Kinder thing wukong could do to that macaque is just kill him again. Even if macaque wasn't unreemabled, Macaque is too broken to ever be happy again. Best thing is for him to have meng po soup in diyu and reincarnate in a fresh start. Though who knows what killing macaque twice would do to wukong, especially when even in his dying breath macaque believed everything they ever had was a lie
drops head into hands
hey quick question am i a joke to you
...
warning: graphic character death, but! hopeful ending
wukong flinches as a thick glob of blood and spit splatters onto his cheek.
"go ahead, great sage," sneers macaque pinned under him. "you've done it before, shouldn't this be easy for you?"
wukong stares at him, eyes frantically, helplessly roaming every angle of his face smudged with bruises, cuts, and blood. he himself looks less worn for wear, but only marginally. it's... been a long day. a long last few months if he's honest. he struggles to find his voice, stuck so thickly in his throat that it threatens to choke him.
"macaque... enough. i—i don't want to do this."
amused disbelief warps macaque's features almost painfully. "oh, the grand king doesn't want to dirty his hands, is that it? i didn't know you'd become such a snob, mei—hou—wang."
that ancient title in that equally ancient tongue, long-dead to all but them, their memories, and their dreams, not unlike any hope that may have once existed between them, pierces wukong through the chest. he wants to get up. he wants to get off macaque and disappear. or pick him up and hold him close. he wants to fix this. he wants to leave this all behind. he wants to fight. he wants to disappear. he wants to show macaque it isn't over yet. he wants to finish this.
"might as well now, wukong!" macaque loudly taunts, gait edged with mania. "who knows what i'll do if you let me free now..."
it's not a guess. the proof endures all around them. while they're cradled in a crater, twin to another from another life in another millennium, destruction looms over them. carnage and chaos have reigned over the city for the last two days, drawing lethal havoc and a body count wukong dreads to think about. it's only now, where he has macaque pinned down by a knees-spread straddle, that it's quieted down.
this has to end; the sickening truth is that macaque is right—if wukong even thinks of freeing him now, more will suffer. he's explored every option he can think of to conquer this madness, to dissuade macaque and make him see reason, but to no avail—and he has no one to blame but himself. he knows exactly where and when this started. he knows exactly who is responsible for this. and he knows... exactly how this will end.
"there it is," macaque purrs at the vague hint of soul-crushed resignation in wukong's eyes. it vibrates up wukong's spine to diffuse through his blood. all of his fur rises on end. "that look in your eyes, wukong. you know what to do."
"is this what you want?" wukong hysterically grits before he can stop himself. "you want me to—to—!"
macaque tilts his head, that shattered lunacy continuing to annihilate any other emotion that might have tried to creep in. "to kill me again? absolutely!" wukong flinches bodily at how easily he says it. "what, like it's hard? you know how to do it best! don't act like that, wukong, C'MON!"
the world rings in wukong's ears. his mind can't process what macaque is saying to him. that macaque is demanding HE—
"there is nothing for me here." twisted amusement exits macaque's voice, replaced by anger, wrath, resentment. "free me, and i will make sure this whole place burns with me. you can finish it," he growls, "you can finish me here and now, and maybe it can be fixed."
"but you—"
"this is it, wukong! i can never have what i want, you showed me that! you promised me i would never be happy, and guess WHAT!" he laughs, hysterical. "you were RIGHT! you were right, and now it's time to finish it."
"STOP SAYING THAT!" wukong bites desperately, fist flying into the upturned rock next to macaque's head. "stop—"
he's cut off when a hand clutches his wrist. macaque has wrenched one arm free of wukong's knee. his claws dig painfully into the skin there, pressing threateningly against wukong's veins, but wukong doesn't pull away. he stares, unmoving, as macaque unflinchingly guides his hand from the ground to his throat.
panicked, wukong tries to jerk away, but he can't seem to muster the strength. he should be able to. he knows he should be able to. he's always been stronger than macaque; something like this shouldn't be difficult. right now though, it isn't about physical strength—it's the inevitable. ever since he opened his mouth and sang that horrible, horrible song of the end, it's always been about the inevitable.
"you know what you have to do," macaque murmurs, suddenly frighteningly calm and sober. all trace of derangement has faded from his eyes. "you know this is what you need to do."
"no..."
wukong's eyes sting, but he doesn't resist as macaque draws his other hand up to his throat. the stinging surges into potent burning as macaque's hands meld his fingers to the skin there, but he refuses to close his eyes, refuses to dishonor what's taking place by denying witness of it.
macaque's skin is hot under his palms. his blood pumps heavy and and slow in his grasp, and that makes it worse. macaque is calm. even his heartbeat is slow... steady.
"now go ahead," macaque encourages. his voice is a terrible, terrible coalescence acceptance, resignation, and tenderness. it softens. "show me you were telling the truth. you've lied to me all our lives... the least you can do in the end is show me the truth."
it wasn't the truth. wukong's hold tightens ever so slightly. he feels macaque breathe deeply under it.
"show me... that i never meant anything to you."
he can't hold it back anymore—tears well and spill off wukong's lashes and cascade down his cheeks. his vision blurs but he doesn't move to wipe it clear; if he stops, he won't return to here, to now, to what is necessary and inescapable.
minutes slog by into torturous eternity. the deep, steady breaths thin, from blows to wheezes, from wheezes to puffs. wukong's fingers tighten infinitesimally every passing moment until before he knows it, the blood flow is cutting away underneath his touch. fat tears plip-plop-plop from his cheeks onto macaque's, where the shades are running colder and colder.
wukong's throat thickens like it's his own under someone else's clutches, like his body is punishing him by mirroring the other under it, ensuring he's entirely lucid of what's happening. he wishes he were beside himself, fully dissociating until perhaps he could say it isn't him, he isn't the one wringing the life out of his once-best friend, once-lover, once-soulmate.
he isn't though. he's fully aware of himself, of macaque, of—of macaque's lips moving to form words that make wukong's eyes widen.
macaque's body jerks under him, and for a brief, moment swelling with pure hope, wukong thinks he'll finally fight back, but no. he jerks that once, and then... there is breath no more.
it all stills. the ringing becomes violent.
painfully, all at once, wukong begins to exist in the moment, and it cracks him open. he doesn't let go. his grip tightens instead, and he chokes on a violent sob, doubling over until his forehead bangs against macaque's, whose eyes are still open, staring ever-soft at... nothing. they see nothing. he can see nothing.
all-consuming silence is cut only by wukong's wailing that echoes off dilapidated buildings and rolls over scads of bodies thrown over devastated ground. the bawls scream out of his throat until it is raw and hoarse, and even then, his weeps continue without sound.
he isn't sure when he managesit, but he rolls off macaque, fingers stiff and sore from clenching so tightly around the throat of his beloved, and flops onto the ground next to his body. the tears change trajectory when he turns his head to look at macaque's face, the blood flow flooding out and rapidly leaving him paler and paler. he reaches out a shaky hand but hesitates. how could he ever touch him again after that? how could he ever dare? but his hand floats the rest of the way and pulls macaque's chin towards him anyway, and then he closes both of his eyes, unable to bear their lifelessness piercing him.
he stares until his teeth bare and grit with more wild tears. it has come to this, and he never could've done anything to stop it. his thumb strokes over macaque's cooling cheek. words suddenly echo through his mind—what macaque said in the end. his last words.
"hope... in the next life... you love me back, peaches."
wukong's eyes screw shut.
macaque, in diyu, at the end of his punishment of torture in atonement, will cross the naihe bridge and drink from old lady meng... he will know nothing of this after that. that was how it should've been—the first time. that is how it will be now. and macaque will be thrust back into the circle of reincarnation without a single memory of who he was, what has happened, and... wukong. they will never see each other again.
"hope... in the next life... you love me back, peaches."
wukong opens his eyes. his lids are heavy and his skin is stiff with drying tears.
in the next life. in the life after that. all the ones before. all the ones after. he always has. he always will.
he reaches down to twine his fingers with macaque's rigid ones. before much longer, they'll be easy to snap off. no matter. wukong won't be around for that. he wrestles his heavy head to look skyward where it is bright and clear, as if to mock the scene it hails over. he squints slightly, but then the sunlight seems to soften in his eyes as if taking pity upon him.
"buddha, i know you can hear me... i'm calling in a favor. you owe me."
wukong has lived too long anyway. this world doesn't need him. and he can't fathom a second existence without his other half in any case. maybe a fresh start is just what he needs.
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