meet again

[madimpossibledreamer]

I didn’t expect this, but, uh.  In-context it makes perfect sense.

Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/The Case Files of Young Kindaichi
Summary: Someone unexpected needs saving.
Word Count: 1453
Rating: Teen
Warning: themes of suicide.  If you need help, please don’t hesitate to talk to someone!

        Kindaichi could lay here forever, but that will hardly help him.  He already hears a few determined monsters battering on the door, and the barricade he made hastily will not deter them indefinitely either.
        He’s in pain, and a single sandwich was hardly enough following such a pattern, but he’s hardly one to just sit here and wish things were different.  Such actions help no one.  If he’s to get out of this situation, he has to do so himself.
        He stands with a grimace, sheer will probably the only thing keeping him upright at the moment, and endeavors to make no sudden moves—it had seemed sturdy enough when he’d been climbing, but at the moment it paid to be careful.  Through the light of the skylight, a blessing and a curse in one, he happens to spot a well-concealed latch and door of some sort.  It requires a precarious balancing on his toes to even reach, and a single wrong move nearly makes his balance slip, but he makes it out with scraped fingers.  He drags over the sturdiest feeling crate (of course, as this is the highest location, options are few) to place beneath him as he scrabbles to reach, let alone haul his body weight upward again.  Eventually, he makes it, but the close calls of nearly falling suggest he’s reaching his limits.
        As he replaces the trap door, which is not only polite but also an aid to survival, he glances around the room.  It’s cleaner in here than the actual warehouse, with crates in neat rows, unlike the haphazard, half-abandoned look downstairs.  He gulps as he hears the door shatter below and hopes they don’t discover him here; the window here is not so much a skylight as simple glass, though he could break it with one of the crates in desperation if he had to do so.
        A clipboard sits on top of one of the crates, and he walks over—quietly—to pick it up, just as the crash of splintering suggests that they’ve finally made it through his makeshift barricade as well.  He has a hunch about this place, and he’s curious. 
        It takes an embarrassingly long time for him to read the words, and even in the end, he can’t make them all out, but he feels a kind of satisfaction, with the few words he can understand.  It seems likely, given the hidden room with hidden, more recently used items, and the notes here that this is a smuggler’s warehouse.
        And then he notices movement in the shadows on the other side of the room, only illuminated in the light of the moon.  The shape continues moving, although it doesn’t appear to be threatening.  Cautiously, he approaches, trying to make absolutely no sound that would alert the demons to his presence (although they appear to be covering up his own sounds quite nicely on their own, seemingly tearing the place apart looking for him) and his breath catches in his throat as he finally registers what he’s seeing.
        It’s a mirror, showing him what the teenager looks like.  What Zandaru looks like.  Similarities exist, such as the long hair and the outfit.  But enough differences also exist that he would never mistake that face in the mirror for his own.
        More than that, though, either the spell had side effects, or this mirror is far more than it appears, because the image is not mirroring his own movements.  The intricate details of how are a matter probably beyond his comprehension, at least for the moment, but somehow, through magic, he is actually seeing Zandaru, face-to-face, and his breath catches in his throat, because the significance of this event is not lost on him.  “Zandaru, it’s so good to finally meet you!  I have questions.”  Normally, it’s harder meeting new people, but this Zandaru person seems like he already knows Kindaichi, so there are no unrealistic expectations—or at least less than usual.
        “You’re just being polite, but thank you.”  Zandaru sighs, shoulders drooping.  “I knew you could solve it with half the clues.  Without my help.”
        He knows this feeling, this feeling of giving up.  Miyuki had always brought him out of it.  He’s not the motivational speaker she is, but he should try.  “Actually, you did help, despite the headache.”  Unintentional or not, he’d left clues behind, a ghostly aid in the case.
        “You’re better than I’ll ever be,” the teenager states with a resigned finality, turning away and beginning to walk away from his reflection, and Kindaichi panics, because…he knows that tone.
        More than one of the murderers he’s confronted have attempted, successfully or unsuccessfully, to take their own lives following the truth coming to light.  Zandaru is no murderer, and he might not have a knife to his own stomach or be ready to set the entire building on fire, but the familiarity of the scene despite its bizarre nature is not something he can overlook.  He already feel on the brink of loss.
        “Wait!” he calls out desperately.  He knows that stiffening in surprise, because he’d see it even in a perfectly normal mirror.
        “I’m good for nothing.  Willow likes me, and I don’t like her like that, but I don’t want her to move on, because it feels nice that someone actually likes me, no matter how much it might hurt her.  I’m a jealous jerk when it comes to Buffy.  I couldn’t save my best friend.  I annoy Giles, I’m pretty sure you’ve already figured out how my own family feel about me…”  He shrugs, smile hollow and lost.  Half-dead already.  “I’m a distraction that fails to distract.  I’m moral support that does nothing but bring the mood down.  Tell me, what right do I have to continue to exist?”
        Hajime swallows, speechless for a moment, and then the empty smile turns sad.  “I thought so.”
        “Your death will hurt Wilo-chan,” Hajime counters quickly, even as Zandaru turns around again.
        Zandaru’s hand trembles, but he doesn’t move any further away.  An encouraging sign.  “It’ll be better for her in the end.  You already treat her better than I ever have.  Maybe you’ll even love her the way she deserves to be loved.”
        “It’s possible,” the teenage detective acknowledges, making himself comfortable.  “But she’ll never stop hurting.  Maybe she wouldn’t talk about it, in the hopes the pain would go away, but it’s not as simple as you make it.  Your absence will leave a hole that won’t heal, and she will blame herself.”  It’s Zandaru’s turn to be speechless, though he still refuses to turn around, one hand having moved up to cover his face, and Hajime suspects he might see tears falling silently.  “She’s not the only one.  Perhaps not your parents, but I spoke to Bufi-sama, to Jairuzu-san, even to Anjeru-san.  They might find some of your habits annoying, but if you were gone, they’d miss you.  They’d care.  They only accepted me so easily because, in some sense, I am you, and because it wouldn’t last.”
        He pauses and allows Zandaru a moment to digest his words, the teen’s shoulders shaking, before he explains, “Death is never a solution.”  Perhaps he’s naïve, a young brat who doesn’t know anything, but he’s seen enough to know this.  So many acts of revenge, death designed to right wrongs, and on each occasion it fails.  He doesn’t remember Zandaru’s memories, not without straining hard enough to hurt, but he has enough of a general feeling to be nearly certain of his guess.  “We’re both familiar enough with death to be able to say this for sure.”
        Hajime doesn’t dare sigh in relief as Zandaru turns around, eyes filled with tears, but he does breathe a little easier.  “So, what do I do then?” he asks, a little aggressive, frustrated and oh-so-very tired.
        “You want to change.  So change.”  Everyone is capable of change, he believes, and if Zandaru knows him well, he is aware of this.
        “You make it sound easy,” Zandaru chuckles.
        “Not easy, but…humans are capable of amazing things.  I believe you can do it.”  He smiles, mimicking the other, and as one they step up to the mirror, placing a hand on the surface as if it will allow them reassuring touch.
        A touch of panic, as a wave of dizziness overcomes Hajime, like the entire room is shaking, and he falls to his knees, other hand still balancing himself against the mirror, Zandaru mimicking his movements, as if the mirror is merely a mirror once more.
        I don’t want you to leave! panicked, growing distant.
        Zandaru-kun, I believe that is up to you, he manages, and then the darkness swallows him entirely.