Some Kills
Written in response to Key's "Death" piece. . . what if Youji hadn't revived?
Yeah. Deathfic, again. Angst warning.
Youji needed to wake up now.
No death in camp ever lasted, this was what Ken had been telling himself for months; this was what he'd seen to be true. Even without the moogles, people didn't stay dead for long... he'd died, himself, he knew this. He knew it. But it had been over a week now, and Ken was close to begging Ranma to go kick Youji's body where it lay in the morgue (yes, the hospital actually had a morgue, even though it lacked a proper attendant), to see if that would do something. He'd considered capturing a moogle and shoving it in the drawer with the boy. He'd considered the wishing well, the barrier, lake water.. he'd considered a lot of things.
He couldn't stand seeing Natsuo like this.
It wasn't his fault, he kept telling himself, Omi kept telling him. He hadn't done anything wrong. Youji had fallen, and Natsuo had screamed, and then Ken and Swift had fought to keep Natsuo from following him; they'd fought Natsuo until they were both bruised and bloody and exhausted, until their ears rang with the boy's screams. Those hurt more than the cuts that still marked Ken's skin, a week later.
Natsuo had begged them to let him die, had screamed to Youji that he'd be right there, he was coming, he was following, he wouldn't ever leave the other boy alone. He'd begged and kicked and clawed, until until they'd finally gotten the knife away from him... at which point he'd gone still, collapsing into their arms, eyes rolling back into his head.
They'd tied Natsuo to his bed, by his wrists and ankles and as an afterthought a rope around his waist, because if he managed to escape they knew exactly where he'd go. Once the boy was restrained Ken had gotten the first aid kit from the bathroom, and he and Swift bandaged Natsuo and then each other, before collapsing on one of the empty bunks in Boys Cabin 5. Ken had laid in Swift's arms and cried for hours, and Natsuo still did not wake.
He never truly woke.
It was noon, eight days later.
"He isn't in there." Swift swayed on his feet as he came down the cabin steps, the screen door flapping shut behind him. He was exhausted; they both were. It was hard to sleep, when they both kept one eye open. It was hard to choke down food when Natsuo refused to eat. The one thing they'd done plenty of, that Natsuo hadn't, was cry. "It's been a week, Ken. Nothing."
"Maybe i--"
"Ken. He isn't in there, I don't know what else to do." Swift was fidgeting, hands twisting in his shirt. "He's going to starve himself."
". . . we have to let him go." The words felt like they were being torn from his throat; his voice was thin and weak. "We have to."
They couldn't meet each other's eyes. But something passed between them in the silence that followed. "I can't."
"I will." He didn't know if he could. But he would.
"I can't be around for this." And with that Swift turned and walked away, and Ken couldn't blame him. He couldn't blame Swift for hating him, either, for even suggesting it. Forget doing it. He'd hate himself for doing this for a very long time.
So Ken stood outside Boys' Cabin 5, taking deep breaths, trying to decide how he was going to do this. What would be fastest, what would be kindest, what he would be able to handle. He couldn't use his claws. He wasn't skilled enough with a knife. There was no way in hell he'd be able to use a gun. Ken looked down at his hands--they were shaking violently. He couldn't breathe. Swift needed to come back from wherever he'd gone, and tell him not to do this.
Natsuo and Youji had not been normal children. He'd loved them like they were, but they hadn't been. Swift was always better at remembering that than Ken.
Slowly, deliberately, Ken climbed the steps.
The cabin was silent, as usual. The floorboards creaked under Ken's steps, the bedsprings groaned under his weight, the ropes slid against each other as Ken untied the knots. Everything was making noise but Natsuo, who lay there staring at the ceiling, breathing shallowly.
Ken gathered Natsuo in his arms. "It's okay," he whispered, holding the limp body to his chest. He couldn't do this. He couldn't. But he had to. Wasn't that the way it always was for him... doing things he had to, even though he couldn't, driving himself not-so-silently insane?
His sanity didn't seem to matter now, though, when he was holding the proof that what Natsuo had told him months ago was true. A Fighter couldn't survive without his Sacrifice. Natsuo was gone. If he was in there at all, the only one who could bring him back was Youji, and Youji wasn't coming back to do so. Ken began to cry again, clutching at Natsuo's narrow frame.
He wanted, more than anything, for Natsuo to snap out of it... he was still expecting, any second now, to feel the boy's hands clutching at his shirt or yanking his hair. He wanted some sign that Natsuo was still in there, so that he wouldn't have to do this. He wanted what he wanted to matter. But it didn't. No one mattered but Youji.
"You'll be with him now. We're sorry. I'm sorry." Ken pulled back and Natsuo sat up on his own... but didn't look at him, didn't look at anything, just stared straight ahead, head hanging. He was pale and already much thinner than he had been a week before. His eyes were dead. Ken couldn't take it. His hands sank into Natsuo's hair, and he pressed a kiss to the boy's forehead... and turned away as he snapped the delicate neck.
Natsuo slumped in his arms, and Ken lowered him back to the mattress, tears streaming down his face, praying that it was over. That camp would just let him go, let him be with Youji.
He waited until sunset, watching what was left of color fade from Natsuo's skin. He hadn't revived.
The cabin door creaked open. "Ken-kun?"
"Hm?"
"Ken-kun, come to dinner. You have to eat something." Swift had told him. Of course.
"I'm not hungry."
"Are you . . ?"
". . . I promised I wouldn't hurt him."
The door creaked again, and Ken heard Omi shift his weight on the steps. He didn't want to come inside. "I'm sure he didn't feel it."
That wasn't what he'd meant. Ken scrubbed at his face, wiping at tears that had long since run out. "I'll be right there. Let me just take him down to the hospital."
"Okay." There was a thunk, then Omi's footsteps moving back along the path.
Ken sighed and stood, frowning at the wave of dizziness that hit him as he did. He gathered Natsuo's body into his arms and lifted it from the bed, making the trip to the morgue as quickly and discreetly as possible. Youji's drawer was easy to find in that it was the only one marked, and Ken placed his burden gently in the one beside it, not knowing what else to do. He should tell someone, he thought, someone who'd be able to take care of these things. There was no one to clean up after him here.
He slid the drawer back in, and closed the door. There were some kills, he knew, that you just couldn't forget, that you never forgave yourself for.
Natsuo was now another name on that list.
Yeah. Deathfic, again. Angst warning.
Youji needed to wake up now.
No death in camp ever lasted, this was what Ken had been telling himself for months; this was what he'd seen to be true. Even without the moogles, people didn't stay dead for long... he'd died, himself, he knew this. He knew it. But it had been over a week now, and Ken was close to begging Ranma to go kick Youji's body where it lay in the morgue (yes, the hospital actually had a morgue, even though it lacked a proper attendant), to see if that would do something. He'd considered capturing a moogle and shoving it in the drawer with the boy. He'd considered the wishing well, the barrier, lake water.. he'd considered a lot of things.
He couldn't stand seeing Natsuo like this.
It wasn't his fault, he kept telling himself, Omi kept telling him. He hadn't done anything wrong. Youji had fallen, and Natsuo had screamed, and then Ken and Swift had fought to keep Natsuo from following him; they'd fought Natsuo until they were both bruised and bloody and exhausted, until their ears rang with the boy's screams. Those hurt more than the cuts that still marked Ken's skin, a week later.
Natsuo had begged them to let him die, had screamed to Youji that he'd be right there, he was coming, he was following, he wouldn't ever leave the other boy alone. He'd begged and kicked and clawed, until until they'd finally gotten the knife away from him... at which point he'd gone still, collapsing into their arms, eyes rolling back into his head.
They'd tied Natsuo to his bed, by his wrists and ankles and as an afterthought a rope around his waist, because if he managed to escape they knew exactly where he'd go. Once the boy was restrained Ken had gotten the first aid kit from the bathroom, and he and Swift bandaged Natsuo and then each other, before collapsing on one of the empty bunks in Boys Cabin 5. Ken had laid in Swift's arms and cried for hours, and Natsuo still did not wake.
He never truly woke.
It was noon, eight days later.
"He isn't in there." Swift swayed on his feet as he came down the cabin steps, the screen door flapping shut behind him. He was exhausted; they both were. It was hard to sleep, when they both kept one eye open. It was hard to choke down food when Natsuo refused to eat. The one thing they'd done plenty of, that Natsuo hadn't, was cry. "It's been a week, Ken. Nothing."
"Maybe i--"
"Ken. He isn't in there, I don't know what else to do." Swift was fidgeting, hands twisting in his shirt. "He's going to starve himself."
". . . we have to let him go." The words felt like they were being torn from his throat; his voice was thin and weak. "We have to."
They couldn't meet each other's eyes. But something passed between them in the silence that followed. "I can't."
"I will." He didn't know if he could. But he would.
"I can't be around for this." And with that Swift turned and walked away, and Ken couldn't blame him. He couldn't blame Swift for hating him, either, for even suggesting it. Forget doing it. He'd hate himself for doing this for a very long time.
So Ken stood outside Boys' Cabin 5, taking deep breaths, trying to decide how he was going to do this. What would be fastest, what would be kindest, what he would be able to handle. He couldn't use his claws. He wasn't skilled enough with a knife. There was no way in hell he'd be able to use a gun. Ken looked down at his hands--they were shaking violently. He couldn't breathe. Swift needed to come back from wherever he'd gone, and tell him not to do this.
Natsuo and Youji had not been normal children. He'd loved them like they were, but they hadn't been. Swift was always better at remembering that than Ken.
Slowly, deliberately, Ken climbed the steps.
The cabin was silent, as usual. The floorboards creaked under Ken's steps, the bedsprings groaned under his weight, the ropes slid against each other as Ken untied the knots. Everything was making noise but Natsuo, who lay there staring at the ceiling, breathing shallowly.
Ken gathered Natsuo in his arms. "It's okay," he whispered, holding the limp body to his chest. He couldn't do this. He couldn't. But he had to. Wasn't that the way it always was for him... doing things he had to, even though he couldn't, driving himself not-so-silently insane?
His sanity didn't seem to matter now, though, when he was holding the proof that what Natsuo had told him months ago was true. A Fighter couldn't survive without his Sacrifice. Natsuo was gone. If he was in there at all, the only one who could bring him back was Youji, and Youji wasn't coming back to do so. Ken began to cry again, clutching at Natsuo's narrow frame.
He wanted, more than anything, for Natsuo to snap out of it... he was still expecting, any second now, to feel the boy's hands clutching at his shirt or yanking his hair. He wanted some sign that Natsuo was still in there, so that he wouldn't have to do this. He wanted what he wanted to matter. But it didn't. No one mattered but Youji.
"You'll be with him now. We're sorry. I'm sorry." Ken pulled back and Natsuo sat up on his own... but didn't look at him, didn't look at anything, just stared straight ahead, head hanging. He was pale and already much thinner than he had been a week before. His eyes were dead. Ken couldn't take it. His hands sank into Natsuo's hair, and he pressed a kiss to the boy's forehead... and turned away as he snapped the delicate neck.
Natsuo slumped in his arms, and Ken lowered him back to the mattress, tears streaming down his face, praying that it was over. That camp would just let him go, let him be with Youji.
He waited until sunset, watching what was left of color fade from Natsuo's skin. He hadn't revived.
The cabin door creaked open. "Ken-kun?"
"Hm?"
"Ken-kun, come to dinner. You have to eat something." Swift had told him. Of course.
"I'm not hungry."
"Are you . . ?"
". . . I promised I wouldn't hurt him."
The door creaked again, and Ken heard Omi shift his weight on the steps. He didn't want to come inside. "I'm sure he didn't feel it."
That wasn't what he'd meant. Ken scrubbed at his face, wiping at tears that had long since run out. "I'll be right there. Let me just take him down to the hospital."
"Okay." There was a thunk, then Omi's footsteps moving back along the path.
Ken sighed and stood, frowning at the wave of dizziness that hit him as he did. He gathered Natsuo's body into his arms and lifted it from the bed, making the trip to the morgue as quickly and discreetly as possible. Youji's drawer was easy to find in that it was the only one marked, and Ken placed his burden gently in the one beside it, not knowing what else to do. He should tell someone, he thought, someone who'd be able to take care of these things. There was no one to clean up after him here.
He slid the drawer back in, and closed the door. There were some kills, he knew, that you just couldn't forget, that you never forgave yourself for.
Natsuo was now another name on that list.