[ ADVENT CALENDAR / event / PG / prompts, fanfiction, fanart ]
I thought of this idea while talking to dreams, and decided we're going to do an Advent Calendar event! [So that we have a good motivator to push us to write.] So from now till January 1, we're going to all try to do as many little prizes for each other as possible. Each day will have a different word prompt, and hopefully more than one person does
( Read more... )
Warning: Major angst and gruesome blood play.
My loose interpretation of the events surrounding Yao's infamous back injury:
1) occurs during the Second Sino-Japanese war;
2) I love Kiku and Yao, they love each other, and everyone knows there's a very thin line between love and hate. (If I can't have you no one can!)
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The katana slices across his back with the ease of a laser cutting through tin-foil.
“AAAAAAAAAUGHHH!!”
Blood showers from the terrible gash. His vision goes white. The world falters-- tilts, spins-
China collapses.
Kiku lowers the blood-streaked katana. He takes two steps forwards and peers down at the distorted form on the floor.
A puddle of dark blood widens across the floorboards of the cellar.
China, *Yao*, opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He can’t move. His mind is like a disordered room, ringing with panic.
Kiku kneels down, his smoky eyes burrowing into the enormous laceration.
Yao opens his mouth. “M-my spine…Kiku… my…“ Blood spurts between his teeth with each word. Yao realizes, with a sick jolt-
“Your spine appears to be broken.” Kiku’s voice is like a steel trap.
Yao looks up and a slick wave of blood immediately blinds him. He struggles, but something is terribly, terribly wrong; he can’t sense anything beneath the waist. Yet… his limbs are sprawled at painful-looking angles.
A devastating wave of dread hits Yao as liquid salt flows freely from his eyes.
There’s no one besides Kiku and Yao in this labyrinthine cellar. There’s not even another torch lit.
Kiku stares impassively. Yao watches through a thin film of blood as Kiku blinks once and finally opens his mouth. “Well, this ought to make things a bit easier.”
Kiku’s military-issued boots and the pointed end of the dangling katana blade fill Yao’s vision; an animal sound tears itself from Yao’s mouth.
The blade suddenly clatters to the floor, landing inches away from Yao’s head.
Kiku straddles his older brother, pulling something out of his pocket. Yao whimpers as Kiku begins applying a crude bandage about Yao’s back.
Long minutes pass; the only sounds filling the corridor are gasps of pain, and the tearing and wrapping of fabric. Yao convulses as Kiku firmly applies pressure to the gaping laceration.
Yao is old, older than time itself; he has horrific scars from being in countless wars. Never before, though, has he experienced searing (physical, emotional) pain like this-like *this*--
The bleeding is staunched. Nerves reconnect, tissue self-restores; fresh agony hits Yao at full force.
After a round of deep coughing, Yao starts mouthing words. He looks up at Kiku, his eyes full of an emotion Kiku can’t immediately place.
Involuntarily, his little brother leans forward.
“Nihon, why do you hate me so?”
It barely comes out as a whisper, yet emulates the fury of a hundred thousand voices protesting betrayal.
In response, Kiku grips his brother’s chin, lifting him up slightly. Mentally readying himself for more blows, Yao grits his teeth. He clenches his eyes shut-
Kiku kisses him hard.
Yao’s eyes protrude from his face as a hot tongue nudges his and then roughly pushes down his throat, through all the blood in his mouth. Kiku leans into the kiss, a thin film of sweat breaking out on his brow. His hand grips the back of Yao’s head.
Muffled sounds of protest fill the empty corridor.
The moment the kiss is broken, Yao gasps for air, and there is a small, feral smile on Kiku’s face; murky monotone eyes boring into golden ones. When he pulls away, Yao’s blood is streaking Kiku’s chin, splitting it.
Kiku absentmindedly wipes his chin. He grips Yao’s shoulders and lowers his older brother to the floor. Kiku stands up as he silently eyes Yao’s wounds, slowly healing from the sacrifice of many, many human lives.
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“It didn’t have to be this way.” Kiku’s voice has a strange lilt. “But you… you couldn’t....you…”
His voice becomes stranger and more strained. Through the film of dried blood, Yao sees Kiku’s face contort in a rare loss of control, as the full weight of what occurred seems to hit him like a giant’s fist of concrete.
“It didn’t HAVE to be this way! *It didn’t have to be this way!* I told you not to trust them--I told you to stay away!”
The wall torch light flickers onto the two distressed forms, sweeping over Kiku’s pale-white face.
“Why did you lie to me?” A dry sob. “Why would you…”
Kiku suddenly lowers his head. With a single efficient kick of his boot, he turns Yao over onto his stomach.
Yao stares helplessly as Kiku removes something metallic from his belt. The katana blade is now centimeters from Yao’s face; the smell of the hot steel fills his nose. It takes every single control mechanism in his body not to retch.
“It didn’t have to *end* this way,” Kiku mutters, as though to himself.
Kiku bends down and seizes Yao’s wrists, cuffing them together behind his back. As Yao opens his mouth to scream, Kiku shoves a wet rag in his mouth and ties a gag behind his head.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Kiku warns, the threat thinly disguised as *Don’t make me hurt you*, while dragging Yao to a half-sitting position.
Kiku removes his belt and concentrates on binding Yao’s legs, aware of the chance-however slim-that the gaping wound might heal over well enough (with enough hundreds of thousands of Chinese lives) to permit Yao’s full recovery from paralysis, before Kiku’s work is finished.
Yao moans weakly as more frightened tears flow down his pale-as-snow face.
With his long fingers, Kiku brushes these tears out of Yao’s eyes and pulls him to his feet, steadying the lithe, slender form of his brother. Kiku reaches out to touch Yao’s hair, breathing short, choppy breaths. He rests his forehead against his brother’s.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” Kiku says, still in his strange voice.
Without warning, he grabs Yao’s belt, hoists him, and abruptly slings the shaking nation over his right shoulder as easily as though Yao weighs nothing.
“Mmmbm!” Yao cries.
Kiku frowns as he one-handedly sheathes his katana, but then-
“Kiku?? YAO??”
“Shit!” Kiku turns his heel while the pounding of Yong-soo’s boots accelerate towards the cellar.
“YAO!” Xiang Gang--*Tien*, Kiku didn’t know he could sound like that. “ARE YOU DOWN HERE? YAO!!”
Kiku swears again and speeds up. Ludwig is just a few meters ahead; Kiku had contacted him hours ago.
Xiang Gang-and what must be at least several other nations-are steadily closing the gap.
“Ge-ge!” Wan shrieks.
“Kiku!” Yong-soo’s voice. “You’re not going anywhere!”
Yao chokes furiously through the gag as Kiku’s boots pound the floor. Several frenzied moments tick by, punctuated by the sound of hammering footsteps. All of a sudden, the choking ceases.
Kiku bolts into a dark corner, slides Yao off his shoulder and rips off the gag. Yao’s head is lolling against the wall. “Yao?” Kiku demands urgently, grasping his face.
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He resumes running while carrying Yao bridal-style.
Meanwhile the pursuing countries have taken the wrong turn at the left corridor. Kiku relaxes, slightly, as he approaches the end of the short labyrinth-he knows the passages like the back of his hand.
He flies up the final stairwell and out into the open air. It is a tiny, hidden landing strip.
Ludwig is waiting there in his Arada Ar 232 as promised, eyes flickering back and forth from Yao’s limp form to Kiku’s inscrutable gaze.
“What is he doing here?” Ludwig, for Ludwig, sounds astonished.
Kiku ignores the question. “Let’s go.”
“Japan…?“
“*Now*.”
Ludwig appears to reconsider, but then shuts his mouth and turns back in his seat. A moment later, the sound of a revving engine fills the air.
Kiku leisurely climbs up the platform, cradling Yao’s unconscious form as he boards the plane without glancing back once.
Several seconds later, Yong-soo and the rest of the Asians storm the runway as the plane is already taking off into the sky.
They are too late.
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You can't stop reading until the end.
Thank you for writing this, it was a very splendid read.
(And post it a FFnet dammit! XD)
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