Work Text:
The spirit shrieks, as it fades into speckles of light. It was of a young girl- the child spirits always leave a unique type of hurt in Yashiki. He hopes for her rest, she just wanted her mother.
Normally, in the aftermath of purifying a spirit, he would take this brief respite to catch his breath, poor attempt to collect himself. But this time, he doesn't have the luxury to think. His shoulders are heaving, body aching. That fight went...
"... Mashita?"
... really bad.
Yashiki scrambles to the general direction Mashita had been tossed aside to.
The spirit didn't take well to him, but when do they ever? Always succeeds in agitating them, saying the wrong thing, spiking up emotions already unstable. Forces unseen had tightened around Mashita's body, causing him to crumple to the ground and, because fate is cruel, Yashiki felt his own body flare with pain, unable to reach him.
There had been failing attempts to smother the groans of pain, a snarl to deal with the spirit and to not worry about him, but it was cut off by a sharp, pained gasp as he was flung aside with a sickening crash and then empty silence. Mashita is never quiet, all brash and opinionated. He's always...
He can't- he can't be... Yashiki's brain is panicking. I can't- no...
Yashiki listened to Mashita- because everything will be easier without a scared spirit lashing out- but he wishes that he could've just kept him safe, if he chose to make that his priority, because he is. He wishes Mashita never insisted to come along, but he's the most stubborn man on Earth, and Yashiki can't resist the tantalising comfort he brings, when by his side. They're a team. Can never be one without the other.
He isn't here, Yashiki can't find him. Everything's swallowed into the void. He has to be here, he has to be-
It's so dark in this room, thick layer of dust over abandoned furniture, old and dying. But then, he finds him. There, right there, among the cobwebs and rotting furniture. Completely still.
Heart in his throat, Yashiki stumbles towards him, collapsing next to him. Hands are frantic, gripping onto his body.
"Mashita? Mashita!" Yashiki's eyes adjust to the darkness, gaze falling onto his partner's face.
Eyes just thin, white slits, skin pale and ashen.
Shit, shit, shit! He can't- he can't die. Is he-
His hand hovers against his nose. Breath. Weak, but there. The sensation has never brought so much relief to Yashiki in his life. He pats his face lightly, but persistently.
"Mashita!" He says again. "Please."
And then, there's a sound- the faintest trace of a groan. Mashita won't- can't- open his eyes, and Yashiki decides he can't wait. He needs to get Mashita out of here. Whilst Yashiki is hardly the pinnacle of physical strength, Mashita barely weighs anything, as he scoops him up into his arms. His head lulls against Yashiki's shoulder.
Yashiki stumbles out of the house, and towards the van. It's near impossible to focus on anything that isn't the man in his arms. Under the streetlights, he can see blood at the corner of his mouth.
No-!
As he bundles him into the passenger side, there's another groan. Louder this time.
"Mashita?" Yashiki repeats, softly.
His eyes are open, staring at him. Or staring in his general vicinity- they're completely hazed over. Yashiki does up his seat belt, ignoring how much his hands shake. He's breathing, he's... conscious, to an extent. They need to go right now. He jumps into the driver side, slamming the door shut, praying there's no traffic.
They arrive at the hospital Daimon works and then, the following is but a blur. When it all focuses again, Yashiki's sitting here, alone. He's not sure how long he's been sitting here, but it doesn't matter.
Daimon had stared wide-eyed in concern at the sight of them- Mashita bundled in Yashiki's arms, Yashiki trembling violently- ushering them without another word. Yashiki couldn't follow, for which Daimon was sympathetic and apologetic.
Some other nurses check him over, proclaiming that he's fine, if exhausted. After he calms down enough, and drank some water, he's sent home. In the moment, Yashiki wants to argue, demand he stays, but even he knows deep down it'll be pointless. They aren't family- not blood-related, specifically- and Mashita is not a child.
Sitting around wallowing is not going to change the circumstances of the situation- as Mashita would grumble at him. It's clear as day in his mind and it's enough to convince him to leave.
He's in good hands. He tells himself, over and over. Daimon will keep him safe- he's with the best of the best.
Somehow he makes it home in almost entirely one piece, with the most important part left behind in the hospital.
The Kujou mansion is large, forever a looming presence. It's always too large, but now, tonight, it's an endless chasm. It threatens to swallow him whole, as he trudges up the stairs in a daze. Staring vacantly ahead.
The second he enters his room, he realises he can't stay in here. Mashita spent the night- has spent many nights- here with him, the bed sheets have his lingering scent. Before the panic consumes him alive, he retreats to his study instead. It's more breathable. If only just.
He knows he isn't sleeping, he knows he can't- won't- do anything until the phone rings with reassurance that Mashita is breathing.
He realises he has blood on his clothes, on his hands. It's not his. Dumbfounding moment, he knew there was blood, he saw... he saw some. How bad was it? He didn't even pay attention, never actually checked for wounds, didn't even register the liquid oozing between his fingers. But it makes everything so much worse. Had he been punctured by the old furniture? Did the spirit cause more damage without either realising?
Or Mashita knew. Knew, but downplayed it. Because-
because...
Breathing becomes difficult again.
Mashita was dying, nothing else matters. He was dying and he was holding him and he was dying.
It's a terrifying reality- one Yashiki finds himself in heavy denial about. Mashita can die. He is mortal flesh, not as untouchable as he thinks he is, as they all think he is. It's terrible, to love something that isn't forever, something that rots and decays and withers. And Yashiki doesn't want to live in a world where he's gone.
If you die, you'll leave Mashita alone.
That hurts, too. What an act of cruelty to do that to the one he loves. Mashita shouldn't be alone in the world, he deserves none of that.
If he says that to him, Mashita would simply scoff, scolding him for being weird. Yashiki will never know for certain if it's genuine belief that it's such a nonsensical thought to have, or if he's putting up a front, because Mashita is also afraid to be alone.
And Yashiki wouldn't push for a confession. Won't embarrass him, won't make him confront emotions he already hates having to have. He'll make peace with forever swimming in the dark.
He can do that for Mashita. Because he's...
RING! RING!
Yashiki jolts awake. Apparently, he passed out at his desk, zero recollection of falling asleep in the first place. The clock states it's the crack of dawn. He fumbles for the phone, nearly dropping it in his haste.
"Hello?" Hoping to sound calm.
"Yashiki." Daimon greets. "I hope you've rested."
"How is he?" Yashiki asks, ignoring the statement. They both already know.
"Made it through the night," he begins, as if it hasn't only been a few hours at most. "And his vitals are good."
Yashiki hasn't felt such relief since Mashita called him during the Departed case.
"Can I... see him?"
"Visiting hours start at nine. It should be fine." Daimon says. "Go shower, have something to eat. I'll call if there's a sudden change. He's sleeping- probably will for most of the day, but it'll be okay to sit with him."
He hangs up. It won't be nine until a couple of hours, presumably Daimon wanted to make sure Yashiki actually bothered to take care of himself first. A common notion with the Bearers.
He sighs, begrudgingly acknowledging that it'll be for the best. His body is stiff from being slumped over a desk for those few hours, and he's still in yesterday's bloodied clothes. It hits then- just how gross he's feeling. And anyway, he wants to at least look presentable for Mashita, even if he doesn't wake, because he knows he'll get scolded for not trying.
Maybe he wants to be scolded, because that means Mashita is alert and awake and alive. But he doesn't want Mashita to be worried for anyone but his own healing.
A shower helps, watching with morbid fascination as the water finally starts running clear down the drain. The haze in his mind starts to dissipate- Daimon said he's fine, he's okay. Everything will be fine.
(He has no appetite. It's fine.)
At 9:01am, he's at the hospital. Daimon is awaiting him, expectant, nodding as way of greeting.
"He's this way." He says. "Still resting- he looks worse than he is. Visiting hours end at 9pm- nurses will come by to check on him. I may too, if work doesn't keep me too wrapped up."
Yashiki nods, that bone-deep exhaustion has not dislodged from his body as much as he hoped.
"Daimon, I never said," Yashiki begins. "Thank you for- for... for saving him."
"Doing my job." Daimon says, with a non-committal shrug. He coughs, loud and raspy. "He's our friend, too."
He gently ushers Yashiki in the room, with a squeeze of the shoulder. "Like I said, he'll be sleeping. If he wakes it might only be for a few moments. I'll leave you be."
Maybe he will try and get Daimon concert tickets, a clumsy token of appreciation. He's one of the few people who knows how deep the relationship between him and Mashita really is, although the other Bearers probably suspect.
"Okay."
The room is lit by the morning light and it's just them. His gaze falls onto that sleeping figure and is taken aback. Daimon wasn't kidding- Mashita looks awful. Yashiki barely took in his appearance in the immediate aftermath of the spirit- too dark to truly see. But, in this light, he's more pale than usual, features sunken in. Greyness sticks to him like sickness.
Yashiki has seen many bizarre things, the most horrifying of ones, yet this unnerves him the most. He finds himself collapsing heavily onto the seat next to the bed.
Mashita looks so... frail. Bruises under the eyes, face lost of all blood. If it wasn't for the beep of machines, he can so easily believe he's looking at a corpse right now. It's not enough to soothe.
To hold onto his fraying threads of hope, Yashiki gently touches Mashita's cheek. Warm. He sighs, trailing to Mashita's wrist. The weak beat of a pulse. He sighs again.
"Mashita, I'm sorry." He mumbles. There's no reply.
What else is there to do, but wait for him to wake up? Inform the other Bearers? They ought to know, but he knows Mashita wouldn't be very receptive to waking up to the rest of them. Moe and Ai are... overwhelming to be around, as well-intentioned they are. Eita is someone Mashita clashes with personality-wise. Same with Christie and Hiroo, and they have far more hostility directed at him. Then again, who doesn't Mashita clash with?
He can tolerate Shou- has a soft spot for him. Him and Yasuoka have a begrudging respect for one another. At least, that's how Yashiki interprets it- he actually has no idea.
The thought of who Mashita actually gets along with, has Yashiki laughing. If that sound could pass as laughing.
Mashita...
... always so difficult. Yashiki's chest flutters from adoration. And he knows that Mashita does not want to be seen as weak by any one of them- he will probably be upset that Yashiki and Daimon have seen him in such a state, so it's best not to add more to that list. Yashiki will honour that unspoken wish.
Minutes tick by and, as informed, nurses come and go. They reassure him that things are going well- despite the bleak appearance- but otherwise, don't make much conversation with him, for which, Yashiki is grateful. Conversations are the last thing he needs, he can barely manage small talk in casual settings.
When it's just them, he sits and stares and waits. Nothing has changed.
Daimon manages to coax him away for a lunch break. They go to a little café close-by, in case Daimon's break needs to be cut short and because they both know Yashiki is not going to go to far.
"How are you?" Daimon asks.
It takes a while for Yashiki to answer, deciphering his emotions has never been his strong suite.
"I'll be fine." He settles on. Daimon wouldn't believe 'I'm fine' for a single second.
"You mustn't blame yourself, Yashiki."
Yashiki shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He never quite knows how to handle concern- and the other Bearers often direct it at him. He looks outside, avoidant of eye-contact. The outside world continues on, unaware of spirits and the supernatural. A life Yashiki will never know. He picks at his food.
"I know, I just wish..."
Wish for what, exactly?
"What happened to Mashita isn't your fault. He would come along with you on cases no mater what- it's harder to pry him away." Daimon pauses to cough. "I'm quite envious of his resilience, if I'm honest."
"Daimon..."
"I'm just saying- it's quite the admiral trait. He's not someone to go down quietly, you can't feel guilty over his own choices."
"I know." He sighs.
Daimon gives his shoulder a pat, before they remain quiet for the remainder of the break.
Zero change has happened to Mashita during Yashiki's brief absence. Whether that should be considered a good thing or not, Yashiki can't say. He resumes sitting vigilantly.
The clock continues its methodical tick. Tick, tick, tick...
The sun slowly sets. Yashiki has been keeping his mind devoid of all thought to the best of his ability. It's not going well. His mind trails back to Mashita the night before, waking up to him. Not smiling, but grogginess kept his expression softer than the usual scowl. Spending the day researching the case, eating lunch together. The moment Mashita clocks that Yashiki knew where the spirit was and- more importantly- how to put it to rest. The moment he insisted to join. Or rather, going without any further discussion.
It's always so painfully him. Gruff and straightforward. Sometimes Yashiki forgets how young Mashita really is, younger than Saya, even.
Someone else Yashiki failed.
He swallows down the guilt, but it's futile. It crawls up his spine, sits iron-clad around his ribcage. Yashiki lugs around guilt, like he drags around Masamune. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much he wants to let go.
He looks at Mashita still sleeping soundly. There's just one conclusion Yashiki can reach.
Mashita can't die. And he knows he can't live with a world with him gone. Regardless of how reckless and dismissive Mashita is of his own life, he is not immortal. He's so much younger than Yashiki.
I can't outlive him. A fleeting thought drifts into his mind. I shouldn't outlive him.
Yashiki won't be alive in another fifty years, but Mashita could be. Deserves a long life.
"Mmm..."
A faint groan makes Yashiki jolt. He almost wonders if he imagined it, but the figure on the bed shifts slightly.
"Mashita?"
Mashita blinks, clearly dazed. As Daimon predicted- he woke up a few times during the day, but only for a few seconds at most, barely lucid. This time he appears more awake.
"Y- Yashiki...?" He rasps.
Yashiki almost chokes on the relief. He leans forward on the chair.
"I'm here. Should I get a nurse? What do you need?"
"M'fine... where...?"
It's strange hearing Mashita barely coherent. The last time Yashiki remembers was during the days of The Mark. What a lifetime ago.
"Hospital." Yashiki ignores the twinge of discomfort. "You... the case is solved."
Gradually, the fog in Mashita's gaze clears. He's still pale, exhausted, but he manages to sit up slightly.
"Man, I feel like shit." Mashita groans, blowing out his cheeks.
"You- you...." Brain and mouth are not on the same wavelength.
"I'd say you look like you've seen some shit, but considering our line of work..."
"Do you not remember?"
"I remember the spirit- that girl." He flops his head back against the pillows, energy already fizzling out. "Guessin' she did something, but you did your own thing." His lips twitch with a faint smile. "As you do."
Despite how mocking the words sound, Yashiki knows Mashita is being sincere in his own way. It's not the point of concern, however.
"You nearly died."
"Waking in a hospital, whilst feeling like I've been hit by a train, tells me that."
"Please don't joke about this."
Mashita gives him a dry look. "What else is there to do? Sobbing petrified isn't exactly-"
"I couldn't see you after... after it was over. Or hear you- you got flung aside and I couldn't reach you. If I didn't get you here on time you could've died. You were bleeding and wouldn't wake."
"When I signed up for this, I knew what I was getting into."
"That doesn't mean I'm okay with that!" Yashiki bristles.
"How the fuck do you think I feel when you fuck around with spirits?" Mashita snaps back.
They stare at each other, words sitting as fresh wounds, before Mashita sighs heavily.
"M'sorry." He mumbles, averting his gaze.
The apology might be the most surprising part. Or what he blurted out prior.
"I know I'm not the most..." he pauses, indecisive on words, each one he tries to settle on causing him pain to admit. "I'm not you about things. I'm well aware." He finally decides on. "But, Yashiki, the Red Riding Hood case, the goddamn Departed... I can't lose you. I don't want to lose you."
His voice cracks. It's barely concealed.
"I don't want to lose you, either." Yashiki says, quietly. "It terrifies me."
"That's... mutual. I mean it."
"I know."
They're quiet for a moment, letting the sudden flare of anger die out. Then Mashita yawns.
"You should sleep." Yashiki says, softly.
"So should you. You've barely slept, haven't you?"
"..."
A nurse pokes her head in, informing them that visiting hours are to end soon.
Mashita smirks, fighting sleep. "There's your sign to go. I'd drag you back myself, but I'm a little restricted right now. Go and sleep, it's not like I'm gonna go anywhere."
"I'll be back tomorrow."
"Of course you will."
Mashita's hand is laying there, palm up. Silent invitation. Yashiki takes it, curling his fingers around that hand. The hand squeezes weakly back.
Before Yashiki overthinks it, he leans over and kisses Mashita's temple.
Heavy-lidded, Mashita huffs a laugh. "Too damn soft." He mumbles.
Yashiki just squeezes his hand again.
By the time he reaches the door to leave, Mashita's already fallen back asleep. Yashiki hesitates, studying his features. Despite the roughness that still clings to his healing body, he looks softer without the usual scowl, almost gentle. Yashiki's heart shudders, warmth in his chest that eases the fear and stress of the past twenty-four hours.
He murmurs something, too soft for anyone to make out, before quietly leaving, with no other words.