Work Text:
Kou receives the staff on the morning of his ninth birthday. After weeks, months, years of pleading, of wishing that he could train alongside his brother, that he could do what his family name commanded of him, he finally is allowed to hold it in his own two hands. Teru received his sword on his seventh birthday- a whole two years before Kou did, because Teru is a natural, who was born to slay spirits and grew up with vengeful lightning snapping at his heels.
Kou was born with no such talents.
Yet still, he has trained, worked into the dead of night until his hands bled and he could barely stand. An eight year old kid, falling asleep in the back of his class because he had stayed up late to watch his brother slay monsters, and then stayed up even later still to mimic every one of his movements ten times over.
And so, on his ninth birthday, his mother hands him the staff.
“Kou,” She tells him, worn hands gripping his shoulders, that scar lancing through her clouded right eye. “Do you know what this staff means?”
He does not- all he knows is pure, unfiltered joy, at knowing he’s finally good enough, finally worthy of carrying the Minamoto name upon his small shoulders. He does not know, and so she tells him.
“Your job is to slay spirits, no matter what the cost. Even if it hurts, even if you’re in danger- you will uphold the Minamoto name, even if you must do so with your life.”
Kou holds onto the staff with both hands- holds onto his heirloom, his birthright, his duty until the day that he dies- and he smiles.
-
He’s never been quite as good as Teru. He’d once told himself it was merely an experience gap- Teru, three years older, was always bound to be better, bound to achieve more. Bound to swing that sword with a confidence that Kou too would grow into, the same way he will grow into his awkward limbs and skewed centre of balance.
Yet- for every time Teru got knocked to the ground aged eleven, Kou gets knocked down seven times more. He had once watched time and time again as Teru had left a fight wearing a smile, a little tired, but never so much that he could not carry his brother home on his shoulders. Kou surfaces from each fight bruised and battered, too tired to stand, hands bleeding from where he just can’t control that staff that should be his by birthright.
Sure- he cooks better than Teru ever will, holds up the household when their parents are away (which is more often than not,in recent months). But he cannot uphold the Minamoto name by sitting in the kitchen, waiting for the rice to cook.
“Always put those you must save before yourself, Kou,” His father’s words- spoken on the rare occasion Kou had been trusted to follow him out of the city, to take down spirits beyond anything Kou had ever seen before. A lesson to be learned. “That is what it means to be a Minamoto.”
The Minamoto name is a heavy one- centuries of expectations to live up to, generations of skills to learn and pass on. It weighs hard on Kou’s shoulders, until some days he feels like his knees will surely buckle underneath it. (Teru never seems to struggle- the eldest brother, who wears his name like a crown, who never fails, never falters.)
But heavy as it is, that name comes with a job. And so Kou will pick himself up, bandage his blistered hands, and keep on walking.
-
“You don’t need to work so hard, you know.” Teru bandages his hands for him, after finishing his homework. Kou hasn’t started on his- indeed, it’s scattered somewhere in the grass beside the park, from where he dropped his belongings to exorcise a spirit lurking near the lakeside. He wonders, belatedly, if it would serve him better to lie that a dog had eaten his homework- instead of trying to tell the truth.
His hands are blistered, as they always are, from where he once again failed to control the lightning from his staff. He’s had it for years now, should really know how to manage it, but the burning sensation is almost second nature by this point- so much so that he feels he would likely miss it if it were to disappear.
“It’s not a big deal, really,” Kou insists, as Teru wipes blood from his palms and winces more at the sight of Kou’s blisters than he ever does at his own injuries. “I’m fine with getting hurt.”
Teru’s hands fall still, some semblance of a dark cloud passing across his expression. Storm-heavy weather rolling in, despite the warm sunset outside his bedroom window.
“You shouldn’t be fine with it.” He tugs on the bandage a little too hard, a little too rough, but Kou barely flinches. What sort of exorcist would he be if he shied away from pain, away from the barest hints of a struggle? What would that do to slay monsters and protect those reliant on him? (Because maybe he is only eleven, maybe he is too young and too inexperienced. But he is a Minamoto all the same- and a Minamoto never runs.)
“Well, mother always said that I shouldn’t mind getting hurt or dying- if it means protecting people.” Teru stands before Kou has had the time to finish, slamming the heavy oak door behind him as he leaves. The bandages around Kou’s palm fall and unravel, bloodstained, onto the carpet.
He hears them arguing later- Teru and their parents, living room door closed behind them like it will stop Kou from hearing. He’s re-tied his bandages and come up with an excuse for his missing homework (he’s sure his teachers expect it by now, anyway). It’s the shouts that catch his attention, leading him down the stairs, past where Tiara sleeps away in her room, where Teru’s sword is propped up against the wall, where pictures of generation after generation of famed exorcists line the hallways.
“Why would you tell him something like that?” Teru’s voice, angrier than Kou has ever heard it, as he huddles beside the living room door. “He’s just a kid!”
“We’ve been telling you the same thing since you were even younger than he is,” Their mother, in response, that pitchy tone to her voice giving away that she’s close to losing her temper. “What makes him different?”
Silence, Kou pressing his ear up against the door, straining to hear.
“That’s-” Teru pauses, like it’s something he doesn’t want to say, like the words have become caught in his throat like a mouthful of food that just won’t go down. “That’s because Kou is the only one of us likely to get himself killed.”
He’s always known really, that he’s not the strongest member of the Minamoto clan. That he’ll never quite live up to Teru, the prodigal son, to his parents, proud children of two exorcist families, united under one name. But to hear it in Teru’s own voice- to hear that lack of faith that Kou will one day be great, that one day he will succeed- it’s more painful than any number of scorched palms and bruised knees could be.
He peels himself up from the door- and doesn’t blink when the bandages on his right hand become unravelled once again.
-
“Kid,” Hanako catches him in the hallway between classes, as he attempts to formulate an excuse for the blood that stains the edge of his sleeves, for the wound driven deep into his palm. “You know, there’s better ways to deal with a situation than just throwing yourself in headfirst.”
Kou has never been one for forward-thinking, not like Teru is. He’s always gone with what feels right, with what he thinks will work. Perhaps it will be his downfall one day- he’s been told so more than once, that his lack of foresight will get him killed- but to grip the blade of Teru’s sword in his own two hands and pull it free; it felt like the right thing to do.
Hanako doesn’t sound concerned- after all, he’s an apparition, and good-natured or not, apiritions will never care for the wellbeing of humans. And so Kou doesn’t justify him a response, because there is none to give, as he pulls off his tie and wraps the fabric tight around his hand.
“ Kid,” There’s something close to urgency in his voice when Hanako speaks again, floating a little way ahead of where Kou paces from wall to wall. “You’re still alive, y’know? You can’t just go grabbing swords with your bare hands like an idiot.”
“If it’s what it takes, then I’ll do it,” Kou feels like he has had this conversation too many times before. Too many times- he has had to explain what his name, what his birthright means. That to be a Minamoto is to put yourself last, and save those who cannot save themselves. “Even if I get hurt, I’ll do whatever it takes to help the people I care about.”
Because, like it or not, and as annoying as he is, Kou cares about Hanako. Enough to go back against years of teaching, years of first-hand experience that apiritions care for nothing and nobody. Enough to pull him into that circle of people Kou would get hurt a thousand times over to save.
“That’s-” there’s an odd look on Hanako’s face, one that’s almost a little too human, but before Kou can dwell on it he finds it has all but disappeared. “That’s stupid- as expected!” And then Hanako tugs at his sleeve, still floating, still grinning in that awful way of his, as he leads Kou down the hall and away from his classroom door. “There’s a first aid kit on the wall near the third floor bathroom- class is about to end anyway.”
And if Kou closes his eyes and pretends there’s a heartbeat somewhere in Hanako’s chest, behind that old, outdated uniform of his- he can almost fool himself into thinking that he cares.
-
Tsuchigomori-sensei asks to see him after class. It’s not a situation he’s unfamiliar with- years of forgotten homework and falling asleep in the back of class building up something of a bad reputation- but this time there’s something in the back of the teacher’s voice, something a little more serious, a little more concerned than usual.
Kou considers skipping out on the meeting, considers hiding in the bathroom with Hanako and Yashiro, considers running home to start cooking dinner early. Because he can guess that it’s about the injury on his forehead, about the bloodied knuckles on his hands, about the way he’s started keeping that camera in his bag, day in and day out. Kou likes to talk. He likes conversation, in the same way he likes sunny days and baking and spending time with his friends.
But this is one conversation he doesn’t want to have.
Yet still, he walks into that classroom after school. That classroom, with a little too many spiders making their home in all four corners, with books stacked on the desk, titles hidden from view, with Tsuchigomori-sensei, typing away at his computer with one hand and flipping through classwork with the other. Still, he sits down on one of the tables, and tries to focus on the way the setting sun outside stains the clouds a familiar shade of pink.
“This is a general statement, and not my personal feelings,” Tsuchigomori starts, looking up from his work. “But people are worried about you.”
“I don’t see why.” He knows all too well that he sounds like a petulant child, pouting over a plate of food he doesn’t want to eat, a relative he doesn’t want to visit, yet he makes no effort to stop.
“I don’t think I need to tell you the answer to that,” A pointed look towards the wound on his forehead, still a little painful. “I know what happened- it’s been in your book since the beginning- but not everyone has the luxury of being able to read the future to ease their concerns.”
“There’s nothing to be concerned about though, sensei,” Kou smiles, despite how little his heart is in it. “I was just doing my job.”
“Minamoto, you’re fourteen years old- your only job should be to show up to school on time and to hand in your homework on the day it’s due,” Tsuchigomori runs a hand through his hair, looking a little more than uncomfortable. “And if you’re going to insist on doing more than that- then it would make everyone a lot happier if you took care of yourself a bit more.”
If he had half the mind to, Kou thinks he would laugh. Here he is, a failure of an exorcist, being lectured on the best way to uphold his family’s name by the very sort of being he should be drawing his staff against. That name has never felt heavier, a lead weight tied to each ankle, each wrist, pulling him down every time he waves to Hanako in the corridors, every time he feeds candy to the mokke, every time he looks at that camera which nestles amongst the textbooks in his bag.
All he has left: the knowledge that, if someone is in danger, he will die to save them. Just as he was raised to do.
He thanks Tsuchigomori for his concern, and leaves the classroom door open behind him when he walks away.
-
“How about I die too- so we can stay together forever?”
If it will make him less lonely, if it will make him smile again, if it will bring him back- Kou will do anything. For if it is to save someone, then it is something worth dying for.
That is what it means, after all, to be a Minamoto.
-
Mitsuba finds him up on the rooftop, legs hanging between the railings, out into open space. It’s a little too windy for it, the breeze catching in his shirt sleeves and through his hair, but it’s all he can think of doing to clear his head. Gulls wheel above his head, as Mitsuba settles beside him, slotting his own legs between the railings and tilting his chin up towards the sky.
“I hope you’re not planning on falling off anything again,” Mitsuba speaks without looking at him, most of the usual teasing absent from his voice. “I might not be fast enough to catch you this time.”
Kou shakes his head. “I just needed some fresh air.”
Mitsuba doesn’t respond for a long time, instead staring down at where his fingers curl around the railings, and then past them, to where the yard below is filled with students leaving the school gates, heading home for the weekend. Kou follows his line of sight, looking down at the pavement below, and instead seeing the falling stars that filled the sky that night, whirling through the air as he fell down and down and-
“Was it,” Mitsuba’s voice is hesitant- it doesn’t suit him in the slightest, Kou thinks. “Was it something you’d thought about a lot?”
“What do you mean?” Kou asks. He doesn’t need to, knows all too well what Mitsuba speaks of, but still- he stalls for time.
“I don’t know, you always just seemed like too much of the ‘ in love with life ’ kind to willingly jump off the side of a building,” Mitsuba still isn’t looking at him, still staring out at where the yard below them empties slowly. “But then again, what do I know?”
Kou rests his forehead against the railing and sighs, all too heavy and all too tired. “I wouldn’t say I’ve thought about dying,” He doesn’t like how quiet it is, doesn’t like how loud his voice rings out across the rooftop, doesn’t like the way Mitsuba finally turns to look at him. “But I know that, if it was for something I wanted to protect, I wouldn’t mind it. I was taught that since I was a kid. That it’s my duty to save others, even if it means dying in the process.”
Gulls wheeling overhead, Mitsuba frowns. “That’s kinda messed up, Kou,” His name in Mitsuba’s voice catches his attention, a single syllable that his mind latches onto like a lifeline. Unwilling to let go. “Who tells a kid that it’s their job to die?”
“Everyone always says that when I tell them,” Because nobody understands- nobody knows what it’s like to carry that name, to carry that duty upon their shoulders. To hold that staff in their hands and pledge that come pain, come deluge, come the very worst, they will do anything in their power to save those who cannot fight for themselves. To bear the weight of their name, their heirloom, their birthright. “Everyone says that it’s wrong, but I don’t mind it. I don’t mind it at all.”
“So you’ll just go around, willing to die for anyone you think needs saving?” Mitsuba swings his legs back between the railings, and turns to look Kou directly in the eye. Were it not for the burned edge of his scarf, for the sleeve covering his damaged hand, for the scar upon the back of his neck, Kou could almost say he looked human. “I’m not even the real Mitsuba- but you’d still throw your life away for a fake?”
Kou grips the railing a little too hard, tipping somewhere on the edge of anger. It’s not a feeling that he likes- burning more than the staff tucked at his side ever will. “How can it be throwing my life away if it’s to save someone?”
“I knew you were stupid- but I never knew it was quite this bad,” Mitsuba’s voice is too heavy, too serious, and Kou feels as if something will surely break under the weight of it. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve spent wishing I could be alive? How long I’ve dreamed of having what you have? It’s insulting that you’d try and throw something like that away so carelessly.”
“But isn’t it what you wanted? To have someone who understands what it’s like to be less than alive?” Up there, by that broken window, all he had known was this: if it would make Mitsuba even a little less lonely, he would fall a thousand times over. If it would save him, then he would do anything.
“I don’t want you to die for me,” He’s cold, not quite there, not quite real, but Kou can feel it all the same when Mitsuba wraps his arms around his shoulders and holds him tight, like he’s afraid to let go. “I want you to live for me instead. I want you to show up late to class, to annoy your friends, to write stupid things on the bathroom walls- all the things I can’t do.”
Kou finds suddenly that he cannot remember how to move, how to breathe. All he knows is Mitsuba’s cold, less-than-alive arms and the gulls spiralling through the air above them, the schoolyard below and the sunset all around. And it’s been a long time since Kou has last cried, but as he finally moves to hold Mitsuba in return, as he buries his head in his shoulder and closes his eyes, there’s nothing he can do to stop it.
Mitsuba sniffs. “You’re gonna get me all damp, lame-earring.”
Still, he hangs on ever tighter.
-
And so the Minamoto name is still a heavy heirloom to bear- but its burden is not something he has to shoulder alone.
Not any more.