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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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I’m literally in love with the way you write Dick and Jason’s dynamic

Thanks, glad to hear that! Personal preferences aside, I honestly do think it just opens up SO many more potential stories if you go with the idea that they did have a brotherly relationship before Jason died, just they didnt get together around Bruce because Dick was still hoping Bruce would make the first move in reaching out to him. Rather than just stick with the usual assumption that because it wasn’t seen on the page, they had barely any interactions and both resented each other for various reasons.

But those reasons all trace back to Bruce, and if you look at them as two people who are united by the common experience of being fish out of water, adapting to the same environment after coming from DRAMATICALLY different origins, able to connect over that and understand each other in a way nobody else really can because nobody else has ever really had to straddle two worlds as definitively as Dick and Jason had to in their formative years....

Like, the big sticking point for me in the Dick vs Jason: The Grudge theory was just that....at the end of the day, these are two boys who grew up with very few loved ones to start with, or having had to deal with the loss of those loved ones.....

But one way or another......are these two specific characters really ones that make sense as wanting to reject the possibility of more family?

They’re connected through Bruce, like it or not, that was never going to change even from before they ever met......and the idea that Dick Grayson and Jason Todd would each be content to waste literal YEARS never even TRYING to connect with the person who was probably most like him and who by all accounts was already his brother in most ways just by way of Bruce...not even to see if maybe they COULD actually be brothers? To have family beyond just Bruce and Alfred?

Me @ every fic or headcanon that says Dick had Only Child Syndrome and resented Jason because of that: right because Dick Grayson of all people is anti-family. He’s full up with that one guy whose legal guardianship of him has been expired for a couple years and who he hasn’t spoken to since long before then.....nah, why would he want any more or any other family beyond that?

I mean, I absolutely believe that Dick was upset and hurt that Bruce adopted Jason while he’d never even offered to adopt Dick......but Dick has never been one to pass around blame instead of focusing it on its true point of origin. That’s his and Bruce’s issue. And honestly, there are TONS of reasons for Dick to be upset about that, without making it about Jason at all.

There’s literally no reason for Dick to take it out on Jason ever, if his biggest issue or grievance is that like....it feels like Bruce was just so done with Dick and considered him so out of his life, something like “just added a new kid to the family” didn’t seem like relevant information he should pass on to Dick despite the tenseness between them. When you have to find out from the NEWS that your old family unit just full on up and adopted this kid you’ve never heard of before now without even so much as a phone call.....there’s plenty of cause to feel like this is a message that you’re not really considered part of that family unit anymore, so why would you need to know?

Or like, the fact that Bruce didn’t consider hey I’m thinking of adding another kid to my family that consists of me and the kid I’m so afraid to tell I think of him as a son in case he doesn’t feel the same way, that I’ve sat back and let things get this bad between us and fester.....hey maybe before I issue adoption papers for a second kid, I should think about putting in an equivalent effort at fixing things with my first kid first?

Or why not write Bruce thinking: “Hey if I can’t even fix things with the kid I raised for almost a decade and think of as my own no matter how long its been since I talked to him.....what on Earth makes me think I’m qualified to take on a SECOND child?”

Like....Bruce was the one who held all the power and all the options, Dick had no other option but to go along with whatever Bruce decided Bruce was going to do, and neither did Jason really.....so there’s no real reason in my head that should be a point of contention between them or a reason to resent each other instead of just stressing to them the importance of having significant family ties beyond just Bruce because history clearly showed even at that point that best intentions aside, the man is fallible.

If anything, that should have been common ground!

I think there was like, an initial negative reaction of maybe one night, the first time they met and Dick even though he was prepared for it still had to adjust to the reality of actually seeing this stranger he was irrevocably connected to now by both his names, even if neither was technically his anymore....like to actually SEE him standing there in his old role....that’s gonna hit anybody hard.

But he also would have clearly been able to see that whatever else he may have been, this twelve year old Robin was still a kid, and one who hadn’t had a lot of time to ever be a kid in the first place.....which again, instant camaraderie, because boy could Dick relate.....remember, Dick may have had a happy childhood with his parents before they were murdered but it was also a childhood where he WORKED. He loves being an acrobat, he loved being in the show, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t WORK, that his childhood didn’t consist of training as long and as regularly as any adult acrobat while everyone else his age was running around playing outside and making friends. And after Bruce took Dick in, most of Dick’s free time was spent being Robin, training as Robin, etc?

Which IMO would have made him take one look at this kid in his old costume, literally standing where he had once stood, stepping into his old shoes.....and I think Dick’s real honest reaction once he brushed aside any kneejerk feeling of pain or bitterness the way he brushes aside all the physical pain he feels when out as Nightwing but refuses to let get in the way of him doing what he has to, doing what’s right....

Nah, Dick would have taken one look at this tiny kid full of fire and bravado but also so clearly eager to please, to be praised, to be told he was doing a good job and even without that he was worth something, his life had value, the world was better just because he existed......

And I think Dick’s bitterness about the situation would have crystallized into him resentfully thinking well B’s not exactly the best about dishing out affection or praise so I’m gonna make sure this little Mini-Me standing there in my old colors looking just as young and small as I must have looked then even if I didn’t realize it at the time....I’m gonna make sure I keep him supplied with a steady diet of “Nice Words and Gestures That Kids Should Grow Up Receiving Regularly.”

Dick has always been a firm believer that the best way to make sure something gets done is to do it yourself.

So yeah, I honestly do think that back during those days, Dick and Jason were thick as thieves when their schedules allowed for it, with it being simultaneously painful and unspoken that they had to like....work around Bruce’s presence so Dick could avoid him, but somewhat softened by the challenge and thrill of two brothers scheming to pull one over on the Big Bad Batdad every time the older brother wanted to take the little brother to go somewhere or do something, like, even just to spoil him rotten.

Cuz really....isn’t that a lot more interesting than ‘oh they barely ever even met back then and it wasn’t great, that’s it, the end’? There’s so much you could do with even just that, from them sneaking Jason out for a fun adventure that’s layered with just a hint of poignant angst because of the unspoken why of him needing to sneak out instead of them just saying hey Bruce, we need some bro time, Jason’s hanging with me this weekend? Or you dial up the angst and layer it with lightness or literally anything between those two points on a spectrum.

There’s so much Secret History potential buried back in those years....adventures they had together and never told anyone about, secrets shared between brothers they never shared elsewhere.....maybe Dick opening up to Jason more than he usually likes to, but here felt it might be the only way to get Jason to do the same, with Dick thus offering up some painful tidbit from his past that he never told even Bruce or Alfred for some reason, if he thinks Jason’s upset about something and needs to vent but will just keep insisting he’s fine unless Dick leads by example and goes first.

There’s so much potential for in-jokes that only the two of them know and everyone else is ENDLESSLY curious about, because everyone always forgets that those two have so much history because it was literally kept out of sight, out of mind, so they could keep it free of the friction that was bound to come of adding Bruce to the mix before their father cleared the air with his eldest first.

So its an easy thing to forget about or overlook, especially since it rarely comes up....but everytime it does rear its head via some private joke only they know or a reference to some event back then that everyone else is kept boxed out of having any context for....that’s the kind of stuff that would drive a family of detectives craszy, because they want to know! What’s the joke??

And yet its likely they’d never ask, because as curious as they are to hear about the mysterious missing years of the first two Wayne children, back when there was literally nobody else present to ask for details.....they never can figure out HOW to ask those questions, not when they’re equally aware of the swiftly hidden expressions of pain or bitterness that flash across the two eldests’ faces after each unearthing of some long-buried treasure they shared between them. Unable to ever escape the fact that each of those treasured moments would forever be followed with an inevitable reminder of why there were so few of those moments, in the end.

Why those years ended far earlier than they should have, and why their reunion upon Jason’s return was hindered and complicated by Dick’s obligation to other siblings Jason hurt while dealing with Pit after-effects and the lack of a strong support system while swayed to League sympathies...

And of course, ultimately there’s the reality that after the Adventures of Young Dick and Tiny Jason were cancelled far ahead of schedule, and that several year long intermission....by the time everything else was gotten out of the way, the stars of those earlier adventures were as long gone as the adventures themselves. Dick and Jason were both entirely different people by now.....still containing within each of them enough of who they were back then that those memories are kept carefully protected and hidden away, all the more valuable for how few and sparse they are, and how rarely they’re brought out to look at and enjoy.....

But with those vaults buried deeply enough within who Dick and Jason both are these days, that there’s a lot of blood and loss and pain you have to cut through just to reach that vault. There’s no retrieving anything from it without a cost. A cost worth paying, given that they can’t help themselves from calling back to it every now and then, even though they know the inevitable result is going to be end negative and not end positive. But still high enough to give them pause before actually doing so....holding back sometimes so the toll is doled out sparingly and over time. Getting greedy and trying to bring out/back/up too much too fast is far more daunting than either can afford to pay at the moment.

So that’s how I like to view the two of them and their dynamic back during and because of those early years before Jason’s death. Bittersweet and shaded by nostalgia.....temptation and warning both, in how much they want to revisit it but how much they fear ruining what they’ve managed to cobble together now by bringing the past too much into the light, comparing past and present too clearly and risking that being reminded too strongly of the brothers they were back then, will just make it impossible to ever be content with anything but that bond replicated in full and they’re not sure it can be, are both too afraid too much has happened since then and trying too hard, putting too much pressure on the dynamic they’ve built now could risk shattering the relative fragile bond completely.

Pretty much everything I write with the two of them, unless I specifically state otherwise via context, is generally written through that lens, with me viewing that as the backstory for their dynamic that I’m running with.

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mirror-hero-mira-blog · 5 years

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My Story

This will be mildly depressing but its my story and why i am how i am and all ive gone through it twenty short years

So I will be twenty soon and people keep wondering and asking or praising me for surviving trauma. I’ve decided to explain in full and un censored detail my process, what i went through, my thoughts during it, the effects and how it left me. There are mentions of abuse, sexual assault, depression, domestic violence, suicide, and very dark thoughts so be warned. My memory is also unreliable as i am never sure what is real and what is not before the age of thirteen so im doing my best to recall everything in order, ages wont be exact as i try to repress and just out right can recall them.

My trauma started roughly when i was 7-9. I recall laying in bed and hearing my parents violently shout at one another, about what i cant recall, and crying because i was afraid of an unknown danger. I remember a rift being made in my house, me being lashed out at, and my mother rarely being around the house. Now before i go further i was a shy child who had little friends, i have one younger brother who is two years younger than I, most of my days, or what i can recall, was in my room reading and later playing on my ds once i got one while rarely going outside to play aka catching frogs and bugs. i dont recall much from when it started, i was a smart kid so i think i knew something was wrong but wasnt emotionally or mentally ready to deal with it.

Now, i was a big daddys girl but i also loved my mom dearly because well shes my mom. One of my clearest memories from this when i realized it wasnt right was my mom showing up to the house and me being so excited since i hadnt seen her in so long i let her in, she hugged me and my father instantly yelled at me and scolded me. i think the next thing was me being sent to my room but thats where it ends. i remember feeling so confused because shes my mom why cant she be home? why shouldnt she be allowed inside? why cant i be happy to see her? thats the last clear memory besides us getting kicked out of that house due to rent not getting paid.

I remember my mom trying to keep calm and smile and she told me “we have to keep stuff packed because we will be moving soon and need to be organized”. Looking back im really happy she tried to keep little me happy and from knowing.She may not have been the best mom but she certainly loved me then as well as my brother. When we were kicked out i recall my dad not being as in a rush as my mom, he seemed tired and to say flat out like he couldnt care less. I was packed up with a few of my things, the rest in a storage unit including my entire child hood, and moved to a different state.

Me, my family and our dog were moved in with my mothers mom who was by far not the best but i couldnt do much as i was maybe 11-13? I remember her blaming my father for things he didnt do, i remember yelling and violent arguing between my father and my moms boyfriend (my mother and father had separated if you couldnt guess), my mom in the middle yelling at them to not do it infront of the kids. Eventually we moved from there after my grandmother had called the police on them for some reason (i recall it just being a warning or something nothing serious). My mom had broken up with her boyfriend and moved with us, i shared a room with her and my brother shared a room with my father, at this point we had our original dog and 3 dog sisters who we loved dearly (we being me, my mom, and brother). i remember starting to feel what i would come to realize was the beginning of my depression as well as my anxiety, that i had since i was little, beginning to get much worse. I was bullied harshly during this time and barely got by in most of my glasses because of what happened in that house.

i dont know how long i lived in that house but it wasnt incredibly long, 2 years maybe? i know it was half of middle school there with a year or so at my grandmothers. The first little while was calm, i hardly remember much from when we moved in so im assuming it was. I recall playing wii with my mom and watching tv siting of the floor eating pizza, followed by me and my brother playing the wii version of sims ( i recall him learning how to beat the rng and us never playing again). My next clearest memory is more yelling and banging. Violence. Now i wasnt a stupid kid and was much more brazen than i am now, i was a child genius who could quickly deduce what was wrong. I would get into the arguments, stand between my mom and dad to keep him from hitting her, yell that i wouldnt move or let him touch her. yell at him so much my throat hurt. One of my most clear memories is my mom yelling at me to call the police and as i dialed she came in and locked the door telling me to just not. i checked if she was okay and recall hugging her and just siting there afraid not fully being able to understand.

At some point my dad had enough of me and my mom and threw us out of the house, throwing our things as we sat on the bed of her truck, even throwing our two of the 3 dog sisters at us while we waited for the police, now what happened after this makes me realize just how manipulated and emotionally abused i was. My dad convinced me to come home, leaving my mom at my grandmothers. he convinced me my mom was evil and manipulated me using the state i was in to take me from my mom. he talked badly about my mom constantly and eventually his girlfriend moved in. his girlfriend was as bad as him and i recall feeling unwanted. i have a scar on my arm that makes me recall how brazen and unafraid i was at times. The scar was breaking up a fight her dog had started, it attacked my dog sister and she told me to stay out of it as my dog probably started it, i got in the middle picked up her dog, it scratching me deeply across my upper arm and shoved it into her chest. i picked up my dog and took her to my room. i was still bullied during this time, faced the manipulation at home, and started becoming suicidal.

Now this next part is something im not proud of but shows just how far i was into this manipulation and how far i came. My father kid napped me. Him and his girlfriend decided they wanted to move back to her two daughters and away from my mom. my brother was apprehensive but i was a mindless puppet so i did as told as thats what i was raised to do. we packed up in a 48 hour period, me not sleeping for that entire period and were getting ready to leave. i had this large white monkey i had since i was little, it towered over me and i loved it, his name was marvin. i mentioned why we werent bringing him and that we had to because he was our family and even got a bit teary eyed over it my dad said “if you want it that bad we can leave you and dakota (my dog sister) and you can sit on your ass until your mom swings her ass around to get you”, that terrified me so i reluctantly agreed and was taken to a completely different state yet again with the question of “why would he leave me”. i recall not enjoying my time there and my father limiting my mom talking to me so much i dont really recall much more that a phone call, i was kept out of school for a while until one day police came and told them my mom was taking us back. i left with barely any of my childhood possessions yet again with my dad treating it as her taking us by force, i said goodbye to my dogs and promised i would see them again, i never did and never will.

the trip back i screamed, argued and fought my mom and not yet step father. my dad manipulated me well i guess. i calmed down when we got back to my now home state and got the last dog sister ginny, my mom asked my grandmother to watch her, and headed to my moms home. i had trouble suddenly adapting to a some what better environment where i wasnt treated like a mindless child. i was so damaged and i dont think they knew to the extent.

In these years i was verbally abused by my mom, step father, and brother but they were so much better than my dad despite it. i was reaching my peak depression and had attempted to commit suicide by this point but had failed. at some point i recall them “cleaning” my room, as due to losing nearly everything i owned i clung to things, and burning what they deemed trash it made me have a break down because well just look at what had happened previously to things i owned. in that period i was locked out in the cold, verbally and emotionally abused, treated like i was a piece of shit and that i was worthless and i believed that for so long. my brother had hit me a few times and even started encouraging my suicidal mind set, my parents (which will not be my mother and step father) said it was just him being my brother. Due to my previous trauma i was desperate for friends and to be liked and it have social interactions it led me into some very very toxic friendships and relationships. i had someone who stole my phone and said she just wanted to see what my number was, but had texted my mother iw as stay for a study session when i wasnt. i got home and was brutally yelled at for lying and they yelled the entire time while forcing me to give them all my passwords then calling me out for lying when i gave them the wrong email password by mistake. in the following time period they would check everything i owned, i had to privacy or sense of self. even to this day i hate people touching and looking at my stuff, im still so paranoid ill get in trouble for something. during this time is also when i was first sexually assaulted.

Yes that said first as it happened twice. they both abused my prior trauma that made me a selective mute that disassociates when in stressful situations. i wont go in depth but even years later i couldnt be in the same room with the first without being sick to my stomach. the second was into my junior year of highschool. between that time and the first i was emotionally manipulated, attempted suicide again and failed, became even more depressed and suicidal, and developed more toxic friendships that i now realize only hurt me as they playfully bullied me and only one of that group, who never did, remains my friend or well my best friend as she stayed by me despite not knowing any of my past. i was manipulated into entering a long distance fwb relationship that ruined a good friendship but also helped make me more stubborn towards people who tried to do that. the verbal abuse still happened during this time and my brother got to the point of doing it the worse. my junior sexual assault ended with us breaking up mutually but him getting such a hate towards me that he tried to ruin my life by turning any “friend” against me and brutally harassing me until a girl i respect so much stood up for me, shes getting married and im excited for her and happy i met her despite us not talking. half way through my junior year i began to realize how bad the people i was around most of the time were for me, so i stopped hangin out with them and started selectively being around people who engaged me in conversation and who actually included me. i was still struggling through the tail end of my suicidal spell and my awful depression as well as ptsd, having nightly flashbacks that often left my crying and having break downs where i just hated myself so much and hated that i couldnt be normal and happy and not annoy my friends with this shit, it caused me to never talk about it and it made it so worse going through it all alone with only my fucked mental state.

my senior year i gained some self confidence and started accepting myself. midway through i had a bad relapse and nearly succeed in killing myself but managed to yell at myself to not as i was holding a handful of pills to my mouth, not even an inch from it. that was my last attempt.

i struggled still, had relapses, fought with my own head without anyone knowing as it told me they didnt care and i was a burden so i should deal with it by myself as no one deserved that. i hated when who i told felt so bad for me and wished it hadnt happened because it happened and i cant change that no one can and i dont like being seen as sorry and weak.

over the years until now i tried endlessly and hard to build my self back up and gain some sense of self and try to begin my recovery.

i still relapse, i still think about killing myself, i still have massive anxiety and panic attacks. but im alive and i survived.

I count the days between relapses, it happens left often. Im covered in scars but no one can see the ones i purposefully caused anymore. I hurt and ach and want to be cared for and want to be loved and have people around me who care for me and who value me. Im working on building myself a supportive circle of friends and trying to become as stable as i can be with what i have.

My family says i dont need therapy and refuse to try to help me get it so when i move out its my first priority, i have ever lasting mental scars from my trauma that wont ever go away but im slowly learning to live with it and becoming proud of who i am.

something i forgot to mention is yes i was hit as a child. to this day i freak out and panic and will throw myself to the ground if it appears someone is about to hit me. i cant hand yelling or loud noises, im afraid of people and crowds, i have trust issues, i speech impediment, things i cant do because of the scars of my trauma.

now you may be asking how im alive? why i still keep living? how i got through this alone? honestly i cant answer the last one because i dont even know, but the first two i can roughly explain.

i didnt ever kill my self because right before i would i developed a concept of proving people wrong, that i belonged in this world as i had already survived nearly dying at 5 due to an allergic reaction. then as i got older i made the deal that if i made it to 18 that would be enough, im turning 20 soon. Now a days i have people and things to live for. When i think of killing my self i think of my friends L and M (not real names of course), i think of my dogs, my guinea pigs, my dreams, my goals, all the things i want to do. Ive become a role model to others now so i cant just die on them and give up on them. I cant help people and help others going through what i did, i cant be there for the people i care about to ensure they live and make it too, i cant be there to give them what i didnt have; someone who cared and loves them.

ive felt unloved my entire life and it hurts knowing the people who are supposed to love you apparently dont if they do what they do. it hurts seeing people going through what i went through because i know how much that hurts and how over bearing it can be. My trauma made me not want to make the same choices and hurt others in the way they ones who hurt me did. It made me not want to bring life into this world unless i was sure i wouldnt make the same mistakes. It made me crave to be loved and have people by my side and it gave me a weird but reasonable goal: Live a life i can be truly happy and safe in, a life without fear.

i still struggle daily but im getting by and im getting there, im trying to become someone who i can be proud of, someone who can and will make a difference even if its saving one person.

i fight every day to live and have been for a while, hell i cried on my 18th birthday because well i didnt think i would last that long or be alive to see it.

Im alive, and i will continue to be to show others facing and feeling what i have felt that you can do it. you can live and thrive and fight for your life and end up better than you are or were and better than those who hurt you. Ill stay alive to act as a pair of open arms to those who are in my place, to give them someone who cares, to teach them they dont have to do it alone or hate themselves for wanting to depend on others.

Im here because i feel i need to be to break the cycle and prove i deserve to live as do they and as do you.

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neo---blue · 6 years

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What's in a Name?

"Attachment, Shion, that's what's in a name." / Let this song touch their souls, was Nezumi's plea. Let it carry Tsukiyo's soul to eternal peace, and let it fucking hit Shion like a knee to his gut.

h-hello. i wrote this a few nights ago and put it up on ao3 but i didnt want to cross-post to here until i was finally done messing with it (that is, editing and adding stuff because i never have my fics beta'd before i publish ;( huhu) this is the first fic i'm publishing in almost two years and a half omg

anyway! have a post-no.6 beyond fic!

in which i write about tsukiyo as if he were a main character (he is, in my heart), and about nezumi thinking of going back to no.6 just to friggin kick shion's ass.

(also, i haven't been around for no.6 for like... four years so i don't know if anyone's written about this, but here is my take on it, regardless) lmk what u think hahahue hehe thanks anyway!!

2.7k+ words on ao3 or Keep Reading!

Nezumi could feel it, deep in his bones, even from over a year away from No.6, when Tsukiyo drew his last breath.

It was in the way Cravat and Hamlet made a ruckus running up and down his arms then suddenly, suddenly quieted.

And it was in the way his heart ached. Nezumi had felt something like palpitations but quickly dismissed it; see, it wasn't unusual for his chest to seize up, or for his limbs to lock then limp. It's quite common, has been ever since he took off.

It happened every time he looked up, every time the wind carried his thoughts across the wide expanse of the sky all the way back to No.6, all the way back to Shio—

Tsukiyo.

So his time is up... Nezumi sighed. Tsukiyo had served him well, as a companion, a confidante, a comrade. Nezumi treasured him so, and accepted the pain it brought him to realize what's happened.

He took a deep, serene breath. As he held Cravat and Hamlet close, he cleared his throat roughly and resolved to dedicating a song to Tsukiyo, one that will bring his soul—

Wait.

Wait. Wait. Wait.

Nezumi almost doubled over; the realization came rushing in, hit him faster than he could comprehend it and all that it made him feel.

Tsukiyo wasn't supposed to live this short, was he?

Nezumi pressed a palm onto his forehead as he stumbled, making Hamlet and Cravat startle from their quiet to skitter onto the ground by his feet.

They craned their necks to look up, taking turns blinking at him, pressing their small front feet together, making gestures that confused Nezumi even further.

They aren't even three years old...

Nezumi was well aware, of the average lifespan of the generic rat species: if conditions were right, they'd live up to two years. His mice weren't of the generic species, however.

They were descent from the rats that resided in the Mao forest along with the Forest People, a breed that could live for nearly twice as long, on top of possessing intellect and wisdom.

The three mice had been around by the time No.6 started showing signs of crumbling, by the time Nezumi started plotting to fulfill a debt to someone who was still within those walls.

Many generations of these mice had come and gone, and if Nezumi tried hard enough he could quite successfully trace each of Hamlet's, Cravat's, and Tsukiyo's lineages, from those of them who survived following him and his foster grandmother out of Mao over a decade ago, to those left behind in the library vault when she was murdered and he was captured by No.6, and to those that greeted him right where he left them once he managed to escape...

The families grew smaller by the generation. They were not nearly as resilient as humans— perhaps just not as resilient as Nezumi. Living away from the abundance of the Mao forest to stay in the cesspool West Block was, was taking its toll, and the shift in the environment they chose was proving to be too difficult to adapt to, whether it were gradual or abrupt; there was no way they could cope for much longer. It was just natural selection.

Hamlet, Cravat, and Tsukiyo were the last of them, it seemed. And of the three of them, Tsukiyo was the youngest, hence he should have lived the longest... Right? In the least, he should have lived longer than this.

Nezumi staggered, trying to find some explanation, any explanation for how all of this could happen. But when he thought of ecology and the like, there was only one face, only one person he could think of asking, and he shot the idea down as quickly as it arose. At this point, there was nothing he could do, not about Tsukiyo.

He shuffled his thoughts, trained them back to the black mouse; No.6 as a city may have fallen, but it still had all in all better living conditions than the West Block; Tsukiyo would have had as much space as he wanted, as much exercise and rest, as much food—

Yes, that he lived within a bakery of all places was supposed to suffice and more. He would never starve, his health would never have to suffer, so why—

Another face came to mind, another one he tried to forget. But that he was relatively less concerned about memories with this person made remembering them less tiresome: It was Inukashi.

Something they used to say— it seemed so long ago— about their dogs and how they know their master through and through. Dogs are naturally inclined to feel for their masters without hesitation, without bias, without fear. They tied themselves to their master's motivations, inhibitions, and emotions, without fail. Compassion brought forth by understanding this gave Inukashi strength in facing each and every day in a place like West Block; taking care of their emotions was all in a day's work to keep their family alive.

Nezumi clicked his tongue, wanting to berate himself— don't stop to think of Inukashi.

Never stop to think of people in the past.

Besides, dogs and mice were entirely different however anyone cut it, weren't they? Especially these mice.

They lived for one another. They also lived in harmony with humans, served them earnestly not because they were, say, biologically subservient, but because they had heart. Though, as the mice dwindled in numbers, that had begun to change. Nezumi felt each generation growing more and more attached to him, and regardless of if he saw them as companions, they did begin to see him as their master.

Their master...

Hamlet and Cravat have been energetic, so to speak— they were as exhilarated as Nezumi was to be travelling. Well, Nezumi was also soul-searching, but Hamlet and Cravat need not occupy themselves with human sensibilities like these. Feeling different winds and tasting new fruits were enough for them to live their lives out with satisfaction, as well as relishing in their master's presence and in the faith they have in his vitality.

Vitality, huh?

If they were going to treat him as their master anyway, then Nezumi only had to become the best master to them that there could ever be. He wouldn't have to trust in other humans, and these companions would never betray him.

He hadn't subscribed to the idea of one serving two masters at once, either— that was until he'd shown up and started to have the trio at his every beck and call—

Nezumi gulped, sinking to his knees, almost shooing the mice away.

Don't stop to think about him—

Never—

Tsukiyo—

Tsukiyo's master— Nezumi had long since ceased to be Tsukiyo's master.

The two mice came up to him again, peering into his face, as if to ask if he were alright. Despite the grief which came with the strange connection with their brother that had allowed them to feel Tsukiyo's passing, they still worried more for Nezumi who was in front of them.

"Don't worry," Nezumi said, trying to reassure the little pair. Despite the grief he had also felt, he worried more for these two, too. "It's okay."

They cheeped, hopping into Nezumi's palm when he reached out to them.

"Hamlet, Cravat."

Their responses were warm, nuzzling into the leather covering his fingers, pleased noises as they were called by name—

By name...

By name.

Yes. He remembered now, when exactly it was that Tsukiyo had switched masters.

"This one is Tsukiyo. Like a moonlit night."

"Like I said, don't name them!"

"Ah, but Eve—" A change in pitch, some dramatic gesticulations. "What's in a name?"

That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.

Naive. He who had spoken those words, not caring for its context, not caring for the way he used it then, not caring for how pathetically monotone he sounded as he recited Shakespeare— was naive.

"…Shion…"

The name felt foreign on Nezumi's tongue, in a voice dry and hoarse as he choked it out— what's in a name?

"Shion," he repeated, "What's in a name?" If you didn't care about context then, I won't care how I use it now, I won't care how pathetic I sound—

He could feel his eyes stinging, tears trying to force their way out. He didn't have the power to hold them in.

"Tsukiyo..." he mumbled. The sobs came right after.

The tears fell. They rolled down his cheeks relentlessly, fell from his chin to the palm of his hand where Hamlet and Cravat sat, watching blankly as if the drops were waterfalls meant to coax them into meditation.

Nezumi mourned Tsukiyo.

Tsukiyo was a precious friend, one he hadn't doubted for a minute when he tasked him to watch his place while he went off to work, one he hadn't doubted for a second when they were fighting for their lives at the Correctional Facility, one he wouldn't doubt for the rest of his life when he left him to take care of, and be taken care of by, his new master.

Here I am, Nezumi coughed, miles and miles away from Tsukiyo and where he'd grown up, bawling like a child over the death of a loved one for the first time since after the fire— he wanted to feel anger at himself for letting this happen, but there was no one watching, and with no one watching he could permit himself to openly cry about losing one of his closest friends.

"Attachment, Shion," he answered, to the mice, to himself, "that's what's in a name."

And attachment on his part meant that he would have a name to moan when he grieved. A clear photo, clear memories, of he who owned the name, and consequently very vivid agony.

When he'd lost his family and what was his life to that ruthless fire, he had been too young to remember any of their faces or their names. Grief was a numb throbbing in a scar he couldn't entirely recall how he got, tears he couldn't entirely understand streaming down his grandmother's face, blood blooming on her back when she was shot through her chest. Attachment was reserved for revenge and nothing else if it wouldn't help him attain it.

Finding out that the monster that took everything away from him had a name, No.6, helped him move forward.

"Attachment is what's in a name, Shion—"

The name tasted bitter. Attachment to the person who owned this name gave Nezumi a clear image of someone blame, too, a name to curse if he couldn't the heavens— and this attachment to Tsukiyo was his fault, it was making Nezumi grieve louder than he had ever before.

Attachment on Tsukiyo's part, though... By now, Nezumi had understood. It meant that Tsukiyo was so thoroughly attached to his master, the one that gave him his name, that if his heart ever caved in, Tsukiyo would... expire.

Humans can survive heartbreaks, tens and hundreds of them. But mice, they live such short lives; they don't deserve to feel heartache, they're not designed to be able to handle it. They're not designed by nature to have names, to have masters, to have heartache.

Nezumi spat. What kind of heartache would it have to be? Why had Tsukiyo grown weak to this point? What did he have to endure hearing or seeing? Why couldn't he take any more?

The fuck's his master doing?

Nezumi imagined— he willed himself against it, but he imagined— Shion waiting night and night again for him by open windows, sacrificing sleep and the warmth of a bed to stand with his arms outstretched on a balcony in the cold of the night, breaking down, and eventually, finally...

Giving up? Had his heart broken so much that Tsukiyo couldn't bear it?

Don't fuck with me.

I've only been away for a year. Nezumi gritted his teeth. I've only been away for a year, you idiot—

You endured being separated from your mother, you endured the hell of the Correctional Facility, you endured losing Safu— why couldn't you endure waiting for me?!

How hard did waiting for me get that you just gave up? Why can’t you endure it—?

You didn't believe in me.

He mouthed it, in between uneven breaths, the realization dawning on him. "You didn't believe in me, Shion."

I'm out here, believing in you, with all my heart—

Nezumi punched into the soil, his chest clenching as hard as his fist.

What kind of half-assed attachment is that?! To have been attached to me this much, all this time, without even knowing my real name— and you choose now to give up on me?

Don't fuck with me. Don't fuck with me.

Times Nezumi wasn't acting under a ruse were incredibly rare, and when he'd kissed Shion, he meant it: it was a real promise. He knew their time apart would do the both of them some good— they were apart for years after meeting for one night and they were fine, they were fine, we were fine.

When they were twelve, Nezumi didn't have to promise Shion he’d be back to save his life like he saved his, in fact he'd left without a word— but Shion had soughed and sighed anyway and called his name and thought of him and believed in him and loved him—

Is it attachment that isn't enough?

Nezumi grunted in the back of his throat, rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of all of it. He could feel Shion was alive through the attachment he has to that airheaded asshole— it was an unwelcome attachment in the beginning but when push came to shove and he'd changed his life there was no going back, and it became an absolute attachment that connected every fiber of Nezumi's being to Shion— an attachment strong enough to last their time away from each other despite how hard he had to fight the urge to just go back before he could truly find himself after everything that's happened.

Shouldn't it be the same the other way around?

Nezumi wasn't sure how, when, where, or why, but he did it, he promised he would come back—Couldn't you feel it, Shion?!

Isn't it enough?

If... If Nezumi had told Shion his real name… Would he have never made up his mind to give up waiting for their promised reunion? Would his heart have never caved from not having him by his side to at least be there, to hold his hand as he bore on his shoulders the weight of the world he had to rebuild from the ground up?

Would that have made this attachment stronger? More resilient? More faithful?

For a heart to let go of a promise— it's one of the worst heartbreaks there is... But it's survivable. It's survivable, just not for a mouse. Shion will live through a heartbreak like this, operate on other motivations, maybe the bare minimum... but not Tsukiyo.

Nezumi swallowed hard, considering that he may as well be partly responsible for Tsukiyo's demise, for breaking his master’s heart. But it’s not out of guilt when he stood up, placed Hamlet and Cravat on his shoulder, and raised his arms. It was from the bottom of his heart when he sang. For Tsukiyo.

And for Shion.

Let this song touch their souls, was Nezumi's plea. Let it carry Tsukiyo's soul to eternal peace, and let it fucking hit Shion like a knee to his gut.

This separation wasn’t supposed to break Shion’s heart. Nezumi knew better than to tell Shion how to feel, but how dare he forget that I would never break a promise.

I didn't kiss you goodbye, Shion.

Nezumi was going to give him a piece of his goddamn mind.

He readjusted the superfibre cloth on his shoulders, making sure Cravat and Hamlet were comfortably situated among the folds. These two were nowhere near expiring, because they believed in Nezumi as their master.

Tsk. Tsukiyo was dear to him so he wanted to respect his death, but Nezumi couldn’t help it; now that he'd grieved and mourned him properly and sung him a song, the only thing left was to chide him, albeit lovingly: Tsukiyo, you should’ve just believed in me, too.

All Nezumi had to do now was turn around.

Nezumi breathed slowly, as he stepped in that direction, voicing another sentiment he felt deep in his bones. "This is why I said don't name them."

Thanks for reading!

#no.6 #no. 6 #nezumi #nezushi #tsukiyo #does he have is own tag on here or #wah huhu #pls be kind #leaving for uni in a bittt #i tOLD YALL IM ALIVE

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