If this were Ken, he’d probably have a lot to say about all the ways the Basso should die- whether or not he were the one tortured or the one helping Chikusa get out of his mess. Fittingly, Chikusa isn’t the same way. It’s not that, if asked, he can’t come up with a good hundred or so different ways for the last of the Basso to be finished. He’s been with Mukuro-sama for a very long time, after all. It helps open someone’s mind to a lot of possibilities.
However…
He’s never viewed his body as truly belonging to him. Not for many years now, at any rate. Why should he? He doesn’t feel as though he belongs in it. The reflection he sees in mirrors is foreign to him. At best, he views his body as a tool in which he can serve Mukuro. Nothing more, nothing less. At worst, well… At worst, he’s actually in it, without the touch of Mukuro or Ken to give some sort of worth to it. The only thing that’s really horrible about this situation is that, unlike other tools, he can’t replace his body. He’s not Daemon Spade.
So, in response to the question and ignoring the way the last Bosso is shaking in horror not inches behind him, Chikusa gives a slight twitch of his shoulders that’s probably a shrug. “Destroying him from the inside out may entertain you, Maestro.”
Oh, Chikusa. His apathy was truly formidable, and at times, Mukuro had wondered if he could take a lesson from the other boy in it. Perhaps if he was able to distance himself more from his rage, he and the others wouldn't suffer so. Then he remembered that kind of soft, weak willed sort of thinking had been what had killed the rest of those children in the lab. That kind of uncaring disinterest from the other mafia families had allowed those atrocities to continue, despite the fact they had known full and well what had been occurring in the Estraneo labs.
"My, my, so selfless." Though he hadn't expected anything less. The question had mostly been for the benefit of the last Brasso instead of Chikusa.
Without blinking an eyelash, he let his illusion sweep forward and swallow the Brasso fool, his screams audible as his shaking hand dropped the gun. His body followed not soon afterwards, bleeding from every orifice. Overriding someone's senses was never pretty, but Mukuro appreciated it all the same.
He didn't spare the man another glance, instead walking forward towards Chikusa, assessing the damage. "You held out well, Chikusa." He reached forward, gloved hand stroking Chikusa's cheek soothingly. He'd probably have to carry the other boy out of here. Even with his best efforts, he wouldn't be able to possess Chikusa and get his body to walk out.
Apathy towards his body is the only reason he’s lasted for as long as he has in this wretched life, and the loyalty Mukuro has inspired in him is the only reason he’s let himself last. It’s not the most perfect solution, but it’s the only one he knows.
At least it’s appropriate in this situation as he nearly forgets the existence of the Basso in his intense focus on Mukuro as the other approaches him. His eyelashes brush against his cheeks as his eyes flutter shut, a genuine ease in his body from only a simple touch. If he had died, then he would never have gotten to feel this again… For that reason alone, it’s good that he’s still alive. Very few other things in this world matter.
“He wouldn’t have killed me, Maestro. Not right then. One of the other interrogators wanted to do more. This is mild.” Not many people would say such a thing about shattered knees, bruises all over their bodies, and a knife in their hand, but what was that compared to the Estraneo experiments?
...Not to mention he regularly takes such injuries such as dynamite and doesn’t care about it, so perhaps Chikusa’s viewpoint on this is somewhat questionable.
Chikusa please learn to love yourself a bit more and find more things to live for than being touched and used by this gross pineapple fairy.
'Mild' or not, Mukuro wouldn't allow anyone to destroy what was his. If he was his own, his toys were also his, to be discarded once he was done with them and not a moment before. While he couldn't claim to take good care of them, he never did anything carelessly, if he could help it. After all, it had taken years to cultivate such loyalty, and it would be tedious to start again from scratch.
"Even a small scratch is far too much." It was said contemptuously, Mukuro turning to narrow his gaze over at the corpse in the room. If he had less bearing, he might have spat, but instead he turned back to Chikusa, his other glove going to the knife in his hand. "Do you need me to ease your pain?" Because while he normally used his illusions to inflict pain, there were some softer side effects he indulged in. Rarely, but he would be a poor illusionist if he couldn't manage it.
And while Chikusa was an expert at disassociating from his body, pulling a knife from his hand wouldn't be pleasant.
Maybe one day he’ll learn that valuable life skill of loving himself. But probably not. After all, even just the question of whether Mukuro should use his powers to ease any discomfort brings about a pause as he carefully thinks it over.
“I wouldn’t want to use up too much of your energy, Mukuro-sama… But if you think it’s best... “
Translation: Loyalty says I shouldn’t make you exert yourself, but also I’m selfish and want more of your attention on me in even in mundane situations where I’m not horribly beaten, so, by all means, please.
"You can request things from me, Chikusa." It was said indulgently enough, considering there was no guarantee that Mukuro would actually humor those requests. But the fact that Chikusa had even saw fit to reply verbally instead of saying nothing was a request enough in itself, and letting his trident dissolve. He reached out to press a kiss onto Chikusa's forehead, letting that touch be the origin of his illusion, deadening Chikusa's already impressively engineered nerves even further.
Once that was complete, he removed the knife gently from his hand, and seeing as how Chikusa was unable to walk, he had no other choice but to scoop him up, bridal style. It was probably a comical sight, seeing as how much taller Chikusa was than him, but luckily anyone who was privy to it was long dead.
"You can rest. I've already called a doctor to wait for us at home."
Eyes fluttering shut, he enjoys the feel of Mukuro’s lips over the sensation of nothing at all. The only thing that changes that is when the knife is pulled out, the movement disturbing his hand’s placement against the armrest. It’s a good thing Mukuro lifts him up when he does; Chikusa had been pondering if he could just ignore the weakness of flesh and bone to walk by himself. A startled exhale of flesh, and he curls his noninjured hand into the front of Mukuro’s
A doctor… Wariness snakes through him. It might be a little apparent with how his body curls up just slightly more in Mukuro’s arms. “Who, Maestro?”
"Only the best for you of course." Because Mukuro's network of vessels, 'allies', and people he kept on contract were varied. This doctor was one he had used on several occasions, and was one of the few he hadn't bullied or blackmailed. Instead, he had funded her education and had been perfectly charming to her and her family. Having someone 'indebted' to him seemed to make them more loyal and manageable, at any rate.
Which might not fully assuage Chikusa's fears, so he glanced over to the other boy, expression almost as soft as the one he displayed to Chrome.
Softness… isn’t something that they experience often in their lives. Many people at least had their childhoods to return to, but not them. The experiments had damaged all of them that way, and escaping them didn’t change much in that regard. For a trio of children all on their own, the world was harsh, and they’d shifted themselves to match it. Poisonous, animalistic, deceiving. Hard. They were constantly on defense against a world that would gladly smother them, even if Mukuro-sama believed that the best defense was a ruthless offense. Unfortunately, even Chikusa can recognize that this has leaked somewhat into their relationships with one another. If nothing else… Besides a limitless devotion, he knows he can’t offer either his master or his partner much more.
That doesn’t mean he has no interest in it. It’s the exact opposite. He practically aches to earn any tenderness from the few people in the universe that he can rest easy around. From Mukuro, distant and independent, especially.
So at even this small show of softness, for all his misgivings, Chikusa starts to relax in Mukuro’s grip. “It won’t cause trouble for you, Maestro?” It would destroy him worse than any torture to be seen as a liability in some way for him.
For all that Mukuro would like to proclaim he was his own and no one else's, he had began to notice changes in himself since he defeat at the hands of Sawada Tsunayoshi, at meeting the girl he had renamed Chrome Dokuro. While he would like to believe he was an unchanging force, above everyone else, he had started to become more aware of the emotions of others, of how there were different paths to interacting with people. His earliest relationships had been shaped by the need to survive, nothing else. People were tools to be used and discarded once they were broken.
And yet...
It was distressing, more than he dared imagine, to think of the torture that Chikusa had to endure. What he might have to endure in the future just by knowing him. But for all of his wisdom and knowledge, Mukuro could see no other path for himself. There was still people in the world who deserved to drown in their own blood, and there were few willing to dirty their hands in such a manner. Nor were many as good at it as Mukuro was. He had always said he had gone through hell, but he had rarely gone there alone. So why now of all times was it starting to bother him?
He squeezed Chikusa's shoulder comfortingly enough, squinting into the sun as they stepped out. Their hideout wasn't that far, an hour's drive via car. While a good portion of his enemies believed he could transport at will, it was nothing so dependable. And at his current level, it was impossible with two people of flesh and blood.
"I wouldn't have offered if it would be, would I?" It was said with only a tinge of amusement, and he helped Chikusa into the car easily enough, flicking his bangs out of his face. "Rest."
If Mukuro has to adjust to the light of the outside, it’s doubly worse for Chikusa. A rare grimace contorts his face as the sun blinds him, and he’s forced to squeeze his eyes shut. Robbed of sight, all he can rely on is the man holding onto him. For all the height disparity, he still holds him so steadfastly, and the smell of him is more reassuring than Chikusa could ever verbalize: soft scent of earth and vegetation, something living instead of the sterile artificiality of the interrogation room ruined only by the copper bite of his own blood. Such a position can’t last forever. He is well aware. That doesn’t mean, eyes still teared up from adjusting to the light, he keeps his hands to himself as Mukuro places him into the car. They cling to the other, even as he struggles against how the world is still spotty.
Contrary to his hands, his reply is a quiet, “I understand, Maestro.” There’s more he wants to say, a longing that makes up his entire grasp, but he can’t bring himself to say it. Such openness, even now, even with the changes they’ve experienced from running into Sawada and his lot, is something he doesn’t know how to do.
It was fine if Chikusa didn't feel like speaking. Between Ken and Mukuro, they had more than enough words, and Mukuro understood the other boy as well as he did himself.
He laced their fingers gently throughout the car ride, only letting go to shift gears if necessary, but considering the remoteness of the hide out and the lack of other cars, his hand was mostly free.
The ride was uneventful, made so by careful planning and having cleared the path long before he had stepped into the room where Chikusa had been held.
Once they made it safely to their hideout, the doctor was there to greet them, and helped get Chikusa safely inside.
Perhaps it was just Mukuro's general distaste for hospitals and anything that would remind him of a laboratory, but there was little there but a couch and a generous heaping of sun flames. True to his word, he kept close by, making sure to stay within reach.
In this case, Mukuro’s distaste for hospitals works in both their favor. With his master’s warmth so close by, Chikusa finally succumbs to brief naps as they drive through the countryside. His body, even for the modifications that the Estraneo did, is still human. Perhaps the closest to human out of all three of their group. His body needs its rest, and this is the safest he’s felt in days. When the car finally comes to a stop and the door opens, however, he’s immediately awake again. Perhaps not entirely alert, but awake, wary. A portion of it eases away when he sees the set up.
This is fine. He can deal with this.
Chikusa’s body is stripped nearly bare for the doctor to survey the damage. Besides the obvious, there are things that clothing hid: bruises, scrapes, shallow scratches from a body that’s been tossed around like a ragdoll. As it turns out, it’s a little difficult to tell the extent of the problems when the injured party in question has a distant relationship with their own body in multiple ways. That means taking care of the obvious first, and the doctor looks up from where she’s been inspecting his broken knees.
“I think I’m going to have to open his legs up first before using sun flames. The bone might not heal right otherwise without being set into place.”
"Chikusa, are you comprehending what the doctor is saying?" While Mukuro couldn't say he hadn't seen his followers in worse conditions, couldn't even say that he had never been the cause of them, it had started to take a distasteful tint to him. He didn't want to cause more pain to them than absolutely necessary, and this had not been necessary.
"Would you like to be taken away from here?" Meaning that Mukuro could just wrap them both in an illusion while the doctor worked, taking them somewhere peaceful and quiet and... pleasant until the procedure was over.
It’s debatable if he does. For a few seconds, there’s not an answer, and his attention is focused purely on the distorted color of his own shattered knees. Before any worry can be had, however, he stirs. “Maestro…”
What does he want to do? He doesn’t want to leave his body, the precious body that’s so useful to Mukuro, in the hands of someone he doesn’t know… In the hands of someone with scalpels and stitches and memories that are too strongly attached to both. On the other hand….
Running from his own body and the things it goes through are what he does all the time simply to survive.
“...Please.” He looks up from beneath his bangs, the action more vulnerable than what really shows on his face. If it were himself digging into his own flesh, he wouldn’t care about seeing all the gore and blood. However, in the hands of someone else… He doesn’t want it.
It's not a really difficult choice to make, in Mukuro's opinion. While he more than often used his illusions to hurt, they could be used for beauty too. When he had been imprisoned in the prison of the the Vindice, too weak to walk far but strong enough to be aware of where he was, he had crafted illusions of anything to his liking. Of fanciful childhoods he could have had instead, of civilizations long since buried and forgotten, of lands even he had not yet explored but had only read of.
It had been helpful to both sharpen his skills and to keep his mind from going mad, and it had served him well. If doing so could give Chikusa even a minute comfort, he would do so.
He only shot the doctor a pointed look that promised all sorts of terrible retribution if anything happened to them, because he would know, before taking Chikusa's hand in his own.
It was easy to conjure up the meadow of flowers, fragrant and beautiful, stretching out as far as the eye could see, broken up only by a crystal clear stream. Here there was no pain, only a tranquility and peace Mukuro knew few other places. It was as close to nirvana as he would allow himself.
In the times since they’d escaped the Estraneo, their small group has traveled all over. Decrepit buildings, idyllic towns, yawning countrysides, bustling cities, consuming forests. Their running had taken them across country borders, fumbling through new languages (more him and ken than Mukuro), and all manners of sights had passed before their eyes.
Still. It’s always strange to Chikusa, sometimes, to be in such nice places. He takes a slow look around, blinking as though trying to awake from the dream of reality, and breathes out as he tries to let himself be comforted. It’s not even the appearance of the place that gives him any ease. This is Mukuro’s domain- his world and his rules. If he says nothing can reach them here, hurt him here, then that’s fact. It means more to Chikusa than he can say.
Carefully, he reaches into the stream and lets water pass over his fingertips. “Anything of yours is good enough for me, Maestro.” Still, there’s something else on his mind. A tentative glance up towards the other, the question lurking in his eyes. He wants to request closeness, but he isn’t sure how. This already feels like so much.
Even though Mukuro would always feel most at home in torn down buildings, abandoned amusement parks, and ruins of ancient civilizations, he had a certain fondness for untouched nature. Ruins were truer to human nature than Mukuro could even begin to articulate, all the hard work that had gone into them nothing in compared to humanity's cruel apathy and laziness, and the simple passage of time.
But nature, true pure nature, was a rarity in the world where people were eager to lay claim on everything and plant fast food restaurants there and trash heaps. His cute little Chrome would probably say something along the lines of this was what he yearned for humanity to be, better and purer than what it was, but his favored vessel tended to be far more optimistic than Mukuro was.
At Chikusa's answer, he gave a slight nod, content to unlace his boots and roll up his pant legs, wading into the stream water, closing his eyes with a sigh. While Chikusa wouldn't voice his request, he didn't need to. He felt the unasked question in the back of his mind, as loudly as if Chikusa had actually spoken.
He turned back toward him, reaching out a gloved hand to him, expression soft and indulgent.
Pure thankfulness replaces the tentative query, almost as clear as the stream they’re at. Straightening up, Chikusa doesn’t bother to undo any of his clothing. His focus is on Mukuro as he wades into the water, reaching for his hand with more need than his lethargic nature usually permits. It’s not on purpose, not something he thinks through. It’s simply that away from everything, in a world where he can actually have more energy, covered need emerges. Plodding closer to him, he crumples somewhat, head pressing into Mukuro’s shoulder.
“Maestro…” Words struggle to form in his mouth. He doesn’t want to be weak, to be discarded or not seen as useful if those cracks become visible. At the same time…
Situations much like this one were common, once upon a time. Fleeing his body in the purely mental dissociative manner was never a permanent solution. It still isn’t. Eventually, he has to come back… It’s only a matter of when. He’d come back from the experiments quiet and blank faced, eerily so, and remain like that for a few minutes, a half hour, a full hour, two… And, out of nowhere, he’d slam back into existing, finding a place to hide and gasp out sobs which rattled him to the bone.
That’s what’s happening here, on a less severe level. Perhaps being wrapped in an illusion even helped kick it off. The mind is still such a strange thing.
For all of his strength, being able to stand beside two boys whose lab experiments did take and brought them to great heights, Chikusa was still a normal human being. With deadened nerves and an impressive apathy towards most things, but their upbringing had left their scars as deeply on the quiet boy as much as they had visibly Ken and Mukuro.
As Chikusa drew closer, he said nothing, letting Chikusa rest against him, running a gloved hand through his hair soothingly.
"I'll always come back to you, Chikusa. No matter what." It was a quiet reassurance. At one point, it might have been said merely to strengthen loyalty and nothing more, but nowadays... Well, perhaps Mukuro was getting sentimental for reasons he didn't want to articulate. "Take all the time you need."
Whether it’s been lip service or genuine, Chikusa’s always taken such words gladly. Now is no different. A shaky breath makes his whole body quiver, and the following exhale has him sagging into Mukuro’s touch. “Yes,” he replies, quiet, not really an answer.
So long as he’s owned, so long as he’s given direction, so long as he’s not discarded...
Something occurs to him, however, and he shifts against Mukuro. “Ken…?” He can only imagine how his partner took to his absence, and, knocked out of his usual apathetic state, the idea of panic looms closer.
Mukuro let out a little hum as Chikusa settled against him, fine with not talking and just turning his face to the sunshine to enjoy it, even if it was illusionary. It was nice, warm and not too blindingly bright.
The question made him shift, turning to look at Chikusa, his mouth curling upwards slightly. "He tore apart his fair share of enemies. I can only hope now he's bathing. The doctor was given strict orders not to let him in otherwise."
Both for Mukuro's sensabilities as well as Chikusa's. He canted his head to the side, considering. "But he has faith in you. He knew you wouldn't betray us." Either by divulging information or by dying before they could reach him.
That Ken is alright and just as violent and filthy as ever is a reassurance. In fact, Chikusa doesn’t even realize how much of a reassurance it is until he’s sagging back against Mukuro again. He certainly doesn’t realize the look on his face, a tension he hadn’t known was there being wiped away by relief.
“I thought…” He doesn’t bother to finish the sentence. If he’d been targeted, after all, perhaps Ken had been as well. But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Of course no one would go after Ken. He’s no illusionist, not like Mukuro-sama or Chrome or Fran, but he’s more lethal than anything especially when people dismiss him as an idiot. There’s an animalistic cunning to Ken that’s carried him through. Nothing like the kind of thinking Mukuro deals in daily, but something perfectly suited to the battlefield or hunting down opponents. Would something like this have happened to Ken? Chikusa doubts it. He would have seen enemies coming a mile away, have smelled their intent and heard the rustle of weaponry.
If anyone would want to get to Mukuro…. Of course Chikusa would be the target. “...I would never, Mukuro-sama…. It’s the least I can do for you…” Perhaps the only thing it feels like at times.
"They did try to get to him, but Fran and M.M. were with him." So needless to say, they'd all managed to fend for themselves, whereas Chikusa alone was an easy target. If Chikusa felt inadequate for being captured, he needn't have. Mukuro was far stronger than all of them, and yet he'd been caught more times than he cared to admit, and incarcerated for far longer. It wasn't a failing he would judge his followers for. If they were truly useless to him, he wouldn't have worked so hard to ensure their safety.
That loyal reply was practically scripted at this point, but it made Mukuro chuckle all the same. He pressed a fond kiss into Chikusa's hat covered hair, tightening his hold on his shoulder. "You've done more than enough. Now you should rest and recover."
On a logical level, Chikusa knows he’s earned his place.
Mukuro didn’t have time for a useless tool, when they were younger, and Chikusa knows enough now to read between the lines. A man doesn’t let himself go to prison because he feels nothing for the people he’s saving from the same fate. Yet what a flawed thing the human mind is, latching onto an idea and twisting it until it’s something terrible. Useless. Useless because the scientists had said so, murmuring to one another in bland tones about how he wasn’t living up to expectations and uncaring that his twisted body was still on the floor conscious and listening. Useless because he’d known from the start that he’d have to work that much harder, staring longingly at Ken’s physical prowess and Mukuro’s everything.
The Estraneo had been prepared to abandon him for dead so easily, just another broken child not performing like they wanted. It’s hard to forget that. Hard to forget, but not as hard to lessen the effects of, and Mukuro’s grip on him and his kiss push it to the edges of Chikusa’s mind instead of the forefront. Right. Mukuro would never let go of him, not like this, not willingly. He’s owned, and that fact will never stop being one of his greatest reliefs. “As you wish, Maestro,” he murmurs, as though it isn’t a relief. Slowly, he starts to sink down into the water, his grip on Mukuro wanting to bring him down with him.
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badliifechoiice22016-01-08 10:36 am
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However…
He’s never viewed his body as truly belonging to him. Not for many years now, at any rate. Why should he? He doesn’t feel as though he belongs in it. The reflection he sees in mirrors is foreign to him. At best, he views his body as a tool in which he can serve Mukuro. Nothing more, nothing less. At worst, well… At worst, he’s actually in it, without the touch of Mukuro or Ken to give some sort of worth to it. The only thing that’s really horrible about this situation is that, unlike other tools, he can’t replace his body.
He’s not Daemon Spade.So, in response to the question and ignoring the way the last Bosso is shaking in horror not inches behind him, Chikusa gives a slight twitch of his shoulders that’s probably a shrug. “Destroying him from the inside out may entertain you, Maestro.”
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"My, my, so selfless." Though he hadn't expected anything less. The question had mostly been for the benefit of the last Brasso instead of Chikusa.
Without blinking an eyelash, he let his illusion sweep forward and swallow the Brasso fool, his screams audible as his shaking hand dropped the gun. His body followed not soon afterwards, bleeding from every orifice. Overriding someone's senses was never pretty, but Mukuro appreciated it all the same.
He didn't spare the man another glance, instead walking forward towards Chikusa, assessing the damage. "You held out well, Chikusa." He reached forward, gloved hand stroking Chikusa's cheek soothingly. He'd probably have to carry the other boy out of here. Even with his best efforts, he wouldn't be able to possess Chikusa and get his body to walk out.
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At least it’s appropriate in this situation as he nearly forgets the existence of the Basso in his intense focus on Mukuro as the other approaches him. His eyelashes brush against his cheeks as his eyes flutter shut, a genuine ease in his body from only a simple touch. If he had died, then he would never have gotten to feel this again… For that reason alone, it’s good that he’s still alive. Very few other things in this world matter.
“He wouldn’t have killed me, Maestro. Not right then. One of the other interrogators wanted to do more. This is mild.” Not many people would say such a thing about shattered knees, bruises all over their bodies, and a knife in their hand, but what was that compared to the Estraneo experiments?
...Not to mention he regularly takes such injuries such as dynamite and doesn’t care about it, so perhaps Chikusa’s viewpoint on this is somewhat questionable.
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'Mild' or not, Mukuro wouldn't allow anyone to destroy what was his. If he was his own, his toys were also his, to be discarded once he was done with them and not a moment before. While he couldn't claim to take good care of them, he never did anything carelessly, if he could help it. After all, it had taken years to cultivate such loyalty, and it would be tedious to start again from scratch.
"Even a small scratch is far too much." It was said contemptuously, Mukuro turning to narrow his gaze over at the corpse in the room. If he had less bearing, he might have spat, but instead he turned back to Chikusa, his other glove going to the knife in his hand. "Do you need me to ease your pain?" Because while he normally used his illusions to inflict pain, there were some softer side effects he indulged in. Rarely, but he would be a poor illusionist if he couldn't manage it.
And while Chikusa was an expert at disassociating from his body, pulling a knife from his hand wouldn't be pleasant.
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“I wouldn’t want to use up too much of your energy, Mukuro-sama… But if you think it’s best... “
Translation: Loyalty says I shouldn’t make you exert yourself, but also I’m selfish and want more of your attention on me in even in mundane situations where I’m not horribly beaten, so, by all means, please.
no subject
Once that was complete, he removed the knife gently from his hand, and seeing as how Chikusa was unable to walk, he had no other choice but to scoop him up, bridal style. It was probably a comical sight, seeing as how much taller Chikusa was than him, but luckily anyone who was privy to it was long dead.
"You can rest. I've already called a doctor to wait for us at home."
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A doctor… Wariness snakes through him. It might be a little apparent with how his body curls up just slightly more in Mukuro’s arms. “Who, Maestro?”
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Which might not fully assuage Chikusa's fears, so he glanced over to the other boy, expression almost as soft as the one he displayed to Chrome.
"I'll stay with you the whole time."
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That doesn’t mean he has no interest in it. It’s the exact opposite. He practically aches to earn any tenderness from the few people in the universe that he can rest easy around. From Mukuro, distant and independent, especially.
So at even this small show of softness, for all his misgivings, Chikusa starts to relax in Mukuro’s grip. “It won’t cause trouble for you, Maestro?” It would destroy him worse than any torture to be seen as a liability in some way for him.
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And yet...
It was distressing, more than he dared imagine, to think of the torture that Chikusa had to endure. What he might have to endure in the future just by knowing him. But for all of his wisdom and knowledge, Mukuro could see no other path for himself. There was still people in the world who deserved to drown in their own blood, and there were few willing to dirty their hands in such a manner. Nor were many as good at it as Mukuro was. He had always said he had gone through hell, but he had rarely gone there alone. So why now of all times was it starting to bother him?
He squeezed Chikusa's shoulder comfortingly enough, squinting into the sun as they stepped out. Their hideout wasn't that far, an hour's drive via car. While a good portion of his enemies believed he could transport at will, it was nothing so dependable. And at his current level, it was impossible with two people of flesh and blood.
"I wouldn't have offered if it would be, would I?" It was said with only a tinge of amusement, and he helped Chikusa into the car easily enough, flicking his bangs out of his face. "Rest."
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Contrary to his hands, his reply is a quiet, “I understand, Maestro.” There’s more he wants to say, a longing that makes up his entire grasp, but he can’t bring himself to say it. Such openness, even now, even with the changes they’ve experienced from running into Sawada and his lot, is something he doesn’t know how to do.
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He laced their fingers gently throughout the car ride, only letting go to shift gears if necessary, but considering the remoteness of the hide out and the lack of other cars, his hand was mostly free.
The ride was uneventful, made so by careful planning and having cleared the path long before he had stepped into the room where Chikusa had been held.
Once they made it safely to their hideout, the doctor was there to greet them, and helped get Chikusa safely inside.
Perhaps it was just Mukuro's general distaste for hospitals and anything that would remind him of a laboratory, but there was little there but a couch and a generous heaping of sun flames. True to his word, he kept close by, making sure to stay within reach.
no subject
This is fine. He can deal with this.
Chikusa’s body is stripped nearly bare for the doctor to survey the damage. Besides the obvious, there are things that clothing hid: bruises, scrapes, shallow scratches from a body that’s been tossed around like a ragdoll. As it turns out, it’s a little difficult to tell the extent of the problems when the injured party in question has a distant relationship with their own body in multiple ways. That means taking care of the obvious first, and the doctor looks up from where she’s been inspecting his broken knees.
“I think I’m going to have to open his legs up first before using sun flames. The bone might not heal right otherwise without being set into place.”
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"Would you like to be taken away from here?" Meaning that Mukuro could just wrap them both in an illusion while the doctor worked, taking them somewhere peaceful and quiet and... pleasant until the procedure was over.
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What does he want to do? He doesn’t want to leave his body, the precious body that’s so useful to Mukuro, in the hands of someone he doesn’t know… In the hands of someone with scalpels and stitches and memories that are too strongly attached to both. On the other hand….
Running from his own body and the things it goes through are what he does all the time simply to survive.
“...Please.” He looks up from beneath his bangs, the action more vulnerable than what really shows on his face. If it were himself digging into his own flesh, he wouldn’t care about seeing all the gore and blood. However, in the hands of someone else… He doesn’t want it.
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It had been helpful to both sharpen his skills and to keep his mind from going mad, and it had served him well. If doing so could give Chikusa even a minute comfort, he would do so.
He only shot the doctor a pointed look that promised all sorts of terrible retribution if anything happened to them, because he would know, before taking Chikusa's hand in his own.
It was easy to conjure up the meadow of flowers, fragrant and beautiful, stretching out as far as the eye could see, broken up only by a crystal clear stream. Here there was no pain, only a tranquility and peace Mukuro knew few other places. It was as close to nirvana as he would allow himself.
"Is this pleasant enough?"
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Still. It’s always strange to Chikusa, sometimes, to be in such nice places.
He takes a slow look around, blinking as though trying to awake from the dream of reality, and breathes out as he tries to let himself be comforted. It’s not even the appearance of the place that gives him any ease. This is Mukuro’s domain- his world and his rules. If he says nothing can reach them here, hurt him here, then that’s fact. It means more to Chikusa than he can say.
Carefully, he reaches into the stream and lets water pass over his fingertips.
“Anything of yours is good enough for me, Maestro.” Still, there’s something else on his mind. A tentative glance up towards the other, the question lurking in his eyes. He wants to request closeness, but he isn’t sure how. This already feels like so much.
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But nature, true pure nature, was a rarity in the world where people were eager to lay claim on everything and plant fast food restaurants there and trash heaps. His cute little Chrome would probably say something along the lines of this was what he yearned for humanity to be, better and purer than what it was, but his favored vessel tended to be far more optimistic than Mukuro was.
At Chikusa's answer, he gave a slight nod, content to unlace his boots and roll up his pant legs, wading into the stream water, closing his eyes with a sigh. While Chikusa wouldn't voice his request, he didn't need to. He felt the unasked question in the back of his mind, as loudly as if Chikusa had actually spoken.
He turned back toward him, reaching out a gloved hand to him, expression soft and indulgent.
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“Maestro…” Words struggle to form in his mouth. He doesn’t want to be weak, to be discarded or not seen as useful if those cracks become visible. At the same time…
Situations much like this one were common, once upon a time. Fleeing his body in the purely mental dissociative manner was never a permanent solution. It still isn’t. Eventually, he has to come back… It’s only a matter of when. He’d come back from the experiments quiet and blank faced, eerily so, and remain like that for a few minutes, a half hour, a full hour, two… And, out of nowhere, he’d slam back into existing, finding a place to hide and gasp out sobs which rattled him to the bone.
That’s what’s happening here, on a less severe level. Perhaps being wrapped in an illusion even helped kick it off. The mind is still such a strange thing.
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As Chikusa drew closer, he said nothing, letting Chikusa rest against him, running a gloved hand through his hair soothingly.
"I'll always come back to you, Chikusa. No matter what." It was a quiet reassurance. At one point, it might have been said merely to strengthen loyalty and nothing more, but nowadays... Well, perhaps Mukuro was getting sentimental for reasons he didn't want to articulate. "Take all the time you need."
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So long as he’s owned, so long as he’s given direction, so long as he’s not discarded...
Something occurs to him, however, and he shifts against Mukuro. “Ken…?” He can only imagine how his partner took to his absence, and, knocked out of his usual apathetic state, the idea of panic looms closer.
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The question made him shift, turning to look at Chikusa, his mouth curling upwards slightly. "He tore apart his fair share of enemies. I can only hope now he's bathing. The doctor was given strict orders not to let him in otherwise."
Both for Mukuro's sensabilities as well as Chikusa's. He canted his head to the side, considering. "But he has faith in you. He knew you wouldn't betray us." Either by divulging information or by dying before they could reach him.
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“I thought…” He doesn’t bother to finish the sentence. If he’d been targeted, after all, perhaps Ken had been as well. But that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Of course no one would go after Ken. He’s no illusionist, not like Mukuro-sama or Chrome or Fran, but he’s more lethal than anything especially when people dismiss him as an idiot. There’s an animalistic cunning to Ken that’s carried him through. Nothing like the kind of thinking Mukuro deals in daily, but something perfectly suited to the battlefield or hunting down opponents. Would something like this have happened to Ken? Chikusa doubts it. He would have seen enemies coming a mile away, have smelled their intent and heard the rustle of weaponry.
If anyone would want to get to Mukuro…. Of course Chikusa would be the target.
“...I would never, Mukuro-sama…. It’s the least I can do for you…” Perhaps the only thing it feels like at times.
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That loyal reply was practically scripted at this point, but it made Mukuro chuckle all the same. He pressed a fond kiss into Chikusa's hat covered hair, tightening his hold on his shoulder. "You've done more than enough. Now you should rest and recover."
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Mukuro didn’t have time for a useless tool, when they were younger, and Chikusa knows enough now to read between the lines. A man doesn’t let himself go to prison because he feels nothing for the people he’s saving from the same fate.
Yet what a flawed thing the human mind is, latching onto an idea and twisting it until it’s something terrible. Useless. Useless because the scientists had said so, murmuring to one another in bland tones about how he wasn’t living up to expectations and uncaring that his twisted body was still on the floor conscious and listening. Useless because he’d known from the start that he’d have to work that much harder, staring longingly at Ken’s physical prowess and Mukuro’s everything.
The Estraneo had been prepared to abandon him for dead so easily, just another broken child not performing like they wanted. It’s hard to forget that.
Hard to forget, but not as hard to lessen the effects of, and Mukuro’s grip on him and his kiss push it to the edges of Chikusa’s mind instead of the forefront. Right. Mukuro would never let go of him, not like this, not willingly. He’s owned, and that fact will never stop being one of his greatest reliefs. “As you wish, Maestro,” he murmurs, as though it isn’t a relief. Slowly, he starts to sink down into the water, his grip on Mukuro wanting to bring him down with him.
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it okay to wrap this up? : O
I'm good for it!