The nights had taken a turn for the cooler. Soon, the leaves would redden and begin to fall, and all too soon, the snows would move in. But for now, for now the stars shone in a cloudless black sky, and the faintest scent of late summer flowers was carried to him on the breeze.

The same breeze the moved the curtains of the window that Hazel stood before. The bishop wasn't asleep, as Gato had half hoped he would be. Far from it; he was still attired in his full day wear, gloved fingers resting on the window sill, booted feet lost in the shadows of the darkened room. Hazel's back was to the door and thus to him, but Gato did not need to see the amulet to know that it hung around the other's neck.

It was always there, except in sleep, where it rested on the bedside table or under Hazel's pillow, never far from his side. As heavy as the two revolvers that rested in the holsters at Gato's hips, and equally bloodstained, for all that the amulet did not kill.

He reached for one of those revolvers, opting for speed before hesitation and second thoughts could catch up with him. His hand closed around the grip when the other spoke.

"We'll be going home soon," Hazel commented cheerfully. "If we make good speed, we might even be back in time for summer."

"Aa," Gato replied, quiet acknowledgement. His hand fell away to hang, indecisive, by his side.

"I didn't expect our work to be over so soon," the other continued, half-turning, "But I didn't know of Sanzo-han's mission either. It does make it easier, being able to stop the madness at its source." He smiled, and moonlight illuminated the gesture.

Hazel -- master, companion, or friend? Gato didn't know. Perhaps it was some combination of all three. What term did you apply to someone who had been your sole companion for almost a decade now? Others had come, and gone, touching briefly on their lives and moving on. Sanzo and the others had perhaps followed their same road the longest. But for most part, it was just Hazel, and himself, and a long road ahead and a longer string of corpses behind.

And now they came to a bend -- no, a fork -- in the road. And Hazel spoke of going home.

Hazel inclined his head. "Aren't you thrilled at the prospect? Well, granted that you were an immigrant any way, but you did spend most of your life there."

Gato's expression rarely changed, and now it remained as flat as ever. "Home," he replied slowly.

"Or as close to a home as we ever had, any way." Hazel was watching him carefully.

He had never felt so uncomfortable under that gaze before. He settled for shrugging. "It would be nice."

Hazel's hand rose to the amulet, an unconscious gesture that betrayed unease.

"Or perhaps you'll be back by spring," the bishop's tone was light, but there was a tiny tremor on the 'you', inaudible to anyone except Gato. He knew that voice, had listened to it change over the years, breaking from from an alto to a tenor, refining itself in speech, conversing in different languages: English, Latin, and Mandarin. Knew its every nuance, as well as he knew its owner.

Their eyes met, and Gato felt it then -- the crumbling of all the carefully built walls, all secrets laid bare. Too long together, and he should have known that there was no way they could keep anything from each other.

He knew. Somehow, Hazel knew.

And turned back to face the window, trying to feign a nonchalance that the tension in his shoulders betrayed. "Very well, then. I won't stop you."

"How?" Gato asked. "How did you find out?"

He guessed that Hazel must have smiled painfully. "Your actions betrayed you. Your eyes. Your furtiveness. Your edginess the entire day."

And Gato rather thought that he had been acting normally.

"And if your question was how I knew that you were... hired to..." Kill me, were the words, but Hazel choked on them, and there was only tense silence for a long heartbeat. "...hired for this job," he continued, "It was a guess, really. A logical deduction, but still a guess." Until you confirmed it.

"Logical?"

"...Yes." Hazel's tone turned vaguely philosophical. "It made sense. My powers were -- are -- too controversial to accept. Raising the dead with the souls of monsters? Even if I could persuade the Vatican that it doesn't work that way, it would be impossible to persuade the bystanders. And after the initial elation had died down, and people started to think, surely they would start thinking it was an abomination. But ... a useful power, nevertheless. At least until the monster threat was eliminated." Hazel's fingers left the amulet to curl around the window sill.

"And so, what better way to get rid of a potential problem than to send it far over the sea, to eradicate another monster threat, or die trying? Or even better, to eradicate the monster threat and die while defeating the great monster king?" A dry laugh, almost a sob. "A martyr for the cause, at least." Hazel's hands were clenched in a death grip around the sill now, and his voice dropped to a whisper that Gato had to strain to hear. "And who better to get rid of that problem than his conveniently soul-less companion?"

"They said that your work would backfire," Gato said. "That you would become a monster yourself."

Hazel bowed his head. "They had others trying to recreate my work. They would know."

"It is true then?" Suddenly, it seemed as if all the world pressed on his shoulders. Or perhaps it was just the strangling sensation around his heart, that seemed to make breathing difficult.

"I believe so. Working with youkai energies, working with my energies... they were bound to mix after a while."

And words failed. The breeze felt cold now, and Gato had not felt that sensation since becoming a shikigami. Since Hazel had pulled him back from death. Since the days of the old country, back before Tougenkyou, before the Vatican City, before the Cardinal summoning him one night while Hazel was sleeping...

To protect the boy as long as he could, and to ensure his death before he turned into a monster. On no account was he to return from Tougenkyou.

And the boy's screams at night had convinced him of the truth of the matter, the way in his worst nightmares his fingernails actually lengthened to points, canines drawing blood from his lips. There were things that Hazel did not remember--

--or perhaps he did.

"If it were done, when tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly," Hazel murmured.

And Gato's heart broke.

Hazel turned at the sound of his retreating footsteps, and when Gato paused in the doorway to glance back, the bishop was frowning.

"Just where are you going?"

"I cannot do this," Gato replied simply.

"Gato." And even in this hour, his voice was still even, his words painfully polite. "If I must fall, I would rather it be at your hand than at any other's."

"You need not die."

Hazel shook his head. "It is no youkai I am turning into." He hefted the amulet, giving it a small, sadly fond smile. Gato wanted to rip the thing from his throat and hurl it away, as far away as possible. But it was too late. All too late.

And perhaps he should have tried to talk Hazel out of it earlier, but the man had known, and had persisted, and taken this doom upon himself.

"Please," Hazel whispered.

There was no way he could refuse. "Surely there is some other way. We could stay here. Not return to the city."

"Returning home was never the problem to begin with. Nor would staying put off the inevitable."

Channeling Gyuumaou's energies to rescue their four companions from the brink of drink had been the final straw. The incumbent rage, bloodlust, madness: Hazel had fought through all of that while Gato watched, helpless.

"Let me die in peace," Genjo Sanzo had said instead, bleeding his life out on the cold floor and in agony from the burns. And then walked away once his wounds were healed, and never looked back.

"I release you from all obligation after my death," Hazel said formally.

Who will resurrect you when you die? Gato wanted to ask.

No one, was the answer reflected.

"Then I will follow you," Gato said.

Hazel's eyes widened. "Don't! You are not a true shikigami, you need not depend on me to survive--"

"--you cannot command me after your death."

"Don't. Please. I ask this of you as a friend."

"I would have died a long time ago but for you." It was his turn to smile, just the barest uplifting of the corner of his lips. "You will need someone to wake you from nightmares." And there is no one else, no where else to go, no more orders to fulfill.

"There is no way I can persuade you otherwise, is there?" Hazel asked at last.

"No."

A defeated sigh. Then, almost ironically: "Your will be done."

And suddenly the bishop was in front of him, ungloved fingers ghosting over his cheek, flicking away the trail of moisture that he hadn't even noticed. "I'm so sorry," Hazel said. "I shouldn't put you through this."

"Better me, than anyone else." It was amazing, how difficult the words were to say. And because it bubbled out before he could stop it: "Do not be sorry."

"I have no regrets," Hazel replied. "And to tell the truth, I would appreciate the companionship."

It had to be now, now before he lost his nerve again. Now before Hazel's nerve broke. Now while they still had a choice and the freedom to make that choice. Free of all regret.

Hazel's eyes never left his, even as he raised both revolvers. One for Hazel. One for himself.

"Per istam sanctam untionem," Hazel said, and Gato knew that he said it for both of them, asking pardon for both their sins, although their faiths had never been one. "Indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid deliquisti."

And Gato pressed the triggers.