Those Left Behind
Those Left Behind
established yoosu, yunjae, (slight) homin; r
supernatural/horror
6,747 words
Even if that sort of magic existed somewhere out there, it wasn't meant for him.
A Halloween Special! This is part of the shifter!verse, and is sort of a prequel to my supernatural yoosu story In The Valley Of-, so if you haven't read that this won't make much sense. It's a little rough because I wanted to get it out today, but in exchange it is quite long. Also in light of the holiday this one is... darker, lol. Much darker, to say the least. There be no happy endings here.
Yoochun once told Junsu that he’d never been found out for what he was; this was not a total lie. But it didn’t mean no one had ever known.
And behind every face is a story.
jaejoong.
Jaejoong was a child who lived in the dark. Not because he spoke to whispers in the night or saw unnatural things or was special - he was in the dark because his life was brutal, lonely, and full of many bad bad bad things. He was still so young but he knew enough to lock his door at night, against a monster not born of shadow but anger and ignorance and addition.
He came to school with wide eyes and brusies, jumping at every loud noise. Teachers and adults around him worried, but Jaejoong was so small and quiet, hiding in the dark with his secrets, no one able to see him, and he slipped right through their fingers - like a still wind, there and gone without anyone every noticing.
Jaejoong’s was a life destined for obscurity and heartbreak. He didn’t expect any less; he didn’t know any more. That, however, changed the day he found Yoochun.
The man was standing on the side of the dusty stretch of highway between Jaejoong’s house and the town. He was staring down the road, distant eyes focused on some point neither here nor there. Jaejoong walked with his head down, staring at the same lonely road but not really focused on anything until a pair of feet came into view. He looked up up up into the stranger’s face, this person who was blocking his way and shouldn’t be here, because no one was ever here.
The man looked like he was waiting for something, but Jaejoong could have told him no one was coming. The man seemed to finally notice the little boy standing at his side, and looked down down down at him.
“Hi,” he said.
Jaejoong bit his lip. He wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers.
“What are you doing out here?”
What are you doing, Jaejoong wanted to ask. He didn’t.
“Not gonna talk, huh?”
Jaejoong nodded his head.
“Hmm,” the man crouched down next to Jaejoong, so they were looking each other straight in the eye, “You live down this way? Seems an awful long way for someone your age to walk alone. Never know what you’ll meet.”
Jaejoong looked at the strangers face. He looked nice, Jaejoong thought, with a kind smile and bright eyes. Not like Jaejoong at all.
“My name’s Yoohwan, nice to meet you.” The stranger offered his hand in greeting.
Jaejoong took his hand, and took him home.
Yoochun was drawn to Jaejoong, the little boy with wide eyes and dark bruises that weren’t on his skin, from the moment he put his small hand in his. It was the same with Junsu, and why he’d watched Junsu so carefully after, because he didn’t want to repeat his mistakes.
Yoohwan lived in his room, and Jaejoong would steal food from the kitchen to feed him; no one ever noticed. He was his only friend, and every morning he would walk him half-way to school, to that same point where Jaejoong first met him, and every afternoon he would be waiting right where Jaejoong left him. The boy asked him, once, what he was waiting for.
“A change in the wind,” he’d said. Jaejoong hadn’t understood, but then again he didn’t understand a lot of things about Yoohwan. Yoohwan was his friend, but he was kind of strange.
At home Yoohwan would hide in spots around his room, but at night, when Jaejoong locked the door because of bad bad bad things and cried because he was scared or hurt, Yoohwan would come out and hold him tight while he cried.
“Shh, shh, shh,” he’d say, “someday it’ll be different.”
They built a fort under his bed, one day, and Yoohwan confessed to the boy his name wasn’t really Yoohwan.
“And this isn’t really what I look like, either. Close, but not really,” he’d said with a wink.
Jaejoong was confused.
“I’ll tell you a secret, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?”
Jaejoong nodded.
And that’s how Yoohwan became Yoochun, his only friend who could change his face to be anyone he wanted, any person he wanted, but who’s real face he would never show.
“It’s not for you to see,” he’d said, but Jaejoong didn’t mind because what he had was more than he’d ever dreamed of. Yoochun kept him from feeling lonely and protected him from bad things - the ones he knew, and even the ones he didn’t. Monster, Yoochun told him, would always be around, so he had to be careful.
Jaejoong believed him and listened to everything he had to say, because now that Jaejoong had Yoochun, Jaejoong had a reason to be more. He’d never thought he’d have anything, and now that he had something, it gave him a little light of hope, burning deep-down in his shadowy heart and attracting every bad thing in his shadowy life.
Yoochun told him to be careful, so he took to watching the shadows, took to checking in his closet and under his bed every night. Yoochun told him to protect himself, so he took the gun from the cabinet in the hall and hid it in the drawer beside his bed.
Then Yoochun left. He told Jaejoong he would, that he had to leave. Jaejoong had been sad and scared, and Yoochun had said he was sorry, but that he had to go.
“Nothing I can do, kid. The wind’s already gone and changed, and I have to keep going.”
Jaejoong cried and cried.
“Shh, shh, shh. Don’t worry. It’ll all be okay.”
Jaejoong fell asleep.
The next morning, Jaejoong woke up and Yoochun was gone and Jaejoong’s daddy was dead, but everything just might be okay.
Yoochun left and wandered for years that seemed like seconds counted on his scarred knuckles. He didn’t look back and never quite realized what he did wrong.
Yoochun left and Jaejoong was free, only not really because his daddy was dead and there was no one else to blame. No one knew the truth and Jaejoong couldn’t tell it, because he had promised Yoochun and he wouldn’t be the one to break his promise.
He was eventually shipped away, to a place where they would help troubled troubled troubled kids like him. There he met a boy named who was like him, in the dark only not.
The boys name was Jongwoon and he talked about shadows who talked back, about monsters who were everywhere and Jaejoong listened to everything he had to say, even though everyone else thought Jongwoon was crazy.
“You believe me, don’t you?” the boy whispered, digging his nails into Jaejoong’s skin.
Jaejoong nodded.
Jaejoong woke the next day and Jongwoon was dead, found in his room across the hall. They wouldn’t let Jaejoong in to see, but Jaejoong still caught a glimpse of the blood on the walls and the ceiling and seeping into the hall and knew that it wasn’t suicide like they said. So young, so tragic, tsk, tsk, tsk. He never slept in the dark again.
Jaejoong was eventually sent back to ‘the real world’ because they never could find him guilty, never find him troubled in a way they wanted. Jaejoong just wanted to live.
He grew up - a little alone, a little strange, but he kept his head down just like before and slept with the light on and he was a little okay. He went through school and made a few friends, hung out with them at lunch hour and came home to an empty house at night. He got half-decent grades and sang lead in the school choir and got a small scholarship to the local community college.
He even fell in love.
His name was Yunho, and he was the brightest thing in Jaejoong’s life; maybe, finally, some sort of happily ever after. Boy meets boy, boy loves boy - they fit, they worked, and lived together in a new house, in a little place with a garden and an awning covered in ivy. Yunho didn’t mind sleeping with the light on and didn’t care about Jaejoong’s fears; didn’t believe the rumors of Jaejoong’s past. He worked as a lawyer, honest and hardworking and moving quickly through the ranks. He worked eight hours a day, five days a week, and when he came home he would kiss Jaejoong on the cheek and hug him and tell him about every little detail of his day (and Jaejoong couldn’t tell you what he loved more).
Jaejoong got a job at a music store; the pay was so-so but he got to be around something he loved and it was quiet and calm enough to not give him any trouble. When he came home he usually had nothing interesting to tell, but would cook dinner for Yunho and hold his hand every chance he got (and he could tell you Yunho loved him just the same).
It was perfect. And then.
And then.
then then then-
hey, i’m home…yunho, what -. no.
no no
NO!
and it was stopitohmygodplease,whatareyoudoingNOpleaseyunho,iloveyoupleasejuststopstopSTOPohmygodithurtsiswearpleasejustdon’t-pleasegodstopstopstopstopnononoithurtsithurtsithurtswhywhywhy
whyareyoudoingthisiloveyou
please.ithurtsplease.
god,just.
please-
Jaejoong woke in a hospital bed with no part unhurt, no love by his side, and no reason left to live. They told him his love had tortured him, raped him, and left him for dead. They were looking for him, but so far they hadn’t found a trace of where he’d gone. Jaejoong knew they wouldn’t, ever. The shadows had gotten him, and Yunho was never coming back.
But Yoochun did, coming into his room without making a single sound, stirring a single speck of dust, or turning a single head. Yoochun sat on his bed and placed a hand on Jaejoong’s feverish forehead, “Hey, remember me?”
And Jaejoong did, and then cried cried cried, asking, when is everything supposed to be okay, Yoochun, when? Yoochun just looked at him with sad eyes, holding him-
“Shh, shh, shh, I’m sorry it turned out this way.”
Jaejoong just wanted Yoochun to make it right. He just wanted his bright something back; he wanted his love back.
“I can’t do that. There’s a demon in his body, and even I can’t make it let him go. Yunho isn’t Yunho, not anymore.”
That’s when Jaejoong stopped talking. Yoochun took care of him, pretending to be some distant relative. He nursed Jaejoong back to health and took him home to the little cottage with the garden and the ivy on the roof, but not before going and cleaning the blood stains out of the carpet first. He fed Jaejoong and held him when he cried, silent silent silent tears that sometimes never seemed to end.
He put Jaejoong to bed every night and turned out the lights, because Jaejoong never told him not to. Jaejoong was beaten, broken, every bit of what his bad life had turned him in to, and he didn’t care. Not anymore. He had an idea and knew it was wrong, but he just didn’t care. He thought, maybe, that’s what the dark did to you.
Yoochun watched him cry and wondered if that was what love was like. Jaejoong begged and begged and begged and in the end, Yoochun couldn’t deny him. He stared at the pictures and became Yunho a little more every day, letting Yunho live the life he never got to finish and letting Jaejoong touch him and hold him and love him and pretend like nothing was wrong - and sometimes Yunho(Yoochun) wondered if Jaejoong even remembered the difference.
Jaejoong recovered, slowly, never fully, but it was enough to help with basic things around the house. He cooked, and Yunho still liked his food. Neither of them worked anymore, and Jaejoong never asked how they never seemed to want for money; it just meant that Yunho was with Jaejoong all day, and that’s all Jaejoong had ever wanted anyway. Instead Yunho stayed and sat and stared out into the distance, and Jaejoong loved and lay and looked looked looked at Yunho.
It was hard, getting over what happened, but they were, they were. So what if it was Jaejoong who pulled them into those old impromptu dances, or Jaejoong who always kissed Yunho first. Life was good, life was good.
Yunho was there, and Jaejoong could always count on him to hold his hand or smile at him just so, or fill the silence even if he couldn’t bring the light. And Jaejoong loved him so so so much, loved every single inch of him - so that it was only when they made love, Yunho rocking into him slowly, carefully, as if he might break apart at any moment, that Jaejoong ever cried.
Time passed.
Jaejoong’s body was weak, his immune system wrecked, and it was without fail that every winter he would get sick, hacking coughs that wracked his too-thin frame. This winter it was particularly bad, and each breathe was more painful than the next. When he started coughing up blood he tried to hide it from Yunho, but he was bedridden and under his care and knew he couldn’t hide anything from the other, anyway.
Yunho took care of him like he always had, but it seemed no matter what he did Jaejoong never got better. He never called for a doctor, but Jaejoong didn’t mind. Yunho was here, Yunho was here, and that was all that mattered.
He repeated it like a mantra, over and over until the very last night, the very last night when snow was piled on the windowsills and all the house was dark and he was afraid. He grasped at Yunho’s hand and pulled him close, so that he could force those last few words, last few breathes out of his raw and failing lungs.
Jaejoong spoke his peace and tightened his grip.
And then he let go.
Yunho mourned Jaejoong and buried him in the little garden, so that when Spring came flowers would grow over his grave. Yunho patted the cold earth once, twice, and then Yoochun was free to wander once more.
yunho.
If Yoochun wasn’t Yunho, and Yunho wasn’t Yunho, then where did Yunho go?
Yunho was a normal guy from a normal family, who fell in love with a boy at first sight. He had always secretly believed in magic and fairytales and happily-ever-after, and Jaejoong was just the sort of boy that such stories were made of. He was strange and soft-spoken and had a bad past, but he was gorgeous and gentle and good - in all ways, but especially for Yunho. Jaejoong kept Yunho bright with life, even as Yunho kept Jaejoong’s life bright. They fit, they worked, and it really was everything Yunho had ever dreamed of.
And then-
what-
ohgodwhathappeningletmegoletmego
thedoor,ohnojaejoong,ohno-. no. no NO!
and it was
stopitohgodpleasedon’tdothisdon’tdothistohimit’snotmejaejoongiloveyouiswearit’snotmepleasestopyou’rehurtinghimgodohgodjuststopstopstopSTOPpleasejustdon’t-mygodwhat’shappeningnonoNOjaejoongitsnotmeisweariwearpleasestop
ican’tstopitican’ti’msorryi’msorry
pleaseohgodstop
iloveyou
please-
It was a nightmare, and Yunho wished he had never wanted magic, if it had anything to do with this.
Yunho was a passenger in his own body, watched as the hand that used to pry away Jaejoong from cooking and swing him around in an impromptu slow dance, watched as that hand picked up that same kitchen knife his lover once used and peeled the skin from Jaejoong’s flesh. He felt the mouth that used to kiss Jaejoong on the shoulder right above a little white scar when they lay in bed at night, felt that mouth bite down on the same lips that had once kissed back and make them bleed as he forced himself on Jaejoong. He screamed screamed screamed but no one could hear him, because he was just a fragment of a thought in the back of his own mind, and he couldn’t do anything no matter how much he tried, no matter how much he wanted to just look away.
After (not)his body had run, after (not)his body left Jaejoong for dead, after miles and miles and miles, Yunho stopped seeing the world through (not)his eyes and all was black.
That’s when the thing spoke to him, this demon that had his body and hurt Jaejoong and was doing god-knows what else. It laughed and taunted and tortured Yunho, just because it could.
hell, he sobbed, cried, moaned, this is hell please please please, what did i do to deserve this?
oh no oh no, the demon smiled, Yunho knew it even if he saw nothing at all, this isn’t even close to hell. darling, darling, i’ll show you what hell really is.
please, please, let me go, he pleaded
no can do, darling dearest. i think i like this skin. let’s have some fun, shall we?
Yunho might not have had a body of his own, but he could still feel - trapped, unable to move or see when the demon locked him away in his own mind; scared, terrified of what it might be doing with his body when he wasn’t watch; pain, when the demon decided to look inward for its fun; horrified, when he could see and still couldn’t move and could only watch helplessly as his (not)body took another victim;
-insane, slowly, slowly.
i'msorryi’msorryi’msorry
Yunho opened his eyes - his eyes - and didn’t know where he was. He was in a dusty house in the middle of nowhere and his body ached all over - but it was his body, his.
He was lying on a broken-down couch covered in a musty sheet. Everything was covered in sheets. The house was abandoned. He was confused and he hurt and he didn’t know what was happening. He stood and in walked another person, a young man not familiar and not reassuring.
“Oh, you’re awake,” the man blinked.
Yunho didn’t know how to respond. He couldn’t remember how to talk, let alone think of anything to say.
“I’m surprised you’re even standing. The exorcism took a lot out of you, you know.”
“Ex-x..?” he tried to force out of his throat. He didn’t understand.
“You were possessed, do you remember?”
Yunho remembered- fearpainhorroralonefearfearfear - and wanted to die.
“Hey now… hey,” the other man was holding him up. Yunho didn’t remember falling. “I know it’s tough, but you survived. It’s okay.”
“J-Jae..”
The man was quiet.
Yunho thrashed, fighting to coordinate his limbs but it had been too long, too long-
He was falling. Jaejoong always hated the dark, he thought, right before it went black.
Yunho woke again, in the same dusty house but staring into a very different set of eyes. Shadows, he saw in them, darkness - and he wanted to scream but a strong hand held him down.
“Shh, shh, shh, calm down.”
Yunho’s eyes rolled frantically around the room and he saw another man - the same young man as before - looking at him with pursed lips and an icepack against his face.
“Yah, calm down before you cause more trouble. Aiish, damn demon sure kept you in shape, didn’t he?”
Yunho tried to apologize, i’msorryi’msorry, but the other stopped him. “Don’t. Save your strength.”
And the other told him his name was Yoochun - that’s right, Jaejoong’s Yoochun. The man in the corner was Changmin, and he was a specialist that helped Yoochun exorcize the demon from Yunho - “damn right I did” - and that everything would be okay now.
Except it wasn’t, because Yoochun had hunted down Yunho, the demon in Yunho, on Jaejoong’s request. Jaejoong’s dying request.
And that had been forty years ago.
Yoochun didn’t mean to take so long to find Yunho, but time was always a tricky thing for Yoochun. Changmin helped for that, Changmin who could hold his own with the best of them but sometimes was all too human.
Yoochun left the house, and left Yunho in the care of Changmin.
“He tends to do that. Damn shifter, spends all this time messing with humans but makes sure he still leaves in time for us to clean up the mess. Just like him.”
Yunho asked why.
“Felt guilty, probably. Think he really loved that Jaejoong of yours… enough to stay around that long. Most of his kind would never…” And Changmin kept talking but Yunho couldn’t hear him through his tears. Changmin stopped, put a hand on his shoulder - “I’m sure he took care of your Jaejoong, though, that’s just like him” - and Yunho just nodded and cried cried cried - for Jaejoong, for all the people (not)he hurt, for himself.
Darkness fell and Yunho started shaking so Changmin, rough around the edges but a soft word and softer touch under the cover of night, went around the house and turned on all the lights. He laid Yunho out on a bed upstairs and talked to him to keep his mind from wandering too far. Yunho leaned towards Changmin and let the man’s voice wash over him, digging his fingers into the crease of the Changmin’s jeans and the sheets like it was the only thing holding him down.
Changmin indulged him, smiling softly as Yunho slowly slowly slowly dragged himself closer until Yunho had curled around him, legs twined and head against his hip and hands grasping, touching just to touch, to remember what the sensation was like. Changmin stroked a hand through his hair until Yunho let go.
It was in soft predawn light, witching hours, when Yunho lifted himself up to trace the spreading bruise under Changmin’s left eye. Yunho thought it looked like a flower, the veins underneath his skin broken but visible, dotting the grotesque bloom of purple-blue. Does it hurt? he thought, he said, he didn’t even know.
“No,” Changmin answered, “But if you keep pressing on it, it will.”
Yunho drew away his hand as if it burned, watching the bloodless white fingerprints on Changmin’s skin fade away. Oh, ohmygod, i'msorryi’msorryi’msor-
“Stop,” Changmin said, taking Yunho’s hand in his. “I understand. I really, really do.” And with his free hand the taller man undid the top buttons of his shirt, pulling it down just enough to reveal a canvas of wounds and scars and old hurts.
He lifted Yunho’s hand so that his fingers brushed along the skin beneath his collarbone. The skin was uneven and smooth, thick cords of pale scars lashed over shiny, discolored burns that fanned out over his chest.
“I’ve been in this job a long time, Yunho. There’s nothing I haven’t seen, no evil I haven’t met.”
Changmin let go of his hand and with a reverent touch Yunho walked his fingers along mottled patterns, followed the long line of a scar that disappeared under the cover of his shirt. Yunho pushed forward anyway, on on on until the fabric bunched around his wrist and was pulled around and off the curve of Changmin’s shoulder.
Changmin didn’t move as Yunho traced that scar, back and forth and back and forth, from the edge of his arm to right over his heart. Yunho imagined the wound must have been deep, must have carved through skin and muscle and maybe even touched the bone. He wondered what had made it, blade or claw or tooth, and how loud Changmin screamed when it gouged through him. He imagined how much pain Changmin must have been in, and he didn’t want to stop.
Changmin stopped him anyway, grabbing his hand and catching Yunho’s gaze with his own. Changmin held his hand and looked in his eyes like he could was seeing Yunho’s soul, and Yunho could only wonder-
Madness. Yoochun had seen the madness in Yunho’s eyes, known that it had been too long, too late, to recover anything more than twisted remains - even if Yunho didn’t know it. Changmin would take care of it, he had thought. He had thought.
They lived in the house, the abandoned house with the dust and the sheets and the lights that were always on. Changmin helped Yunho remember how to be human, and when Yunho told Changmin that, the other man smiled but didn’t say anything.
Yunho did chores around the house, small things, and Changmin worked off of his computer, doing research for his jobs as a specialist. Yunho wanted to help, and at first Changmin had agreed, and assigned Yunho a book to read on witches. Changmin was trying to find a way to break a curse on a family that lived three towns over.
Yunho got halfway through the book before he came upon a picture, an ancient woodcut of an old woman slicing the liver out of a man tied to a table, coiled snakes biting at his feet and black ravens pecking out his eyes. The next thing he remembered was Changmin coaxing him out of the attic, a knife clutched tight in his own hand.
“No more books,” Changmin said once they were downstairs, as he cooked dinner for the two of them. Soup - they only needed spoons for that. “We’ll stick to the chores, okay?”
All Yunho could do was stare at the bandage wrapped around Changmin’s forearm. It was stained red where the cut had bled through, and Yunho felt like his stomach was in his throat and his heart was at his feet.
i'msorryi’msorryi’msorry, he wanted to say, but he was having trouble remembering the words.
They never mentioned it again, much like they never mentioned that first night, but Yunho still slept in the same bed as Changmin, falling asleep with the other’s fingers running running running through his hair. He’d wake up every morning wrapped around the other man, listening to his heartbeat and loving the way he could feel the man’s pulse under his hand - real and strong and alive.
Then Changmin had to leave, to deal with the curse on that family three towns over.
“I’ll just be gone for a day, two at most,” he said, eyeing Yunho carefully, “You’ll be okay on your own. Everything you need is here, and you can call me if you need me.”
Yunho nodded, knowing that he would be okay. He would be okay. He was a grown man, perfectly fine of taking care of himself before, and he could do it now, too.
Changmin came home two days later, like he said he would, but by then Yunho had already learned how wrong he had been. He heard noises in every part of the building, saw monsters around every corner, and had worked himself up to such a state that he had forgotten how to speak again, had forgotten how to move.
He just lay on the bed, trapped under a tangle of blankets with clenched hands and scrunched eyes. Changmin came in, called his name and shook him but no matter what he did Yunho wouldn’t, couldn’t respond. So Changmin crawled under the sheets and wrapped himself around Yunho, pushing the fragile man’s head into the crook of his neck while he slowly rocked him back and forth, singing softly under his breath.
Yunho heard the song, a lullaby that he recognized from another life.
“I-I,” he stuttered, reaching out to grab at Changmin, “Ch-”
But he couldn’t finish.
Changmin knocked his knuckles against his forehead - “Don’t be dumb, I’m right here, see?” and sang louder, a little smoother. The other man crooned in his ear softly, while Yunho clung to the him like he was the only thing anchoring Yunho to reality - and maybe he was. The distressed man pushed closer to Changmin, seeking out the other’s warmth. The whole house was freezing - he had opened the windows, for some reason he couldn’t remember.
And then Yunho kissed Changmin, not noticing how the specialist froze at first, how he almost pushed Yunho away before giving in, and how he never handled Yunho rougher than he would handle glass.
They stayed there for the whole night, the next day - forever, if Yunho could have had his way, if Yunho could have had one last trace of real magic, good magic in his life. He should have learned his lesson the first time - even if that sort of magic existed somewhere out there, it wasn’t meant for him.
The case was done, and Changmin wanted to move on.
“It’s my job,” he said, “I go where the cases take me, where people need me.”
I need you, Yunho wanted to say. His mind was still a bit hazy, a still bit disconnected, and he must have said something right, because he blinked and then they were in a car, an old truck with the radio on, the music soft and tinny with static.
“Didn’t think I would leave you behind, didya?” Changmin smiled at him.
Yunho shook his head, and Changmin reached out a hand to rub his hair affectionately, smirk on his face.
“You know, you could be good company if you actually talked,” he said. Changmin was watching him, his eyes darting back to the road every few seconds but mostly on him. Yunho felt himself shiver.
Yunho bit his lip. Probably, he thought. Changmin just laughed.
And so they drove, from city to suburb to wilderness to small town. They rented cheap motel rooms and squat in empty track homes, vacation rentals and farmhouses. Yunho never liked any place they went. The cities were too crowded and he didn’t react well around people. The suburbs were too perfect, too much like a dream he once had. The wilderness was too wild. A new place meant readjusting, the possibility of monsters lurking in new places that Yunho had to watch out for, and often times it was too much for Yunho to handle. Changmin kept him grounded though - Changmin, his saving grace.
And that was the real problem, because each new place meant a new case. Changmin was a specialist - he was damn good at what he did, and he did it a lot. Changmin would be hired for a case, recommended for it or just found one on his own.
The first part was the research - endless research, knowing every what why when and where’s, and those times Yunho liked the best - when Changmin would be working on his computer, reading old books or flipping through old notes, and Yunho could curl up beside him and just drift in and out of nothingness.
But the first part was the first part, and while Changmin was well-renowned for his breadth of knowledge of the shadow world, his skills in fighting it were what his true specialty. And fighting it - that was where Yunho couldn’t, wouldn’t, follow him.
And Yunho hated being left behind, hated grabbing Changmin before he said goodbye, wondering if it would be the last time, if he would ever see the other man again, and if the shadows would get him this time, like they had once gotten Yunho.
And then one day, Changmin was gone. They were in an old and rundown house off a stretch of forgotten highway, isolated and alone and Yunho didn’t like it, not at all. But Changmin went out at dusk like always, and placed his lips against Yunho’s forehead, and smiled as he walked out the door.
And Yunho waited waited waited-
But Changmin never came back.
comebackcomebacki’msorryi’msorrycomeback.
And where oh where oh where was Yunho then?
Yoochun sometimes wished he had known what Yunho had been like, really. Living in someone’s skin wasn’t the same as knowing them, he would tell Junsu. He’d worn Yunho’s face so long, so many times, trying out a new identity each time, but it never seemed to truly fit. He wished, sometimes - but by then, it was already far, far too late.
yoohwan.
Yoohwan was Yoochun’s brother. Yoochun wore his face once, and only once, for a boy he loved like family. Yoohwan died a long time ago, long enough that Yoochun has forgotten when and how.
Sometimes, though, Yoochun wakes in the dead of night, and a part of his heart feels empty.
changmin.
Changmin had never planned to grow up hunting shadows. He had dreamed of being a doctor, lawyer, politician. Someone great, someone respected. In primary school he played make-believe in which he was the president of the world, in junior high and high school, Changmin studied as hard as he could to make those dreams real. He wanted to be someone his parents could be proud of.
And then, when he was fifteen, his parents were murdered in their beds. The killer had snuck into their house sometime around midnight, the police said afterwards. Midnight, that was when his parents had been ripped to shreds. His sisters had been asleep and Changmin had been studying all night, the three of them just down the hall. None of them had heard a sound.
They were in shock, stuck somewhere between pure grief and potent disbelief. The funeral arrangements were made quickly. The police investigation went cold even faster. Their home was sold, and Changmin’s sisters were sent away to relatives. Changmin was left alone in an apartment paid by a trust fund left in his name, so that he could finish school. It would be best, they all said, to keep him in a stable, familiar environment (he was the one that found the bodies after all , they didn’t say, didn’t dare to say).
To Changmin it was all a blur, and what he remembered most was the fact that he knew, he knew, that something wrong. His parents were dead and he was sad, but his parents were dead because of something that wasn’t right, and Changmin wasn’t to know why.
A week later, he had his answer.
He hadn’t been able to sleep since his parent’s death, and spent most nights laying his bed counting cracks on the ceiling.
He heard the floor creaking first. Then the wind, rattling the window loudly when it hadn’t been but a breeze before. There was sound of the doorknob turning. By the time the door was swinging on its hinges, he was already up, baseball bat in hand.
It didn’t do much good.
“Lucky to be alive,” the doctors said, checking their charts “He’s strong.”
“So brave,” the newspapers said, under the headline, “KILLER STRIKES AGAIN?”
“Smart kid,” the police said, clucking their tongues, “Too bad the man got away.”
It wasn’t a man at all, Changmin thought to say, but he was tired and beaten and he didn’t think they would believe him, anyway.
He’d been in the hospital two days when the man found him.
“Heard you fought a monster,” the man said, whistling lowly, “You look pretty good, considering.”
“Wh’ryou?” Changmin managed to get out.
“Name’s Kibum,” the man said, “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, I only heard about your parents a little while ago.”
“Wh’t…?”
Kibum leaned down close to whisper in his ear, “There are a lot of evil things living in the dark, I know. You’re not alone.”
Changmin’s throat felt tight, his eyes glassy as he watched Kibum straighten.
“Call me when you’re out, okay? I’ll explain it to you then.”
And then Kibum walked out. And when night fell, Changmin slept and dreamt of shadows that couldn’t touch him, because he could see them coming. And he wasn’t afraid.
Changmin left the hospital and went straight to Kibum, and through him learned about all the darkness and monsters and Evil, in all its nasty forms. Kibum taught him all these things, and still Changmin wanted to know more. Curiosity became fascination, fascination became career - he couldn’t have turned from this path even if he had wanted to.
Kibum helped him track down the thing that killed his parents - taught him the signs, what to look for; how to find it, protect himself; he taught him how to fight it, stop it, and kill it.
And when the deed was done, the monster dead and burned, Kibum left.
“See you around,” he said, waving over his shoulder.
“Yeah, maybe,” Changmin said.
The boy hadn’t been to school in weeks. He hadn’t even thought of it, and couldn’t imagine going back. He called and talked to his sisters, once - gave them a number, a goodbye, and a promise that they always, always call him
And then he, too, left, and didn’t look back (it was to be expected, they said when he’d left, as if he’d died - we should have seen it coming, the trauma was just too much).
Changmin lived a life he’d never dreamed of, but now couldn’t imagine any other way. He lived on the road and took care of all the monsters he came across, and somewhere along the way he met Yoochun. By that time he’d made quite the name for himself, a human who could hold his own in the shadow world. Changmin was smart, damn smart, and he could fight with the best of them. He knew the way to move between worlds, to take on what he could and stay clear of what he couldn’t (who knows, they said, he might even last).
When he met Yoochun, the other had been passing through the same city as a mysterious shape-changing monster that was going through slums and leaving a nice, messy trail of carnage in his wake. Naturally, Changmin had taken Yoochun - a shifter, monster, Evil - as his target.
It was the first mistake Changmin had ever made, and a lesson that he never forgot - there were a lot of shadows out in the world, but not everything was purely cast in shades of light and dark. Yoochun was hurt real bad from their fight, and Changmin would always feel sorry for that.
That didn’t mean, however, that Yoochun didn’t make him uneasy. Staring into flat, silver eyes - watching the shifter’s outline rippling and wavering; a new face, new identity, forming completely only in the moment Changmin blinked or flicked his eyes away. It never quite settled in Changmin, a man well set in his ways.
But Changmin was perceptive and rational, and he wouldn’t allow his own prejudice to get in the way of the dues he owed. He and Yoochun struck up a sort of friendship that lasted throughout the years - a drink, here or there, trading stories and information and alliances across a divide that most through foolhardy to reconcile.
“It won’t do you any good,” Kibum said, examining his cards, “Get out while you can.”
“Evil attracts more Evil,” Kangin said, taking a swig of his beer, “It ain’t worth it.”
“Whatever you do,” Shindong, placing his bet, “Just watch your back, ok?”
“Just deal the damn cards, will you?” Changmin said. He scoffed at his fellow hunter’s advice, based more in superstition than good sense.
But he lost the hand.
A month later, Yoochun called Changmin and asked him for help on a job. An exorcism, a possessed man who’d had a demon in his skin closing on forty years. A case of unfinished business. He saw no reason not to help.
And so Changmin met Yunho.
He ripped the demon from his body and saw the man emerge, a shadow of a man who had dark eyes and a broken mind. In him Changmin saw all that he could have become, all the damage done when Evil infringed upon innocent dreams.
He made it work, as well as he could. Changmin took responsibility of Yunho, cared for him - loved him, in a way. He kept living; kept moving, always one step ahead of the fall of dark.
But it couldn’t go on forever (shame, such a shame, they all said, we really thought he would last).
That’s where the story ends, where Changmin story ends. Because Yoochun never found Changmin, or Yunho, or what happened to them - not their bodies, anyway. He found Changmin, eventually, in a backwoods cabin, isolated and alone and unable to leave. A ghost, a hazy and lucent afterimage of a soul, but still the same rugged, sarcastic man as before, too stubborn to let something like eternity drive him man.
He took Junsu to see Changmin and was surprised in how well they got on. Changmin teased Junsu with invisible pranks, and Junsu could touch Changmin, hold him as if he were still alive. That was enough to bind them for a long, long time.
Yoochun never asked Changmin what happened, in the end.
Some stories are better left untold.
started writing: 9/13/09
finished writing: 10/31/09
master list
And Happy Halloween! :D
established yoosu, yunjae, (slight) homin; r
supernatural/horror
6,747 words
Even if that sort of magic existed somewhere out there, it wasn't meant for him.
A Halloween Special! This is part of the shifter!verse, and is sort of a prequel to my supernatural yoosu story In The Valley Of-, so if you haven't read that this won't make much sense. It's a little rough because I wanted to get it out today, but in exchange it is quite long. Also in light of the holiday this one is... darker, lol. Much darker, to say the least. There be no happy endings here.
Yoochun once told Junsu that he’d never been found out for what he was; this was not a total lie. But it didn’t mean no one had ever known.
And behind every face is a story.
jaejoong.
Jaejoong was a child who lived in the dark. Not because he spoke to whispers in the night or saw unnatural things or was special - he was in the dark because his life was brutal, lonely, and full of many bad bad bad things. He was still so young but he knew enough to lock his door at night, against a monster not born of shadow but anger and ignorance and addition.
He came to school with wide eyes and brusies, jumping at every loud noise. Teachers and adults around him worried, but Jaejoong was so small and quiet, hiding in the dark with his secrets, no one able to see him, and he slipped right through their fingers - like a still wind, there and gone without anyone every noticing.
Jaejoong’s was a life destined for obscurity and heartbreak. He didn’t expect any less; he didn’t know any more. That, however, changed the day he found Yoochun.
The man was standing on the side of the dusty stretch of highway between Jaejoong’s house and the town. He was staring down the road, distant eyes focused on some point neither here nor there. Jaejoong walked with his head down, staring at the same lonely road but not really focused on anything until a pair of feet came into view. He looked up up up into the stranger’s face, this person who was blocking his way and shouldn’t be here, because no one was ever here.
The man looked like he was waiting for something, but Jaejoong could have told him no one was coming. The man seemed to finally notice the little boy standing at his side, and looked down down down at him.
“Hi,” he said.
Jaejoong bit his lip. He wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers.
“What are you doing out here?”
What are you doing, Jaejoong wanted to ask. He didn’t.
“Not gonna talk, huh?”
Jaejoong nodded his head.
“Hmm,” the man crouched down next to Jaejoong, so they were looking each other straight in the eye, “You live down this way? Seems an awful long way for someone your age to walk alone. Never know what you’ll meet.”
Jaejoong looked at the strangers face. He looked nice, Jaejoong thought, with a kind smile and bright eyes. Not like Jaejoong at all.
“My name’s Yoohwan, nice to meet you.” The stranger offered his hand in greeting.
Jaejoong took his hand, and took him home.
Yoochun was drawn to Jaejoong, the little boy with wide eyes and dark bruises that weren’t on his skin, from the moment he put his small hand in his. It was the same with Junsu, and why he’d watched Junsu so carefully after, because he didn’t want to repeat his mistakes.
Yoohwan lived in his room, and Jaejoong would steal food from the kitchen to feed him; no one ever noticed. He was his only friend, and every morning he would walk him half-way to school, to that same point where Jaejoong first met him, and every afternoon he would be waiting right where Jaejoong left him. The boy asked him, once, what he was waiting for.
“A change in the wind,” he’d said. Jaejoong hadn’t understood, but then again he didn’t understand a lot of things about Yoohwan. Yoohwan was his friend, but he was kind of strange.
At home Yoohwan would hide in spots around his room, but at night, when Jaejoong locked the door because of bad bad bad things and cried because he was scared or hurt, Yoohwan would come out and hold him tight while he cried.
“Shh, shh, shh,” he’d say, “someday it’ll be different.”
They built a fort under his bed, one day, and Yoohwan confessed to the boy his name wasn’t really Yoohwan.
“And this isn’t really what I look like, either. Close, but not really,” he’d said with a wink.
Jaejoong was confused.
“I’ll tell you a secret, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?”
Jaejoong nodded.
And that’s how Yoohwan became Yoochun, his only friend who could change his face to be anyone he wanted, any person he wanted, but who’s real face he would never show.
“It’s not for you to see,” he’d said, but Jaejoong didn’t mind because what he had was more than he’d ever dreamed of. Yoochun kept him from feeling lonely and protected him from bad things - the ones he knew, and even the ones he didn’t. Monster, Yoochun told him, would always be around, so he had to be careful.
Jaejoong believed him and listened to everything he had to say, because now that Jaejoong had Yoochun, Jaejoong had a reason to be more. He’d never thought he’d have anything, and now that he had something, it gave him a little light of hope, burning deep-down in his shadowy heart and attracting every bad thing in his shadowy life.
Yoochun told him to be careful, so he took to watching the shadows, took to checking in his closet and under his bed every night. Yoochun told him to protect himself, so he took the gun from the cabinet in the hall and hid it in the drawer beside his bed.
Then Yoochun left. He told Jaejoong he would, that he had to leave. Jaejoong had been sad and scared, and Yoochun had said he was sorry, but that he had to go.
“Nothing I can do, kid. The wind’s already gone and changed, and I have to keep going.”
Jaejoong cried and cried.
“Shh, shh, shh. Don’t worry. It’ll all be okay.”
Jaejoong fell asleep.
The next morning, Jaejoong woke up and Yoochun was gone and Jaejoong’s daddy was dead, but everything just might be okay.
Yoochun left and wandered for years that seemed like seconds counted on his scarred knuckles. He didn’t look back and never quite realized what he did wrong.
Yoochun left and Jaejoong was free, only not really because his daddy was dead and there was no one else to blame. No one knew the truth and Jaejoong couldn’t tell it, because he had promised Yoochun and he wouldn’t be the one to break his promise.
He was eventually shipped away, to a place where they would help troubled troubled troubled kids like him. There he met a boy named who was like him, in the dark only not.
The boys name was Jongwoon and he talked about shadows who talked back, about monsters who were everywhere and Jaejoong listened to everything he had to say, even though everyone else thought Jongwoon was crazy.
“You believe me, don’t you?” the boy whispered, digging his nails into Jaejoong’s skin.
Jaejoong nodded.
Jaejoong woke the next day and Jongwoon was dead, found in his room across the hall. They wouldn’t let Jaejoong in to see, but Jaejoong still caught a glimpse of the blood on the walls and the ceiling and seeping into the hall and knew that it wasn’t suicide like they said. So young, so tragic, tsk, tsk, tsk. He never slept in the dark again.
Jaejoong was eventually sent back to ‘the real world’ because they never could find him guilty, never find him troubled in a way they wanted. Jaejoong just wanted to live.
He grew up - a little alone, a little strange, but he kept his head down just like before and slept with the light on and he was a little okay. He went through school and made a few friends, hung out with them at lunch hour and came home to an empty house at night. He got half-decent grades and sang lead in the school choir and got a small scholarship to the local community college.
He even fell in love.
His name was Yunho, and he was the brightest thing in Jaejoong’s life; maybe, finally, some sort of happily ever after. Boy meets boy, boy loves boy - they fit, they worked, and lived together in a new house, in a little place with a garden and an awning covered in ivy. Yunho didn’t mind sleeping with the light on and didn’t care about Jaejoong’s fears; didn’t believe the rumors of Jaejoong’s past. He worked as a lawyer, honest and hardworking and moving quickly through the ranks. He worked eight hours a day, five days a week, and when he came home he would kiss Jaejoong on the cheek and hug him and tell him about every little detail of his day (and Jaejoong couldn’t tell you what he loved more).
Jaejoong got a job at a music store; the pay was so-so but he got to be around something he loved and it was quiet and calm enough to not give him any trouble. When he came home he usually had nothing interesting to tell, but would cook dinner for Yunho and hold his hand every chance he got (and he could tell you Yunho loved him just the same).
It was perfect. And then.
And then.
then then then-
hey, i’m home…yunho, what -. no.
no no
NO!
and it was stopitohmygodplease,whatareyoudoingNOpleaseyunho,iloveyoupleasejuststopstopSTOPohmygodithurtsiswearpleasejustdon’t-pleasegodstopstopstopstopnononoithurtsithurtsithurtswhywhywhy
whyareyoudoingthisiloveyou
please.ithurtsplease.
god,just.
please-
Jaejoong woke in a hospital bed with no part unhurt, no love by his side, and no reason left to live. They told him his love had tortured him, raped him, and left him for dead. They were looking for him, but so far they hadn’t found a trace of where he’d gone. Jaejoong knew they wouldn’t, ever. The shadows had gotten him, and Yunho was never coming back.
But Yoochun did, coming into his room without making a single sound, stirring a single speck of dust, or turning a single head. Yoochun sat on his bed and placed a hand on Jaejoong’s feverish forehead, “Hey, remember me?”
And Jaejoong did, and then cried cried cried, asking, when is everything supposed to be okay, Yoochun, when? Yoochun just looked at him with sad eyes, holding him-
“Shh, shh, shh, I’m sorry it turned out this way.”
Jaejoong just wanted Yoochun to make it right. He just wanted his bright something back; he wanted his love back.
“I can’t do that. There’s a demon in his body, and even I can’t make it let him go. Yunho isn’t Yunho, not anymore.”
That’s when Jaejoong stopped talking. Yoochun took care of him, pretending to be some distant relative. He nursed Jaejoong back to health and took him home to the little cottage with the garden and the ivy on the roof, but not before going and cleaning the blood stains out of the carpet first. He fed Jaejoong and held him when he cried, silent silent silent tears that sometimes never seemed to end.
He put Jaejoong to bed every night and turned out the lights, because Jaejoong never told him not to. Jaejoong was beaten, broken, every bit of what his bad life had turned him in to, and he didn’t care. Not anymore. He had an idea and knew it was wrong, but he just didn’t care. He thought, maybe, that’s what the dark did to you.
Yoochun watched him cry and wondered if that was what love was like. Jaejoong begged and begged and begged and in the end, Yoochun couldn’t deny him. He stared at the pictures and became Yunho a little more every day, letting Yunho live the life he never got to finish and letting Jaejoong touch him and hold him and love him and pretend like nothing was wrong - and sometimes Yunho(Yoochun) wondered if Jaejoong even remembered the difference.
Jaejoong recovered, slowly, never fully, but it was enough to help with basic things around the house. He cooked, and Yunho still liked his food. Neither of them worked anymore, and Jaejoong never asked how they never seemed to want for money; it just meant that Yunho was with Jaejoong all day, and that’s all Jaejoong had ever wanted anyway. Instead Yunho stayed and sat and stared out into the distance, and Jaejoong loved and lay and looked looked looked at Yunho.
It was hard, getting over what happened, but they were, they were. So what if it was Jaejoong who pulled them into those old impromptu dances, or Jaejoong who always kissed Yunho first. Life was good, life was good.
Yunho was there, and Jaejoong could always count on him to hold his hand or smile at him just so, or fill the silence even if he couldn’t bring the light. And Jaejoong loved him so so so much, loved every single inch of him - so that it was only when they made love, Yunho rocking into him slowly, carefully, as if he might break apart at any moment, that Jaejoong ever cried.
Time passed.
Jaejoong’s body was weak, his immune system wrecked, and it was without fail that every winter he would get sick, hacking coughs that wracked his too-thin frame. This winter it was particularly bad, and each breathe was more painful than the next. When he started coughing up blood he tried to hide it from Yunho, but he was bedridden and under his care and knew he couldn’t hide anything from the other, anyway.
Yunho took care of him like he always had, but it seemed no matter what he did Jaejoong never got better. He never called for a doctor, but Jaejoong didn’t mind. Yunho was here, Yunho was here, and that was all that mattered.
He repeated it like a mantra, over and over until the very last night, the very last night when snow was piled on the windowsills and all the house was dark and he was afraid. He grasped at Yunho’s hand and pulled him close, so that he could force those last few words, last few breathes out of his raw and failing lungs.
Jaejoong spoke his peace and tightened his grip.
And then he let go.
Yunho mourned Jaejoong and buried him in the little garden, so that when Spring came flowers would grow over his grave. Yunho patted the cold earth once, twice, and then Yoochun was free to wander once more.
yunho.
If Yoochun wasn’t Yunho, and Yunho wasn’t Yunho, then where did Yunho go?
Yunho was a normal guy from a normal family, who fell in love with a boy at first sight. He had always secretly believed in magic and fairytales and happily-ever-after, and Jaejoong was just the sort of boy that such stories were made of. He was strange and soft-spoken and had a bad past, but he was gorgeous and gentle and good - in all ways, but especially for Yunho. Jaejoong kept Yunho bright with life, even as Yunho kept Jaejoong’s life bright. They fit, they worked, and it really was everything Yunho had ever dreamed of.
And then-
what-
ohgodwhathappeningletmegoletmego
thedoor,ohnojaejoong,ohno-. no. no NO!
and it was
stopitohgodpleasedon’tdothisdon’tdothistohimit’snotmejaejoongiloveyouiswearit’snotmepleasestopyou’rehurtinghimgodohgodjuststopstopstopSTOPpleasejustdon’t-mygodwhat’shappeningnonoNOjaejoongitsnotmeisweariwearpleasestop
ican’tstopitican’ti’msorryi’msorry
pleaseohgodstop
iloveyou
please-
It was a nightmare, and Yunho wished he had never wanted magic, if it had anything to do with this.
Yunho was a passenger in his own body, watched as the hand that used to pry away Jaejoong from cooking and swing him around in an impromptu slow dance, watched as that hand picked up that same kitchen knife his lover once used and peeled the skin from Jaejoong’s flesh. He felt the mouth that used to kiss Jaejoong on the shoulder right above a little white scar when they lay in bed at night, felt that mouth bite down on the same lips that had once kissed back and make them bleed as he forced himself on Jaejoong. He screamed screamed screamed but no one could hear him, because he was just a fragment of a thought in the back of his own mind, and he couldn’t do anything no matter how much he tried, no matter how much he wanted to just look away.
After (not)his body had run, after (not)his body left Jaejoong for dead, after miles and miles and miles, Yunho stopped seeing the world through (not)his eyes and all was black.
That’s when the thing spoke to him, this demon that had his body and hurt Jaejoong and was doing god-knows what else. It laughed and taunted and tortured Yunho, just because it could.
hell, he sobbed, cried, moaned, this is hell please please please, what did i do to deserve this?
oh no oh no, the demon smiled, Yunho knew it even if he saw nothing at all, this isn’t even close to hell. darling, darling, i’ll show you what hell really is.
please, please, let me go, he pleaded
no can do, darling dearest. i think i like this skin. let’s have some fun, shall we?
Yunho might not have had a body of his own, but he could still feel - trapped, unable to move or see when the demon locked him away in his own mind; scared, terrified of what it might be doing with his body when he wasn’t watch; pain, when the demon decided to look inward for its fun; horrified, when he could see and still couldn’t move and could only watch helplessly as his (not)body took another victim;
-insane, slowly, slowly.
i'msorryi’msorryi’msorry
Yunho opened his eyes - his eyes - and didn’t know where he was. He was in a dusty house in the middle of nowhere and his body ached all over - but it was his body, his.
He was lying on a broken-down couch covered in a musty sheet. Everything was covered in sheets. The house was abandoned. He was confused and he hurt and he didn’t know what was happening. He stood and in walked another person, a young man not familiar and not reassuring.
“Oh, you’re awake,” the man blinked.
Yunho didn’t know how to respond. He couldn’t remember how to talk, let alone think of anything to say.
“I’m surprised you’re even standing. The exorcism took a lot out of you, you know.”
“Ex-x..?” he tried to force out of his throat. He didn’t understand.
“You were possessed, do you remember?”
Yunho remembered- fearpainhorroralonefearfearfear - and wanted to die.
“Hey now… hey,” the other man was holding him up. Yunho didn’t remember falling. “I know it’s tough, but you survived. It’s okay.”
“J-Jae..”
The man was quiet.
Yunho thrashed, fighting to coordinate his limbs but it had been too long, too long-
He was falling. Jaejoong always hated the dark, he thought, right before it went black.
Yunho woke again, in the same dusty house but staring into a very different set of eyes. Shadows, he saw in them, darkness - and he wanted to scream but a strong hand held him down.
“Shh, shh, shh, calm down.”
Yunho’s eyes rolled frantically around the room and he saw another man - the same young man as before - looking at him with pursed lips and an icepack against his face.
“Yah, calm down before you cause more trouble. Aiish, damn demon sure kept you in shape, didn’t he?”
Yunho tried to apologize, i’msorryi’msorry, but the other stopped him. “Don’t. Save your strength.”
And the other told him his name was Yoochun - that’s right, Jaejoong’s Yoochun. The man in the corner was Changmin, and he was a specialist that helped Yoochun exorcize the demon from Yunho - “damn right I did” - and that everything would be okay now.
Except it wasn’t, because Yoochun had hunted down Yunho, the demon in Yunho, on Jaejoong’s request. Jaejoong’s dying request.
And that had been forty years ago.
Yoochun didn’t mean to take so long to find Yunho, but time was always a tricky thing for Yoochun. Changmin helped for that, Changmin who could hold his own with the best of them but sometimes was all too human.
Yoochun left the house, and left Yunho in the care of Changmin.
“He tends to do that. Damn shifter, spends all this time messing with humans but makes sure he still leaves in time for us to clean up the mess. Just like him.”
Yunho asked why.
“Felt guilty, probably. Think he really loved that Jaejoong of yours… enough to stay around that long. Most of his kind would never…” And Changmin kept talking but Yunho couldn’t hear him through his tears. Changmin stopped, put a hand on his shoulder - “I’m sure he took care of your Jaejoong, though, that’s just like him” - and Yunho just nodded and cried cried cried - for Jaejoong, for all the people (not)he hurt, for himself.
Darkness fell and Yunho started shaking so Changmin, rough around the edges but a soft word and softer touch under the cover of night, went around the house and turned on all the lights. He laid Yunho out on a bed upstairs and talked to him to keep his mind from wandering too far. Yunho leaned towards Changmin and let the man’s voice wash over him, digging his fingers into the crease of the Changmin’s jeans and the sheets like it was the only thing holding him down.
Changmin indulged him, smiling softly as Yunho slowly slowly slowly dragged himself closer until Yunho had curled around him, legs twined and head against his hip and hands grasping, touching just to touch, to remember what the sensation was like. Changmin stroked a hand through his hair until Yunho let go.
It was in soft predawn light, witching hours, when Yunho lifted himself up to trace the spreading bruise under Changmin’s left eye. Yunho thought it looked like a flower, the veins underneath his skin broken but visible, dotting the grotesque bloom of purple-blue. Does it hurt? he thought, he said, he didn’t even know.
“No,” Changmin answered, “But if you keep pressing on it, it will.”
Yunho drew away his hand as if it burned, watching the bloodless white fingerprints on Changmin’s skin fade away. Oh, ohmygod, i'msorryi’msorryi’msor-
“Stop,” Changmin said, taking Yunho’s hand in his. “I understand. I really, really do.” And with his free hand the taller man undid the top buttons of his shirt, pulling it down just enough to reveal a canvas of wounds and scars and old hurts.
He lifted Yunho’s hand so that his fingers brushed along the skin beneath his collarbone. The skin was uneven and smooth, thick cords of pale scars lashed over shiny, discolored burns that fanned out over his chest.
“I’ve been in this job a long time, Yunho. There’s nothing I haven’t seen, no evil I haven’t met.”
Changmin let go of his hand and with a reverent touch Yunho walked his fingers along mottled patterns, followed the long line of a scar that disappeared under the cover of his shirt. Yunho pushed forward anyway, on on on until the fabric bunched around his wrist and was pulled around and off the curve of Changmin’s shoulder.
Changmin didn’t move as Yunho traced that scar, back and forth and back and forth, from the edge of his arm to right over his heart. Yunho imagined the wound must have been deep, must have carved through skin and muscle and maybe even touched the bone. He wondered what had made it, blade or claw or tooth, and how loud Changmin screamed when it gouged through him. He imagined how much pain Changmin must have been in, and he didn’t want to stop.
Changmin stopped him anyway, grabbing his hand and catching Yunho’s gaze with his own. Changmin held his hand and looked in his eyes like he could was seeing Yunho’s soul, and Yunho could only wonder-
Madness. Yoochun had seen the madness in Yunho’s eyes, known that it had been too long, too late, to recover anything more than twisted remains - even if Yunho didn’t know it. Changmin would take care of it, he had thought. He had thought.
They lived in the house, the abandoned house with the dust and the sheets and the lights that were always on. Changmin helped Yunho remember how to be human, and when Yunho told Changmin that, the other man smiled but didn’t say anything.
Yunho did chores around the house, small things, and Changmin worked off of his computer, doing research for his jobs as a specialist. Yunho wanted to help, and at first Changmin had agreed, and assigned Yunho a book to read on witches. Changmin was trying to find a way to break a curse on a family that lived three towns over.
Yunho got halfway through the book before he came upon a picture, an ancient woodcut of an old woman slicing the liver out of a man tied to a table, coiled snakes biting at his feet and black ravens pecking out his eyes. The next thing he remembered was Changmin coaxing him out of the attic, a knife clutched tight in his own hand.
“No more books,” Changmin said once they were downstairs, as he cooked dinner for the two of them. Soup - they only needed spoons for that. “We’ll stick to the chores, okay?”
All Yunho could do was stare at the bandage wrapped around Changmin’s forearm. It was stained red where the cut had bled through, and Yunho felt like his stomach was in his throat and his heart was at his feet.
i'msorryi’msorryi’msorry, he wanted to say, but he was having trouble remembering the words.
They never mentioned it again, much like they never mentioned that first night, but Yunho still slept in the same bed as Changmin, falling asleep with the other’s fingers running running running through his hair. He’d wake up every morning wrapped around the other man, listening to his heartbeat and loving the way he could feel the man’s pulse under his hand - real and strong and alive.
Then Changmin had to leave, to deal with the curse on that family three towns over.
“I’ll just be gone for a day, two at most,” he said, eyeing Yunho carefully, “You’ll be okay on your own. Everything you need is here, and you can call me if you need me.”
Yunho nodded, knowing that he would be okay. He would be okay. He was a grown man, perfectly fine of taking care of himself before, and he could do it now, too.
Changmin came home two days later, like he said he would, but by then Yunho had already learned how wrong he had been. He heard noises in every part of the building, saw monsters around every corner, and had worked himself up to such a state that he had forgotten how to speak again, had forgotten how to move.
He just lay on the bed, trapped under a tangle of blankets with clenched hands and scrunched eyes. Changmin came in, called his name and shook him but no matter what he did Yunho wouldn’t, couldn’t respond. So Changmin crawled under the sheets and wrapped himself around Yunho, pushing the fragile man’s head into the crook of his neck while he slowly rocked him back and forth, singing softly under his breath.
Yunho heard the song, a lullaby that he recognized from another life.
“I-I,” he stuttered, reaching out to grab at Changmin, “Ch-”
But he couldn’t finish.
Changmin knocked his knuckles against his forehead - “Don’t be dumb, I’m right here, see?” and sang louder, a little smoother. The other man crooned in his ear softly, while Yunho clung to the him like he was the only thing anchoring Yunho to reality - and maybe he was. The distressed man pushed closer to Changmin, seeking out the other’s warmth. The whole house was freezing - he had opened the windows, for some reason he couldn’t remember.
And then Yunho kissed Changmin, not noticing how the specialist froze at first, how he almost pushed Yunho away before giving in, and how he never handled Yunho rougher than he would handle glass.
They stayed there for the whole night, the next day - forever, if Yunho could have had his way, if Yunho could have had one last trace of real magic, good magic in his life. He should have learned his lesson the first time - even if that sort of magic existed somewhere out there, it wasn’t meant for him.
The case was done, and Changmin wanted to move on.
“It’s my job,” he said, “I go where the cases take me, where people need me.”
I need you, Yunho wanted to say. His mind was still a bit hazy, a still bit disconnected, and he must have said something right, because he blinked and then they were in a car, an old truck with the radio on, the music soft and tinny with static.
“Didn’t think I would leave you behind, didya?” Changmin smiled at him.
Yunho shook his head, and Changmin reached out a hand to rub his hair affectionately, smirk on his face.
“You know, you could be good company if you actually talked,” he said. Changmin was watching him, his eyes darting back to the road every few seconds but mostly on him. Yunho felt himself shiver.
Yunho bit his lip. Probably, he thought. Changmin just laughed.
And so they drove, from city to suburb to wilderness to small town. They rented cheap motel rooms and squat in empty track homes, vacation rentals and farmhouses. Yunho never liked any place they went. The cities were too crowded and he didn’t react well around people. The suburbs were too perfect, too much like a dream he once had. The wilderness was too wild. A new place meant readjusting, the possibility of monsters lurking in new places that Yunho had to watch out for, and often times it was too much for Yunho to handle. Changmin kept him grounded though - Changmin, his saving grace.
And that was the real problem, because each new place meant a new case. Changmin was a specialist - he was damn good at what he did, and he did it a lot. Changmin would be hired for a case, recommended for it or just found one on his own.
The first part was the research - endless research, knowing every what why when and where’s, and those times Yunho liked the best - when Changmin would be working on his computer, reading old books or flipping through old notes, and Yunho could curl up beside him and just drift in and out of nothingness.
But the first part was the first part, and while Changmin was well-renowned for his breadth of knowledge of the shadow world, his skills in fighting it were what his true specialty. And fighting it - that was where Yunho couldn’t, wouldn’t, follow him.
And Yunho hated being left behind, hated grabbing Changmin before he said goodbye, wondering if it would be the last time, if he would ever see the other man again, and if the shadows would get him this time, like they had once gotten Yunho.
And then one day, Changmin was gone. They were in an old and rundown house off a stretch of forgotten highway, isolated and alone and Yunho didn’t like it, not at all. But Changmin went out at dusk like always, and placed his lips against Yunho’s forehead, and smiled as he walked out the door.
And Yunho waited waited waited-
But Changmin never came back.
comebackcomebacki’msorryi’msorrycomeback.
And where oh where oh where was Yunho then?
Yoochun sometimes wished he had known what Yunho had been like, really. Living in someone’s skin wasn’t the same as knowing them, he would tell Junsu. He’d worn Yunho’s face so long, so many times, trying out a new identity each time, but it never seemed to truly fit. He wished, sometimes - but by then, it was already far, far too late.
yoohwan.
Yoohwan was Yoochun’s brother. Yoochun wore his face once, and only once, for a boy he loved like family. Yoohwan died a long time ago, long enough that Yoochun has forgotten when and how.
Sometimes, though, Yoochun wakes in the dead of night, and a part of his heart feels empty.
changmin.
Changmin had never planned to grow up hunting shadows. He had dreamed of being a doctor, lawyer, politician. Someone great, someone respected. In primary school he played make-believe in which he was the president of the world, in junior high and high school, Changmin studied as hard as he could to make those dreams real. He wanted to be someone his parents could be proud of.
And then, when he was fifteen, his parents were murdered in their beds. The killer had snuck into their house sometime around midnight, the police said afterwards. Midnight, that was when his parents had been ripped to shreds. His sisters had been asleep and Changmin had been studying all night, the three of them just down the hall. None of them had heard a sound.
They were in shock, stuck somewhere between pure grief and potent disbelief. The funeral arrangements were made quickly. The police investigation went cold even faster. Their home was sold, and Changmin’s sisters were sent away to relatives. Changmin was left alone in an apartment paid by a trust fund left in his name, so that he could finish school. It would be best, they all said, to keep him in a stable, familiar environment (he was the one that found the bodies after all , they didn’t say, didn’t dare to say).
To Changmin it was all a blur, and what he remembered most was the fact that he knew, he knew, that something wrong. His parents were dead and he was sad, but his parents were dead because of something that wasn’t right, and Changmin wasn’t to know why.
A week later, he had his answer.
He hadn’t been able to sleep since his parent’s death, and spent most nights laying his bed counting cracks on the ceiling.
He heard the floor creaking first. Then the wind, rattling the window loudly when it hadn’t been but a breeze before. There was sound of the doorknob turning. By the time the door was swinging on its hinges, he was already up, baseball bat in hand.
It didn’t do much good.
“Lucky to be alive,” the doctors said, checking their charts “He’s strong.”
“So brave,” the newspapers said, under the headline, “KILLER STRIKES AGAIN?”
“Smart kid,” the police said, clucking their tongues, “Too bad the man got away.”
It wasn’t a man at all, Changmin thought to say, but he was tired and beaten and he didn’t think they would believe him, anyway.
He’d been in the hospital two days when the man found him.
“Heard you fought a monster,” the man said, whistling lowly, “You look pretty good, considering.”
“Wh’ryou?” Changmin managed to get out.
“Name’s Kibum,” the man said, “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner, I only heard about your parents a little while ago.”
“Wh’t…?”
Kibum leaned down close to whisper in his ear, “There are a lot of evil things living in the dark, I know. You’re not alone.”
Changmin’s throat felt tight, his eyes glassy as he watched Kibum straighten.
“Call me when you’re out, okay? I’ll explain it to you then.”
And then Kibum walked out. And when night fell, Changmin slept and dreamt of shadows that couldn’t touch him, because he could see them coming. And he wasn’t afraid.
Changmin left the hospital and went straight to Kibum, and through him learned about all the darkness and monsters and Evil, in all its nasty forms. Kibum taught him all these things, and still Changmin wanted to know more. Curiosity became fascination, fascination became career - he couldn’t have turned from this path even if he had wanted to.
Kibum helped him track down the thing that killed his parents - taught him the signs, what to look for; how to find it, protect himself; he taught him how to fight it, stop it, and kill it.
And when the deed was done, the monster dead and burned, Kibum left.
“See you around,” he said, waving over his shoulder.
“Yeah, maybe,” Changmin said.
The boy hadn’t been to school in weeks. He hadn’t even thought of it, and couldn’t imagine going back. He called and talked to his sisters, once - gave them a number, a goodbye, and a promise that they always, always call him
And then he, too, left, and didn’t look back (it was to be expected, they said when he’d left, as if he’d died - we should have seen it coming, the trauma was just too much).
Changmin lived a life he’d never dreamed of, but now couldn’t imagine any other way. He lived on the road and took care of all the monsters he came across, and somewhere along the way he met Yoochun. By that time he’d made quite the name for himself, a human who could hold his own in the shadow world. Changmin was smart, damn smart, and he could fight with the best of them. He knew the way to move between worlds, to take on what he could and stay clear of what he couldn’t (who knows, they said, he might even last).
When he met Yoochun, the other had been passing through the same city as a mysterious shape-changing monster that was going through slums and leaving a nice, messy trail of carnage in his wake. Naturally, Changmin had taken Yoochun - a shifter, monster, Evil - as his target.
It was the first mistake Changmin had ever made, and a lesson that he never forgot - there were a lot of shadows out in the world, but not everything was purely cast in shades of light and dark. Yoochun was hurt real bad from their fight, and Changmin would always feel sorry for that.
That didn’t mean, however, that Yoochun didn’t make him uneasy. Staring into flat, silver eyes - watching the shifter’s outline rippling and wavering; a new face, new identity, forming completely only in the moment Changmin blinked or flicked his eyes away. It never quite settled in Changmin, a man well set in his ways.
But Changmin was perceptive and rational, and he wouldn’t allow his own prejudice to get in the way of the dues he owed. He and Yoochun struck up a sort of friendship that lasted throughout the years - a drink, here or there, trading stories and information and alliances across a divide that most through foolhardy to reconcile.
“It won’t do you any good,” Kibum said, examining his cards, “Get out while you can.”
“Evil attracts more Evil,” Kangin said, taking a swig of his beer, “It ain’t worth it.”
“Whatever you do,” Shindong, placing his bet, “Just watch your back, ok?”
“Just deal the damn cards, will you?” Changmin said. He scoffed at his fellow hunter’s advice, based more in superstition than good sense.
But he lost the hand.
A month later, Yoochun called Changmin and asked him for help on a job. An exorcism, a possessed man who’d had a demon in his skin closing on forty years. A case of unfinished business. He saw no reason not to help.
And so Changmin met Yunho.
He ripped the demon from his body and saw the man emerge, a shadow of a man who had dark eyes and a broken mind. In him Changmin saw all that he could have become, all the damage done when Evil infringed upon innocent dreams.
He made it work, as well as he could. Changmin took responsibility of Yunho, cared for him - loved him, in a way. He kept living; kept moving, always one step ahead of the fall of dark.
But it couldn’t go on forever (shame, such a shame, they all said, we really thought he would last).
That’s where the story ends, where Changmin story ends. Because Yoochun never found Changmin, or Yunho, or what happened to them - not their bodies, anyway. He found Changmin, eventually, in a backwoods cabin, isolated and alone and unable to leave. A ghost, a hazy and lucent afterimage of a soul, but still the same rugged, sarcastic man as before, too stubborn to let something like eternity drive him man.
He took Junsu to see Changmin and was surprised in how well they got on. Changmin teased Junsu with invisible pranks, and Junsu could touch Changmin, hold him as if he were still alive. That was enough to bind them for a long, long time.
Yoochun never asked Changmin what happened, in the end.
Some stories are better left untold.
started writing: 9/13/09
finished writing: 10/31/09
master list
And Happy Halloween! :D