#wukong is gonna be messed tf up by the end of this

[arashikitten]

What the Shadows Bring to Light

   Wukong liked to think he had a sixth sense when it came to certain things. In a way, he sort of did, what with the golden eyes and demon sensing capabilities. But he also liked to think that he had a sort of foresight, an ability to know if something was wrong regardless of whether or not he was there if or when something bad happened.

   It was something that had grown even stronger as he started to train Qi Xiaotian, which he attributed to the kid’s almost uncanny ability to stumble upon powerful demons, most of whom hadn’t been seen in well over 300 years. Seriously, the kid’s ability to get into trouble would have almost been something to be respected, if not for the fact that he made it very difficult for Wukong not to leap into battle to help whenever Xiaotian got even a little hurt. Xiaotian needed to learn how to do all of this himself: eventually, he’d need to grow out of the Monkey King’s shadow.

   Which was why he’d been attempting to ignore the overwhelming feeling of wrongness that had been slowly creeping up in the past three months. It had started when his friend, the daughter of one of the dragon families, had called Xiaotian in a panic during his training. Something about a giant monster destroying the city, they needed the kid’s help to stop it, the usual. No reason to be worried.

   But then Wukong got a glimpse of the creature from the kids phone, and suddenly there was a swirl of familiarity mixed with deep seated unease. He knew, knew, that he had seen that creature somewhere before, but every time he tried to remember just who or what it was,he came up blank.

So, he’d let the kid go and fight. An uncharacteristic sense of worry settled in his gut, as if trying to warn him that something, something was wrong. Wukong, for the first time in almost twenty years, was unable to go to sleep that night. Worry and anxiety were a crushing weight on him, his mind wandering down dark paths as he attempted to lull himself to sleep.

This led to him being rather… irritable the next day, snapping at Xiaotian in his sleep deprived state. The look the kid had given him, frustrated and confused and hurt, caused a tidal wave of guilt to crash over him, and he had cringed slightly before offering the kid a bag of peach chips as an attempt at an apology. He’d taken them, and hurt and frustration were replaced with concern that just made Wukong feel even shittier.

At least the kid had been ok.

This tension, this oppressive anxiety, continued for three months, fluctuating in severity. Sometimes, it was barely noticeable, nothing more than a small buzz in the back of his head. Other times, it was thick and heavy, covering him like a weighted blanket, stifling the air from his lungs and making his ears ring. There was an ever present danger, lurking beneath the calm veneer of his training with Xiaotian, and it scared the hell out of Wukong. Something, someone, was after his successor, and Wukong had a feeling that whatever it was, it would be much more powerful than the Demon Bull Fam.

And then, last night, something changed. He’d been jolted out of a restless sort of sleep in a panic, terror and worry and dread suffocating him in the beginning of a panic attack as visions of Xiaotian laying bloodied and burned on the ground flooded his brain, shoving out any thoughts of calm or peace that tried to tell him that his kid was safe, that wasn’t- isn’t real, his kid was alive-

Macaque. Wukong’s blood froze. No. No no no nononono. Macaque was dead. He’d been dead for years, gone like dust in the wind. He’d been there, he’d been the one to do it. He’d seen the light vanish from Macaque’s eyes, heard his final breath.

Macaque was dead.

But even through those self-assurances, even as he replayed the memory on loop in his head, he knew. He knew Macaque was alive and well, that he was still out there, that his kid was in danger-

And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the creeping dread lifted. Fear, terror, concern, they all flooded him like a village before a demon, leaving him tired and drained and confused as hell. The dread-feeling, the ever-present anxiety that Wukong had begun to just accept as a part of his life now, just disappeared, poof! Even the low humming, the slight buzzing in the back of his head, was gone, and for the first time in three months, Wukong’s head was quiet.

Wukong sat back on his little cloud, head in his hands as he sighed. He was being ridiculous. Macaque was absolutely, 100% dead. He’d been there, he’d seen it with his own two eyes: Macaque was dead. Gone. Absent from the world of the living. He couldn’t hurt Xiaotian.

His kid was safe.

——————— ——————— ——————— ———————

   The next morning, the kid had shown up to Flower Fruit mountain at exactly 12:30. He seemed happy, bouncing around the cave with his usual boundless energy. There were no injuries that he could see, aside from a small bruise on the kid’s forehead that he got from running into a tree on his way here. The kid was happy and appeared to be fairly relaxed, no hidden worry or fear in his eyes to suggest that anything bad had happened.

   In fact…

   Wukong surreptitiously activated his demon sight. Xiaotian’s aura, which always glowed the same golden color as his own, was way brighter than Wukong could ever remember seeing it. Even when the kid had first lifted the staff, when his aura had first flared out like a small supernova, it hadn’t been as strong as it was now.

   Just what had happened?

   “Hey, Xiaotian. Did anything… particularly strange happen last night? Anything that you can remember?” The kid stopped what he was doing and looked up at Wukong curiously.

   “I… I don’t think so? Why?” Concern overtook curiosity, and Xiaotian blurted out “Did something bad happen? Did someone from the court of Heaven send you a message?! DID-“

   Wukong shoved a peach chip at the kid’s face, effectively shutting him up. Wukong let out a heavy sigh.

   “No, kiddo, it’s nothing like that. It’s just….” Wukong fell silent. That nagging worry, the concern and protectiveness surged back, like the waves at high tide. He didn’t want his so- his successor to freak out, as the young human was prone to doing.

   Wukong closed his eyes and let out a small sigh. He’d have to tell Xiaotian eventually. Better to rip the bandaid off now.

   “You know how I have the ability to see demons? Even when… even when they’re in disguise?” Xiaotian nodded, of course. He was still a massive fan boy, after all.

   “Well… that ability, it’s not just limited to seeing demons in disguise. I can also sense them from miles away, regardless of whether or not they’re in sight. Kind of like- like a um, a spider-sense, if you will.” Xiaotian nodded along, looking fascinated, as Wukong continued.

   “Basically, depending on how close the demon is, how powerful it is, and how malicious it is, I’ll get this sort of… buzzing in the back of my head, or my ears will start to ring. Usually, most demons are barely strong enough to set it off, and even if they are able to, usually they’re too far away for me to notice.” He looked down at Xiaotian and braced himself. This was going to be difficult.

   “The past three months… it’s been going off constantly. And it was… It was loud, way louder than just about any other demon I’ve faced. It… it was strong enough to trigger that little warning in my brain, from… from all the way in the city, I think. For something to trigger it that much, from that far away…” Wukong trailed off at the dawning look of horror on Xiaotian’s face. Shit. Shit. This was not going as planned.

   Xiaotian looked up at him, eyes wide and shining with clear concern and apprehension, and Wukong knew he needed to say something before the kid worked himself into a full-on panic. Now.

   “But then, something… changed, last night. Do you remember, earlier, when I said that one of the things that determines how strong the… the “sense” is, is how malicious the demon or whatever triggering it is? Well… last- last night, the activity, or intent, or, or whatever, it peaked for a bit, before just… vanishing. Completely. I’ve never felt anything like it before, and I was wondering, if you… if you knew anything about it? About why… about what was triggering that demon sense?” But the kid was already shaking his head, an uncharacteristically serious look on his face as he did so. Damn.

   “I don’t think so… I mean, the only demons that have attacked the city in the last three months were some small fry and the Demon Bull fam, and even they’ve been pretty quiet…” Xiaotian trailed off slightly, and worry stewed in Wukong’s gut. Even an hour later, as he waved the kid off, it lingered in the dark corners of his mind, like a poison. Something bad was going to happen, he could feel it.

   And Wukong had a bad feeling that it would have something to do with the vision of Macaque he’d had last night. He could only hope that Xiaotian would stay out of it.

————— ————— ————— ————— —————

   Stupid. He’d been so, so stupid. He’d known, known that something bad was going to happen, and he’d been right in all the wrong ways.

   Wukong had never wanted to be so wrong before. Not like now.

   It had been about three hours after the kid had left Flower Fruit when he’d felt it- that punch to the gut, heart being crushed, no air in his lungs feeling that sent him to his knees, gasping for air that just wouldn’t come as panic drenched him in a massive tidal wave. He’d known, with absolute certainty, that something had happened to Xiaotian, that his kid, his son, was badly hurt, that he needed to be there, he needed to help-

   Wukong couldn’t remember ever flying that fast before. He’d zipped down Flower Fruit Mountain like lightning, rushing over the city to where he knew Xiaotian’s apartment was. He needed to make sure his kid was okay, he needed to protect his boy-

   The scent of blood, warm and metallic and nauseating, overwhelmed him as it was accompanied by smoke and burned flesh. Wukong felt his stomach turn as he leapt off his cloud, ducking into a nearby alley to empty his sensitive stomach. Good Gods, what had happened? What had happened to his successor? His scent was woven in to the blood and burned flesh scent, ripe with terror and pain and oh, Gods, his kid was hurt-

   Wukong rushed out of the alley to see the apartment, and immediately a new, fresh wave of horror overwhelmed him. The front wall of the place had been blasted to smithereens, the rubble littering the sidewalk around him. There were cracks in the pavement beneath his feet, interspersed with dark scorch marks and, to Wukong’s mounting horror, small bloodstains. Small fires still burned all over, stinking of smoke and burning plastic. The human fire department was there, along with police and an ambulance-

   Wukong’s breath hitched. Xiaotian. Xiaotian was in that ambulance, he was sure of it.

   He needed to get in that ambulance. Now. He needed to see, needed to assess how bad the damage was, needed to make sure his boy was alive-

   Wukong rushed back into the alleyway, quietly transforming into a small butterfly, before making his way over to the vehicle. One of the windows, up at the front, was still opened slightly. Good. Wukong slipped in to the driver’s side, and landed on the back of the driver’s chair for a moment. There were two doors leading to the back, both of which were shut. Luckily for Wukong, there were two small, square windows that he could just barely see through.

   What he saw made him sick.

   His apprentice, his successor, his kid, was laying on a stretcher, bandages covering his head, arms, and chest. His jacket and headband had been removed, as had most of his t-shirt, throwing the small parts that hadn’t been bandages yet into stark relief. There were some parts of the skin that were blackened, blood still seeping through the cracked and burned skin. The skin that wasn’t burned, bandaged, or bloodied, was pale and wane, sickly looking, like that of a corpse. Xiaotian’s dark brown hair was a mess, covered still in dust and debris and sticky with blood. An oxygen mask covered the boy’s mouth and nose, and Wukong couldn’t stand to look anymore.

   He flew off of the driver’s chair to land quietly on the floor, curled up slightly in the back corner as he tried to just… process what he’d seen.

   The world had been muted, blurred to him. Darkness creeped at the edges of his vision, everything becoming an indistinct blob of color and shadow. The ringing in his ears reached a new pitch, interspersed with a low, hollow thumping sound that he would later realize was his own beating heart. He heard the sounds of the ambulance starting up as though he were underwater, muted and drowned out by that ever present ringing-thumping in his ears that only seemed to grow louder as he saw, over and over again, visions of Xiaotian happy smile turning into a broken look of terror as fires consumed him, leaving nothing but a burnt husk comprised of only ashes and bones….

   Wukong jolted forward as the ambulance came to a stop. When had they started moving? When had they arrived at the hospital? Wukong couldn’t remember.

   He heard the sounds of the stretcher being moved, heard the sound of wheels on pavement as he flew from his little spot on the floor to the still-open doors of the vehicle, fluttering around as doctors and nurses swarmed his kid. They, along with Wukong, rushed into the hospital, pulling him towards the emergency care center.

   Wukong started lagging behind them. He was too small, his wings wouldn’t beat fast enough, and the Emergency Care doors slammed shut before he could reach them, echoing with all the grim finality of an executioner’s blade.

   Wukong stared unblinkingly at the doors. He felt numb, muddied and blurred and overwhelmed in a way that left him fluttering slowly to the clean, cold white tiles of the hospital floor. Too much. It was all too much. His kid was hurt. His kid was in critical condition. His kid was in pain. He’d seen his kid, just a few hours earlier, healthy and happy and alive on Flower Fruit Mountain, safe and sound and there-

   And now he was hurt. Now he needed an oxygen mask just to breath. Now, he was burnt and bruised and broken, his only kid, his child-

   Wukong’s breath hitched. He was no longer in the hospital. He was no longer transformed. He was in an alleyway right next to the hospital. The sky had grown darker, swirling with pinks and reds and oranges as stars slowly began to make themselves known. Tears were streaming down his face, warm and wet, leaving damp trails in their wake. He was crouching over, hands covering his mouth as quiet sobs shook him to his core. He could see each little crack in the pavement, each small blade of grass that was struggling to come up through the concrete and reach for the sun.

   He hadn’t remembered leaving. He hadn’t remembered transforming back. He hadn’t remembered much of anything, really.

   It scared him, not knowing what had happened.

   It scared him, the possibility of finding out what had happened.

   His kid. His boy. His son. Wukong had known, for a bit know, that he cared about Xiaotian as more than his successor. But this…. Gods, he didn’t even know how to begin to process this.

   Guilt came rushing in. He’d known. He’d known that something bad was going to happen, he’d felt in his very bones that his son was in danger, and he’d foolishly let him go with false comforts that the kid could handle himself, that Xiaotian was strong, that his friends would help him.

   He remembered, now, sealing away Xiaotian invulnerability. What the hell had he been thinking, doing that? Why had he ever, ever thought that was even remotely a good idea?

   And now, Xiaotian was paying dearly for it.

   Whispers began playing in his head, a polyvocal taunt that attacked from all sides. Your fault, they whispered. It’s all your fault. You could’ve been there, you could’ve gone with. You knew something was wrong, yet you waved him away to his doom.

   And just how many times has he had to fight alone? The voices taunted him, as fresh guilt rained down upon him. How many times did he leave training with you to fight some demon on his own? How many times did you let him go? How many times did he get injured because of your negligence?

   Wukong couldn’t breathe under the weight of the voices. He couldn’t hear anything else, he couldn’t see through his tears the setting sun. Your fault, your fault, your fault-

   “WHY??!!” The voice, that all too familiar voice, cut through the whispers like a knife. Wukong felt his blood run cold.

   Macaque.

   Macaque was here. Alive and well.

   Macaque, a dangerous, very much not-dead creature, was near Xiaotian. Xiaotian, who was put into the hospital. Xiaotian, who had severe burns all over his body. Xiaotian, who was either in critical condition or a coma, and as such unable to fight back should Macaque decide to kill him.

   Hell no.

   Wukong stood up. He felt cold, empty. Anger flowed like the stream of a winter river, sharpening his vision to a pin-prick sort of clarity. He saw, clearly, each blade of grass, each window of every building, each little dust particle in the air.

   His ears were deaf to everything but the sound of rushing water (or was it his own blood that he heard?), the silence settling over him like a blanket. He heard nothing, not even that dull ringing that had tormented him through the day. The rushing water, the dull beat of a war drum (or was that his own heart?) stayed, however, a symphony of soon to be bloodshed as Wukong slowly floated up from the sidewalk.

   His golden eyes were empty of everything but cold, clear rage as they landed on the dark form of the Six-eared Macaque, who was on his hands and knees, trembling. Good. That would make the next part all the easier.

   Wukong raised his fist, ready to send Macaque flying. He would not fail Xiaotian again. He would end this, this string of failures, starting here and now with this final blow-

   Only for Macaque to raise his head to the heavens, face twisted in fear and regret and agony and loss, and scream, “WHY DIDN’T YOU TAKE ME INSTEAD??!!? WHY?? Why did- didn’t you…. why didn’t you t-take me in… why didn’t you take me instead? Why……”

   Wukong stepped back in shock as Macaque shook with sobs, his paws clenched against the concrete of the rooftop. Rage was undercut by confusion, then suspicion? Just what was Macaque playing at? Just what was Macaque, who was a certified lone-wolf, who despised any form of bond with another being, doing having a mental breakdown on top of a hospital?

   “Why did…. why did Xiaotian have to be the one to suffer because of my mistakes?” He heard Macaque whisper, and Wukong felt the world disappear out from under him.

#monkie kid #MK #qi xiaotian #six eared macaque #macaque #sun wukong #angst #yeah I know we don’t get to see much of macaque until the end #im sorry #i just ended up writing more than I thought I would #and it ended up spiraling out of control #so by the time I got to macaque #the chapter was already way too long #so #sorry about that #on the bright side y’all get some more juicy Wukong angst! #can I get a hell yeah? #if you thought macaque was gonna need therapy #hoo boy #wukong is gonna be messed tf up by the end of this #i have a general rule of thumb #that anytime I write monkie kid angst #there has to be at least a little Wukong angst #like I’m sorry #but there’s just so much potential? #Like I know we all like to write Red son angst and Macaque angst #and pigsy angst surprisingly #but Wukong just has so much fatherly angst potential #and if there’s one thing I love more than angst #it’s the found father trope