I never meant for you to fix yourself

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Buffy/Devil May Cry
Chapter Summary: Syuvai explains his absence.
Word Count: 2170
Rating: Teen

 

         Krayemyar Kratyakunuro Syuvai is fairly certain he has ever felt this nervous once in his long existence, and that was when unappu was born. The young one had looked so small and frail and pink, with no armor or horns protecting him, and while the rates of fatal childbirth had significantly decreased over the centuries, they were still much higher than comfortable. (Any chance of his loving wife dying was uncomfortable, of course, but even then.) He leads the child to the library, desiring a conversation—any conversation—but too afraid to utter a word, in either of their native tongues. At least the child seemed willing enough to follow, if on edge. At least it seems the library puts them both a little more at ease. Oh, that’s a good start. “How are you finding Brahma and Shiva?”
         He’s gifted with a slight if toothy smile, and it feeds a neglected piece of his being. “They’re amazing. I don’t know how I ever fought without them.” That’s genuine, which matters so much
         He grins widely. His first instinct is to hide his feelings, for after all it has been so long since he’s been in the presence of idehahev and it is rarely acceptable to show such vulnerability elsewhere, but he fights that instinct. He does not, after all, want to do his child any further harm. “I am glad they have served you well.”
         They lapse back into silence, the puppy rearranging himself against a study desk to a point he finds comfortable, legs crossed and appearing casual. Syuvai is fluent in over a hundred tongues, and yet all of them are failing him. And then the child chuckles and shakes his head. “Okay, seriously, though, that has to stop.”
         Again, he’s caught off guard in the middle of finding a chair to sit on to face his offspring. “What does?” Perhaps all of the young ones of the nest talk this way, with no transition between thoughts. He resists the urge to view it from the academic perspective, to hide behind a merely abstract point of view and ignore the personal connection they share.
         “Your twitchiness. You’re making my devil side more nervous, and it makes all of this,” he gestures between the two of them (aha, nonverbal communication, and he’s getting lost again), “…harder. Especially not going spiky.”
         It lacks a certain elegance, but there’s a charm to the creativity that makes Syuvai smile despite himself. “I apologize; I don’t mean to make this…what would the term be, awkward?”
         “It’s gonna be awkward. If you’d just accept that and roll with it, this would all go a lot smoother.” There’s only a hint of sympathy in the hard voice.
         “I...what you think matters,” he admits, fiddling with a buckle at his elbow.
         “You can call me by my name, you know.” That startles him; he hadn’t thought Xander had noticed, but then, the child was far more adept than he’d given him credit for. His fault. Just that, though, is enough to get him to settle further into his chair, and the roiling power he can sense seems to roost as well. Willing to hear him out is as good a start as any.
         “…Thank you, Xander,” he manages. All these years, all this accumulated wisdom, and yet none of it is of use. Ah, but there is a beginning. “Are you familiar with the works of HP Lovecraft?”
         “Hell,” Xander swears, voice rough with emotion and a startled devil’s power, and that’s a strange reaction to a work of literature. “There’s that good excuse.” Perhaps not as strange.
         “You…do not wish to hear the rest?” He doesn’t know whether to be hopeful or discouraged.
         A snort. “Nah, I do, it’s just…well. Those two words are all I need to hear to know it was necessary.”
         He doesn’t particularly need to breathe, but even then his breathing is shaky. His offspring smiles encouragingly, and now his eyes are fully back to the brown of his human self. “The Starlings were a particularly powerful devil-hunting family. Your mother actually attempted to summon and bind me to her will.”
         Xander leans forward, eyes alight with amusement and curiosity. “Did she manage it?”
         “Not in the way she had intended,” Syuvai shares, smiling in return. “It soon became apparent their information was slightly out of date; they hadn’t known about the exile, nor of the most recent tarukwul. A mistake in the naming is all it needed to fail, and yet, I remained.”
         “Ahh, the famous Pashran curiosity.” Xander nods, following along, and the devil is heartened, for conversation does not usually come this easily, requiring a little thought to steer as needed and portray what is intended.
         “Indeed. Her brash confidence intrigued me. To this day, I do not know why she chose me, or for that matter chose any devil, but I am thankful choice or luck brought us here.” She could easily have died, and their child would not exist. Xander bites his lip, drawing blood, seeing even that little possibility. “At last, she discovered my deception, and, furious, asked me why I had allowed her to continue in the delusion she was in control.”
         “What did you do?” He’s certainly wondering how they, as the English saying goes, ‘got together’.
         “I surprised even myself. I kissed her. And confessed that it was not mere ‘delusion’.” As hoped for, that earns a place of amusement. He swallows, but there will be time enough for tales of hope later. “Alas, you were but a few months old when it all went wrong. A cousin of hers returned with an infestation—the tendrils of Morgtheren.”
         Xander closes his eyes in concentration, and finally opens them and shakes his head. “I got nothing.”
         “It is a beast that exists within and outside our reality, as per Lovecraftian fiction. While it bears some resemblance to a devil, it is far worse than anything conjured up by the most nightmarish Hell dimension. It feeds upon, and feeds, insanity. Not your mere human differences in thought process, but alien, monstrous thinking.” He shivers. Were he in devil form, he would wrap his wings around himself for comfort. “All too soon, it had spread to many of the Starling nest. Some died outright; others butchered each other. Your mother and I were not unaffected.”
         Eyes turn dark with fear and pain, and yet the young one does not look away. “She blamed me; I think due to the effect of the creature, though I fear I will never receive full answers. She screamed at me to leave, that I was putting you in danger. Stabbed me with a kitchen knife. The emotions and the infestation hurt worse than the wound; still, I fled, the touch in my mind driving me mad. Understand; I did not believe you to be safe with her, since she was infected as well, and we did not yet know whether you had been affected. I just…trusted myself less.”
         “A rampaging human with a knife or a devil in full regalia out of his mind….I dunno.” From what he’s seen of humanity over the centuries, his offspring isn’t entirely wrong. Both are capable of great destruction.
         “One of the elder Starlings had access to a relic of faith, and managed to heal those affected, but could not undo the damage that had already been done. With what remained of her sanity, your mother had gotten you into the hands of a great-aunt not already affected. Given the outcome, perhaps it would have been best had you remained there, for she would at least have taken care of you as you deserved; however, your mother reclaimed you once she was no longer afflicted. I, however, knew none of this, wandering for what felt like centuries, until by chance or design I stumbled into a temple lair, and while I did not manage to slay it, I was able to undo the damage that had been done, and drive it away for the time being.” His human form swallows, as he once more mourns the loss. “She does not fully know me, not anymore, yet she had remarried, set up protections against one with full devil blood entering her nest—her house. My physiology had allowed myself, with time, a full recovery, while hers…”
         “Hers led her down the road of not even knowing my name some days, a hollow shell,” Xander finishes, sharing in the grief. “And in doing so, robbed you of your new nest and nest-mate, and me of ever getting to know how awesome she is. And even if it didn’t directly hurt me or drive me away, probably helped me never feel comfortable at the house that was supposed to be a home.” He shakes his head. “That sucks. I guess I always thought it was targeted, that someone was after you because of the whole exile thing, but the fact that it wasn’t…I dunno, it’s silly, but it makes it worse.”
         That’s a very human thought, assigning a quantifiable depth to unquantifiable pain. “And, I believed, possibly my unappu as well,” he ventures. “Even when I discovered you were no longer in their nest, you had endured years of pain.”
         “Through no fault of your own, and so did you.” The voice is grieved, but beyond that, a hint of oh-so-very human compassion steals his breath once more. A pause, then, “Why didn’t you speak to me, when you left me that letter?”
         Ache. He had desired to, certainly, but, “…I was not certain the infestation was gone. I visited your great-aunt, an expert on these matters, following that event, and I am, but I did not wish to risk any prolonged contact.”
         “With anyone.” That’s certainly compassion in those human eyes. “Why were Brahma and Shiva safe? Why weren’t they infested?”
         Ah. That’s an insightful question. “In weapon form, they are, apparently, immune. As are those I currently hold. Perhaps it has something to do with the nature of the akin-to-contract they form with their wielder. Unfortunately, I have not done an intensive study upon the nature of Devil Arms, so I regret I am incapable of giving you a deeper answer.”
         Xander is not content with the answer, but then, he’d expect nothing less. It is very Pashran to desire answers and continue to seek them.
         “What about your cousin? She wasn’t there, was she?” He thought he’d detected a trace of the familiar within, but it was different enough and he’d been in a hurry—
         If he’s patient, he may have his answers, without the need to overthink the situation.
         His puppy nods, taking a deep breath before his next words. “Do you want to visit the hotel again, see it better? I’m pretty sure there’s enough rooms you can have one, if you want it.”
         Syuvai’s breath is taken away. “But—a place in your nest…” The words are so casual for such an invitation. He swallows. It’s everything he’s ever desired, everything that is within his reach to have, at least, and yet. “You know that means…”
         Xander holds his hand up, stopping Syuvai’s words. “I know. I got the lingo download.” He points at his head. “I won’t pretend it’s been easy or that I’m not slightly broken by all this, but it wasn’t your fault and I’m going to keep telling you that however many times I have to because I’ve got people to get it through my thick skull. I want you in my life, even if you’re not gonna be there most of the time.” That’s...an assumption. Pashran are present in the lives of their children until they come of age. Is human parenting different in this regard?
         His breath, this time, is shaky, and the human façade seems to be doing things he doesn’t wish it to. His son chuckles, even if he appears to be having a similar response.
         “Oh, c’mon, you big baby, there’s no need to cry. Come here.”
         The chair topples in his haste, and an absence of years eases as the two of them hug hard enough to crack purely human bones. Fortunately, neither of them can be described as such. He feels no need to comment on the wetness he feels at his shoulder.
         “You’ll need stuff to put in there, though. Oh, yeah, you’ve also got—a cousin of some kind; I don’t know what they call it in English, Kemumbu’s daughter, but she’s staying at the hahev too. She’s a little…angry, but I can probably talk her down. And I’m curious—have you tried ice cream?” Xander finally asks, pulling away.
         “Your fearless warrior friend is still waiting for you,” he tries to remind his offspring, but the mischievous smile says the reckless child finds that part of the fun.
         “She’s been complaining she needs a little more exercise, anyway.”
         This is massively unwise, but the approval of his puppy is a siren call he can’t resist.