Live Through ~ Chapter Seven

Warnings: Angst, surrealism, angst. And a cliffhanger, but in this fic, I suppose you're all getting used to those.

Part Seven

 

The beautiful thing about white noise is that it sounds like silence, but it’s louder. Silence is something that most people don’t like; it is awkward and heavy and sometimes can be so loud that it deafens. I don’t want to be wrapped in silence. That’s too much like being dead.

 

But it isn’t silent here. There’s the hum of some machinery, farther off, and the window is open so there’s the sound of wind and the birds chirping. Gentle noise. Silence is harsh. There’s also the low murmur of voices. I think, a lot of the time, that they’re talking to me. But there’s a step between hearing and comprehesion called ‘listening’, and it’s a step I don’t feel like taking right now.

 

It’s interesting, if you let yourself fade out in stages, to watch what goes first. Movement. Movement is always first. After a day or so of being blank, I couldn’t even move if I wanted to. I’m limp all over, and my limbs don’t want to obey me. If my hair gets in my face, it sits there until someone brushes it out of the way for me. I won’t eat. I lose too much of the separation. Every now and again there’s a sharp pain in my arm, and the gauze clears long enough to see Watari sliding a needle out. Nutritional injections. Do the dead need to eat?

 

Apparently they do.

 

After movement goes sound. I’m not sure I could understand the people around me if I wanted to. I’ve grown incapable of listening. Everything is a dull roar in my ears, a sound that blends together and can’t be separated into syllables or decibels. Sometimes I can hear Tsuzuki’s voice, but I never know whether or not he’s really there, or if it’s only in my mind.

 

In my dream.

 

Sight is next. The world is growing steadily dimmer and dimmer. The gauze goes from white to gray. What’s perhaps scariest about this is that, as all colors solidify into shades of gray, no one seems to realize it but me. The only color that still exists is the beautiful purple of Tsuzuki’s eyes. I can only imagine it, though. I can’t see it.

 

Do they know how much I’m slipping?

 

Next to go is thought. I don’t really think much anymore. The dreams come and go, but I don’t notice. Sleeping and waking are the same state.

 

I think I may be dying.

 

The strangest thing about it is that it doesn’t bother me very much anymore.

 

Words. I can hear words. I can’t tell what they are. They blend into the white noise of my little womb. I think they’re directed at me. I don’t care. I don’t care about much of anything anymore.

 

Touch. Touch is the last sensation to go, the one that still matters. When they touch me, I still know. I can’t always tell who it is, but I can feel it. Now someone is laying their hands on my forehead. I can hear more words. Something’s going on. Maybe something big. Do I care?

 

All of a sudden I do care, and I care a lot, because whatever they’re doing hurts. And it doesn’t just hurt the way Watari’s needle in my arm hurt, or when Akimiya smacked me to make me stop hyperventilating, it HURTS. It hurts even more than Tsuzuki’s ever-so-subtle rejection, not wanting the others to know he had kissed me. It hurts like Muraki hurts, like a wound that’s festered for ages and is now being poked with a rusty, sharp object.

 

I think I’m screaming.

 

I have this sudden, uncharitable thought that, whatever they’re doing, they’re doing it to get me to wake up. But as I lurch upwards, still screaming, trying in some weird way to escape the pain, I see Watari’s shocked face and I know that this was not intentional.

 

Abruptly, the pain stops, except for a lingering ache, fire that runs up and down the scars and then subsides to ashes.

 

“What the hell?” Akimiya asks.

 

Even if it wasn’t the desired effect, the world is clear now. The gauze, gray and white alike, has been stripped off my eyes. I can move. Hear. See. Think. Feel.

 

“What just happened?” My voice is hoarse from so many days unused. How long was it? Days? Weeks, even? They all looked completely shocked that I’m speaking again. Further evidence that they weren’t just trying to get me out of my shell.

 

Tatsumi-san, who is leaning against the far wall, too far away to be involved directly but obviously wanting to have been there to view the outcome, is the first to collect himself and answer. “Watari thought he might have found a way to break the curse. Obviously, he was wrong.”

 

“No,” Watari says. He seems to have also pulled himself together. He’s staring at me. “That’s not what happened.”

 

I look down at where he’s staring. So does everyone else. My arms. I’m only wearing a T-shirt, and below where the sleeves end, the red curse marks stand out beautifully against my pale skin.

 

“But . . .” Tsuzuki, perched in a chair next to my bed, begins. Then his voice trails off and he doesn’t finish his sentence.

 

“He tied the two curses in together,” Watari says. I can see that tiny spark of admiration in his eyes, the spark that’s always there when we come up against a truly brilliant opponent, no matter how dangerous the situation. “I can’t end one without ending the other. But . . . I can’t end the first, because it already completed its objective, and thus has already happened.”

 

Silence greets this.

 

“So, there’s no way to fix this?” I ask. Remind me to slit my wrists at my next opportunity. Tsuzuki puts a hand on my shoulder, and I can’t help but flinch away. I lay back down. Try to find the gauze again. But the lingering pain prevents it.

 

“No . . .” Watari says slowly. “In order to tie two curses together like that, there has to be a focus.”

 

“Huh?” Akimiya asks. He’s obviously not on the up-and-up with curses. Then again, I have no idea what Watari is talking about either. It makes me think, oddly enough, of Hijiri and the demon. The cursed violin. The demon couldn’t work its magic on Hijiri without the violin. The focus.

 

“So all we have to do is find the focus and destroy it,” Watari proclaims. He looks about ten times more confident than I feel. “It would have to be a physical object with the curse markings on it somehow.”

 

We all blink at him.

 

“The doll?” I ask hesitantly.

 

Tsuzuki looks like he’s in a state of shock. “But Muraki . . . isn’t . . .”

 

“God, it’s so obvious in retrospect.” The pieces are all starting to fall into place for me now. I think several of them might have clicked together while I was still half-sleeping, wrapped in gauze and white noise. “He knew my first dream would be about him, because of course he’s my greatest nightmare. And he knew that when you managed to wake me up, you would all be reassuring me that he wasn’t really here, and it never occurred to any of us that just because he was in my first dream, doesn’t mean he wasn’t really behind it.”

 

They’re staring at me, but I can see comprehension starting to dawn on all of them.

 

“He’s the only person alive who knows about this curse; he’s the only one that could tie both curses together,” I continue. “That’s why the scars kept hurting, even after the first dream was over.”

 

Watari jumps as if he’s been bitten by something unpleasant. “Your scars have been hurting the whole time?”

 

I nod.

 

“Why didn’t you tell us that?” Now he looks upset.

 

“Because I didn’t want to hear that Muraki wasn’t really here for the eightieth time.” I know I sound defensive. “I figured it was aftermath from the first dream.”

 

“But none of the other dreams carried over into the real world like that,” Akimiya says slowly. “And curse marks like that don’t lie.”

 

My breathing is speeding up a little. “And -- God, how did we forget this? The reason we were there in the first place was because a bunch of children had been kidnapped, raped, and murdered. That has Muraki written all over it. The house felt like him, I could sense it. But I thought maybe the dream had played tricks on me, and the whole last part in the house wasn’t real.”

 

“But it was,” Akimiya says, looking thoughtful. “So why didn’t I see the doll when I went in and found you?”

 

Silence for a moment, while we all think about it.

 

“He must have been in the room,” I finally decide. “It would’ve taken you at least ten seconds to run down the hallway. Muraki has magic that we don’t know about; we never figured out the full scope of his powers. He’s survived so many times that he should have died; I think disappearing must be a relatively easy trick for him.”

 

“But in the room while you were there?” Tatsumi-san sounds skeptical. “Surely you would’ve noticed him.”

 

I shake my head. “Akimiya being so close was messing up my empathy. I could sense his presence, but it wasn’t clear enough to tell his location. It just felt like it was one of his hideouts or something like that.”

 

Akimiya opens his mouth to apologize, and I give him a look. He shuts up.

 

“He must’ve grabbed the doll and left before Akimiya-san found you,” Watari surmises.

 

“So all we have to do is find him, find the doll, and destroy it,” I say. Phrased like that, it sounds so easy. While in reality, it’ll probably be next to impossible. Especially with me in the condition that I’m in.

 

“And how do we do that?” Tsuzuki comes out of his silence.

 

“I ought to be able to trace the spell back to the focus,” Watari says, sounding excited. “Since it’s so complicated.”

 

Well. That’s easier than expected. Though I don’t relish the thought of facing Muraki. Then again, I doubt I’ll have to go. I lean back again, close my eyes, try to sink back into the blankness until it’s all over.

 

Watari shatters that pretty little bubble. “Kid, you’ll need to help me. You’re the one who’s cursed here.”

 

“But . . .” My voice trails off. I can hardly object. I can just wait for him to tell me what’s expected.

 

“It’ll be sort of like playing hot-cold,” he says. “Let me just set up what I need, and then I think you should probably get some real sleep -- not this weird stuff you’ve been pulling lately -- before we go.”

 

“But, wait,” I say. “Can you use me to pin it down on a map? Or am I actually going to have to get out of bed and go?”

 

Watari frowns for an instant. “Well, theoretically . . .” He catches my hopeful look and wilts a little. “No. I think you’d have to come.”

 

“Will the scars lead us to Muraki or to the focus?” Tsuzuki asks.

 

“Um, to Muraki himself.” Watari is watching Tsuzuki and I look less and less pleased by the second.

 

“Who’s going to come with me?” I ask suddenly.

 

Silence rings through the room.

 

“Well, I’ll have to,” Watari says. It isn’t comforting. Watari doesn’t have much in the way of firepower, at least, not that I’ve seen.

 

“I’ll go,” Tsuzuki says, with a wan smile.

 

I blink at him. “Tsuzuki, no.”

 

He continues to smile. “I won’t just let you go by yourself,” he says. “And I think maybe it’d be better if I faced Muraki. Maybe it would lay both of our fears to rest.”

 

“But -- ”

 

He looks at me for a long second. “C’mon, Hisoka,” he says with false cheer. “You agreed that if you got into trouble, nobody would stop me from swooping to your rescue. Remember?”

 

“Of course I remember, but that wasn’t what I meant . . .” Damn his good memory anyway. “Not since it’s Muraki!”

 

He sits on the edge of my bed, giving me a serious look. “It’s not fair if you have to face him and I don’t,” he says, in a tone of voice that warns me not to argue any more. “I won’t let you go without me.”

 

I lower my eyes. I won’t talk him out of this, and part of me doesn’t want to. I don’t want to go alone. But I don’t want Tsuzuki to have to face him, either.

 

Though . . . I’m ashamed to admit it, but . . . part of me is thrilled that Tsuzuki would do this. Would take this chance for me. Face down Muraki . . . for me.

 

But what does it really matter, if he doesn’t love me?

 

“Someone else could go.” That’s Watari, arguing in my defense. “Tatsumi could go, or Akimiya-san . . .”

 

Tsuzuki shakes his head, and I know what he’s going to say before he says it. “Muraki won’t be keeping the doll with him. We’ll need to try to bait the information out of him . . . and I’m the only one who would have a chance at succeeding.”

 

I feel sick.

 

Mostly because I know he’s right.

 

Well . . . half right. He’s not the only one who would have a chance. I would have a chance, too. Maybe not as great a one. But definitely a chance.

 

And that makes me feel even sicker.

 

Because I know what I have to do.

~~~~~

 

I’m beginning to wonder at my motives. Am I doing this because I have no faith in Tsuzuki? Because I don’t trust him to face Muraki and come out alive, or emotionally sane afterwards? Because I know Muraki will hurt him if Tsuzuki loses his composure for more than half a second? Is that lack of faith, or just plain worry? Muraki has hurt him before, and I don’t want to let it happen again.

 

Is it wrong of me to go in Tsuzuki’s place?

 

Or am I subconsciously doing it to prove to him that I love him this much? To prove that I can face Muraki and not lose it, the way I did in the dream? To ‘save’ Tsuzuki from the evils that Muraki represents?

 

Does that make me selfish?

 

I don’t know that I can win against Muraki. It’s certainly not like I have a good track record in the subject. But I’m assuming that Tsuzuki can’t. Which isn’t a random assumption. Tsuzuki doesn’t have a very good track record either.

 

So. I want to save Tsuzuki from pain. That doesn’t make me selfih.

 

Just stupid.

 

Tsuzuki is hardly a damsel in distress. Nor am I a knight in shining armor.

 

He saved me from Muraki, once. Am I now returning the favor? Or am I making up for when I should have saved him, and failed?

 

Or do I just not want him to rescue me again, and owe him twice over?

 

For some reason, my mind returns to that last moment of coherency I had before drifting off into the white noise. Tsuzuki crying over me, saying he missed me. A dream, I’m sure . . . but was it so unreal? Would Tsuzuki miss me if I actually left him? I know he would. I know he cares for me. Just . . . not the way I need him to. Is it so bad to be stuck as just friends with him?

 

Am I, in some odd, subconscious way, trying to get myself killed? Because Tsuzuki doesn’t love me?

 

Sometimes I really wish I had a better grasp of my own motivation. Agonizing like this is utterly ridiculous.

 

And why did I have to go alone? I could’ve woken Akimiya; he would’ve come with me. I could have gotten Tatsumi-san or Watari; they wouldn’t have been pleased with the idea, but they both want to keep Tsuzuki from harm, so they would have agreed.

 

But in the end, it’s just me, alone.

 

As it’s always been.

 

Tsuzuki fell asleep in the chair next to my bed, with his head on the pillow, facing me. He’s adorable when he sleeps. All that pain and worry erased from his face. A cliché? Perhaps. It doesn’t diminish his beauty.

 

He’s a sound sleeper. It wasn’t difficult to climb out of bed without him waking up. He moved a little, but that was all. Akimiya was also asleep, in the other chair. I thought for a minute that he was awake, but he didn’t make any move to stop me when I left the room, so he must have been asleep.

 

I went home. At some point, someone had dressed me in some hospital robes, and I wasn’t about to face Muraki in that. I got dressed. And now, here I am. Standing around trying to figure out my next step. A large part of me is wailing inside, screaming for me to run for someone to come with me.

 

But I think I have to do this alone.

 

Funny thing . . . when I told Tsuzuki that I wanted to win over Muraki someday, I really didn’t mean so soon.

 

Now, to find him. All that stuff Watari was saying about being able to track the curse is really unnecessary. I know where he’s going to be. He’s going to be in that old house, waiting for me. Because if I know Muraki, he knows I’m coming.

~~~~~

 

I hate it when I’m right.

 

He’s waiting for me in the same room where I found the doll. How utterly poetic. I remind myself firmly not to try to punch him. Historically, that’s gone fairly badly. So I just stare at him for a minute. And at the doll, nestled firmly in his arms. Bloody bastard was waiting for me.

 

“Speechless?” Muraki asks me, his voice amused.

 

“No,” I answer, somehow managing to keep my voice neutral. “Not even surprised. Just waiting for you to make the first move.”

 

He does.

 

He tosses the doll to me.

 

Despite my shock, I manage to catch it. But I’m automatically on my guard. Why is he just giving it to me? That’s not like Muraki. There’s a trick to this somewhere.

 

He says nothing.

 

“What were you trying to accomplish?” I don’t want to ask the obvious question, so I try something different. I’m not good at playing mind games, and Muraki is the master. So I’ll go with being simple and direct.

 

He shrugs.

 

“Hoping to lure Tsuzuki to you?” I ask coldly. “It didn’t work, as you can see.”

 

He smiles, that ‘I’m about to hurt you’ smile that makes me want to run for cover. Or at the very least, duck. “I didn’t really expect it to. You’re far too self-sacrificing for your own good. But I did accomplish what I wanted to.”

 

“Which was . . .?”

 

He’s still not answering me, the self-satisfied bastard. “You had very interesting dreams, boy.”

 

I can’t help but gape. “You were watching?”

 

He smiles. That same smile. “Your new partner isn’t the only one who can see into people’s sleeping minds.” He pauses. “That one where Tsuzuki-san proclaimed his love for you was quite interesting, actually.”

 

“Shut up.” My voice is rough. Too rough. He can tell he’s getting to me. As if he didn’t already know. Yeah, right.

 

“Why did you come?” Muraki asks, looking amused. “To challenge me? To end the curse? Or just so your dear Tsuzuki-san wouldn’t have to?”

 

“Yes,” I answer.

 

He smirks. His smirk is even worse than his smile. “Well, if you want to end the curse, you have what you came for. Yet you stay here and talk with me. So you obviously want something else.”

 

And that’s when I get it; that’s when I know why I came. All the other reasons were probably true, but the last time I saw Muraki, I didn’t know what he had done to Tsuzuki. And now that I do . . . I think I want some revenge.

 

Listen to me talk. I couldn’t beat Muraki if I had all the confidence in the world.

 

It all returns to what he said to me in the dream. Even if it wasn’t really him. I want to beat him, not for my own pain, but so Tsuzuki can be mine.

 

“Your feelings for him are no more pure than mine . . . you want him just as badly as I do . . . Even if you did manage to convince him that he loves you - and perhaps he even does, to some limiteed extent - you wouldn’t last very long. Tsuzuki-san doubts too much. He would doubt that you loved him, and even more he would doubt that he deserves you. Tsuzuki-san has hated himself too long to ever believe otherwise . . . He wants to be hurt, to be degraded, to be humiliated. That’s what he thinks he deserves. I can provide that for him . . . and you can’t.”

 

Even if it wasn’t . . . really . . . him?

 

“Your new partner isn’t the only one who can see into people’s sleeping minds.”

 

“It was you. In the dream.”

 

He smiles at me.

 

I can barely breathe. “The rest were all fake, but that was really you. You came into my head.”

 

“That was the only way to make the curse take,” he says matter-of-factly. “It had to be done from the inside out. And I figured I may as well have a little fun while I was there.”

 

The anger starts to recede a little. “You’re wrong. About Tsuzuki.”

 

“He doesn’t love you.”

 

“No. He doesn’t.” And in that moment, I accept it. It doesn’t hurt any less, but I accept it. “He may never love me. But that doesn’t mean he wants to be with you.”

 

Muraki shrugs. “He’ll come to his senses. Deep down, he knows what he wants. You’re the one holding him back, you know.”

 

“I know,” I say softly. “Because he knows that I love him. And that holds off the self-hatred just enough to make a difference.”

 

And I realize how neatly I walked into his trap, thinking that he wanted Tsuzuki, never thinking that I was the one he was after. He’s always after Tsuzuki. I just didn’t think of it. But this was for me. To get rid of me. Because Tsuzuki will never be his while I’m around. That explains why he didn’t just pick up Tsuzuki when Tsuzuki came here to check the house. Or was that a dream? I can’t remember anymore.

 

I look down at the doll in my arms, the red curse marks showing through its thin white dress. Its huge blue porcelain eyes.

 

Innocence? Or ignorance?

 

“If I destroy the doll,” I say slowly, “will the curse really end?”

 

He’s still smiling. “Of course. Destroying the focus always ends the curse.”

 

I wait for the catch.

 

“In fact,” he says. “It’ll end both curses.”

 

Oh.

 

I understand, but Muraki just has to beat me over the head with it anyway. “In essence,” he says. “The first curse will kill you again.”

 

He smiles, maybe the last time I’ll see it.

 

“Perhaps for good this time.”
 
 

Chapter Eight                                                                                  Email author.

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