FIC: Unconventional
Unconventional
by: Innusiq
Rating: G
Word Count: 1477
Characters: Nataraja and Pasupata (no pairing, unless you can see into the possible future)
Spoilers: If you haven't seen Maharaja Mode… GO! NOW! VIEW! MARVEL! ENJOY! But, if you still haven't… this could spoil the aspect of surprise regarding certain character revelations
Summary: Sometimes two people are drawn together by circumstances out of their control.
Author's Note: This was written for a certain someone's birthday… which is today (if you are in Japan at least). HAPPY BIRTHDAY fencer_x!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It's hard to ignore the grit and grime covering the limp hand cocooned within his own. The dirt soiling the other boy's hand isn't just soot from the fire they both narrowly escaped hours before, but more the tell-tale sign of a hard life lived not knowing where the next meal was coming from, or more importantly how to acquire the money needed to obtain that questionable meal. Pasupata can't even imagine living such a life in squalor, what with his own seemingly above average existence being handed to him on a silver platter so to speak, all of which he'd apparently taken for granted before, but now, now he doesn't know what to make of his life. He begins tracing his thumbs over the unconscious and unnamed boy's palm, all while trying to tune out and ignore the pitying voices and sorrowful looks from their caretakers as the other boy's bandages are checked and rechecked during the early morning. Thankfully, they have long since given up trying to separate them.
"You should get some sleep," one caretaker suggests in a voice loud enough to wake the dead, because obviously being blind means he's also hard of hearing.
Idiot, Pasupata thinks but doesn't actually respond. Instead, he takes a deep breath in effort to clear his head and calm his nerves, but it's a far cry from a cleansing breath because all he gets is a lungful of smoky stench which radiates off the clothes they both still wear that in turn turns his stomach. The memory of heat from near-death flames and a strong hand grasping his own, pulling him to safety, is just too much for him to think about right now.
Pasupata tightens his hold on the hand in his own. It is the only thing he knows to do now. This person, the one he tricked into being his unconventional savior, is the only person he has left in the world. Everyone probably expects him to be a mess, and maybe he should be. It isn't every day that he loses his entire family in one evening, leaving him to survive on his own, and maybe that is the reason he feels a strange sort of connection with this gritty and grimy street-rat, a term he's heard a few people whisper a bit louder than called for in the hours they've been here. This boy may be a street-rat, a common thief and technically beneath Pasupata's own stature in life, but this boy is a survivor, and if there is one thing Pasupata needs to learn how to do now, it is survive. He needs this boy in his life more than he's ever needed anyone before, but he will not use him. One good turn, albeit forced, deserves another. This boy saved his life, was even injured in the process, so in turn, Pasupata knows he owes something in return and vows to save this boy, no matter what it takes.
A groan startles Pasupata out of his thoughts, and it's an automatic reaction that his hands grip the other boy's hand tighter. He watches a moment as the other boy's eyes blink open, there is confusion and definitely pain in them, but then Pasupata remembers the lie he had told to save his life and averts his eyes to the bandages on the other boy's right arm.
"Hey," the boy says, voice scratchy in the same manner as his own from the fire's smoke, but it is still nice to hear. "You okay?"
Pasupata can't help but snort, which is followed up by a light cough. "I should be asking you that."
The other boy snorts as well, but then hisses and moans in pain at an attempted shrug.
"You probably shouldn't move too much," Pasupata adds, wishing he could take a little of the pain away. "Your arm was burned pretty badly."
"Figures," the boy says, grunting while attempting to sit up nonetheless.
Pasupata lets go of the other boy's hand and watches peripherally as the boy struggles in his attempts and fails, falling back against the pillows he is cushioned upon.
Closing his eyes, Pasupata reaches out and feels for the boy's hand, taking it again and squeezing.
"See, I told you."
A silence draws out between them, one that is full of avoidance and shame, but Pasupata can't seem to pull himself away from this boy.
"You shouldn't be here," the boy finally says, breaking their silence, and continuing to clarify. "You shouldn't be here with me."
Pasupata swallows the lump in his throat, realizing that perhaps this boy may not want to have anything to do with him.
"Pasupata."
"Excuse me?"
Pasupata swallows again, readjusting his line of vision for the other boy's shoulder. "My name is Pasupata."
A beat passes before the other boy responds. "Pasupata?"
Pasupata nods emphatically, allowing a small smile to grace his lips. He's never heard another person say his name quite like that before, as if taking the time to say it right, as if one wrong pronunciation could shatter the person whose name he was trying to pronounce correctly. Another beat passes.
"Nataraja."
His small smile grows, and Pasupata squeezes Nataraja's hand a little tighter.
"Thank you for saving my life, Nataraja."
He knows Nataraja is staring at him, he can feel the gaze like the heat from a flame, but no matter how much he wants to return the look, he doesn't meet Nataraja's eyes, instead choosing to continue concentrating on the visible shoulder above the bandages while reminding himself to breathe.
"I… I didn't…"
"Perhaps you didn't plan to but... " Pasupata interrupts, but then just as he interrupted Nataraja, so does a yawn interrupt his own words. "You did."
It is only then that Pasupata realizes how tired he is. All night and into the early hours of the morning he had been more concerned about Nataraja's well being over his own fatigue, and apparently that neglect is finally catching up to him.
"You should go and get some sleep."
Pasupata's eyes travel up to Nataraja's mouth, where he notices for the first time a few faded scars.
"I have no place to go."
"Surely you…"
"I… I… I have no one… now," Pasupata chokes out, actually feeling his despair for the first time that night, a sign of a few more things catching up to him. "I have no one."
The hand he has clung to all night, the one he refused to let go when they were initially brought here, finally squeezes back, the gesture causing Pasupata to hiccup and release a sound he's never heard before, one of pain and frustration and strangely enough, relief. He buries his head against a chest as scrawny as his own and clutches at the fabric of the sheets and Nataraja's clothing, praying over and over, Please don't leave me. Please don't leave. Please don't leave me.
There is smoke again, with every inhale of breath, and the memories quickly return in flashes before his eyes, of flames licking at their every step, the sound of pain as Nataraja walks a little to close to the fire closing in around them, but the one constant and tangible memory is that of hope felt in the firm grip on his hand pulling and leading him to safety.
In the present, an arm circles around his shoulders and fingers begin carding through the ends of his hair. Reassuring words are whispered above his head, and he wants to believe them so badly it hurts, he needs to believe them because without them, without Nataraja, he truly has nothing left in his life to live for.
"It's okay," Nataraja whispers, comforting in the manner an older brother might, leaving Pasupata to wonder briefly if perhaps Nataraja is an older brother, and maybe there is a family for Nataraja to return to, but as the comforting words continue, Pasupata quickly realizes they are in the same boat. "You'll be okay. I don't have anyone either, ya know? Not really… We'll be okay… I"ll… I'll show you."
He is sprawled out next to Nataraja now, both sharing the pillows, head cradled against Nataraja's chest, and surely they make for an interesting sight, but Pasupata could care less because for now, at least, he's not alone.
They both fall silent, Pasupata concentrating on the fingers that have come to rest on his shoulder, and soon he finds himself drifting between the conscious present and the dream world threatening to overtake him. He takes comfort in the warmth of Nataraja, even if their alliance of sorts is most unconventional, and just as he is about to drop off into the darkness of dreams, he feels the rumble in Nataraja's chest before he hears his new friend's voice.
"Thank you, Pasupata… for saving my life, too."
by: Innusiq
Rating: G
Word Count: 1477
Characters: Nataraja and Pasupata (no pairing, unless you can see into the possible future)
Spoilers: If you haven't seen Maharaja Mode… GO! NOW! VIEW! MARVEL! ENJOY! But, if you still haven't… this could spoil the aspect of surprise regarding certain character revelations
Summary: Sometimes two people are drawn together by circumstances out of their control.
Author's Note: This was written for a certain someone's birthday… which is today (if you are in Japan at least). HAPPY BIRTHDAY fencer_x!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It's hard to ignore the grit and grime covering the limp hand cocooned within his own. The dirt soiling the other boy's hand isn't just soot from the fire they both narrowly escaped hours before, but more the tell-tale sign of a hard life lived not knowing where the next meal was coming from, or more importantly how to acquire the money needed to obtain that questionable meal. Pasupata can't even imagine living such a life in squalor, what with his own seemingly above average existence being handed to him on a silver platter so to speak, all of which he'd apparently taken for granted before, but now, now he doesn't know what to make of his life. He begins tracing his thumbs over the unconscious and unnamed boy's palm, all while trying to tune out and ignore the pitying voices and sorrowful looks from their caretakers as the other boy's bandages are checked and rechecked during the early morning. Thankfully, they have long since given up trying to separate them.
"You should get some sleep," one caretaker suggests in a voice loud enough to wake the dead, because obviously being blind means he's also hard of hearing.
Idiot, Pasupata thinks but doesn't actually respond. Instead, he takes a deep breath in effort to clear his head and calm his nerves, but it's a far cry from a cleansing breath because all he gets is a lungful of smoky stench which radiates off the clothes they both still wear that in turn turns his stomach. The memory of heat from near-death flames and a strong hand grasping his own, pulling him to safety, is just too much for him to think about right now.
Pasupata tightens his hold on the hand in his own. It is the only thing he knows to do now. This person, the one he tricked into being his unconventional savior, is the only person he has left in the world. Everyone probably expects him to be a mess, and maybe he should be. It isn't every day that he loses his entire family in one evening, leaving him to survive on his own, and maybe that is the reason he feels a strange sort of connection with this gritty and grimy street-rat, a term he's heard a few people whisper a bit louder than called for in the hours they've been here. This boy may be a street-rat, a common thief and technically beneath Pasupata's own stature in life, but this boy is a survivor, and if there is one thing Pasupata needs to learn how to do now, it is survive. He needs this boy in his life more than he's ever needed anyone before, but he will not use him. One good turn, albeit forced, deserves another. This boy saved his life, was even injured in the process, so in turn, Pasupata knows he owes something in return and vows to save this boy, no matter what it takes.
A groan startles Pasupata out of his thoughts, and it's an automatic reaction that his hands grip the other boy's hand tighter. He watches a moment as the other boy's eyes blink open, there is confusion and definitely pain in them, but then Pasupata remembers the lie he had told to save his life and averts his eyes to the bandages on the other boy's right arm.
"Hey," the boy says, voice scratchy in the same manner as his own from the fire's smoke, but it is still nice to hear. "You okay?"
Pasupata can't help but snort, which is followed up by a light cough. "I should be asking you that."
The other boy snorts as well, but then hisses and moans in pain at an attempted shrug.
"You probably shouldn't move too much," Pasupata adds, wishing he could take a little of the pain away. "Your arm was burned pretty badly."
"Figures," the boy says, grunting while attempting to sit up nonetheless.
Pasupata lets go of the other boy's hand and watches peripherally as the boy struggles in his attempts and fails, falling back against the pillows he is cushioned upon.
Closing his eyes, Pasupata reaches out and feels for the boy's hand, taking it again and squeezing.
"See, I told you."
A silence draws out between them, one that is full of avoidance and shame, but Pasupata can't seem to pull himself away from this boy.
"You shouldn't be here," the boy finally says, breaking their silence, and continuing to clarify. "You shouldn't be here with me."
Pasupata swallows the lump in his throat, realizing that perhaps this boy may not want to have anything to do with him.
"Pasupata."
"Excuse me?"
Pasupata swallows again, readjusting his line of vision for the other boy's shoulder. "My name is Pasupata."
A beat passes before the other boy responds. "Pasupata?"
Pasupata nods emphatically, allowing a small smile to grace his lips. He's never heard another person say his name quite like that before, as if taking the time to say it right, as if one wrong pronunciation could shatter the person whose name he was trying to pronounce correctly. Another beat passes.
"Nataraja."
His small smile grows, and Pasupata squeezes Nataraja's hand a little tighter.
"Thank you for saving my life, Nataraja."
He knows Nataraja is staring at him, he can feel the gaze like the heat from a flame, but no matter how much he wants to return the look, he doesn't meet Nataraja's eyes, instead choosing to continue concentrating on the visible shoulder above the bandages while reminding himself to breathe.
"I… I didn't…"
"Perhaps you didn't plan to but... " Pasupata interrupts, but then just as he interrupted Nataraja, so does a yawn interrupt his own words. "You did."
It is only then that Pasupata realizes how tired he is. All night and into the early hours of the morning he had been more concerned about Nataraja's well being over his own fatigue, and apparently that neglect is finally catching up to him.
"You should go and get some sleep."
Pasupata's eyes travel up to Nataraja's mouth, where he notices for the first time a few faded scars.
"I have no place to go."
"Surely you…"
"I… I… I have no one… now," Pasupata chokes out, actually feeling his despair for the first time that night, a sign of a few more things catching up to him. "I have no one."
The hand he has clung to all night, the one he refused to let go when they were initially brought here, finally squeezes back, the gesture causing Pasupata to hiccup and release a sound he's never heard before, one of pain and frustration and strangely enough, relief. He buries his head against a chest as scrawny as his own and clutches at the fabric of the sheets and Nataraja's clothing, praying over and over, Please don't leave me. Please don't leave. Please don't leave me.
There is smoke again, with every inhale of breath, and the memories quickly return in flashes before his eyes, of flames licking at their every step, the sound of pain as Nataraja walks a little to close to the fire closing in around them, but the one constant and tangible memory is that of hope felt in the firm grip on his hand pulling and leading him to safety.
In the present, an arm circles around his shoulders and fingers begin carding through the ends of his hair. Reassuring words are whispered above his head, and he wants to believe them so badly it hurts, he needs to believe them because without them, without Nataraja, he truly has nothing left in his life to live for.
"It's okay," Nataraja whispers, comforting in the manner an older brother might, leaving Pasupata to wonder briefly if perhaps Nataraja is an older brother, and maybe there is a family for Nataraja to return to, but as the comforting words continue, Pasupata quickly realizes they are in the same boat. "You'll be okay. I don't have anyone either, ya know? Not really… We'll be okay… I"ll… I'll show you."
He is sprawled out next to Nataraja now, both sharing the pillows, head cradled against Nataraja's chest, and surely they make for an interesting sight, but Pasupata could care less because for now, at least, he's not alone.
They both fall silent, Pasupata concentrating on the fingers that have come to rest on his shoulder, and soon he finds himself drifting between the conscious present and the dream world threatening to overtake him. He takes comfort in the warmth of Nataraja, even if their alliance of sorts is most unconventional, and just as he is about to drop off into the darkness of dreams, he feels the rumble in Nataraja's chest before he hears his new friend's voice.
"Thank you, Pasupata… for saving my life, too."