jigokulogs | semi-closed 🔪 sometimes it's better to lose than compromise

[ Enma’s balls - she hates this curse shit. Is she the only one concerned with the house fucking cracking? Apparently so. Gods. ]

Fuck this. [ She’s turning to leave again - but then she hesitates, turns back around, grabs Nishitani by the arm and pulls him along with her as she makes a second attempt to go downstairs. ] We’re getting the hell out of here.

H-hey! Let go of me! [ He's naked, and in his mind, his uncle and Sara-nee are still downstairs. He struggles against her-- but when they make it to the bottom floor, there's an inch of blood on the floor waiting for them, an old man face down with a gunshot in his back; a young girl, tied up, with the side of her head caved in. ]

[ The dream shifts again, Nishitani is dressed, still young, rushing over to them both. ] Wait! Wait! I said wait! Give them back!

[ She’s seen a lot of terrible violence in her lifetime. Delivered it herself sometimes. Been the victim of it, others. But she’s never grown completely numb to it, even after nearly seven thousand years, and the sight that greets them downstairs is enough to stop her in her tracks. ]

What the fuck happened?

[ It’s a rough whisper, more to herself than anyone else. Gods, the girl… All that fucking blood. ]

Who did this?

No! It didn't happen like this! [ A crack, again. ]

[ Rain, the blood around their ankles shifts-- rain, blood, rain, blood-- both. An alleyway, behind a convenience store. They stand, soaked, the rain, the blood, a slog. A head, behind the dumpster, her leg. The pink hearts of her socks, the girl, her head: there, fully, shucked away to hide. Nishitani sees her. ]

Sara. [ A croak, how can he speak? His sister is dead, brutalized, because of him, because of Uncle. A love of his, taken, killed, forced from his hand, into a void: for everything he's ever let go of has scratch marks in it. He understands, because he leaves the boy who did this to Sara in the same state he left her.

Scratch marks, over his forearms, prove it. The blood, the crunch of bone, the snap-- ]

[ It happens like that, first. ]

[ She can hardly see at first, disoriented by the way the dream shifts, the blood rain pouring down on them, plastering her hair to her face — but as she scrubs at her eyes, she can start to make it out. The limbs. Body parts. Oh, merciless gods, those pink socks... She thinks about the sound of laughter she'd heard when she woke. A young girl's laugh. Something lurches uncomfortably in her chest. ]

Nishitani —

[ Turning to find him, she half reaches out before stalling midway, hand hovering in the air between them. Hard to know what stops her — the sight of those scratch marks, or the distinct and sudden sound of bone snapping. ]

[ Nishitani can never see Sara again. ]

[ Sara, behind that dumpster, Sara, assaulted, choked, head split open, undignified. Top of her class, Sara-nee, holding his hand when he was 3 and didn't understand the world, Sara-nee, smiling at him. ]

[ She's gone, killed by Takashi-kun, a member of Nishitani's rival gang, a gang Uncle B was investigating, a gang under pressure, and who sent a message. ]

[ Takashi was 16 when he killed Sara-nee. Nishitani was 15. He waited the two years it took for Takashi to get out of jail, barely fucking sentenced because-- a child, he's just a child, but what he did to Sara-fucking-nee-- ]

[ Beside Sara's body, at the dumpster, Takashi-kun. Assaulted, choked, head split open, undignified. ] She's gone.

[ The knot in Andy's gut tightens. Twists. It almost surprises her, that thread of something like grief she feels, deep down. After all this time, all those bloody centuries, maybe the part of her that's capable of feeling anything in the face of such tragedy should be dead. But it's still there. Stubborn and painful. Worse because she fucking cares about him — and fuck, but human lives can be so ugly, so short. Those two bodies, youth cut down in its prime, it's a cruel reminder. Sometimes it makes her wonder why they even try —

She can't even fight this. Whatever this is, however much of it is true — it happened already. It happened to him, to Sara, to the boy who killed her and was killed in turn. And now all that's left is the trauma and the nightmares, come home to roost with the fucking blood rain.

Her hand finally closes around Nishitani's arm. ]

I know. I'm sorry. [ Her voice is quiet and rough. ] I'm so fucking sorry. [ Her grip tightens ever so slightly. ] But this isn't real. And we can't stay here.

[ Nishitani startles when touched, transfixed by the gory scene splayed out in front of them. The boy he killed, while still just a boy himself; someone close enough to be his sister, the catalyst. ]

[ Looking at Andy, this young boy he's become has tears in his eyes, scratches on his cheek, a busted lip. Takashi didn't go down easy. ]

[ But Nishitani took him down regardless. ]

Where can we go without her? I won't leave her!

[ The tenderness she feels to see those tears is almost unbearable. It hurts. It hurts terribly. And the feeling of powerlessness, her inability to do anything — to change any of it — that tastes like bile in the back of her throat.

It's all she can do to come and crouch in front of him, putting herself between this boy and the awful things that were done to him and by him. Her hand is a little rough when she reaches up to thumb blood away from that split lip, but there's love in the gesture, and love in her face when she looks at him, her heart like a fresh wound. ]

You can't do anything for her now. You can't. It's done.

But she's my sister-- [ Not really, not by blood, not that Nishitani cared. The gang he'd been rolling with, they'd laughed at him for how attached he was to Sara. They pushed him around, they teased him, they talked about how nice Sara-chan must be in bed-- ]

[ He should have stood up for her. He should have been to her birthday. He should have-- ] She's my sister!

[ Blood never really matters with these things, does it? She knows. She knows that better than most. Family is still family. The grief of their loss still hurts just as much. Maybe even more. And she can't help a pang of selfish guilt. Should she have known about this? Should she have asked? Would she know what to do or say now, if she had?

Maybe there's nothing that would make any difference anyway. Loss is like that. It just hurts. Sometimes forever. It's all she can do to reach out and pull this wretched boy in towards her, folding him against her body like she might be able to shield him from some of that terrible pain if she just holds him tight enough.

Quietly, echoing him: ]

She's gone.

[ The young boy he is cries, screams, fights against Andy because there's nothing else he can do. Sara is dead, she's gone, and it doesn't matter what he does, she's gone. ]

[ So live, live as loud, as bright, as hard as one can. Take life, and take, and take, and take, because some kid not even out of high school will take it from you otherwise, some senseless act of violence will overcome the survival drive every human has. ]

[ Nishitani doesn't know this yet. He will, in the years between now and then. ]

[ She lets him cry. Lets him scream and fight against her embrace. It's all she knows how to do. All she's ever done when faced with the same kind of awful loss. Cry, scream, fight. Like a ritual, over and over again. A futile ritual. Until she was too tired to fight anymore.

All of it gives her a painful kind of understanding she's not sure she really wanted. A terrible, half-unwilling insight into the man that this boy will become. The one that shares her bed. The one that almost died for her — and already died for someone else. She thinks about the fearless, reckless way he lives — how ready he was to accept his own fucking mortality — and it makes her tighten her grip on the boy in her arms, holding him closer. ]

[ He holds onto Andy, tight, fingers clawing at her back. He sobs, until he can't-- and the blood, the rain, the water around them cracks again. They're no longer in an alley. A school, instead. Uniforms, one Nishitani refuses to wear, but he's at the school gate, waiting. It's raining, but he doesn't have an umbrella ]

[ Sara, alive, her hair nearly to her waist, her eyes so bright that in the sun, he swore they were gold, not brown. She's walking out of the entrance with a group of friends. She sees him-- them. ]

[ And still, she waves. ]

[ It's jarring to see the girl there. Even more jarring than the shift in reality. She can still see her body too clearly — broken, left behind the dumpster. Those pink socks. But she's here too. As if none of that had ever happened. It's unsettling. Leaves her feeling a little unbalanced. This nightmare, this curse — it knows how to fuck with your head.

The scene is innocent enough. The girl's waving to them, smiling. Andy can't fully explain her trepidation, or why she tries to reach for Nishitani again, to hold him back from going to meet her. ]

She's waiting for us. [ Nishitani grouses at Andy, stepping out the cigarette he'd been working through. He straightens, looks at Andy, and it's clear he's not seeing her, he's seeing something. That crying, vulnerable child is gone, here he's a snarky, ornery teenager again. ] You wanted to fucking meet her, don't tell me you're chickening out!

[ It doesn’t feel right, somehow. And maybe that’s just some lingering anxiety, something unsettled inside her from holding that boy to her chest while he sobbed, but she still hesitates to let go of him. It takes her a moment before she finally forces herself to release him. No argument, not out loud, but she follows close behind when he goes to meet the girl he called his sister, not trusting the nightmare not to turn on them again. ]

[ Nishitani snaps his arm back when Andy finally releases him, straightens out his shirt before crossing the street to get to the school entrance and meet with Sara. ]

[ Sara, who reaches out and takes Nishitani's hand. Sara, who looks over Nishitani's shoulder at Andy. ]

[ Sara, whose face is caved in like it had been behind the dumpster. Her friends shift, girls with their faces blood, beaten, bodies broken. They all reach out for Nishitani, who goes without truly seeing what they've all become. ]

[ They make eye contact, and Andy knows — she just knows, and without thinking, she's already moving, trying to close that distance that she was stupid enough to allow in the first place. A burst of desperate motion, hand outstretched — just barely brushing against Nishitani's clothes before she stumbles a few more steps forward, grasping again, snagging a handful of fabric at his back and yanking as she utters one ragged syllable — ]

Don't.

What do you mean, don't? [ Nishitani looks back at Andy, but by then, it's too late. ]

[ The form of the girls has changed, the thick sludge wrapping up his arm, his shoulders, his face. His eyes widen, he reaches out to grab Andy back, take her shoulder, her arm-- ]

[ And he grips her wrist, her heartbeat wild beneath his palm. The nightmare shutters, shakes, cracks, tries to fit around two, two people for this nightmare to consume. Without Nishitani, where's Andy fitting into this picture? ]

[ The surroundings quiver, flutter. It snaps out at Andy, a tendril shooting out towards her face. Finally, the demon fights, fights with Nishitani half inside it, struggling, fights Andy who refuses to let go. ]

[ Her heart is slamming against her chest, her grasp bruising as she grips him back, crushing the small bones of his wrist with her desperation to not let go. She can't fight like this — not the way she needs to, but her grip stays stubborn, even as she only barely manages to twist out of the way when that oozing limb snaps out towards her.

Gods, she would do anything to have the curse back just then. To be immortal. To fear nothing. But all she can do is struggle as she is, vulnerable and mortal and terribly fucking afraid even as she braces to fight. She doesn't try to dodge the next attack, instead letting that tendril catch her other arm, woman and monster both gripping each other as she forcefully pulls, jerking the sludge towards her and sinking her fucking teeth in, determined to rip that thing right off. ]

[ Beneath the ooze is something tangible. Andy's teeth clamp down and when she yanks back there's a tear. Thick blackgreen mud sloughs from the injury, splashing down onto the ground and uselessly against their feet. A roar, anguished, at the audacity of this woman to fucking bite it. Nishitani is half consumed and yet-- ]

[ Nishitani doesn't let go of Andy but he yanks her just a fraction closer, closer to his back, where-- ]

[ His tanto, he's always kept his tanto against the small of his back. ]

[ The ooze tastes acrid in her mouth, nearly strong enough to make even her gag. Turning her head to spit some of that shit out doesn't help much — and what damage she's managed to do hasn't stopped that writhing black mass. But she hasn't let go yet, still hanging on as if that's the only thing that matters. And maybe it's the only thing that does.

Her feet are so planted, her body so tensely braced that she almost resists Nishitani's pull by reflex — but she looks at him, consciously yielding, letting herself be tugged in closer. Then — then she can feel it. A handle. A weapon. Her fingers close around it and it feels like grasping a little hope. Her grip is strong, her eyes meeting his for one fleeting moment before she finally draws his tanto free —

The metal glints before she's plunging in into the sludge that encases him — over and over and over again, forcing the blade in to the hilt every time with relentless, murderous intent. ]

[ Andy stabs for what feels like hours, again and again, but it's with this ceaseless, raw energy that she brings the nightmare to its knees. The nightmare snaps, this time in half, and with a final blow, a familiar city bleeds into the world around them, the nightmare, the demon, gone. ]

[ Nishitani opens his eyes, Andy on top of him, where the nightmare placed them, and lets out a long breath. ] Holy shit.

[ Her heart is threatening to burst out of her chest. Her fucking arm aches, her fist still clenched so tightly around the handle of his tanto that her her own nails threaten to cut into her palm. She's covered in sludge, chest heaving with the effort of catching her breath, eyes still a little too wild when she looks down at him underneath her.

A quiet huff of breath. Almost a laugh when she agrees breathlessly: ]

Holy shit.

semi-closed 🔪 sometimes it's better to lose than compromise

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