Letting Go

Striking gold met soft cinnamon, both pairs of eyes widening in shock. The latter downcast his gaze, his breath caught in his throat. The former subconsciously stared up at the sliver of an eye visible on the other's forehead, becoming dizzy as the smell of smoke filled his nostrils, once again being pulled into his memories.

"Vishnu."

"Shiva."

Neither of them spoke, both lost in scenes of the past.

Vishnu couldn't look at his brother-in-law, his mere presence bringing him back to the day he took away his son. Shiva was thinking about the same thing.

Both the Preserver and the Destroyer couldn't have been more different at that moment. One had midnight colored skin that was sprinkled with glowing stars, while the other gleamed like the sun. One had barely quelled hatred, the other staring at his friend with a longing for forgiveness. But both looked broken.

Vishnu's hair was still as lush and voluminous as it had been when the world first began, his skin still as smooth as butter. His lips were seemingly soft, tinged with the color of a blooming lotus. But there were cracks in his eyes, veins of pain and sorrow that reminded you of just how much he went through. When Shiva focused on his eyes alone, it surprised him to see how old he looked.

When Vishnu looked at Shiva, he saw a monster. He saw his red aura and was reminded of the fire that stole his son when he used to be reminded of warmth. With each step he took towards him, he flinched. Deep down, he knew it wasn't Shiva he hated.... It was himself.

Shiva was known for his wrath, to expect anything different from him was foolish. But unlike Shiva, Vishnu failed his family. When Parvati threatened to destroy the world upon the beheading of Ganesh, Shiva had wasted no time in finding something to replace it with, hence bringing her son back to life. But all Vishnu could do was watch helplessly as his wife screamed and wailed, practically tearing her hair out of her head. There was no comfort he could offer her, no way to tell her that it would be okay.

He hates his own mind for robbing him of his memories. He remembers how everyone praised his son's beauty, but he couldn't remember how looked. He couldn't remember if he took after his father or mother... Only the memory of ashes remained. His arrival was supposedly indicated by the sweet fragrance of fresh flowers and honey, but Vishnu only remembered the lingering scent of burning flesh atop Mount Kailash. They would say his muscles were as hard as rock, no doubt a trait from Vishnu. Were they? He couldn't recall anything but the rough feel of the miniscule remains that lay where his son should have stood.

Where there should have been the image of his boy as he was - Kind, gentle, the God of Love in every way - he hated that he could only see the scene that made up his last moments. His wife's cries of horror and devastation, the nauseating smell of smoke, the sympathetic looks the other Devas shot at him, the pure guilt and self-blame that shone so clearly on Parvati and Shiva's faces when he yelled at them. And as wrong as it may have been, the last one gave him a fleeting moment of sickening pleasure. The slightest pride that he could give them even a fraction of the pain he felt then.

What came next was worse. The constant visits. People stopping by to say "Sorry for your loss". But it never mattered. Even if Shiva himself came and pleaded to him for forgiveness, nothing would bring back his son. He would always be dead.

'Not dead.' his mind reminded him. "He's not dead."

But it was so hard to remember that sometimes. It was so hard. When his son had been alive, he had been a welcome presence, the darling of the house. His son had been the first child born to him and his wife after many disappointing years of trying and failing to produce offspring. Quickly followed by another boy, everyone had claimed he was their source of luck. His son had been bright, a bundle of sweetness and love. He had been real... He wasn't the unfeeling shadow that had been left to the world, a mere sliver of everything his son had been.

His wife's accusing words, angry and blunt, echoed in his ears.

"You're all supposedly the greatest gods to ever live... Then why could none of you save my son?!"

Vishnu let out a shaky breath, remembering how he'd constantly promise he would protect him.

"If I can save the whole world, I can definitely save you."

He had lied. When it mattered most, he hadn't been there. When he finally arrived, he was gone. All that was left was cinders, as bleak and grey as the world felt in that moment. Maybe a bone or two here and there, a pure white that reminded him that his son never deserved this.

He felt fingers - hard from years of clutching the trident, yet warm as though he'd been out in the sun all day - gently lift his chin. Vishnu looked up, Shiva's image blurring as tears gathered in his eyes. If he was going to apologize, he didn't want to hear it. He'd heard enough of that wretched word for it to leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I'm sorry that happened to you."

"I heard about your son. I'm very sorry."

"I'm sorry, are you and your wife alright?"

Shiva seemed to understand how he felt, his own eyes rapidly welling up.

"You and I, Vishnu... We were never meant for families. Neither of us were great fathers, were we?"

At first he was perplexed at what he meant, before the meaning sunk in. Just as he had failed his children over and over again, never being able to keep them safe, Shiva had failed as well... Just in a different way. The first time he met his eldest son, he cut his head off, and the poor boy - although he loved his father - had been cautious of him ever since, always watching his words and actions. His second son never knew the love he was supposed to have. Having been raised away from home and always ushered off to war, it was as though he was barely there at all.

Then Vishnu was faced with a decision. Should he continue to hate, or forgive the person responsible for his pain?

"You're my family," Vishnu countered, choosing to let his hatred go. "And I'm yours. And you're wrong. We were amazing fathers - Still are to this day. Our children would never say otherwise, whether they be godly or mortal."

Vishnu felt the slightest of warm breezes brush past him, feeling oddly as though someone had pressed a hand to his cheek, seeming to reassure him of his words.

Maybe the heartache of losing his son would never leave, but he had Shiva and Shiva had him. Things would be okay.

A/N This is different from how they met again in Devi Lakshmi, but this can be seen as either a companion to it or not. Either way, I just wanted to write about Vishnu's feelings on this whole Manmatha/Kamadeva ordeal.

Hope you enjoyed! Or cried... I know I did.