middleofsomewhere | Conclusion

Conclusion

Thank you.

For those inside the system the voices of the Great-Seasons ring out around them once the red mass has vanished and the blue plinth it was smothering is freed once more. They don't have all that much time to reflect on that before they find themselves waking up once more in their bodies around the tree trunks.

Or at least, around the tube that is the Great-Season they entered through. All illusions have vanished now, all that is left are pipes and metal.

The Great-Seasons allow them passage out from the centre, no sentries or pipes attack them this time. Everything seems to have been put to rights, the walls in the Autumn sector have stopped moving, there is no strange weather effects in the Summer Sector, no engineering problems in Winter and all the camaloid creatures in Spring are calm. Any Helpmates they come across are doing their jobs and no longer malfunctioning.

After a small amount of time, enough to check that all is well, their SCA's light up. All Passengers are to return to the Voidtrecker Express.

Considering the vast distances involved it is probably best that they use the evacuation function to return to the Luggage carriage.

Once all Voidtreckers have returned the train returns to the Void once more.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You're biased," Devero protests in a weak whisper. "You like me."

As if no one could actually like him, or as if the only reason anyone would think highly of him was if they 'liked' him. But what did people like about him back home? His pretty face, his big arms, his charming smile? How wide his legs could spread? How well he could eat out a pussy or take a dick?

That's sure what Valdana had made him think. And as he'd retreated from everyone else in his life, afraid of provoking her ire and ashamed of revealing what what she was turning him into, he'd pulled away from the only people who could have reminded him otherwise. She'd wrapped his fingers around a knife and made him carve a cycle of insecurity and self-loathing into his soul so deeply that he could scrape at it himself, with next to no prompting.

Suddenly, he feels very sick. He draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs, hiding his face.

Another weak little whisper threads out and over to Koumyou's ears. "S... say it again...?"

"I love you."

Koumyou doesn't know if that's what he meant, but he's saying it anyway, even though saying it makes his heart pound in his throat, and his throat try to close with fear.

"I'd fight for you without hesitation. I'd kill for you without hesitation."

He'd die for him without hesitation, but even Koumyou knows better than to voice that. Devero's in an exclusive club of two (2) members, of people Koumyou would shield from danger with his own body and a smile on his face while he did it.

Those three words are more than enough to lift Devero's face up from his knees. There's a brittle stillness to him as he watches Koumyou pledge to-- to violence on his behalf. On his behalf! As if he were someone worth fighting for, killing for.

He unbends and sloshes across the pool to Koumyou's side. Reaching up, he touches Koumyou's cheek, just gently, with shaking fingertips. "...Thank you," he says, because he's not sure what else you say to someone who's just told you would kill for you. "I... I hope it never comes to that."

He doesn't have to reach up very high to do it; Koumyou's stayed pretty deep in the water this whole time, and right now the water sloshing around actually goes over his mouth as it moves. But he leans into that shaking touch, gazing with open fondness up at Devero.

"If it does, I hope you never have to hear of it."

Koumyou's pretty good at murder, if it comes to it.

Since Devero can't imagine a situation where it would ever come to pass, it's easy for him to say, "I'd want to know. I wouldn't want you to keep that from me."

He gets up onto the submerged ledge next to Koumyou and puts his arm back around his shoulders, leaning against him a little self-consciously. "I love you too, Koumyou Sanzo," he murmurs. "I think you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Koumyou tucks in nice and close to Devero's side, too, looping his thin arm around the bigger man's waist. His other hand comes up to lace fingers with Devero's.

"Then I won't hide it from you. I won't keep anything from you that you don't want me to."

"Thank you," he says again. With Koumyou slid down so low in the water, Devero can rest his chin on the priest's head if he twists a little, and he does so now.

"It's hard not to feel... mm, outclassed here," he murmurs after a long moment. "Especially compared to everyone else, and especially without my tech. I could-- keep up, at home, because no one at Techstead could pilot an exo like I can. But I don't have that here. All I have is--"

He pauses. He doesn't want to disparage what makes Koumyou think so highly of him, but it's so hard for him to see his kindness as anything special at all. He settles on, "--the fact that I grew up somewhere decent."

"That's an extremely rare thing among the train's denizens," Koumyou points out, happy enough to nuzzle up against Devero's neck. "You remind people like me that people like you are even possible. You're a shining gem to those of us who only know the muck and the mud."

He settles in with a sigh against the bigger man's throat. His unmarked throat; anything on either of them from before the fight has surely healed by now.

"I don't think we need more fighters, I think we need more reminders that there's anything out there to fight for."

He literally never would have thought such a thing, possibly couldn't have. So much of his identity-- and so many of his issues-- have become tied up in what he can do or provide, in service, in contribution. If he's not doing something with a concrete result, he's somehow failing.

But he hasn't always thought that way. While all citizens of the World Government are encouraged to find something to contribute to the greater human good, it's not a requirement. And Gov understands that sometimes there are obstacles to 'productive' citizenship. He was taught as a kid that it was contribution enough to take care of himself, to be healthy and happy and present in his community.

And as with many of the happy, comfortable, secure citizens of Gov, Devero wanted to contribute. He's always wanted to give back, to utilize his unique gifts, to do his part. Valdana just took that innate conscientiousness and twisted it, as she twisted so many other things about him to suit her own whims.

To be told, so simply and so straightforward, that not only is it enough to just be, but that just being himself has a tangible value to the community of this train, is... is...

Is like the pure light of the moon shining into a dark, restless sea.

Devero turns on the ledge and pulls Koumyou bodily up into his lap, wrapping both arms around the priest and hiding his face against that brilliant platinum hair. He's at a loss for words, trapped between automatic self-deprecating denial and a fragile, transgressive desire to allow himself to see himself the way Koumyou does. But with how tight his arms are and how he curls his whole body around Koumyou's, there's no mistaking that the priest's words are reaching him.

Edited 2021-01-31 06:03 (UTC)

Even if they weren't in water, Koumyou would have been easy for Devero to move around like that. He weighs so little. That they are in the water must make it completely effortless.

The priest doesn't fight the move, stuffing his own insecurities firmly back into the dark.

No, Koumyou's entire focus is on how tight Devero's holding onto him, how he's curling around him. He sets his hands on Devero's shoulder, and slides one up into his hair to stroke his long, bony fingers carefully through the wet strands.

For several long, long moments Devero just clings to Koumyou, an occasional tremor shaking him while he grapples with the priest's words.

"I don't think I know h-how to just... be," he admits finally, in a low, wretched murmur. "I think I've always had to be something for... for somebody....? Be the good example for the other kids, be-- be the guy on the team who's always r-right where he's supposed to be during the game. Be-- be the reliable guy."

He picks his face up out of Koumyou's hair because of course, of course the tears are coming, and he doesn't want to snot in his boyfriend's bangs. He inhales, deep but shaky, trying to control his emotions--

Failing.

"Be the guy who picks up the slack. Leave it to Dev," he continues, and he's actually starting to sound a little... angry. "He'll get it done. He can carry the weight, what's another thing on his plate, right? He'll always do his part, so it's okay if we don't do ours!"

He releases Koumyou with a movement that's almost convulsive, rearing up straight and then slamming his arm and fisted hand down hard along the edge of the pool. "All I've ever wanted is to do my part, and-- and--"

And not feel invisible while he does it. Not feel like he's being taken for granted, or even worse taken advantage of. That was how Valdana had been able to sink her claws in so deep, to pull him so close to her malice. She'd offered him the tiniest flickers of validation and like a brainless little moth, he'd thrown himself into her flame.

He can't quite articulate that part, even if it's looming large in his mind. And even if he could, isn't it selfish to want to be petted and praised for just doing what any good citizen should do? All of the ire seems to go out of him at once and he just sort of slumps, even the arm still holding Koumyou drooping loosely down.

"I don't know what my part to do is, here," he finishes, just sounding wretched again. It can't really be just to be, can it?

Edited 2021-01-31 16:02 (UTC)

"Devero," Koumyou reaches up to wipe at those tears with his hands, freshly wet with hot pool water. "You did great on the mission, remember? The reason we're all ostensibly here? You're already doing more... more than enough. And even if you hadn't, you'd still be more than enough to me."

He dips his hands into the pool to get fresh, hot water, and continues to carefully try to wipe Devero's face clean with his fingers.

"Even if you don't know how to just... be you. That's something you can figure out, right? There's time, here. You should use some of it for you, too."

Devero hasn't had someone to take care of him since he got out of creche. Things had... maybe... been moving in that direction with Alejane, but then he'd gotten Ále's leg fucking shattered and of course his friend hadn't talked to him again after that, especially once he got discharged from the Guard.

So the way Koumyou tenderly washes the mess of Devero's grief and anger off of his face just makes him fall even more in love with the priest, really. He closes his eyes and tilts his head a little into Koumyou's ministrations.

The idea of using time for himself shouldn't seem as revolutionary as it does to someone who comes from his world, but Devero's been running from his own problems for years by just giving himself progressively more to do. Physical training, training in Babysitter, training recruits. Helping Chihyoon run the field testing side of things for Techstead's big equipment developments. Apprenticing with Morraine, learning engineering and design, taking over doing all the maintenance and upgrades on his exo... If he doesn't give himself time to think in a day, of course he won't think about how lonely and miserable he is.

Since coming to the train, it feels like all he's had is time to think. No wonder he's been such a wreck.

He opens his eyes again to meet Koumyou's. "Will... will you help me? Figure it out?" he asks. He already knows the answer, but he just... he needs to hear it.

"Of course," Koumyou confirms, meeting his gaze, "anything I can do to help you, it's yours."

Much like the priest himself.

"You don't have to carry things alone anymore."

His eyes close again and a wan, wondering smile crosses his lips. "Thank you," he murmurs. Lifting one wet hand, he catches Koumyou's cheek and leans in to press a gentle, chaste kiss to his lips.

"Nor do you," he reminds the priest as he leans back, eyes opening again.

"The reason a Sanzo priest wears their sutra on their shoulders," Koumyou tells him gently, "is it's a sign of our will to carry the weight of all our karma."

He gives Devero's face one last pass with fresh pool-water, soothing any lingering tears away before skin can start to feel raw and puffy from them.

"In the end, I'm just a Sanzo. Anything else is... new, and fragile."

"Is it, though?" Devero asks him, just as gently, blinking the water out of his eyes. "Or is it regrowth, poking through what's been kept clear-cut for so long?"

"Is there really any difference?" Koumyou asks in turn, hands settling against Devero's broad shoulders.

Everything's been freshly-cut down to the roots again, too, after their fight...

It's hard to shake the specter of such strong self-loathing. So strong he'd only been able to endure it by meditating as deeply as he could on non-existence.

"...I don't think just a Sanzo could love their son as much as you love Kouryuu," Devero says softly. "I think there's more to you than your duty and your sutra, and there has been since before I showed up on this train."

He lifts his own hands and grasps Koumyou's wrists lightly. "What else there is to you may be fragile, but it's not new."

"Perhaps so," Koumyou can't really argue with that, can he? Nothing about his time with Kouryuu had been standard Sanzo stuff. Even if he'd brought an infant back to the temple as he had, standard would have been that he'd have had little interaction with the child that grew from that baby.

Kouryuu would have been raised by a random group of... disdainful monks, like Koumyou himself had been.

Disdainful and ill-suited and un-knowledgable. No one would have walked around with the crying baby in the middle of the night, telling him made up stories about the stars until he was soothed into sleep. No one would have made up fairy tales at the young boy's bedside to scare off nightmares. No one would have taught him to fold orange paper airplanes, or mused at him about the dubious freedom of birds.

Koumyou doesn't even realize how quiet he's gone, or how sad his expression has turned.

He misses his son.

Devero's quiet and still, giving him space, but as the silence stretches and Koumyou's face goes so very sad, he finds that he has to break it.

"You're not as cold and distant as you think you are, o moon," he says quietly, releasing Koumyou's wrists to cup his face delicately instead. "That boy proves it, and I think you know that, don't you?"

He leans forward, touching his forehead to Koumyou's. "I wish I could meet him."

Koumyou leans into the touch to his face, and the forehead against his, just slightly.

"I am with most people."

And he's fine with that, really. Letting too many people get near him is just going to compound the risk to them... and to his own tenuous sanity. He's not sure how many more people he can stand to watch die who he cares about at all.

"I wish you could, too. He has more spirit than all of us combined. I miss him," and it's Koumyou's turn to have tears roll down his cheeks, his eyes slipping shut, "So, so much."

"Not because you're incapable of connection," Devero murmurs, lowering one hand to rest the palm against the thin chest. He understands why, and he certainly doesn't hold it against Koumyou, not knowing what he does about where the priest comes from. "It's to protect your heart."

He puts both arms back around Koumyou as the tears start, holding the priest close. "I know you do," he says softly, his own heart hurting with sympathetic sorrow. "I know."

Koumyou doesn't break down much more than that, at least. He buries his face against the join of Devero's neck and shoulder, and tears come, but there's no weeping or sobbing.

The pain's not wrenching through him right now. It's just this ongoing, horrible ache in his soul. He just misses his kid. And he knows he'll never get to go back and see him again.

The dead don't get to go back.

Devero doesn't break the silence that settles between them, doesn't try to stem Koumyou's tears with clumsy wisdom or advice. What meaningful advice could he possibly give to a grieving father? All he has is his sympathy, and the warmth of his presence, and the solidity of his embrace, so that Koumyou doesn't have to be alone with this grief.

So for as long as Koumyou needs to cry, Devero holds him. He even raises one hand to stroke over the back of the priest's head and neck, as Koumyou has so often tried to comfort him.

The dead can't go back, but at least in this place, he's here.

cw getting explicitly into the sexual abuse stuff

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cw abuse trauma

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cw abuse trauma

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