[Pressure against a stab wound. It digs in with every word and-
Akechi is delighted
because Maruki was never a waste of his time. Without Azathoth-
He's stronger.
A persona shaped god won't be around forever and Maruki
fights and fights and fights
Like his life depends on it. It does. Akechi doesn't hesitate to peel both gloves from his hand, press into the elbow trying to jab air out of him - it works.
It doesn't stop him.
The dizzying lack of air acting as oil.]
Shut up! [A splintered, airless laugh.] I'll make your last moments on here the most painful.
[He throws all his weight into pushing Maruki's arm to his face - fist directed to glasses. Hits until shards embed in his knuckles. Until he presses against Maruki's eye to dig those pieces into eyelid, cornea, pupil - destroy his vision. Exploit a weakness. Use it against him. Pinpricks rip at his skin - thin red lines all over his hands.
Nails dig into the flesh of his arm. Palm presses broken frame against his face. Thin lines shredded down whatever exposed flesh he can - peeling, ripping, tearing like his body will exude smoke and rot instead of muscle and blood.]
You think you know me? My mind is fine. Nothing is broken. I'm in control of you, Shido, and every other piece of shit here that falls for that pathetic act-
[
Shreds, and digs
and
listens to every piece of bait
and
Rips and tears
and
Destroys everything in sight.
Skin embeds under his fingertips - the same tracks torn into again and again and again and again and againandagainandagainandagain until it stains red, red, red on his hands. No gloves to cover it up this time. The sink will drain crimson for awhile. Akechi will wash his hands
one
two
three
hours until every thought spirals down the drain.] You're so fucking stupid!
cw eye trauma, graphic violence - truly you should not be reading this thread, stranger
[ My mind is fine as he crushes lenses beneath his fist, My mind is fine as he doesn't relent on the pressure for even a second, My mind is fine as shards of glass pierce and dig and bury into his eyes, My mind is fine as a noise like a wounded animal rips from his throat, My mind is fine as he thrashes, kicks, tries to throw him off, My mind is fine as white-hot-sharp-bright-vivid-red pain beyond pain sears through his mind over and over and over with every gouge and tear and shred and claw, My mind is fine as warm, viscous blood streaks down over his cheeks–
Maruki can't see. Can't hear whatever sounds he's making, or Akechi's cruel taunts, or anything beyond the blaring siren static of his own mind. Can't see. Can't breathe without hitching and choking on a stuttered gasp. Can't see. Can't fucking see. ]
Akechi–
[ Weakened, but not pleading. Faint, but still furious.
The same way he didn't know how he would react to having to fight until Akechi snarled at him to kill that kaiju, he didn't know how he would react to true violence done against him until Akechi pinned him down and tore him apart.
Eren once asked him if he'd rather lay down and die than be a burden on someone else. It was early, so early. Maruki hadn't even moved into the castle yet. At that point – yes, of course, there were any number of instances where he'd rather lay down than whatever the alternative was.
Things have changed.
He's changed.
Azathoth rages in the back of his mind, but it's nothing compared to Maruki's own will to live, to fight.
He grabs blindly at whatever he can – Akechi's shirt, arm, face, hair – tries to shove him off – no luck, and some of the blood has pooled down into his mouth, and he splutters on it, but he still fights– ]
I won't tell you again, get the hell off of me, now!
[ Neither of them can see it – Akechi too singularly focused on his target, Maruki stuck in flickering, bloodied darkness – but Azathoth grows as the power within Maruki ratchets up to an inferno.
Wretched noises are fuel. Matches against fire - stacked over and over and over and over again and-
Akechi doesn't notice a thing. Azathoth doesn't exist in his mind's eye or otherwise. Loki's presence ever shifting, a spiral of agony and joy bursting through his chest with little pop, pop, pops that align with every thrashing motion, every unsuccessful attempt to remove him.
He won't relent. Never. Shards deep into his own hand, chunks he grips tight until his palms are coated in the same bright bright crimson as Maruki's cheeks, his eyes and-
That palm slams into Maruki's eye with force - face, cheek, ear, chin, jaw. Bare skin is a target. Akechi shares the pain - every slice pushes the glass in. Facing consequences.
Maruki's eyes are lost under thrashes
glass
A broken frame
A broken life
In a rural home with life tinted walls
In a rural town with damp, damp, grass under living corpses
In a small apartment with nothing left to lose.
Hand tearing into eye, the other full of peeled skin against his nails, dried blood staining and-
A rock - crueler than gun, or knife. Small enough to settle into the grooves of his hand, pointed enough to be a problem-
He
wants
Maruki
to hurt.
Because he's rotten. Because Akechi's cruel. Because both are stuck in muck and mud, festering uncontained wounds that spew pus and drainage. Sick. Spewing false cures while sharing disease and-
He slams the rock into Maruki's neck.
again
and again
and again.
Azathoth is strong because Maruki is strong.
Maruki is fighting. Maruki will fight. Maruki will rip, tear, destroy to get Akechi off of him on the tile floor, in a dark alleyway, beside a colorful poster -
Stone slams into his neck again
again
and again
and again.
Because he needs to learn what it will take to kill Akechi Goro if he wants to survive.]
cw graphic violence, eye trauma, near death experience
[ He doesn't know what hits him. Can't see Akechi pick up the rock. Can't see anything at all. Only feels the force come down against his neck and jolts with the new surge of pain, tries to block with the arm Akechi hasn't been clawing deep red trenches into–
But whatever it is hits again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again–
At some point, shock sets in and the pain stops registering at all. His vision stops fading from the glass dug into his eyes. His ears stop ringing from the echoes of his own shouting. He stops being able to shout. He stops being able to make any noise at all. Something in his throat cracks, snaps, collapses in on itself– he wants to scream, can't– wants to breathe, can't–
The volume of reality steadily turned down until it goes mute, his own labored half-breaths and his heart kicking into overtime the only sounds rattling around his emptied mind.
It doesn't look like Eden. It doesn't look like anything at all.
There are countless explanations of what happens to consciousness when death draws near. Spiritual explanations, religious ones. Psychological explanations, neurological ones. Maruki can't claim to be an expert in any of them. Has cognitive psience ever had anything to say on the matter? Likely not. It's research he could pioneer. It's research that could get him killed on a chilly winter's night in his tiny apartment kitchen– in an empty alley behind a trendy cafe or an udon restaurant or a jazz club– in a cognitive world whose shape he doesn't yet know– or here, on a grassy knoll behind a castle in the reality that delivered his life straight into the hands of the person who's meant to end it.
He can't fight anymore, but his synapses fire at a rapid pace, trying to stave off the heavy blanket of peace settling over his cognition, and–
Maruki draws a huge, gulping gasp of air as his eyes fly open. Throat structurally sound once more, eyes blurry with blood and tears but fully functional. He sees Akechi above him, the rock raised above his head, the blood coating his hands, the front of his shirt, his face, everywhere, everywhere.
A red-stained grin blooms across Maruki's face. A breathless laugh escapes.
It's over. ]
Azathoth.
[ The sky above them splits open as dark energy coalesces into a great glowing orb, and Maruki wrenches his arms free to grab Akechi around his knitted-together ribs and shove him sideways, down into the grass next to him, with every ounce of strength returned to him with that heal. He can't escape this blast, and he doesn't want to. He just needs to make sure it hits Akechi as hard as it hits him.
Tyrant Chaos aims inexorably at them both, and in the resulting explosion of blinding light, Maruki's only coherent thought is that if they kill each other like this, they'll deserve every second they spend in Inferna together. ]
Stone against skin, a rupture that twists thin streaks of red, muscle pulsing with air that escapes against Akechi's fingers. A hint of white that might be his spine and-
A discarded prince can never win against a decayed king.
Bone and flesh mend under his stained fingers. Expected. He doesn't fight it. Almost glad for it. Infuriated with it. Work undone in a blink, years of cultivated power overturned by natural gifts.
He can't stand it. The glass in his palm stings and -
Bruised ribs and sore body slammed into the ground. Expected.
Maruki's eyes are broken and bright under an ever growing light forming high above them.
Akechi doesn't look because it's nowhere near the brilliant shade pressing him down with gaze and arm.
He just
wanted
to burn
as bright as they do. Did.
Joker. Maruki. And a grotesque prince playing pretend.
He chokes out a laugh because he
wants
to stop
and he can't.
Because he wants
to live
and he can't. Because he wants to
play chess
with a friend
in a shitty cafe nestled in dark alleyway. Because he wants to
sit at a bar
in a shitty shoebox apartment
two subway rides away from a place that will never be home.
He wants to
to stop
he wants
to stop
he wants to stop
he wants to stop
he can't stop
he'll never stop
It's too late to stop.
Maruki's always there - even now, as he tries to push his exhausted, weary body beyond its limit, beyond the thrall of a distorted ability befitting of evil, of a monster, and Maruki's always there -
Confident, unshakeable Maruki -
He could leave and he doesn't. Stays by his side, pressed into the muck and dirt, willingly festering and rotting alongside. Akechi pulled him down. Maruki could rise. Akechi can't. Maruki could. Maruki doesn't.
Maruki's always there even as -
Blinding, piercing light fills his vision and then it doesn't. A flicker. A thought.
Joker saw a light, maybe, as he tried to focus on a dark tunnel aimed at him.
His mother saw a light, maybe, when the sun touched her dangling body in a small room that felt more like home than anything since.
There's nothing
and he thinks he's happy.
Then there's something and thick white foam is flowing from his mouth with lurching haggard breaths. A lack of food a blessing as everything inside his stomach hits blood soaked ground. On hands and knees, he doesn't remember getting up - an axe is hitting his skull again, again, again in ten even splinters that he's sure he could feel if he could move his glass coated hand to check. Shaking. Weak. Attack unclear. Attack unknown. Attack new.
[ It hits, and Maruki never wants to be on the receiving end of Azathoth's power– of his own power again.
For a long moment he only lays there, gasping, bruised, burning, unseeing. Pressed flat into the ground, chest heaving. His mouth opens, nothing escapes.
At his side–
Akechi breathes. He isn't dead.
Neither of them are.
The white slowly bleeds from his vision. A blurry form next to him. Curled in on himself, hunched, slight. Matted hair, streaks and swaths of blood.
Maruki reaches out–
And then he's up in motions so violently staggering that he thinks he's about to get pinned down and attacked again, but instead he only drags himself to hands and knees under his own power, of course, of course. Irrepressible, independent, inevitable Akechi.
In a marketplace of an unfamiliar town– on a dusty road leading to a castle– at a bar in a kitchen slowly becoming his own– in a ruined city filled with monsters tall as skyscrapers– in a living whipped up into a frenzy by an unknowable alien wind– in a perpetually dark forest– in a lake that knew too much– in a bathhouse that heard too much– in a club with low soothing music, in a cafe with obstinate rage– in every late night message and visit and training session– in a glowing alcove on a cliff overlooking a labyrinth they'll one day destroy together– in a grassy clearing stained with both their blood–
There's Akechi. There has always been Akechi.
Maruki hears him retching. Pushes himself to sit up, every muscle in his body screaming against it. Shattered and bent frames fall off his face, into his lap. He reaches out, lays a hand between his shoulder blades as he splutters and wheezes. ]
Akechi.
[ Voice rough, hoarse. Throat burning. Head pounding.
Maruki swallows. Rubs his hand back and forth, even that motion painful. Tries again. ]
[The pressure along his spine is unexpected and foreign. He mistakes it for the weakest punch he's ever felt in his life - plans to retaliate once the last taste of acrid spit leaves his mouth.
But Maruki says his name - tired, pained and rasp. Not a single hint of disdain or anger. The contact between his shoulders no longer feels malicious. The splitting headache dulls with the up, down, up, down, up, down, up, despite his muscles tensing with the movement.
He says they're done. Says Akechi's alright. They are done. He is alright.
Body stilled. Repetitive motion. Questions on his lips and-
It doesn't matter if he asks 'What are you doing?'
He already knows. Maruki's doing what he always does - stays there. Is there. Present.
If he asks 'What are you doing?'
Because Maruki doesn't flinch when Akechi spits vile and venom, fist and rock.
If he asks 'What are you doing?
Because he's foolish. Stupid. All resolve and will.
Loyal, to a fault.
Akechi inhales - slow and quiet. Stomach lurching with nothing inside. It's safe to push himself back to his knees - to take in the broken face next to him. His will unshattered. Unshaken.
They're done.]
They awoke at the same time.
[Voice raw and scratchy. Soft, but not by choice. He doesn't know why he's talking - the same bizarre compulsion he felt at the bathhouse, at the convenience store, on a grassy hillside.]
It felt like this.
[Miserable. Wretched. Fatigue peeling back every layer of skin, exposing nerve to air - every single movement an exhausting effort that drains what little is left inside a person. Maruki may never experience a traditional awakening, but that direct blast of divine energy comes close. It feels like vindication.
He presses a hand against Maruki's shoulder - gentle, at first. Inhale. Exhale. Loki's thrall long gone and nestled back between the barbs in his chest.
Then there's pressure forced down onto the barely mobile man, as Akechi pushes himself up to his feet. No glass in that palm. He tries to loosen small shards with a shake of his other hand and-
He
stands.
And he
Reaches out with the same stone wielding hand that sentenced Maruki to death seconds ago. Stained. Nails torn and chipped.]
There are some kernels of truth even in the lies that Akechi has told him over the months they've circled one another. How it felt to awaken to a mysterious power alone– and now, knowing that it happened twice at once– and with what Maruki has been able to piece together about how young he must have been–
It isn't pity that he feels toward Akechi. Not at all. Only a profound sense of gratitude. I'm glad you're here, even now, even after all that transpired as the sun set over Somnius.
Maruki takes his hand without a second thought, hauls up unsteadily to his feet.
Azathoth must have dissipated somewhere in their half-consciousness. Maruki takes stock of his own injuries, then Akechi's. Tries to call it forth again.
No luck.
That's new. Even after the battle against the Green Knight, he'd had no problem summoning Azathoth. Even before the spaghetti.
The difference is, he'd been in good shape then. Battered from the fight, but not as badly as now – death was never a tangible fear in his mind, guarded as he was by Azathoth – and then healed of his superficial wounds by Venat. Maruki looks down at the broken remnants of his glasses in his hand, remembers the delicate way she mended them for him before, slid them back onto his face with a smile like every star in the sky.
He closes his eyes, sighs through his nose. No Azathoth. No healing. It must have taken the very last of his spirit to save him from certain death and reverse only the worst of his injuries, because everything else remains.
The shards of glass embedded in Akechi's palm catch his eye, turn his stomach. ]
Let's get cleaned up.
[ A step toward the castle, two, three. Testing his strength. It's not like the morning they had to stagger out of the Enchanted Garden. In some ways, it's better; in others, much worse.
Maruki looks over at Akechi, more drained than he's ever seen him. ]
Lean on me if you need to.
[ Not that he expects Akechi to need to, or to accept the offer even if he does, but the state of him–
Maruki feels half-dead from what Akechi was able to do to him under that power. He can scarcely imagine how it must feel to be the one consumed by it. How it must feel to have two souls sprung forth from your own, whether they're cooperative or at war. How it must feel to have to maintain more masks on top of that. How it must feel to sleep little, eat little, work constantly, navigate the complex web of Masayoshi Shido on top of that. How completely depleted Akechi must be on a near constant basis, has been for years, still is even here.
It doesn't matter if Akechi needs it, actually. Maruki grips his arm with steadying force anyway, pulls him along. ]
[Full of surprises - a hand grabbed and used to hoist himself up. No hesitation. No concern. Now, more than ever, he hates Maruki Takuto.
If their positions were reversed, Akechi would have wasted no time in telling Maruki exactly what he thought of his 'help' - where he should shove his hand. A notion that doesn't seem to occur in whatever crossed wires fill his mind.
But they're both up.
They're okay.
An inkling in the back of his mind pursuing what that power was, even in the throes of exhaustion. No Azathoth appearing to lick their wounds - it's likely Maruki is spent. Loki and Robin Hood remain persistent and silent, not that they would provide any help in this moment.
Maruki says something. Akechi didn't catch it, but it's obvious what he meant by the way he heads towards the castle with slow steps, shaky breath.
He follows. The offer heard, ignored and-
A hand back on his arm, tugging an unwilling body forward.
He'll never understand Maruki. Even if they spent 20 more years together, only separated by a single wall, free time spent in each other's company more often than not, Akechi will never untangle what makes him tick. What makes him accept abuse, violence, and no repayment other than a shared resolve to go back to Tokyo.
It's so goddamn maddening-
That he wouldn't have been able to peel himself off the grass without him - couldn't move forward without him.
Akechi hates him - deeply. A sensation pooling in his heart.]
I need my gun - let go and do whatever you need to inside. I'll follow shortly.
[Can Maruki even see right now? Akechi has no clue, but he assumes the man will figure it out somehow. Touch the walls and follow the path. Maybe one of their housemates will pull him in.]
cw injury descriptions (i don't think they're graphic, but. shrug)
[ In truth, he can't remember. Even if he hadn't come close to death and then knocked himself out anyway, things were so frantic that he wasn't paying too much attention to what the tentacles were doing at that point.
Still, he turns around, wavering a little as he does, and squints through scenery that's completely fuzzy. ]
It probably would have been thrown into the trees. It shouldn't be too far.
[ He raises an arm to point. The long, stinging strips of shredded away skin stretch with the motion and burn. He grimaces, looks at his arm. Hadn't realized how bloody it was. Just a red blur.
His stomach lurches once more. It's the most of his own blood he's ever seen outside of his body. ]
See you inside.
[ It's a slow walk back in. A slower ascent up the stairs. The barely-eaten food in the kitchen is ignored; it'll be a pain in the ass to clean up tomorrow, but who knows, maybe The Humanoid Garbage Disposal will end up coming home and inhaling it all. Maruki can't even remember what he made for dinner. Something with extra mushrooms, nearly always. His head spins as he climbs another few steps. He needs–
To clean himself up. Hands, arms, face, neck washed in the bathroom sink, the warm water and soap as painful as lemon juice. Checks himself in the mirror, leaning in close to be able to focus his eyesight. Deep gouges, nasty latticework scrapes, nicks and cuts everywhere. Scratches like the claw marks of a feral animal. His throat may have been healed, but his neck is already bruising black and blue.
He knows he should patch up the worst of the wounds, but he's passed the point of exhaustion and entered into a dark, dizzy state that feels a little too familiar. With the blood rinsed down the drain, he grabs one of their many first aid kids and stumbles into his bedroom down the hall.
He should change. Doesn't. Collapses into bed in the clothes that are still stained with grass and dirt and both of their blood. In the morning, after a good long rest, Azathoth will be in rare form and will fully heal him, he's certain of it. Only then will he worry about mundane shit like laundry.
For now, all that matters is going horizontal, staring up at the ceiling until it stops spinning. The first aid kit is abandoned on his bedside table. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He doesn't check it. Only lays there and breathes, slowly going from a ragged pant to the carefully counted breaths that he teaches to his patients.
He can't sleep yet, despite everything. Can't even rest his eyes without that last image of Akechi above him before glass shattered down into his face, that sense memory of torn flesh and contused tissue. ]
[Finding a gun in boundary of Vash's property was worse than a needle in a haystack. It took-
Awhile. The knife is gone - he doesn't care enough about the dulled blade to give more than a cursory glance around the yard.
And by the time he pulls himself into the doorway, past forgotten meals and into a shared bathroom with a red tinted sink, drops on the edges that denote recent use-
He just doesn't care anymore.
Quiet mind. Blissful reprieve as he follows an all too familiar routine of rinsing bloodied hands for-
Awhile. Repetitive. Mindless. Stings with every tug of thick glass, another stream of red to join the spiraling pool of it, following the thin lines of his palm. Small slivers too deep to pinch out. Impossible to push out. He ignores it and-
Face washed - hair rinsed in the sink. A deep purple settles along his cheek, swelling apparent under his eye and exacerbating an already annoying dark circle. Soreness felt with any minor jaw movement. Shirt coated red from a stab wound with a similar bloom of colors - it almost looks like Loki's spreading across his body.
There are plenty of first aid kits. He ignores every single one of them because-
The fight is a shared responsibility. Both of them egging the other on and-
He remembers that Maruki isn't accustomed to this and-
It would be a shame if he died from minor wounds in his bed after surviving a brutal assault by an ally's hand.
The door's never locked - he walks in, palm stinging with every jostle of his fingers, pinpricks of small glass making themselves known with the twist of a doorknob.
An unopened first aid kit on the table. Dark room. Maruki sprawled on the bed, breathing.]
Don't you understand how infections come about? Sit up.
[ There's no telling how much time passes before he hears familiar steps in the hall, water running in the bathroom, the scrape of his own heavy door.
Is he expecting it? Sort of. It wasn't like the meltdown after Sleepr where they clearly both needed to let sleeping dogs lie, and that has been the singular time that either he or Akechi have been good at leaving the other alone.
He props up with the arm that isn't so severely torn to ribbons, reaches over to turn on the lamp next to his bed and squints at Akechi. As if it's any other night where he decides to enter the room after a 2 A.M. text exchange. ]
I could say the same to you.
[ He's... roughly 80% sure he can't make out a bandage on Akechi's hand. ]
I'll be able to heal us in the morning, though.
[ He sits up anyway. Head still swimming, but less violently than before. Stomach almost settled. ]
I can take care of it. Have a seat and we'll both patch up.
So you think. You don't know for certain. Solely relying on your persona to fix every single problem in your life is a recipe for disaster.
[Awakenings put users out of commission for days. Weeks. Abilities drain stamina. There are days even Akechi can't slog into the Metaverse after too many long nights prior.
That wasn't a normal attack - likely almighty in nature, but exceeding every known boundary he's experienced. Azathoth may need more than a few hours to recover. Maruki may need more than a day to regain the stamina. Odd nature of his persona aside, he can't imagine recovery happening overnight.
But he's sitting up - whatever. Minor wounds over his own body incomparable to the way his head throbs, the fatigue. He's gotten worse injuries from low level jack frosts - Maruki's persona healing the worst of it before it was knocked out of commission.
Akechi slogs over to the side table, flips the latch with his good hand and points up to the ceiling with the glass splinted one.]
Look up. I'm not arguing with you tonight, so sit still and do what I say.
Edited (w o r d ? wrm ? worm ?) 2024-07-31 02:06 (UTC)
I don't have the energy to argue with you, Akechi.
[ Not even to correct the tremendously ironic misconception that he relies on Azathoth to fix every single problem in his life.
Maruki does as he's told, dutifully. Sits up straighter and tips his chin up toward the ceiling–
Though not before getting a closer look at his hand now that he doesn't have to squint just to make out the vague shapes of the second line on an eye chart. ]
If it turns out I can't heal you, tomorrow you ought to go to the clinic for that. And you're talking to me about probable infections...
[Tomorrow, when he pull some tweezers out and dedicate the energy to peeling every small piece from his palm. The clinic won't be necessary.
An alcohol wipe is tore open with his teeth after a failed attempt to pull it apart, the curl of a hand igniting flare after annoying flare.
He tries to pull back memories of videos, books, how he tended his own injuries in Mementos. In palaces. Pulls back the time Maruki wrapped his arms up in a dingy storefront.
Follows those same steps - disinfect, clean, ointment across his face. Too tired to be delicate or gentle. Clinical, basic work from someone unaccustomed to helping another.
He keeps his fingertips away from his eyes - presses palm under jaw to move his face left and right under the light. Minor wounds studied, larger ones tended. Neck bruised - no blood. That's an Azathoth problem.
Checks the base of his skull, the back of his head - injuries he may not be aware of after slamming into the ground. Bumps. No blood. ]
Perhaps you should start wearing that golden helmet you were given.
Oh, I can only imagine how much that would have hurt getting smashed into my eyes instead of my glasses.
[ Light, easy sarcasm. A joke despite it all.
For the most part, he takes it on the nose. A hissing inhale when Akechi disinfects the worst of the gouges, and a displeased noise when he touches the base of his skull, but that's it. ]
Actually, now that I think about it, it didn't look like there was room for my glasses beneath that thing... I wonder what that's about.
[ The bandages shift with the movement of his face as he talks. It's not a bad job Akechi did at all. Quick, efficient. Hopefully far less harrowing for him to have to deal with than that kaiju wound was.
A little guilt creeps into the edges of Maruki's heart then. It shouldn't – Akechi is the one who did this to him – but he's never exactly been in the habit of making others pay for what they've done. He only feels bad about not being able to take better care of himself. ]
[Maruki's entire face smashed like a pancake under a golden plate. A funny sight - Azathoth having to reconstruct an entire head would be interesting to watch.]
You'll find out, I suppose.
[Perception. Cognition. Maruki may not need them in the Metaverse. The world follows patterns and logic, despite how asinine certain situations seem or how to obvious can become inane. It's all based on real world sensibilities, to an extent. Maruki may not need glasses because in the Metaverse, he perceives his sight differently. It's simple.
He snaps his fingers in the air - waits for Maruki's eyes to follow the source of the noise. For him to squint at Akechi's mid-snap gesture and become little slits the further he pulls his hand away. The light might be bothering Maruki. It's certainly wearing on Akechi's ever pulsing headache.
No, Maruki won't be dealing with his arm. He doesn't ask. Not in the mood to do anything but mindlessly pull back the fabric of his sleeve and take stock of the damage. Stretches it out, turns it to see - the whole thing needs wrapped up, probably. Some grooves etched deep, others shallow and erratic.
The same routine - disinfect, wipe, ointment.]
Did you know hypothermia is a cause of death in flaying?
[Streaks of red swiped over with wipe after wipe.]
Skin is the largest organ, which I'm sure you know, but losing enough of it can cause the body to drop in temperature.
[Ointment after ointment.]
While nothing got to that point, you should be aware of how important it is to take care of skin damage immediately and appropriately. If I left you to do this without your glasses, you may have made the situation worse.
[ Maruki does follow the motion of Akechi's hand through the air, a dull ache thudding behind his eyes, in his temples, down into his jaw. The light is bothering him. He's no stranger to severe headaches, and that was even before he got the shit beaten out of him. Darkness and quiet is what the doctor ordered, but–
He doesn't fight Akechi's continued care either, despite what he'd said, despite the festering seed of guilt in his chest. He looks away as Akechi works at it. There's something about it, the same hands that clawed deep bloody tracts into his skin being the ones to knit him back together. It sits strange on the back of his tongue, so he focuses on the opposite wall, listens.
Listens, with a disbelieving grin twisting over his aching face.
Listens, and huffs out a breath of a laugh, mirthless but somehow still fond. ]
Thank you for the trivia, as always. I should start having you write a fun fact of the day on a board in my office.
[ A sigh that turns into a quiet, pained noise in the back of his throat when Akechi starts to wrap his arm. ]
[Not that Maruki can see through his distorted vision, but Akechi makes A Look at the thought. The topics are interesting, but a bit morbid on occasion and those whiners would likely use it as an excuse to extend their session.
The bandage is wound tight around his arm - an issue stemming in the execution from his own blurring vision, rapid blinks keeping him cognizant of what he's doing.
He's so fucking tired.
Hand slips, then it's back up to search for the edge of the wrap he dropped. His head's pounding harder. The walk back to his room is about to be a miserable exercise.
He missed a spot - moves to unwrap and wrap again.]
Akechi would vehemently deny it. Push the offer aside without a hint of acknowledgement.
Tonight, with the residual call of chaos tearing his skull, worn and battered like he went through an awakening, a new attack forcing his hand and ending a battle -
From the normal exhaustion that comes from a typical training session. The extra fatigue of one that went too far. That became a lesson for one of them and that person isn't Akechi.
The thought of collapsing onto a rock hard floor with a thin pillow and even thinner blanket -
Makes him scoop up the fluffiest of Maruki's blankets.
Turn to the door and-
Crow's knocked down!!!
A new limit found, Akechi makes a mental note of it as he slams into the ground - buffered by the ultra plush bedding in his hands.]
It seems your floor is slippery - you should take care to wipe up spills.
[He's not moving - not even from the supposed 'spill'.]
[ Color Maruki intensely goddamn surprised that both of his pieces of advice are followed to the letter–
Almost.
Akechi drops like a sack of flour to the floor, so suddenly that Maruki's bolt upright and halfway off the bed in alarm as he does. He goes down hard and stays there. Doesn't budge. Not an inch, even as Maruki lets the silent seconds stretch into a full minute.
A smile cracks his bruised, aching face. ]
Here.
[ And then he's up, opening a sparsely used closet and pulling down the winter bedding that Akechi purchased for him when he first arrived, along with a bedroll. Does he use it for camping? Yes. Deal with it.
He rolls it out right next to where Akechi is, then spreads the extra bedding out over it. The layers of sheets and blankets are thick, far too warm to sleep underneath during the summer, but they'll make for a nice cushioned nest to lay on top of. With that done, he comes back around to the edge of his bed, gently nudges Akechi with a sockfoot. ]
Just roll over onto it. Sleep here. Honestly, I'm shocked we didn't fall sleep where we ended up outside.
[ How have either of them been going for as long as they have? Especially Akechi. Dear god.
Maruki doesn't wait for him to acquiesce. This is where he's staying, whether he likes it or not. He makes one last stop at his chest of drawers to rifle through his many bags of snacks, pulls out two packets of dorayaki. He looks at the bottom drawer, thinks for a moment to produce the cape and use it as a blanket just to be a shit, immediately decides against it. He doesn't have another ounce of antagonism in him tonight.
He flops back into his own blankets with no intention of getting up again, for any reason. One packet drops down onto Akechi's new bed on the floor next to his. ]
Only if you can stomach it.
[ And then, mercifully, the light gets flicked off. Maruki still doesn't think he can sleep right away, but the darkness will help both their heads. ]
Edited (I FORGOR THE MOST IMPORTANT PART words ok i'm done i'm so tired) 2024-07-31 07:40 (UTC)
[He isn't a toddler - doesn't need someone to make a bed for him, like he's getting ready to take a nap at preschool. Acting the part of a teacher dutifully rolling out a bed and ushering him into it with prod of his foot.
It does look comfortable.
He's irritated. Doesn't make an effort to roll over because he doesn't need it. Dragging himself out of the room with his hands alone is an option.
Fingers tested with small movements against the plush fabric. One hand is fine. The other? Problematic. No dragging.
Snack hits the ground next to him - he doesn't move. The light-
Vanishes and there's something about licking wounds in the dark. Recovering under a blanket of anonymity. Being able to ignore the profound embarrassment of having mercy and care given in general, let alone by someone he almost killed not even an hour ago.
It's so pathetic and -
The bedroll is better than a stone. The winter blanket alleviating the worst of his inflamed muscles and body's persistent, stinging tension. Everything coiled together twenty times over.
A rustle of plastic - small bite taken. His stomach churns with the sudden invasion and it's set aside. All the better. Laying in crumbs is a different sort of nightmare and an irritation he isn't willing to contend with in the morning.
The morning. After he wakes up on Maruki's floor - his alarm will go off in an hour. A couple. He can text Eren and move back to his room then. An hour or two should be enough to pull him back to a functioning minimum.
It's quiet. Akechi's exhausted. Maruki is too, but he doubts he can sleep with a murderer so close to his head, even one that's incapacitated.
And under the cover of a pitch black room that his eyes are slowly adjusting to - gaze settling on specks of dust and dirt visible under the bed frame.
It's quiet, and then it's not-]
Everyone has a limit, Maruki.
[Ten clumps of dust, dispersed evenly under the bed.]
I wonder how long it will take before you start to form your revenge against me.
[A shuffle. Blanket up to chin. He doesn't care about the already overwhelming heat. It's like -
Being in a bathhouse.]
Or maybe you already have and I'll find out when we return to our reality. Perhaps I'll find you in Shido's office spilling every secret.
[Maruki wouldn't - his contempt for Shido stronger than whatever malicious feelings should be forming in his heart for Akechi.]
He wouldn't listen to you anyway - not unless you provide proof of your ability and show him your value upfront. An ability he and his sycophants can use immediately.
[He's tired.]
For the record, he would kill you on the spot if you showed him the true extent of your power. He doesn't allow strength he can't control. Power above his own.
[He's so tired.]
You're better off finding someone who wants to overthrow him - there are plenty in his circle. Sell your soul to the lesser evil.
[ Darkness, silence. The briefest crinkle of plastic, then nothing. Maruki doesn't attempt to eat his own yet either. Merely lets the darkness, the silence begin to ease his spinning, pounding head.
And then Akechi's voice comes through. Maruki listens, as always.
He can't even say that Akechi is wrong. That's the problem. Everyone does have limits. Akechi should have already surpassed his several times over. He knows it. He doesn't know how to explain, in a way that would make any kind of sense outside of his own head– ]
My soul is my own. I haven't sold it to anyone and I won't.
[ Quiet conviction. Pain radiates through his head with every word. ]
My choices are my own too. Including who I choose to trust.
[ He brings a hand up, presses the heel of one palm into the temple that doesn't have a bandage over it. ]
Do you think that's a very long list? It isn't.
[ His mouth closes, jaw clicking. He considers it a moment longer.
Even when Akechi slammed his fist down over his eyes, Maruki didn't hate him. He's not well. He knows this. In the wrong hands, such loyalty is a blade easily turned back against him.
Anyone in their right mind would consider Akechi the wrong hands.
His own blankets pulled up higher. Rolled onto his side, facing the room, not the wall. ]
Trusting others inherently allows them to hurt you. To hurt you worse than anyone else could. The same way letting yourself fall in love with someone means allowing them the opportunity to break your heart. These things aren't the absence of pain.
[ A lesson hard learned. ]
I attempted to avoid pain for years by never trusting anyone. It didn't work. If I'm going to be hurt regardless, I would rather have something to show for it in the end.
[ A bond that grows stronger the more it's tested. Personal strength, too. There are benefits to having limits pushed over and over and over. ]
It's fine if you disagree. It won't change how I operate.
[Of course Akechi is going to disagree with the stupidest stretch of logic he's ever heard in his life.
All Maruki has to show for this-
A face covered in ointment, an eye crushed by glass, an arm ripped to shreds, a gun pointed to his head twice.
What the hell is he even saying?
Akechi's seen glimpses of Maruki now - moments of petulance, questionable experimentation, wrath hidden under a suit of golden armor.]
You're insane.
[Is what he settles on - dry, deadpan and without any sort of bite. No rational human being, godlike power or not, would continue doing this. Would keep this relationship going. Would make a fucking bed within arm's length of their aggressor.]
However, it's your own business. I never took you to be a glutton for punishment, but I suppose things have changed since that day you were cowering in alleyways. Whatever happens to you is your own doing.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cw: violence, eye damage, graphic violence. mmmm just dont click.
Akechi is delighted
because Maruki was never a waste of his time. Without Azathoth-He's stronger.
A persona shaped god won't be around forever and Marukifights and fights and fights
Like his life depends on it. It does. Akechi doesn't hesitate to peel both gloves from his hand, press into the elbow trying to jab air out of him - it works.It doesn't stop him.
The dizzying lack of air acting as oil.]Shut up! [A splintered, airless laugh.] I'll make your last moments on here the most painful.
[He throws all his weight into pushing Maruki's arm to his face - fist directed to glasses. Hits until shards embed in his knuckles. Until he presses against Maruki's eye to dig those pieces into eyelid, cornea, pupil - destroy his vision. Exploit a weakness. Use it against him. Pinpricks rip at his skin - thin red lines all over his hands.
Nails dig into the flesh of his arm. Palm presses broken frame against his face. Thin lines shredded down whatever exposed flesh he can - peeling, ripping, tearing like his body will exude smoke and rot instead of muscle and blood.]
You think you know me? My mind is fine. Nothing is broken. I'm in control of you, Shido, and every other piece of shit here that falls for that pathetic act-
[
Shreds, and digs
andlistens to every piece of bait
andRips and tears
andDestroys everything in sight.
Skin embeds under his fingertips - the same tracks torn into again and again and again and again and againandagainandagainandagain until it stains red, red, red on his hands. No gloves to cover it up this time. The sink will drain crimson for awhile. Akechi will wash his handsone
two
three
hours until every thought spirals down the drain.] You're so fucking stupid!cw eye trauma, graphic violence - truly you should not be reading this thread, stranger
Maruki can't see. Can't hear whatever sounds he's making, or Akechi's cruel taunts, or anything beyond the blaring siren static of his own mind. Can't see. Can't breathe without hitching and choking on a stuttered gasp. Can't see. Can't fucking see. ]
Akechi–
[ Weakened, but not pleading. Faint, but still furious.
The same way he didn't know how he would react to having to fight until Akechi snarled at him to kill that kaiju, he didn't know how he would react to true violence done against him until Akechi pinned him down and tore him apart.
Eren once asked him if he'd rather lay down and die than be a burden on someone else. It was early, so early. Maruki hadn't even moved into the castle yet. At that point – yes, of course, there were any number of instances where he'd rather lay down than whatever the alternative was.
Things have changed.
He's changed.
Azathoth rages in the back of his mind, but it's nothing compared to Maruki's own will to live, to fight.
He grabs blindly at whatever he can – Akechi's shirt, arm, face, hair – tries to shove him off – no luck, and some of the blood has pooled down into his mouth, and he splutters on it, but he still fights– ]
I won't tell you again, get the hell off of me, now!
[ Neither of them can see it – Akechi too singularly focused on his target, Maruki stuck in flickering, bloodied darkness – but Azathoth grows as the power within Maruki ratchets up to an inferno.
No, he won't die here. He's only just begun. ]
cw: ohhhh graphic violence oooo eye trauma, self harm (??), rock based violence!
red
redredredredred
red
redredredredredred̲r̲̲e̲̲d̲̲r̲̲e̲̲d̲̲r̲̲e̲̲d̲̲r̲̲e̲̲d̲̲r̲̲e̲̲d̲̲r̲̲e̲̲d̲
and-Wretched noises are fuel. Matches against fire - stacked over and over and over and over again and-
Akechi doesn't notice a thing. Azathoth doesn't exist in his mind's eye or otherwise. Loki's presence ever shifting, a spiral of agony and joy bursting through his chest with little pop, pop, pops that align with every thrashing motion, every unsuccessful attempt to remove him.
He won't relent. Never. Shards deep into his own hand, chunks he grips tight until his palms are coated in the same bright bright crimson as Maruki's cheeks, his eyes and-
That palm slams into Maruki's eye with force - face, cheek, ear, chin, jaw. Bare skin is a target. Akechi shares the pain - every slice pushes the glass in. Facing consequences.
Maruki's eyes are lost under thrashes
glass
A broken frame
A broken life
In a rural home with life tinted walls
In a rural town with damp, damp, grass under living corpses
In a small apartment with nothing left to lose.
Hand tearing into eye, the other full of peeled skin against his nails, dried blood staining and-
A rock - crueler than gun, or knife. Small enough to settle into the grooves of his hand, pointed enough to be a problem-
He
wants
Maruki
to hurt.
Because he's rotten. Because Akechi's cruel. Because both are stuck in muck and mud, festering uncontained wounds that spew pus and drainage. Sick. Spewing false cures while sharing disease and-He slams the rock into Maruki's neck.
again
and again
and again.
Azathoth is strong because Maruki is strong.
Maruki is fighting. Maruki will fight. Maruki will rip, tear, destroy to get Akechi off of him on the tile floor, in a dark alleyway, beside a colorful poster -
Stone slams into his neck again
again
and again
and again.
Because he needs to learn what it will take to kill Akechi Goro if he wants to survive.]cw graphic violence, eye trauma, near death experience
But whatever it is hits again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again–
At some point, shock sets in and the pain stops registering at all. His vision stops fading from the glass dug into his eyes. His ears stop ringing from the echoes of his own shouting. He stops being able to shout. He stops being able to make any noise at all. Something in his throat cracks, snaps, collapses in on itself– he wants to scream, can't– wants to breathe, can't–
The volume of reality steadily turned down until it goes mute, his own labored half-breaths and his heart kicking into overtime the only sounds rattling around his emptied mind.
It doesn't look like Eden. It doesn't look like anything at all.
There are countless explanations of what happens to consciousness when death draws near. Spiritual explanations, religious ones. Psychological explanations, neurological ones. Maruki can't claim to be an expert in any of them. Has cognitive psience ever had anything to say on the matter? Likely not. It's research he could pioneer. It's research that could get him killed on a chilly winter's night in his tiny apartment kitchen– in an empty alley behind a trendy cafe or an udon restaurant or a jazz club– in a cognitive world whose shape he doesn't yet know– or here, on a grassy knoll behind a castle in the reality that delivered his life straight into the hands of the person who's meant to end it.
He can't fight anymore, but his synapses fire at a rapid pace, trying to stave off the heavy blanket of peace settling over his cognition, and–
Maruki draws a huge, gulping gasp of air as his eyes fly open. Throat structurally sound once more, eyes blurry with blood and tears but fully functional. He sees Akechi above him, the rock raised above his head, the blood coating his hands, the front of his shirt, his face, everywhere, everywhere.
A red-stained grin blooms across Maruki's face. A breathless laugh escapes.
It's over. ]
Azathoth.
[ The sky above them splits open as dark energy coalesces into a great glowing orb, and Maruki wrenches his arms free to grab Akechi around his knitted-together ribs and shove him sideways, down into the grass next to him, with every ounce of strength returned to him with that heal. He can't escape this blast, and he doesn't want to. He just needs to make sure it hits Akechi as hard as it hits him.
Tyrant Chaos aims inexorably at them both, and in the resulting explosion of blinding light, Maruki's only coherent thought is that if they kill each other like this, they'll deserve every second they spend in Inferna together. ]
cw: emeto, murder, suicide, graphic violence! suicidal ideation (????)
and it's what he deserves.
Exploitable. Ruined. Rotten.Maruki will live
and it's what he deserves.
Resourceful. Unrelenting. Powerful.Stone against skin, a rupture that twists thin streaks of red, muscle pulsing with air that escapes against Akechi's fingers. A hint of white that might be his spine and-
A discarded prince can never win against a decayed king.
Bone and flesh mend under his stained fingers. Expected. He doesn't fight it. Almost glad for it. Infuriated with it. Work undone in a blink, years of cultivated power overturned by natural gifts.
He can't stand it. The glass in his palm stings and -
Bruised ribs and sore body slammed into the ground. Expected.
Maruki's eyes are broken and bright under an ever growing light forming high above them.
Akechi doesn't look because it's nowhere near the brilliant shade pressing him down with gaze and arm.
He just
wanted
to burn
as bright as they do. Did.
Joker. Maruki. And a grotesque prince playing pretend.He chokes out a laugh because he
wants
to stop
and he can't.Because he wants
to live
and he can't. Because he wants toplay chess
with a friend
in a shitty cafe nestled in dark alleyway. Because he wants tosit at a bar
in a shitty shoebox apartment
two subway rides away from a place that will never be home.He wants to
to stop
he wants
to stop
he wants to stop
he wants to stop
he can't stop
he'll never stop
It's too late to stop.
Maruki's always there - even now, as he tries to push his exhausted, weary body beyond its limit, beyond the thrall of a distorted ability befitting of evil, of a monster, and Maruki's always there -
Confident, unshakeable Maruki -
He could leave and he doesn't. Stays by his side, pressed into the muck and dirt, willingly festering and rotting alongside. Akechi pulled him down. Maruki could rise. Akechi can't. Maruki could. Maruki doesn't.
Maruki's always there even as -
Blinding, piercing light fills his vision and then it doesn't. A flicker. A thought.
Joker saw a light, maybe, as he tried to focus on a dark tunnel aimed at him.
His mother saw a light, maybe, when the sun touched her dangling body in a small room that felt more like home than anything since.There's nothing
and he thinks he's happy.
Then there's something and thick white foam is flowing from his mouth with lurching haggard breaths. A lack of food a blessing as everything inside his stomach hits blood soaked ground. On hands and knees, he doesn't remember getting up - an axe is hitting his skull again, again, again in ten even splinters that he's sure he could feel if he could move his glass coated hand to check. Shaking. Weak. Attack unclear. Attack unknown. Attack new.Azathoth is strong because Maruki is strong and -
Akechi never had a doubt otherwise.]
cw get cared for after ALL THAT, IDIOT
For a long moment he only lays there, gasping, bruised, burning, unseeing. Pressed flat into the ground, chest heaving. His mouth opens, nothing escapes.
At his side–
Akechi breathes. He isn't dead.
Neither of them are.
The white slowly bleeds from his vision. A blurry form next to him. Curled in on himself, hunched, slight. Matted hair, streaks and swaths of blood.
Maruki reaches out–
And then he's up in motions so violently staggering that he thinks he's about to get pinned down and attacked again, but instead he only drags himself to hands and knees under his own power, of course, of course. Irrepressible, independent, inevitable Akechi.
In a marketplace of an unfamiliar town– on a dusty road leading to a castle– at a bar in a kitchen slowly becoming his own– in a ruined city filled with monsters tall as skyscrapers– in a living whipped up into a frenzy by an unknowable alien wind– in a perpetually dark forest– in a lake that knew too much– in a bathhouse that heard too much– in a club with low soothing music, in a cafe with obstinate rage– in every late night message and visit and training session– in a glowing alcove on a cliff overlooking a labyrinth they'll one day destroy together– in a grassy clearing stained with both their blood–
There's Akechi. There has always been Akechi.
Maruki hears him retching. Pushes himself to sit up, every muscle in his body screaming against it. Shattered and bent frames fall off his face, into his lap. He reaches out, lays a hand between his shoulder blades as he splutters and wheezes. ]
Akechi.
[ Voice rough, hoarse. Throat burning. Head pounding.
Maruki swallows. Rubs his hand back and forth, even that motion painful. Tries again. ]
Akechi. You're alright. We're done here.
DIRE DIRE DIRE OHHH EVIL CAITLIN
But Maruki says his name - tired, pained and rasp. Not a single hint of disdain or anger. The contact between his shoulders no longer feels malicious. The splitting headache dulls with the up, down, up, down, up, down, up, despite his muscles tensing with the movement.
He says they're done. Says Akechi's alright. They are done. He is alright.
Body stilled. Repetitive motion. Questions on his lips and-
It doesn't matter if he asks 'What are you doing?'
He already knows. Maruki's doing what he always does - stays there. Is there. Present.
If he asks 'What are you doing?'Because Maruki doesn't flinch when Akechi spits vile and venom, fist and rock.
If he asks 'What are you doing?Because he's foolish. Stupid. All resolve and will.
Loyal, to a fault.Akechi inhales - slow and quiet. Stomach lurching with nothing inside. It's safe to push himself back to his knees - to take in the broken face next to him. His will unshattered. Unshaken.
They're done.]
They awoke at the same time.
[Voice raw and scratchy. Soft, but not by choice. He doesn't know why he's talking - the same bizarre compulsion he felt at the bathhouse, at the convenience store, on a grassy hillside.]
It felt like this.
[Miserable. Wretched. Fatigue peeling back every layer of skin, exposing nerve to air - every single movement an exhausting effort that drains what little is left inside a person. Maruki may never experience a traditional awakening, but that direct blast of divine energy comes close. It feels like vindication.
He presses a hand against Maruki's shoulder - gentle, at first. Inhale. Exhale. Loki's thrall long gone and nestled back between the barbs in his chest.
Then there's pressure forced down onto the barely mobile man, as Akechi pushes himself up to his feet. No glass in that palm. He tries to loosen small shards with a shake of his other hand and-
He
stands.
And heReaches out with the same stone wielding hand that sentenced Maruki to death seconds ago. Stained. Nails torn and chipped.]
Get up.
no subject
There are some kernels of truth even in the lies that Akechi has told him over the months they've circled one another. How it felt to awaken to a mysterious power alone– and now, knowing that it happened twice at once– and with what Maruki has been able to piece together about how young he must have been–
It isn't pity that he feels toward Akechi. Not at all. Only a profound sense of gratitude. I'm glad you're here, even now, even after all that transpired as the sun set over Somnius.
Maruki takes his hand without a second thought, hauls up unsteadily to his feet.
Azathoth must have dissipated somewhere in their half-consciousness. Maruki takes stock of his own injuries, then Akechi's. Tries to call it forth again.
No luck.
That's new. Even after the battle against the Green Knight, he'd had no problem summoning Azathoth. Even before the spaghetti.
The difference is, he'd been in good shape then. Battered from the fight, but not as badly as now – death was never a tangible fear in his mind, guarded as he was by Azathoth – and then healed of his superficial wounds by Venat. Maruki looks down at the broken remnants of his glasses in his hand, remembers the delicate way she mended them for him before, slid them back onto his face with a smile like every star in the sky.
He closes his eyes, sighs through his nose. No Azathoth. No healing. It must have taken the very last of his spirit to save him from certain death and reverse only the worst of his injuries, because everything else remains.
The shards of glass embedded in Akechi's palm catch his eye, turn his stomach. ]
Let's get cleaned up.
[ A step toward the castle, two, three. Testing his strength. It's not like the morning they had to stagger out of the Enchanted Garden. In some ways, it's better; in others, much worse.
Maruki looks over at Akechi, more drained than he's ever seen him. ]
Lean on me if you need to.
[ Not that he expects Akechi to need to, or to accept the offer even if he does, but the state of him–
Maruki feels half-dead from what Akechi was able to do to him under that power. He can scarcely imagine how it must feel to be the one consumed by it. How it must feel to have two souls sprung forth from your own, whether they're cooperative or at war. How it must feel to have to maintain more masks on top of that. How it must feel to sleep little, eat little, work constantly, navigate the complex web of Masayoshi Shido on top of that. How completely depleted Akechi must be on a near constant basis, has been for years, still is even here.
It doesn't matter if Akechi needs it, actually. Maruki grips his arm with steadying force anyway, pulls him along. ]
no subject
If their positions were reversed, Akechi would have wasted no time in telling Maruki exactly what he thought of his 'help' - where he should shove his hand. A notion that doesn't seem to occur in whatever crossed wires fill his mind.
But they're both up.
They're okay.
An inkling in the back of his mind pursuing what that power was, even in the throes of exhaustion. No Azathoth appearing to lick their wounds - it's likely Maruki is spent. Loki and Robin Hood remain persistent and silent, not that they would provide any help in this moment.
Maruki says something. Akechi didn't catch it, but it's obvious what he meant by the way he heads towards the castle with slow steps, shaky breath.
He follows. The offer heard, ignored and-
A hand back on his arm, tugging an unwilling body forward.
He'll never understand Maruki. Even if they spent 20 more years together, only separated by a single wall, free time spent in each other's company more often than not, Akechi will never untangle what makes him tick. What makes him accept abuse, violence, and no repayment other than a shared resolve to go back to Tokyo.
It's so goddamn maddening-
That he wouldn't have been able to peel himself off the grass without him - couldn't move forward without him.
Akechi hates him - deeply. A sensation pooling in his heart.]
I need my gun - let go and do whatever you need to inside. I'll follow shortly.
[Can Maruki even see right now? Akechi has no clue, but he assumes the man will figure it out somehow. Touch the walls and follow the path. Maybe one of their housemates will pull him in.]
cw injury descriptions (i don't think they're graphic, but. shrug)
[ In truth, he can't remember. Even if he hadn't come close to death and then knocked himself out anyway, things were so frantic that he wasn't paying too much attention to what the tentacles were doing at that point.
Still, he turns around, wavering a little as he does, and squints through scenery that's completely fuzzy. ]
It probably would have been thrown into the trees. It shouldn't be too far.
[ He raises an arm to point. The long, stinging strips of shredded away skin stretch with the motion and burn. He grimaces, looks at his arm. Hadn't realized how bloody it was. Just a red blur.
His stomach lurches once more. It's the most of his own blood he's ever seen outside of his body. ]
See you inside.
[ It's a slow walk back in. A slower ascent up the stairs. The barely-eaten food in the kitchen is ignored; it'll be a pain in the ass to clean up tomorrow, but who knows, maybe The Humanoid Garbage Disposal will end up coming home and inhaling it all. Maruki can't even remember what he made for dinner. Something with extra mushrooms, nearly always. His head spins as he climbs another few steps. He needs–
To clean himself up. Hands, arms, face, neck washed in the bathroom sink, the warm water and soap as painful as lemon juice. Checks himself in the mirror, leaning in close to be able to focus his eyesight. Deep gouges, nasty latticework scrapes, nicks and cuts everywhere. Scratches like the claw marks of a feral animal. His throat may have been healed, but his neck is already bruising black and blue.
He knows he should patch up the worst of the wounds, but he's passed the point of exhaustion and entered into a dark, dizzy state that feels a little too familiar. With the blood rinsed down the drain, he grabs one of their many first aid kids and stumbles into his bedroom down the hall.
He should change. Doesn't. Collapses into bed in the clothes that are still stained with grass and dirt and both of their blood. In the morning, after a good long rest, Azathoth will be in rare form and will fully heal him, he's certain of it. Only then will he worry about mundane shit like laundry.
For now, all that matters is going horizontal, staring up at the ceiling until it stops spinning. The first aid kit is abandoned on his bedside table. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He doesn't check it. Only lays there and breathes, slowly going from a ragged pant to the carefully counted breaths that he teaches to his patients.
He can't sleep yet, despite everything. Can't even rest his eyes without that last image of Akechi above him before glass shattered down into his face, that sense memory of torn flesh and contused tissue. ]
cw: injury description cont!
Awhile. The knife is gone - he doesn't care enough about the dulled blade to give more than a cursory glance around the yard.
And by the time he pulls himself into the doorway, past forgotten meals and into a shared bathroom with a red tinted sink, drops on the edges that denote recent use-
He just doesn't care anymore.
Quiet mind. Blissful reprieve as he follows an all too familiar routine of rinsing bloodied hands for-
Awhile. Repetitive. Mindless. Stings with every tug of thick glass, another stream of red to join the spiraling pool of it, following the thin lines of his palm. Small slivers too deep to pinch out. Impossible to push out. He ignores it and-
Face washed - hair rinsed in the sink. A deep purple settles along his cheek, swelling apparent under his eye and exacerbating an already annoying dark circle. Soreness felt with any minor jaw movement. Shirt coated red from a stab wound with a similar bloom of colors - it almost looks like Loki's spreading across his body.
There are plenty of first aid kits. He ignores every single one of them because-
The fight is a shared responsibility. Both of them egging the other on and-
He remembers that Maruki isn't accustomed to this and-
It would be a shame if he died from minor wounds in his bed after surviving a brutal assault by an ally's hand.
The door's never locked - he walks in, palm stinging with every jostle of his fingers, pinpricks of small glass making themselves known with the twist of a doorknob.
An unopened first aid kit on the table. Dark room. Maruki sprawled on the bed, breathing.]
Don't you understand how infections come about? Sit up.
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Is he expecting it? Sort of. It wasn't like the meltdown after Sleepr where they clearly both needed to let sleeping dogs lie, and that has been the singular time that either he or Akechi have been good at leaving the other alone.
He props up with the arm that isn't so severely torn to ribbons, reaches over to turn on the lamp next to his bed and squints at Akechi. As if it's any other night where he decides to enter the room after a 2 A.M. text exchange. ]
I could say the same to you.
[ He's... roughly 80% sure he can't make out a bandage on Akechi's hand. ]
I'll be able to heal us in the morning, though.
[ He sits up anyway. Head still swimming, but less violently than before. Stomach almost settled. ]
I can take care of it. Have a seat and we'll both patch up.
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[Awakenings put users out of commission for days. Weeks. Abilities drain stamina. There are days even Akechi can't slog into the Metaverse after too many long nights prior.
That wasn't a normal attack - likely almighty in nature, but exceeding every known boundary he's experienced. Azathoth may need more than a few hours to recover. Maruki may need more than a day to regain the stamina. Odd nature of his persona aside, he can't imagine recovery happening overnight.
But he's sitting up - whatever. Minor wounds over his own body incomparable to the way his head throbs, the fatigue. He's gotten worse injuries from low level jack frosts - Maruki's persona healing the worst of it before it was knocked out of commission.
Akechi slogs over to the side table, flips the latch with his good hand and points up to the ceiling with the glass splinted one.]
Look up. I'm not arguing with you tonight, so sit still and do what I say.
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[ Not even to correct the tremendously ironic misconception that he relies on Azathoth to fix every single problem in his life.
Maruki does as he's told, dutifully. Sits up straighter and tips his chin up toward the ceiling–
Though not before getting a closer look at his hand now that he doesn't have to squint just to make out the vague shapes of the second line on an eye chart. ]
If it turns out I can't heal you, tomorrow you ought to go to the clinic for that. And you're talking to me about probable infections...
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[Tomorrow, when he pull some tweezers out and dedicate the energy to peeling every small piece from his palm. The clinic won't be necessary.
An alcohol wipe is tore open with his teeth after a failed attempt to pull it apart, the curl of a hand igniting flare after annoying flare.
He tries to pull back memories of videos, books, how he tended his own injuries in Mementos. In palaces. Pulls back the time Maruki wrapped his arms up in a dingy storefront.
Follows those same steps - disinfect, clean, ointment across his face. Too tired to be delicate or gentle. Clinical, basic work from someone unaccustomed to helping another.
He keeps his fingertips away from his eyes - presses palm under jaw to move his face left and right under the light. Minor wounds studied, larger ones tended. Neck bruised - no blood. That's an Azathoth problem.
Checks the base of his skull, the back of his head - injuries he may not be aware of after slamming into the ground. Bumps. No blood. ]
Perhaps you should start wearing that golden helmet you were given.
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[ Light, easy sarcasm. A joke despite it all.
For the most part, he takes it on the nose. A hissing inhale when Akechi disinfects the worst of the gouges, and a displeased noise when he touches the base of his skull, but that's it. ]
Actually, now that I think about it, it didn't look like there was room for my glasses beneath that thing... I wonder what that's about.
[ The bandages shift with the movement of his face as he talks. It's not a bad job Akechi did at all. Quick, efficient. Hopefully far less harrowing for him to have to deal with than that kaiju wound was.
A little guilt creeps into the edges of Maruki's heart then. It shouldn't – Akechi is the one who did this to him – but he's never exactly been in the habit of making others pay for what they've done. He only feels bad about not being able to take better care of himself. ]
I can do my arm. Really.
cw: flaying fun fact!
You'll find out, I suppose.
[Perception. Cognition. Maruki may not need them in the Metaverse. The world follows patterns and logic, despite how asinine certain situations seem or how to obvious can become inane. It's all based on real world sensibilities, to an extent. Maruki may not need glasses because in the Metaverse, he perceives his sight differently. It's simple.
He snaps his fingers in the air - waits for Maruki's eyes to follow the source of the noise. For him to squint at Akechi's mid-snap gesture and become little slits the further he pulls his hand away. The light might be bothering Maruki. It's certainly wearing on Akechi's ever pulsing headache.
No, Maruki won't be dealing with his arm. He doesn't ask. Not in the mood to do anything but mindlessly pull back the fabric of his sleeve and take stock of the damage. Stretches it out, turns it to see - the whole thing needs wrapped up, probably. Some grooves etched deep, others shallow and erratic.
The same routine - disinfect, wipe, ointment.]
Did you know hypothermia is a cause of death in flaying?
[Streaks of red swiped over with wipe after wipe.]
Skin is the largest organ, which I'm sure you know, but losing enough of it can cause the body to drop in temperature.
[Ointment after ointment.]
While nothing got to that point, you should be aware of how important it is to take care of skin damage immediately and appropriately. If I left you to do this without your glasses, you may have made the situation worse.
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He doesn't fight Akechi's continued care either, despite what he'd said, despite the festering seed of guilt in his chest. He looks away as Akechi works at it. There's something about it, the same hands that clawed deep bloody tracts into his skin being the ones to knit him back together. It sits strange on the back of his tongue, so he focuses on the opposite wall, listens.
Listens, with a disbelieving grin twisting over his aching face.
Listens, and huffs out a breath of a laugh, mirthless but somehow still fond. ]
Thank you for the trivia, as always. I should start having you write a fun fact of the day on a board in my office.
[ A sigh that turns into a quiet, pained noise in the back of his throat when Akechi starts to wrap his arm. ]
Point taken, though. I appreciate the help.
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The bandage is wound tight around his arm - an issue stemming in the execution from his own blurring vision, rapid blinks keeping him cognizant of what he's doing.
He's so fucking tired.
Hand slips, then it's back up to search for the edge of the wrap he dropped. His head's pounding harder. The walk back to his room is about to be a miserable exercise.
He missed a spot - moves to unwrap and wrap again.]
Where else?
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Looks up at his face, near enough that he doesn't have to squint too badly. The lamp throws harsh shadows on it, sure, but even without that– ]
Akechi. Take a break.
[ Gentle, but firm. And no less tired than how Akechi sounds. Looks. Is. They both need it. ]
Everything else is superficial. Seriously. You got the worst of it taken care of.
[ A beat, and then, with all the knowledge that he'll be brushed off: ]
And take the bedding that I have. You maniac.
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Akechi would vehemently deny it. Push the offer aside without a hint of acknowledgement.
Tonight, with the residual call of chaos tearing his skull, worn and battered like he went through an awakening, a new attack forcing his hand and ending a battle -
From the normal exhaustion that comes from a typical training session. The extra fatigue of one that went too far. That became a lesson for one of them and that person isn't Akechi.
The thought of collapsing onto a rock hard floor with a thin pillow and even thinner blanket -
Makes him scoop up the fluffiest of Maruki's blankets.
Turn to the door and-
Crow's knocked down!!!
A new limit found, Akechi makes a mental note of it as he slams into the ground - buffered by the ultra plush bedding in his hands.]
It seems your floor is slippery - you should take care to wipe up spills.
[He's not moving - not even from the supposed 'spill'.]
I'll be up in a moment.
[He's! not! moving!]
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Almost.
Akechi drops like a sack of flour to the floor, so suddenly that Maruki's bolt upright and halfway off the bed in alarm as he does. He goes down hard and stays there. Doesn't budge. Not an inch, even as Maruki lets the silent seconds stretch into a full minute.
A smile cracks his bruised, aching face. ]
Here.
[ And then he's up, opening a sparsely used closet and pulling down the winter bedding that Akechi purchased for him when he first arrived, along with a bedroll. Does he use it for camping? Yes. Deal with it.
He rolls it out right next to where Akechi is, then spreads the extra bedding out over it. The layers of sheets and blankets are thick, far too warm to sleep underneath during the summer, but they'll make for a nice cushioned nest to lay on top of. With that done, he comes back around to the edge of his bed, gently nudges Akechi with a sockfoot. ]
Just roll over onto it. Sleep here. Honestly, I'm shocked we didn't fall sleep where we ended up outside.
[ How have either of them been going for as long as they have? Especially Akechi. Dear god.
Maruki doesn't wait for him to acquiesce. This is where he's staying, whether he likes it or not. He makes one last stop at his chest of drawers to rifle through his many bags of snacks, pulls out two packets of dorayaki. He looks at the bottom drawer, thinks for a moment to produce the cape and use it as a blanket just to be a shit, immediately decides against it. He doesn't have another ounce of antagonism in him tonight.
He flops back into his own blankets with no intention of getting up again, for any reason. One packet drops down onto Akechi's new bed on the floor next to his. ]
Only if you can stomach it.
[ And then, mercifully, the light gets flicked off. Maruki still doesn't think he can sleep right away, but the darkness will help both their heads. ]
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It does look comfortable.
He's irritated. Doesn't make an effort to roll over because he doesn't need it. Dragging himself out of the room with his hands alone is an option.
Fingers tested with small movements against the plush fabric. One hand is fine. The other? Problematic. No dragging.
Snack hits the ground next to him - he doesn't move. The light-
Vanishes and there's something about licking wounds in the dark. Recovering under a blanket of anonymity. Being able to ignore the profound embarrassment of having mercy and care given in general, let alone by someone he almost killed not even an hour ago.
It's so pathetic and -
The bedroll is better than a stone. The winter blanket alleviating the worst of his inflamed muscles and body's persistent, stinging tension. Everything coiled together twenty times over.
A rustle of plastic - small bite taken. His stomach churns with the sudden invasion and it's set aside. All the better. Laying in crumbs is a different sort of nightmare and an irritation he isn't willing to contend with in the morning.
The morning. After he wakes up on Maruki's floor - his alarm will go off in an hour. A couple. He can text Eren and move back to his room then. An hour or two should be enough to pull him back to a functioning minimum.
It's quiet. Akechi's exhausted. Maruki is too, but he doubts he can sleep with a murderer so close to his head, even one that's incapacitated.
And under the cover of a pitch black room that his eyes are slowly adjusting to - gaze settling on specks of dust and dirt visible under the bed frame.
It's quiet, and then it's not-]
Everyone has a limit, Maruki.
[Ten clumps of dust, dispersed evenly under the bed.]
I wonder how long it will take before you start to form your revenge against me.
[A shuffle. Blanket up to chin. He doesn't care about the already overwhelming heat. It's like -
Being in a bathhouse.]
Or maybe you already have and I'll find out when we return to our reality. Perhaps I'll find you in Shido's office spilling every secret.
[Maruki wouldn't - his contempt for Shido stronger than whatever malicious feelings should be forming in his heart for Akechi.]
He wouldn't listen to you anyway - not unless you provide proof of your ability and show him your value upfront. An ability he and his sycophants can use immediately.
[He's tired.]
For the record, he would kill you on the spot if you showed him the true extent of your power. He doesn't allow strength he can't control. Power above his own.
[He's so tired.]
You're better off finding someone who wants to overthrow him - there are plenty in his circle. Sell your soul to the lesser evil.
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And then Akechi's voice comes through. Maruki listens, as always.
He can't even say that Akechi is wrong. That's the problem. Everyone does have limits. Akechi should have already surpassed his several times over. He knows it. He doesn't know how to explain, in a way that would make any kind of sense outside of his own head– ]
My soul is my own. I haven't sold it to anyone and I won't.
[ Quiet conviction. Pain radiates through his head with every word. ]
My choices are my own too. Including who I choose to trust.
[ He brings a hand up, presses the heel of one palm into the temple that doesn't have a bandage over it. ]
Do you think that's a very long list? It isn't.
[ His mouth closes, jaw clicking. He considers it a moment longer.
Even when Akechi slammed his fist down over his eyes, Maruki didn't hate him. He's not well. He knows this. In the wrong hands, such loyalty is a blade easily turned back against him.
Anyone in their right mind would consider Akechi the wrong hands.
His own blankets pulled up higher. Rolled onto his side, facing the room, not the wall. ]
Trusting others inherently allows them to hurt you. To hurt you worse than anyone else could. The same way letting yourself fall in love with someone means allowing them the opportunity to break your heart. These things aren't the absence of pain.
[ A lesson hard learned. ]
I attempted to avoid pain for years by never trusting anyone. It didn't work. If I'm going to be hurt regardless, I would rather have something to show for it in the end.
[ A bond that grows stronger the more it's tested. Personal strength, too. There are benefits to having limits pushed over and over and over. ]
It's fine if you disagree. It won't change how I operate.
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All Maruki has to show for this-
A face covered in ointment, an eye crushed by glass, an arm ripped to shreds, a gun pointed to his head twice.
What the hell is he even saying?
Akechi's seen glimpses of Maruki now - moments of petulance, questionable experimentation, wrath hidden under a suit of golden armor.]
You're insane.
[Is what he settles on - dry, deadpan and without any sort of bite. No rational human being, godlike power or not, would continue doing this. Would keep this relationship going. Would make a fucking bed within arm's length of their aggressor.]
However, it's your own business. I never took you to be a glutton for punishment, but I suppose things have changed since that day you were cowering in alleyways. Whatever happens to you is your own doing.
(no subject)
(no subject)
cw eye trauma, graphic violence