(REQUESTS CLOSED) DRA/SDRA2 Dump

Lingering Demons (Tsurugi Angst)

Someone's dead. Hung, bludgeoned, stabbed, electrocuted, shot, it doesn't matter, the cause doesn't matter. Someone's dead, someone you knew is dead.

Murder, murder. It was a murder, that much you know. It was a murder, so you're having a trial, because someone's guilty, you could be guilty, anyone could be guilty, anyone could have done it. Anyone could have committed the murder. You know that you didn't do it, not by your own hands, but you're guilty. You swore to protect everyone, and you didn't. You couldn't. Someone's been murdered, and it's your fault. 

Sometimes, you see the murder happen. See Mitch strike Maki with the hammer, hear the crack as her skull breaks. See Ayame stab Kizuna, see the blood pour out of her throat. Sometimes, you see the executions, too. See the nails hammered into Kinji's hands, see Monokuma launch him into space. See the saws catch up with Ayame, watch as her very bones are reduced to mush. You relive it all in the same, hideous detail. Watch the people you knew, your friends, die one by one. 

But the thing that gets you the most isn't the murders or executions. It's the things your subconscious makes up. The nightmare scenarios. Sometimes you're found guilty. You don't want to argue with that verdict, because you are guilty, someone died, and it's your fault. You were supposed to protect them, that's your talent, isn't it? Ultimate police, and you couldn't stop a murder. You're a joke. But you have to argue with the guilty verdict, or else everyone will die. Everyone does die, they always do, and it's all your fault. You see the chains lock around their necks, around yours, you watch everyone be dragged away to a horrible death.

You see doctors. They say post-traumatic stress disorder. Survivor's guilt. You can't look at a school building without being filled with a guttural, primal fear, without remembering the start of the game. You can't sleep without having those nightmares of your time there. You can't cook anymore, because you can't touch a knife. Can't pick one up, without seeing Kizuna's body. You can't watch football games, without being reminded of Mitch's death. 

You cling to Kinji. He's messed up, just like you, even more so. You comfort him, you visit him in the hospital and soothe away his nightmares and feed him sweet words, like, 'beautiful'. You look after him, because you can't look after yourself. Nobody will look after you. That's not how it's supposed to be, you know that, you're a cop. You save people, you don't need saving. 

You do, but you don't let Kinji know that. You don't want him to make himself worse, worrying for you. You focus all of your attention just on him, just on getting him better. Making him feel better at least restores your sense of purpose. You became a cop to help people, didn't you? You can't help anyone except for him, but at least you're helping someone. At least in someone's eyes, you're there to protect and serve like you're supposed to. 

But even caring for Kinji doesn't work, sometimes. Sometimes you break. You're a hysterical, sobbing, disassociating mess, unable to even breathe. You're numb, and nothing feels the way it's supposed to, and you can't tell if you're at home, or the hospital, or back in the killing game. You want to scream, cry for someone, anyone, to sit with you and soothe you and get you to a nightmare free sleep. But Kinji needs you, so you do all of that for him instead. 

Eventually, it gets to the point where you can't hide your demons from him. You try to, you really do, but you can't. He forces you into therapy. Forces you to depend on him, for a change, and you hate seeing him like this, tears streaming down that beautiful face of his because he loves you, he loves you more than anything else in the world, and he can't bear to see you destroy yourself like this. So, you tell yourself that you're doing it for his sake. That's the only way you can allow yourself to accept help. 

He loves you. You know that. You're a useless failure of a cop, but he loves you. You let everyone, including him, die, but he loves you. You can't even begin to understand why, but he loves you. His love can't fix you, you're not stupid enough to believe that, but it's enough to keep you from destroying yourself. So you don't. You get better, you will get better. You just can't do it for yourself.