Look to Windward
Rating: PG
Summary: Hazel and Gato, and a time before Tougenkyou.
The flames rose, higher and higher, until they blended into the evening sky. The sparks were orange fireflies against the deepening gloom, lively precursors to the stars that were already faintly visible.
Red and gold, against velvety violet.
Perhaps it would have been pretty under different circumstances.
Hazel so close to the fire that the heat cast a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. Gloved hands were clenched tightly by his sides, nails biting into his palms even through the fabric. The flames danced in blue eyes narrowed in anger and anguish.
"Hazel," Gato said quietly from somewhere behind him, cautioning him away from the fire -- from the pyre. Hazel did not heed, his attention riveted to the crumbling outlines at the heart of the flames.
It was bodies that fueled this fire, almost too many to count. Human bodies, every single one too badly mangled for Hazel to resurrect. Bodies whose blood still coated his gloves, bodies of people he had arrived--
--Too late--
Urgency fueled his footsteps. He sped up, pushing aching muscles to move faster, faster, until he was flat out running. He could almost smell blood on the air, and the faint cries on the wind surely weren't a product of his imagination.
The road thudded by under his boots, the air tearing through his lungs. Not for the first time, he wished that he had Gato's height and length of stride -- the shikigami was keeping pace easily, without even the faintest hitch in his breathing.
Closer now, and he could hear the sounds of battle now, the clashing of metal and the accompanying screams.
"Gato," he gasped, and the other nodded, drawing both pistols as he surged on ahead, straight down the road leading into the small village.
Along that road came a fleeing child, his tear-streaked face reflecting stark terror. He caught side of Gato, and with a gasp of shock, lost his footing and went sprawling. And from behind there loomed a black shadow--
Even Gato was not fast enough to cut down the monster. Hazel watched in horror as massive claws severed head from body, cutting off the boy's high pitched shriek in a jarring crunch. The heavy thud of Gato's revolvers punctuated the air then. The shikigami's aim was deadly, and with a beastly howl, the creature crumpled.
Gato was already surging on ahead, shoulder his way past the ruined gates. The place had gone eerily silent. Hazel chewed apprehensively on his lower lip as he followed in Gato's wake. Not for the first time, he wished that he had a more efficient way of getting from town to town -- mounts would have been good, a carriage even better... but horses spooked at the mere scent of monsters.
Fears turned to reality when he passed the gate. Bodies were strewn across the path, most either decapitated or disemboweled. He paused, stomach churning. In the deafening silence, his breath rasped noisily in his ears.
All dead. They'd been too late--
He whirled at the crunch behind him, leaping backwards. Red eyes bored into his at the same time the swipe of claws opened his flesh from shoulder to wrist, sending him spinning and crashing to the ground a distance away.
Gato was in front of him even as pain exploded in his arm, the explosive thunder of gunfire almost reassuring. Hazel clawed at the wound, stumbling to his knees and collapsing dizzily again on another wave of pain. A hand steadied him, Gato reaching down to help him to his feet even as his knees threatened to give.
Too late. Too late do anything but pursue an almost pointless revenge. Hazel's jaw clenched uselessly in anger as he contemplated the massacre surrounding them. Blood seeped through his sleeve, falling to the already blood stained ground.
"Hazel," Gato called again, and Hazel snapped back to the present, where the heat of the pyre had grown uncomfortable. He turned away from the flames, turning to a world gone dark while he'd been lost in recollection. His arm throbbed in sullen agony.
"There must have been more than two of them," he said. "They couldn't have gone far. They must be hiding in the forest somewhere... if we can find their tracks, we can follow them..."
"You need rest," Gato pointed out.
He did, after several days of hard travel and an injury, but it was the last thing he wanted to admit to right now. "They'll be gone by tomorrow." Spinning, he headed towards the road. "Besides, you don't need rest."
Gato could sense that he was in no mood to listen to sense. Silently, he rose from where he'd been seated on the ground, trailing silently by Hazel's shoulder.
This isn't the first time, Hazel reflected bitterly. It wasn't the first time he arrived on the heels of a rumor of a monster insurgence, only to find utter carnage upon arrival. He could still remember the shock and the nausea he'd experienced in the past -- as a young priest believing himself hardened to bloodshed and finding himself unprepared for how bad bloodshed could get.
The sight of shattered bone and exposed entails no longer sent him lurching towards the nearest bush to reacquaint himself with his last meal... but the helpless anger was still there.
How much more, he wondered. He and Gato had cleaned out monster enclave after enclave, and still. Still. For a moment, he rested his forehead against the cool wall of a house that would never be used again. The pendant clinked against the brick. His uninjured hand reached up to grasp at it, a faltering swimmer grasping at a lifeline. The familiar tingle of power resonated in his fingertips, at once a reassurance and a quiet reminder of a job left unfinished.
He pushed himself away from the wall and turned his feet towards the road.
*
The light slowly faded around him as the pendant caught the last soul. It fell from his grasp then, and the chain jerked lightly as it arrested its fall. Gato looked around at his weary sigh; Hazel shook his head to dispel his concern.
Bodies lay at his feet, clawed and fanged and reassuringly inhuman. Gato had made short work of the few stragglers they'd found, after half a night of searching. Hazel was certain there were more. There had to be more. There were always more--
--he swayed, legs giving way. An arm caught him before he hit the ground, and the world was all afire, red and golden and far, far too hot. Dull pain coursed through his veins, every muscle suddenly throbbing. A drop of moisture slid from temple to chin.
"You're fevered," Gato noted in concern.
Nonsense, Hazel wanted to snap, but it was uselessly inane, when Gato's hand against his forehead was a block of ice. "It must be the injury," he said instead. "It'll pass." He pushed uselessly at Gato with his bad arm, a foolish move that sent a hiss of pain through his clenched teeth.
"We have to press on," he said, planting his feet firmly on the ground. He had survived longer trips under worse conditions than this. At any rate, he just had to hold on a little longer, long enough for Gato to find the last few stragglers. Just a while longer...
A gust of wind cut past him, a sudden freezing knife that sliced right to the bone and set him shivering uncontrollably.
"No," Gato said. Suddenly. Unexpectedly.
Hazel blinked blearily at him. "What did you say?"
"No," Gato repeated, moving to block his way.
Hazel frowned in annoyance, wanting to snap at Gato for overstepping his boundaries, but failing to find the strength. Mutely, he shoved past and walked on.
Gato didn't try to stop him again. Gato didn't comment when he pressed on, hunched over and wracked with chills, grasping his pendant as if it could lend him strength. Neither did Gato catch him this time when he finally stumbled and collapsed.
He broke his fall with the injured arm, a futile and stupid move that saw him curled up on the ground in pain, waiting for the spots in his vision to pass. It felt as if the blood in his veins had turned to molten fire; even the earth felt cold against his cheek. The strobing pain was back in full force, extending to a pounding headache that made him faintly queasy.
Gato was right, he thought wearily, not that he'd ever admit it out loud. Gato got an arm under him and lifted him bodily off the ground -- a move which Hazel protested to, a protest which Gato ignored. Hazel was too weary to tell him off, not when chills were wracking him again and Gato was a comfortable warmth, a shield against the biting wind.
Almost like another pair of arms, but he'd been so much younger then...
He awoke to uncomfortable warmth and sweat drenched blankets. Blearily, he pulled at the constraining cloth, and only succeeded in getting himself more tangled. He hurt all over, like he'd been severely bruised, and the world was just too hot...
With a vicious kick, he managed to dislodge the blanket, as well as a sodden cloth across his forehead. There were trees above him, and grass around, which could only mean that they were -- unfortunately -- still in the woods. The light filtering through the branches as a dull gray, perhaps the light of morning. He rather hoped that it wasn't the evening of the next day already.
Gato appeared suddenly, causing him to start, and dumped another icy wad of cloth on his forehead. Hazel emitted a strangled squeak of protest and promptly shook it off. Gato gazed calmly at him and replaced it. "The fever's not broken," he explained.
"What time is it?" Hazel rasped.
"Early," Gato replied. He sat down, drawing up a knee and folding his arms over it -- his way of showing that he didn't intend to move for quite a while. Hazel sighed, aggravated, and closed his eyes, content for a while to let the cold numb the throbbing headache. It was too late to pursue the beasts, anyway. The trail would have long gone cold. At least they'd gotten a few...
"Hazel," Gato said quietly.
He didn't bother to open his eyes. "Yes?"
"How long do you intend to ... keep doing this?"
Sometimes, Hazel swore that Gato could read his mind. "As long as there are monsters roaming the face of the earth."
"Are they necessarily bad?" Gato asked, unusually communicative.
"After yesterday, do you still have to ask that?"
There was a shuffle of movement. "Perhaps not all of them are like that."
"Gato, during all our travels, after all the places we've been to... have we ever seen a monster that wasn't vicious and bloodthirsty?"
"Perhaps we kill them too quickly to know."
He did open his eyes then, glancing irritably over at Gato, but the shikigami was not looking at him.
"What are monsters?" Gato asked.
"Inhuman creatures that spend their lives killing and causing bloodshed-- why are you asking this?"
There was a long, tense pause. Then yellow eyes slid over to meet his.
Oh.
Oh.
"But you're different," Hazel found himself saying. "You're still basically human, and besides you kill for a reason, not for the sake of killing."
"Perhaps they kill for a reason too," Gato said quietly, looking away again.
"Gato..." It was as different as night and day, but Hazel found himself somehow unable to articulate why. Because you're you. Because you were born human. Because ... you're completely different... Thoughts and words failed to connect through the fuzziness clouding his thoughts. Unthinkingly, he fought an arm free of the blanket and reached over to grasp Gato's hand instead.
"You care for things," Hazel murmured drowsily. "That makes you different from them."
There was surprised etched onto Gato's face. There might have been a protest, some further argument... but as Hazel drifted in the state that wasn't quite awareness and wasn't quite sleep, it never came. Instead, large fingers tightened around his slender ones, coarse and callused and cool against his fevered skin.
Silence settled gently over the duo once more, and the breeze meandering past was just pleasantly mild.
End?
A/N: Hazel doesn't have the hat yet ^^. Also, he's younger than when we see him in Reload, and this /is/ from his point of view, so excuse the lack of objectivity where it comes to the subject of monsters. And he's cute.
This started out as an angst bunny, and then it mutated. TWICE. And became a fluff bunny, just because. I probably need to spruce it up a bit. >_> *bigphatyawn of the fanfic author who is stays up until 3am writing*
'ep, the title is from T.S. Eliot. I was inflicted with a lack of originality.