was like a rabid dog. I was gonna kill— She had to— she had to— put me out of my— She didn't want to h-hurt me. I know 'cause I remember her fa-ace. Sh-she was crying."
Tears spilled from her eyes just as they had at that horrible meeting.
"Psssh. I bet they wouldn't even react if I just dropped off the face of the planet or died or something."
"You are wrong."
How many times had she died in horrible ways and how many times had Homura seen it?
How many times had Homura been forced to hold the gun that did it?
How many times had Homura seen how her parents reacted after she died?
Crash. Literally right after her kart got put back on the track. Straight off the track, back again, drip-drop tears, crash.
Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo.
Like Homura kept doing.
Crash.
Wee-oo-wee-oo-wee-oo.
Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and o–
§ x § x §
When Madoka... woke... again, she was still in the dark place that smelled of roses. The stars looked... either bigger or closer but definitely brighter and sharper than before. Maybe her vision had been blurry earlier? She had been even sleepier last time, so maybe. There were some pretty, fluffy, glowing white clouds here and there now. They gave everything faint light.
She wasn't really laying down anymore. This time she was propped up into a reclining position, curled in something almost cup-shaped. It felt like... velvet, maybe? Something felt odd, though; she shifted in her seat and heard a strange sound– somewhere between tiny tinkle-tinkle and click-clack. She glanced down and saw that the cup-shaped seat was also full of multicolored... marbles? Wait, they weren't spheres like marbles. Huh. They were varying sizes and glowed to varying degrees of brightness. A lot of them were very dark, though. Curious, she picked up a large, nearly black one to look at.
"Then would you... go back and save stupid me before I get tricked by Kyubey?"
Something lightly swatted her hand. "No, not that one," a childlike voice chimed. "Not yet." And the thing was snatched from her hand.
Madoka sleepily blinked at at her empty hand. Okay. She reached for a light one this time, brought it up to where she could see it better. It was a colorless glass bead. Oh, like the sparkly glass things florists used to weigh down vases– ummm... where had she... oh, yeah, like the bouquet Papa gave Mama on their anniversary. She rolled it in her fingers and was surprised to find it kinda squishy. She cupped one hand and put the bead in its palm. The way the bead glowed and sparkled in the starcloudshine reminded her of... something. She brought it up to her face.
She followed Papa out into the garden to watch him. Papa was very tall. He let Madoka hold the bowl of little tomatoes he picked! Madoka watched him water the garden and leeeaned over the edge of the brick wall to look at the pretty red and orange flowers at the bottom.
She loved watching the way the water bounced and made sparkly little jiggly blobs on their leaves. She and Papa played the game where they tried to get Madoka to say the name right. It was hard. Nasserums. Nastyrums. Nastarums. Nastashuns.
Nasturtiums.
"See how the sunlight makes the water sparkly and white in some parts?
"Uh-huhhh."
"Clouds are made of teeeeeny-tiny drops of water. When the sun shines on them, they turn white. That's why clouds are white."
"Ooooooooo. There's flowers in the clouds?!"
Papa laughed.
Madoka poked the sparkly dewdrop-like bead in her palm again. Squish, squish, just like back then. She tilted her hand and let it roll off, jiggle-jiggle, just like when disturbed nasturtium leaves shivered and bounced water off them. Plink!
She looked down at her lap again. A small hand was silhouetted in front of the glow of the florists' gems, plucking out the dark ones.
"Why are you doing that?" Madoka asked dreamily.
"You're not ready yet," the voice chided.
Madoka yawned. "Oh."
The voice that belonged to the small hand didn't tell her not to pick up any beads, so she hummed and scooped up a handful of purple and pink, some brighter or paler than others and some stuck together.
"You can call me Madoka!" Madoka said to the new girl with the–
–long, braided hair and anxious face.
–long, braided hair and smiling face.
–long, braided hair and sad face.
–long, flowing hair and pained face.
–long, flowing hair and hard face.
–long, flowing hair and cool face.
"A-ah. Mado... ka. My name is Homura Akemi."
Wait. Wait, what?
"I do not get called by my first name very much," she said, voice
–anxious.
–cheerful.
–deeply sad.
–frustrated.
–pained.
–distant. Wistful, maybe?
Reverse like a mirror, very wrong. Dizzy-sad.
"Ummm... Miss Akemi?"
"You can call me Homura," voice–
–like she was suppressing anger with dullness.
Wait, what? Why was she dreaming this?
"Please stay just as you are. Please stay just as you are. Please stay just as you are. Please stay just as you are."
Wait, what? Why was she dreaming this?
"Because you haven't learned to control these or your powers yet," the childlike voice said.
"Powers?"
"Powers," the voice repeated.
Madoka hummed doubtfully. "What are these, though?"
"Memories."
"But... they were a bunch of the same thing but... different."
"Of course they are."
"Why?"
"They overlap, of course."
"...What?"
The voice just giggled.
Madoka pouted and poured the beads out of her palms, tinkle-tinkle click-clack. She reached for some that were somehow both bright and dark.
The little hand swatted hers away again. "That's enough for now."
"Why?" Madoka asked, pout turning into a frustrated frown.
"You're not ready yet," the voice said gravely.
Madoka hummed in frustration. The voice was confusing. "Can't you explain things better?"
"Not yet~," the voice sang. "And you've been here long enough."
"Where am I?"
Another giggle. "Inside. You need to go Outside." The shadowy hand reached closer, arm silhouetted up to the elbow. It turned its hand upside down and folded all but its index finger into its palm. Bright, vivid pink light spiraled to its fingertip and turned into a new bead.
"What are you doing?" Madoka asked, suddenly sleepy again.
"Recording this as a memory," the childlike voice replied. Suddenly, flat circles of light emerged from the bottom of the new bead and multiplied in an upward spiral until it looked like a rose made of light. The petals folded up around the bead to make it more of a partially-open bud and flashed before the light disappeared and it looked like a normal rose. "Here. Take it."
Madoka hesitated, then reached out with cupped palms and accepted it. She examined it and found that the bead was barely peeking out from the center of the bud. "Why did you do this?" she asked.
"It's only fair that you get to remember some of this when you wake up," the voice said. "Just not everything, for now."
"Why not?"
"You're not ready yet."
Madoka looked up where she guessed the being's face might be. "When will I be ready?"
"Maybe next time. Maybe the time after. Maybe far away. It all depends on what happens Outside."
"...What does that mean?"
"Not yet~" the voice sang again. The hand came right up to her face and lightly tapped her nose, teasing. "You've been here long enough, sleepyhead. I hope it was a sweet dream."
Everything burst into flower petals. Even her seat. She was falling, falling, falling, floated through a misty cloud–
§ x § x §
Small hands held a pale blue dewdrop-bead up to be backlit by the glowing clouds and looked through it to see the tiny sliver suspended within. The being hummed, wrapped the bead in a rosebud, and buried it in the earth for safekeeping.
§ x § x §
Madoka drowsily opened her eyes again. This time she was in... a bed, but not her own bedroom. Fingers carding her bangs again. Nice. Felt a bit like she was underwater, drifty. Temples throbbing. Ouch.
"Madoka, baby?" Mama.
"Oh, thank God." Papa.
Both scared. Crying voices.
"Ma-do-ka Ma-do-ka!" Tatsuya. Warm weight on her abdomen. "Yay! Up, up!"
Madoka blinked slowly and looked side to side. Light stabbed her eyes. Mama and Papa were crying and holding her hands. Terror-relief-confusion-terror-relief-confusion.
Tatsuya: HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY HAP–
Someone else: Caution.
She looked toward the caution. Oh. Mr. Tsukabishi, hands held in front of him as if he was ready to catch something thrown at him. Huh.
"Madoka. Madoka. Can you hear us?" Mama asked urgently.
"Uh-huh," Madoka answered, voice thick with sleepiness.
Papa practically wilted onto the bed in relief. Mama inhaled deeply several times. Worry worry worry relief worry relief worry re–
"Miss Kaname, are you able to sit up?" Mr. Tsukabishi asked carefully.
"Think so," Madoka said, a little more awake. It was a bit hard with Mama and Papa holding her hands and Tatsuya on her, but she managed once Papa pulled Tatsuya off her. Mama and Papa sat on either side of the bed and held her. She yawned widely again and asked, "How long was I asleep?"
"Ten hours," Mr. Tsukabishi replied. "How do you feel?"
"Ummmmmmmm." She rolled her shoulders and stretched a bit. "A little dizzy? And... a headache?"
"How bad?"
Madoka closed her eyes. "Not... too bad. But my eyes hurt."
Mr. Tsukabishi hummed thoughtfully. He looked from her to her parents. "Is it all right if I use a spell to help with the headache?"
Mama and Papa looked at each other, then nodded. Madoka nodded and immediately regretted doing so. Ouch. Mr. Tsukabishi approached and held glowing green hands to her temples.
Madoka sighed. Instant relief. Well, way more tolerable.
"Do you want anything?" Mr. Tsukabishi asked as he stepped back. Madoka thought the way he looked at her was weird. He still felt like caution.
"Um... can I have something to drink? Um, please?"
"Of course." He turned to the door and lightly called, "Miss Inoue?"
Orihime peered around the door from down low, buoyantly cheerful. She smiled brightly and waved at Madoka. "Yes?!"
"Would you get some water, please?"
"Sure!"
Orihime scrambled up and hurried away, singing something to herself.
Mr. Tsukabishi was calmly silent– cautious– the entire time Orihime was gone. Just neutrally watched her parents fret over her while Tatsuya climbed around over her legs. Madoka woke up more as she reassured her parents. Kinda. She felt like she had just gotten off a boat, still thinking she was rocking on sea-legs instead of land-legs.
When Orihime returned with the water, Mr. Urahara was behind her. He looked tired and solemn as he nodded a greeting to all of them and kept his distance in the doorway while Madoka drank. She watched him; he was a muddled combination of cautious-curious-overwhelmed-hopeful.
After a bit, Mama evenly said, "You had better have an explanation for what happened earlier, Kisuke."
"I know the basics, yes, though I will need to talk with all three of them to figure out details," Mr. Urahara said with a nod toward a chair in the corner of the room. "Would you mind if I sit with you?"
"Please do," Mama said in her obviously fake pleasant voice. The one she used on Sayaka's mom and dad.
Mr. Urahara sat and propped his hands up in front of him with his cane. "First: how are you feeling, Miss Kaname?"
"Oh, um... much better," Madoka replied. She looked at Mr. Tsukabishi. "Oh! Thank you for helping with my headache!"
Mr. Tsukabishi smiled and nodded. He still felt like caution. Why?
Oh, wait. Things had gone... weird. Bright. Her eyes drifted to one of the walls as she tried to remember. There was a painting there. Huh. What had happened after... after what?
Fingers snapping drew her attention back to Mr. Urahara. He looked concerned. "Are you having trouble concentrating?"
"Ummmmm..." Madoka blinked slowly and looked at the ceiling. Concerned-edgy-cautious-loving-worried-protective-cautious-HAPPY-curious-overwhelmed-hopeful-HAPPY-cautious–
Snapping again. She looked at Mr. Urahara. He looked more concerned. "I'll take that as a yes."
Mama and Papa's worry-love spiked. Madoka squirmed uncomfortably.
"Is something... distracting you?" Mr. Urahara asked.
"Everyone is... loud," she said. Why was her voice so far away?
The lintel of the door was interesting. She floated toward it to look–
Papa patted her cheek. How was he doing that from so far away? "Sweetheart. Sweetie, come on."
"Oh," Madoka turned to look for Papa and twitched in surprise. He was right next to her. Wait, he had been holdi—was still holding her. How was she floating?
"What's loud, honey?" Mama asked. Her voice got quiet. "We can talk softer."
"Nooo, it's the..." Madoka waved her arms the best she could while being held. She couldn't find words.
"Are you sensing feelings?" Mr. Urahara asked. "Emotions?"
"Ummm... maybe?" Madoka answered.
"Your magic is still... running a bit high. Loose. Not very controlled," Mr. Urahara said patiently. "I think you're too... sleepy to try to hold it in. I think we have to help you do that so you can wake up all the way."
"Oops. Sorry." Madoka noticed his hat was gone again. That wasn't right. "Where is your hat?"
Mr. Urahara sighed and looked at Mama and Papa, whose worry-love got... louder. "Mr. and Mrs. Kaname, I think she's too out of it to make a decision. I think it would be best to present the options to you and she can change to a different option later if she wants– when she's more coherent."
Mama sighed deeply and squared her shoulders. "Lay them out."
Madoka tried to focus on what they were saying and the little things Mr. Urahara held up to show Mama and Papa. She really did. But Tatsuya scrunching the blanket in his hands was more interesting. And the texture of the bedsheets. And the way the light from two different directions– the door and a lamp– made overlapping shadows in different directions. Huh. The snapping had a rhythm–
Suddenly loud clapping, very close to her. Madoka startled and looked around. Mr. Urahara was right next to her. No, to Mama. To her. "Huh?"
"Miss Kaname, please give me your hand. Your parents want me to put something on your hand."
Oh. Madoka looked at Mama and Papa. They smiled but they didn't hide they were worried. Madoka looked down and held her hands up in front of her face. Cupped them.
The way the bead in her cupped palm glowed and sparkled in the starcloudshine remind–
CLAP-CLAP!
"Miss Kaname. Please give me your left hand."
"Why left?" she asked with totally-not-a-pout.
"Your right hand is your dominant hand. You–"
"Huhhh?"
"You use your right hand to do everything. If I put this on your left hand, it is less likely that you will knock it off," Mr. Urahara said patiently. He felt very stressed, though.
"Oh." That sounded smart.
Madoka offered him her hand. He pressed a flat black pentagon onto the back of her hand. It was squished funny, though, all the sides different lengths and the corners rounded by silver trim. Mr. Urahara started wrapping it with some kind of bandage.
"Wait," Madoka cried. "It's wrong."
Mr. Urahara went still and looked up at her. "How so?
"It's the wrong shape. And the color is wronnng."
Mr. Urahara stared more. "How so?" he repeated.
"Too many sides. And it should be sparkly."
"What color should it be?" he asked. He felt... mystified. Whirr-whirrrrrr thinky-thoughts.
"Purple."
His feel went as blank as his face, then both screamed surprise-fascination-confusion-IDEA. It made her flinch.
"Is the shape supposed to be... a diamond?" he asked.
"Uh-huh." Madoka frowned and touched her suddenly-throbbing head. "Why are you screaming?"
Mr. Urahara's face went very cold and serious and her sense of him abruptly clamped down so hard it was dizzying. Still there, but like she was on land and he was screaming underwater in a swimming pool, vague, quiet argle-blargle that she couldn't understand.
He shook his head a bit, said, "I'm terribly sorry about that," and went back to wrapping the thingy onto her hand.
The sudden "quiet" was a relief Madoka hadn't known she needed. Her entire body relaxed as she sighed. Mama and Papa relaxed with her. They both made sniffling sounds like they were trying not to cry and hugged her. Tatsuya tackled her from the front to join the hug.
Madoka looked up at Mr. Urahara. "Thank you."
He smiled lightly, but his brow was tense. "You are quite welcome. How do you feel?"
"Ummm... well," she said thoughtfully. "I have a headache. And I'm... really, really hungry," she admitted bashfully.
"Okay, we'll get you something to eat," Mr. Urahara said with a more relieved smile. Then he paused, face carefully pleasant as he suddenly watched her very closely. "Again, I'm sorry the patch was the wrong shape and color."
Madoka blinked up at him. "Huh?"
"You didn't like the shape and color. I can make a prettier one if you like. I just had to borrow this one in a hurry."
"What? Oh, no, this is fine," Madoka said with a nervous laugh. "Um, I don't... really know what I was saying." She waved her bandaged hand experimentally as she inspected it and said, "I can't even see it, so it doesn't matter anyway." She looked up at him and smiled. "I'm sorry if I was rude when I was all... sleepy-talking."
Mr. Urahara stared. And stared. And stared. Then smiled and said, "Do you feel well enough to come out to the dining room, or do you want to eat here?"
"Oh! I can go to the table!" she said as her stomach growled. Embarrassing. "I'm fine now! And I want to check on–" Madoka froze, then threw herself forward on the bed in fear and demanded, "Where is Homura?! Is she okay?!"
Mr. Urahara waved his hands to placate her and said, "She's fine, she's fine! The Kurosakis are with her. Last I heard, she slept for a long time like you did then sat up and talked with them for awhile and is doing well."
Madoka wilted in relief. "Oh. Oh. Good. That's good." She looked up and asked, totally not plaintively, "Can I see her?"
Mr. Urahara's face warmed into an indulgent smile. "I'll check in on them. You go get some... oh, my, whatever is the term for a meal at four in the morning?" He chuckled, waved at her, and was gone.
Madoka's legs were wobbly when she stood, but Mama and Papa held her steady until her balance came back. Mama sat with her in the dining room while Papa cooked her favorite foods for a solid hour.
Eating and waiting, eating and waiting.
Tinkle-tinkle, click-clack went her fork and knife as they met the plate.
§ x § x §
§ x § x §
§ x § x §
A/N: I hope everyone reading this is safe and well.