[If it hadn't happened at a tutoring session, it would have gone much differently. If he hadn't been escorting the child home, things would have been far more violent, things would have unfolded in a beatdown. But as it stood, the group of men accosted one Hakkai and his temporary charge, a village kid he'd been helping to read.]
["You're coming with us, or we take it out on the brat."]
[Maybe he could have fought them off. Maybe he could have taken a few of them down, but, not without one of them injuring the terrified little eight year old. And so help him, he didn't have it in him to truly endanger the child.]
[So very well, he went with them. Leaving the kid unharmed, afraid, but unhurt. They didn't make demands, though, from their clothing, their rough demeanor, this, he assumed, had something to do with old debts. Maybe something from an old poker game... He planned to lash back out as soon as they were fully clear, as soon as they entered the backstreets, where no one could see. Where he had the advantage of close quarters.]
[And then the knife dug into the back of his shoulder.]
[The fight was brief, brutal. He could feel something from the blade snaking through his blood. Something his other self couldn't even burn away properly. His movements were too slow, vision tunneling. Someone slammed something heavy into his face, he couldn't dodge in time.]
[Hakkai was, dimly, aware of the crackle of glass on the stone pavement when his captors hefted him like a limp sack of potatoes, and hauled him bodily away from the village. Into the woods. Ah - there went his glasses.]
[It was the kid who'd found Gojyo -- he was easy enough to locate. Everyone knew he hung out at the bar in the afternoons, just like everyone knew he and Hakkai were a package deal.
Maybe that's why the kid came to him first. Not his parents or whatever passed for law around here, but the tipsy, sleazy friend of his teacher. Not exactly the respectable, responsible type.
He was already a couple drinks in, chair tilted back as he draped a lazy arm over the back of it. Gojyo'd been working his way into another poker game -- the longer he stayed in one place the harder it was to talk folks into losing their hard earned cash. He'd have to throw a few rounds tonight to get their confidence up.
But then there was a crying kid, and even if Gojyo hadn't recognized him he's not the kind of asshole who'd ignore a crying kid.
He caught Hakkai and bad guys and their general location before he was up quick enough to belay the act that the alcohol'd had any effect on him to anyone paying attention. He slung his jacket on and was out the door.
The spot wasn't far. He could see the tell tale signs of a scuffle, pulse racing as he put it together. Hakkai could damn near take out anyone, even on his own. So they'd used the kid, then what? Something that could incapacitate him. Or they knocked him out real fast. Or--
Cut that shit out.
He wouldn't let himself think about the worst case scenario, even as his blood sang to do violence.
Something on the ground caught in the light. Gojyo kneeled down. His pinky hooked the arm of a familiar pair of glasses, lense cracked but otherwise unbent. No blood on them.
His body was loose as he stood, an odd and sure calm settling across his shoulders like a mantle.
He was good at this, he reminded himself, following the trail to a cave opening tucked behind a cluster of trees. They had Hakkai.
Shakujo appeared in his hand.
When did I become a part of your we?
Gojyo's grip tightened. He was gonna get him back. And beat the everloving shit out of anyone who got in his way.]
A cave is a terrible place to be when you're captive. It's damp, dirty. Mold is probably growing on the floor. Aka, exactly where he'd been tossed, as soon as his captors got in. Whatever they'd doused the knife with, it was strong. Movement was almost impossible, save for blinking. His shoulder was on fire, so they must have left the knife in there when they tried him.
It's hard to see more than blurry shapes, too, without his glasses. There's more than a handful of men here.
They're discussing something about debts. About payment. He tries to inform them they abducted him at a bad time, the bills had just been paid - he'd been on his way to take the child to collect his fee, actually. But his mouth doesn't want to move properly, either.
Someone mutters about him being awake, apparently having heard the mumble he managed. And, for his trouble, there's a boot to the ribs. Of course. They're that sort of kidnapper. He supposes he'll just have to wait until the blade wears off - or he would have, if the slow sense of cold spreading from the injury wasn't becoming alarming by slow degrees.
... Of course. A paralyzing agent inappropriately applied would lead to nerve and muscles stopping their function, too, wouldn't they.
Experience has him entering carefully without having to think about it, mindful of twigs and gravel tracked in by previous occupants. Avoiding louder pebbles and rocks as he hugs the wall. It's his years as a street kid that help him make it to a stray set of barrels near the entrance and have him measuring it's occupants. He's survived this long because he's a man who knows how to read a room.
Maybe six guys, two near the front but most near the back. They're chuckling as they slowly walk towards the other two, and Gojyo's keen hearing catches what they have to say.
"Fucking dumbass. He really think he could talk his way outta this?" The would-be robber angles his mouth, spits off to the side.
One of his companions chuckles. He has a red bandanna tied around his wrist. "Won't be sayin' much now."
A creeping cold inches its way through Gojyo's veins, and he lets his eyes wander further back. A figure slumped against a wall. A knife visible from it's chest area. And he ain't moving.
No.
It's the last conscious thought Gojyo remembers having.
Shakujo is moving in an instant. The chain whips around and Gojyo wills the blade at the end to curve wickedly, slicing the first of the closer man's throat before he can so much as shout. He's at the second man a second later, the axe-like blade bisecting him at the waist as Gojyo funnels his jaw-clenching rage into one thrust.
The other four are alerted by the violence, of course, and Gojyo welcomes it. Before the other two (or, well, one and a half) bodies slide to the floor he's sprinting towards the four nearer the back. He may just be a hanyou, but they're just humans. It's not even a fair fight.
He'd been silent, almost dispassionate until now but now he's closer and he can see the blood, the knife in Hakkai's shoulder. He roars as he swings Shakujo around again, chain wrapping around the legs of one man and bringing him to the ground, the crescent blade slicing the upper thighs of another close by him.
Red bandanna is in front of him as he thrusts forward again, aiming for his face.
Red bandanna has a gun. Red bandanna is pulling it as fast as he can, firing off wild panicked shots. Nothing like the ones Sanzo levered their way - clearly, he'd just grabbed a big piece and figured point and pull the trigger would get him through the day.
It's not enough. His face, half his head in fact, is abruptly removed from the rest of his body, carved aside like pumpkin rind by a bloody crescent. He doesn't stop screaming the whole time.
The cave falls silent.
Except for the short, hissing sounds of breathing - forced out of lungs that just want to stop. Everything just wants to stop. The lump on the floor, the Hakkai lump, is making his body continue. He heard that angry voice. He knows the hiss of that chain.
And trusts, completely, if there's a way out of a nasty situation, his best friend, literally his other half, is going to find a way to root it out and sort it.
There's no time for the guilt he'd usually feel when he kills someone. Sometimes he has to take someone's life, and Gojyo accepts that. It's part of the life he chose to lead. But when he kills people who don't have to die -- those are the faces that haunt him at night.
Not today. He takes a shaky breath, dropping his weapon and dragging an arm across his face. Blood smears across his sleeve and shakujo vanishes before it can hit the ground.
He's moving towards that wheezing, that crumpled body without thinking about it.
"Shit, shit, shit," He's hissing as he falls to his knees beside Hakkai. Hakkai's the guy who fixed people up. Fixed Gojyo up. Kept him fed, made sure he didn't get too drunk or too hung over. Stuck around for some fucking reason and cared about him.
His skin crawled. Panic, panic burned his throat, brought acid like bile with it. He sees Hakkai on the ground in his mind, Goku nearby, Hakkai isn't breathing.
Just like then. Just like then again. Fuck, fuck, I can't lose--
Focus. He has to focus. He takes another breath, hands hovering for a second as he takes inventory. He knew normally you kept the blade in to keep the stab wound from gushing too bad, but he was worried about how it looked. This shouldn't have been enough to take Hakkai down, but it had somehow kept Hakkai from fighting back. It had him fucked up. A poison, a curse, some shit like that. Because it was always some shit like that, wasn't it?
"Alright. Alright. You hear me, Hakkai?" He takes Hakkai's hand in his, and it's stiff, so fucking stiff, like a fucking corpse and he can't--
"Listen up. I gotta get this shit out of you, and it's gonna hurt but you're gonna hang in there, you hear me?"
And he doesn't give him any more warning than that. He's ripped off his jacket with his free hand, put it near the wound, ready to press it on to suppress whatever comes seeping out and then he just fucking does it. He pulls the blade right out, tossing it aside and immediately doing his best to remember what he'd learned. From life, from Hakkai. Pressure on the wound.
Some of the tension held ready bleeds out of him. Just as expected, there's Gojyo's face. He can see it, out of the corner of his eye, he can feel it - and Gojyo's hands are shockingly warm. Well... that's not a good sign. He makes an attempt to respond, to move, and all he can really do is twitch his fingers.
Better than nothing, he supposes.
He tries to move at least his eyes. Something to signal he's aware, he heard, he's doing his best to follow those orders. There's some kind of awful irony that only his artificial eye responds. Of course - it's not real. It won't be affected by whatever was coating the blade.
So he flicks his gaze from the direction of his wounded shoulder, to Gojyo. His real eye burns at the inability to move, but, his artificial one follows orders. That must look ridiculous.
Then, abruptly, Gojyo just does it. He hisses, sharply, through his teeth. He can't do more than that. His muscles tense, hard, limbs contracting into a ball. Like some kind of dying bug, he thinks, distantly. Something already smells vaguely like meat gone off. Either the corpses, or the toxin causing rapid tissue necrosis?
It's out, at least. Maybe... that will be enough?
Maybe they won't have to resort to the same measure they had to, that day in the rain, on the street. The day flashing to the forefront of his sluggish brain as readily as it does Gojyo's.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
for @ kappatastrophe - Big Mad
["You're coming with us, or we take it out on the brat."]
[Maybe he could have fought them off. Maybe he could have taken a few of them down, but, not without one of them injuring the terrified little eight year old. And so help him, he didn't have it in him to truly endanger the child.]
[So very well, he went with them. Leaving the kid unharmed, afraid, but unhurt. They didn't make demands, though, from their clothing, their rough demeanor, this, he assumed, had something to do with old debts. Maybe something from an old poker game... He planned to lash back out as soon as they were fully clear, as soon as they entered the backstreets, where no one could see. Where he had the advantage of close quarters.]
[And then the knife dug into the back of his shoulder.]
[The fight was brief, brutal. He could feel something from the blade snaking through his blood. Something his other self couldn't even burn away properly. His movements were too slow, vision tunneling. Someone slammed something heavy into his face, he couldn't dodge in time.]
[Hakkai was, dimly, aware of the crackle of glass on the stone pavement when his captors hefted him like a limp sack of potatoes, and hauled him bodily away from the village. Into the woods. Ah - there went his glasses.]
[Then it went dark.]
no subject
Maybe that's why the kid came to him first. Not his parents or whatever passed for law around here, but the tipsy, sleazy friend of his teacher. Not exactly the respectable, responsible type.
He was already a couple drinks in, chair tilted back as he draped a lazy arm over the back of it. Gojyo'd been working his way into another poker game -- the longer he stayed in one place the harder it was to talk folks into losing their hard earned cash. He'd have to throw a few rounds tonight to get their confidence up.
But then there was a crying kid, and even if Gojyo hadn't recognized him he's not the kind of asshole who'd ignore a crying kid.
He caught Hakkai and bad guys and their general location before he was up quick enough to belay the act that the alcohol'd had any effect on him to anyone paying attention. He slung his jacket on and was out the door.
The spot wasn't far. He could see the tell tale signs of a scuffle, pulse racing as he put it together. Hakkai could damn near take out anyone, even on his own. So they'd used the kid, then what? Something that could incapacitate him. Or they knocked him out real fast. Or--
Cut that shit out.
He wouldn't let himself think about the worst case scenario, even as his blood sang to do violence.
Something on the ground caught in the light. Gojyo kneeled down. His pinky hooked the arm of a familiar pair of glasses, lense cracked but otherwise unbent. No blood on them.
His body was loose as he stood, an odd and sure calm settling across his shoulders like a mantle.
He was good at this, he reminded himself, following the trail to a cave opening tucked behind a cluster of trees. They had Hakkai.
Shakujo appeared in his hand.
When did I become a part of your we?
Gojyo's grip tightened. He was gonna get him back. And beat the everloving shit out of anyone who got in his way.]
no subject
It's hard to see more than blurry shapes, too, without his glasses. There's more than a handful of men here.
They're discussing something about debts. About payment. He tries to inform them they abducted him at a bad time, the bills had just been paid - he'd been on his way to take the child to collect his fee, actually. But his mouth doesn't want to move properly, either.
Someone mutters about him being awake, apparently having heard the mumble he managed. And, for his trouble, there's a boot to the ribs. Of course. They're that sort of kidnapper. He supposes he'll just have to wait until the blade wears off - or he would have, if the slow sense of cold spreading from the injury wasn't becoming alarming by slow degrees.
... Of course. A paralyzing agent inappropriately applied would lead to nerve and muscles stopping their function, too, wouldn't they.
no subject
Maybe six guys, two near the front but most near the back. They're chuckling as they slowly walk towards the other two, and Gojyo's keen hearing catches what they have to say.
"Fucking dumbass. He really think he could talk his way outta this?" The would-be robber angles his mouth, spits off to the side.
One of his companions chuckles. He has a red bandanna tied around his wrist. "Won't be sayin' much now."
A creeping cold inches its way through Gojyo's veins, and he lets his eyes wander further back. A figure slumped against a wall. A knife visible from it's chest area. And he ain't moving.
No.
It's the last conscious thought Gojyo remembers having.
Shakujo is moving in an instant. The chain whips around and Gojyo wills the blade at the end to curve wickedly, slicing the first of the closer man's throat before he can so much as shout. He's at the second man a second later, the axe-like blade bisecting him at the waist as Gojyo funnels his jaw-clenching rage into one thrust.
The other four are alerted by the violence, of course, and Gojyo welcomes it. Before the other two (or, well, one and a half) bodies slide to the floor he's sprinting towards the four nearer the back. He may just be a hanyou, but they're just humans. It's not even a fair fight.
He'd been silent, almost dispassionate until now but now he's closer and he can see the blood, the knife in Hakkai's shoulder. He roars as he swings Shakujo around again, chain wrapping around the legs of one man and bringing him to the ground, the crescent blade slicing the upper thighs of another close by him.
Red bandanna is in front of him as he thrusts forward again, aiming for his face.
no subject
It's not enough. His face, half his head in fact, is abruptly removed from the rest of his body, carved aside like pumpkin rind by a bloody crescent. He doesn't stop screaming the whole time.
The cave falls silent.
Except for the short, hissing sounds of breathing - forced out of lungs that just want to stop. Everything just wants to stop. The lump on the floor, the Hakkai lump, is making his body continue. He heard that angry voice. He knows the hiss of that chain.
And trusts, completely, if there's a way out of a nasty situation, his best friend, literally his other half, is going to find a way to root it out and sort it.
no subject
Not today. He takes a shaky breath, dropping his weapon and dragging an arm across his face. Blood smears across his sleeve and shakujo vanishes before it can hit the ground.
He's moving towards that wheezing, that crumpled body without thinking about it.
"Shit, shit, shit," He's hissing as he falls to his knees beside Hakkai. Hakkai's the guy who fixed people up. Fixed Gojyo up. Kept him fed, made sure he didn't get too drunk or too hung over. Stuck around for some fucking reason and cared about him.
His skin crawled. Panic, panic burned his throat, brought acid like bile with it. He sees Hakkai on the ground in his mind, Goku nearby, Hakkai isn't breathing.
Just like then. Just like then again. Fuck, fuck, I can't lose--
Focus. He has to focus. He takes another breath, hands hovering for a second as he takes inventory. He knew normally you kept the blade in to keep the stab wound from gushing too bad, but he was worried about how it looked. This shouldn't have been enough to take Hakkai down, but it had somehow kept Hakkai from fighting back. It had him fucked up. A poison, a curse, some shit like that. Because it was always some shit like that, wasn't it?
"Alright. Alright. You hear me, Hakkai?" He takes Hakkai's hand in his, and it's stiff, so fucking stiff, like a fucking corpse and he can't--
"Listen up. I gotta get this shit out of you, and it's gonna hurt but you're gonna hang in there, you hear me?"
And he doesn't give him any more warning than that. He's ripped off his jacket with his free hand, put it near the wound, ready to press it on to suppress whatever comes seeping out and then he just fucking does it. He pulls the blade right out, tossing it aside and immediately doing his best to remember what he'd learned. From life, from Hakkai. Pressure on the wound.
no subject
Some of the tension held ready bleeds out of him. Just as expected, there's Gojyo's face. He can see it, out of the corner of his eye, he can feel it - and Gojyo's hands are shockingly warm. Well... that's not a good sign. He makes an attempt to respond, to move, and all he can really do is twitch his fingers.
Better than nothing, he supposes.
He tries to move at least his eyes. Something to signal he's aware, he heard, he's doing his best to follow those orders. There's some kind of awful irony that only his artificial eye responds. Of course - it's not real. It won't be affected by whatever was coating the blade.
So he flicks his gaze from the direction of his wounded shoulder, to Gojyo. His real eye burns at the inability to move, but, his artificial one follows orders. That must look ridiculous.
Then, abruptly, Gojyo just does it. He hisses, sharply, through his teeth. He can't do more than that. His muscles tense, hard, limbs contracting into a ball. Like some kind of dying bug, he thinks, distantly. Something already smells vaguely like meat gone off. Either the corpses, or the toxin causing rapid tissue necrosis?
It's out, at least. Maybe... that will be enough?
Maybe they won't have to resort to the same measure they had to, that day in the rain, on the street. The day flashing to the forefront of his sluggish brain as readily as it does Gojyo's.