Chapter Text
The truth was unavoidable, but Homura feared the consequences of speaking it. Even so, she knew it wouldn’t make a difference in the end.
“Homura?” Madoka asked again. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m not from this timeline,” she said finally. Her voice was quiet and her chest quivered. How many times had she had this conversation before? “My wish to become a magical girl was to be strong enough save you, because you were the first person to genuinely care for me in a long time."
“Save me? Did I die in the other timeline?”
Homura had watched Madoka die too many times to count, but she didn’t know how to say that. She remembered clawing desperately at rubble with bloody hands, trying to muster the strength to rescue Madoka’s crushed and broken body; watching in horror as the last light in Madoka’s soul gem drained out and she transformed into her own natural enemy; once even killing Madoka herself to prevent her from continuing her existence in the miserable state of a witch. She had seen the person she loved most destroyed over and over again. Homura simply nodded in answer to the question.
“So I made a contract with that thing. I told it I wanted to be able to go back, to protect you. To do that, I had to turn back time. And I did. I relived the same two months over and over again trying to find the answer, trying to find out what I could possibly do to save your life. I figured out after a certain point that if you became a magical girl there was no way to avoid your death,” Homura explained. None of it felt real anymore. The fact that this girl still stood before her despite having died numerous horrific deaths inherently defied reason.
“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” Madoka said.
“Would you have believed me? That it was all a scam? Especially after Ms. Tomoe found you?” Homura replied. Madoka opened her mouth, then thought better of it and shook her head.
“I know. I tried that.” Maybe after everything she had been through her mind had numbed itself of its own accord. Maybe it was better that way; if she stopped to let everything she had seen and the things she’d brought herself to do all sink in, it might break her.
“That still doesn’t really explain why you care so much about me. Why would you do all this for someone like me? I’m not exactly special,” Madoka looked at her shoes uncomfortably.
“I wouldn’t know how to make you understand. You don’t even know how long I’ve spent in this time loop. And it feels like the more I go back, the more I repeat, the further away you get from me, because to you I’m just some transfer student you met two months ago. But to me, you’re…” Homura trailed off, fighting the wave of tears that threatened to choke her.
You’re my reason for being alive. I sold my soul to save your life.
“You’re right. I can’t understand, and I can’t possibly imagine everything you’ve been through,” Madoka said softly. “But if it helps, I never once thought you had bad intentions.”
“Please don’t make a contract with Kyubey,” Homura blurted. “By now you can surely see that it doesn’t mean well.”
Madoka didn’t meet her eyes. God, was she still considering it? Even now?
Homura remained silent, unsure of what to say, and stared at her hands in her lap for an uncomfortable time until her vision got blurry. It felt like she was outside of her own body, as a bystander watching the time tick by in silent, ruthless, immeasurable consistency. Time, forever both her greatest strength and greatest enemy. It felt like she wasn’t really there.
She was in an old timeline. With force like a hurricane, the great witch had torn the city to shrapnel. People would say it was a hurricane, but the surviving magical girls in the area would know the truth. The level of destruction that was caused on this day wouldn't be forgotten for decades to come. It was entirely too much for two fourteen year old girls to contain; they had never really stood a chance, but they had tried nevertheless. Homura had hoped that they would have been able to combat the witch with more magical girls, but unfortunately circumstances had not allowed for it.
Now she sat, utterly spent, next to Madoka’s barely breathing form. Blood streamed from numerous cuts, dyeing the water around Madoka a diluted red. In her hands rested her soul gem, full to the brink of bursting with the dark taint of despair. It was, at this point, a ticking time bomb. Mere minutes after the worst of Walpurgisnacht passed and left Mitakihara city in ruins, the witch that would be Madoka would obliterate what little remained.
“Homura, I’m sorry. I can’t believe we were all played for fools. What an awful ending,” Madoka murmured thinly.
“It isn’t your fault,” Homura tried to console her. “Kyubey tricked us, and many before us. It’s been doing this for centuries.”
“But you can go back, right?”
Homura looked at her. Of course she could go back, that had been the plan since she realized this battle had been hopeless. She wondered, though, why Madoka would bring this up. “Yes, I can go back,” she said tentatively.
“Please, save me.” Madoka’s words pierced Homura’s heart in a way only Madoka was capable of. “Go back. Warn me before I ever get roped into this. Don’t let him trick me, please,” she begged.
Homura couldn’t tell her now that saving her was her only reason to continue her fight. She couldn’t tell her how many times she had already turned the clock back in an attempt to find the one set of actions she could take to spare Madoka’s life. But she could promise that she would keep trying.
“I will.”
Though the area was filled with the echoing sounds of Walpurgisnacht continuing her trail of destruction in the distance, the girls were silent, overcome with the emotional weight of knowing they had already traded their souls for this fate. Homura couldn’t save herself anymore. But at least she could save Madoka and ensure that her own wish was fulfilled. She steeled herself and stood with a wince, reaching for her shield to go back in time. Her injuries would disappear upon reset.
“Wait,” Madoka stopped her. “One last thing."
“What is it?” What more could she possibly give?
“I don’t want to die a witch. Homura, please end this before I cause more pain.”
It was an understandable request, but the implication made Homura waver. Of course it was a kinder fate to kill Madoka now, but it didn’t make the idea easier.
But she was obligated to. Her hands shook as she crouched and retrieved her gun. Tears ran hot down her face in contrast to the cool rain. She cocked the gun and held it to Madoka’s head.
“Thank you,” Madoka said.
“I’m sorry!” Homura gasped.
Bang.
Her body rested spread across Homura’s lap with an almost peaceful expression. How many times had Homura seen Madoka’s corpse now? Yet this was the first time she had had to kill her herself. Tears continued to fill her throat and roll down her cheeks, and she felt as if she might vomit from guilt. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried like this.
Madoka was incapable of understanding everything Homura had been through, all in the name of protecting her. All in the name of love. Because somehow, some way, she was determined to find what she could do that could possibly result in Madoka’s ultimate happiness.
Back to the present moment. She wasn’t sure how long she had been spaced out, but Madoka had her arms wrapped around her, softly running her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know everything you’ve been through. I don’t know you as well as you know me, but I still care about you.”
Suddenly Homura became acutely aware of the tear streaks leaving sticky lines down her face. Somewhat abashed, she pulled away from the embrace and wiped her face with her palms. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
“Don’t be.”
Walpurgisnacht would descend upon the city in just over 24 hours. The other magical girls in the city had already met their ends, and Homura was the only one left. The odds didn’t look good for this timeline, but Madoka still hadn’t made a contract, and she couldn’t afford not to at least try to fight. By now, if Madoka even tried to fight alongside her, the weight of her magical ability would instantly drain and corrupt her soul gem, turning her into a witch even worse than Walpurgisnacht mere moments after her birth as a magical girl.
“I want to help.” Of course she did. It was in her nature. Madoka was so kind. How could Homura possibly explain that there was no way Madoka could help, because of the countless timelines she herself had already abandoned and destroyed? It was a concept she had barely begun to grasp herself, realized through living the ongoing vicious cycle in which Madoka's fate had worsened with every iteration.
“You can’t.”
“I know. But I hate feeling helpless. I’ve spent my whole life doing nothing special, surely there’s something I can do without making a contract.”
“There’s nothing.” Homura was too tired to argue with her. “The best thing for you to do would be to stay safe and stay away from the fight altogether. Evacuate with your family, start over somewhere new,” she pleaded. "Forget about the whole magical girl idea."
“Maybe at least I could help you feel better? We could go get coffee in the morning, while the world is still normal,” Madoka offered. “You work really hard trying to keep the timeline moving the right direction, you deserve to rest and enjoy a day before you have to fight. It isn’t much, but maybe it could help.”
Coffee? What a small offer in comparison to the impending fate of the timeline. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to hurt Madoka by turning her down, nor would she deny herself the opportunity to become closer to Madoka, as selfish as it felt. Even if they both enjoyed themselves, ultimately she knew she was only continuing to drive them further apart in time.
But she couldn’t tell Madoka no. “Of course.”
Madoka smiled, appearing satisfied that her contribution was well received. “Here, so you can contact me if you need,” she said, gesturing for Homura to put her hand out. Pulling a pen from her bag, she scrawled her phone number on Homura’s wrist. "And no, I can't just forget about magical girls. You, Sayaka, and Mami have done so much for me. What kind of friend would I be if I let myself forget all of it?"
Homura wasn't sure how to respond, and despite herself she defaulted to the cold demeanor she typically forced herself to take. “It would have been better if you had never gotten involved with any of it in the first place." She winced ever-so-slightly, aware of how she must sound. "There's nothing either of us can do about that now, though, and you're kind. I’ll be on my way for the evening.” It was a feeble attempt to make herself sound less detached, but Madoka seemed to be accustomed to it.
"Travel safely. I'll see you tomorrow."
How often had Homura allowed herself to do something she would actually enjoy? In her battle to defend her wish, she had always neglected her own emotional needs. Perhaps, in some twisted way, she felt she deserved as much.
The reality of Walpurgisnacht’s rapidly approaching arrival clouded over Homura’s subconscious. Nevertheless, she had Madoka’s phone number on her arm, and she smiled softly at the girl’s innocence. The least she could do was ensure that this Madoka had one more happy day before she would be lost to yet another timeline.