legendaryevokercupcake

60% Water

And 40% sulfuric acid

844 posts

Every Flame Will Burn Out Some Day.

every flame will burn out some day.

cw: major character death. descriptions of blood & (not very detailed) a dead body. descriptions of grief and unhealthy habits.

word count: 1654

a/n: uhh this is just 'himeko dies: the fanfic'. i wrote it like a week ago in two days and it sucked the writing juice out of me but i'm still kinda happy with how it came out? also posted it on ao3 here

Welt doesn't remember all the details.

He does remember the fire, though; beautiful, orange flames blooming in the night, burning so brightly, reaching up so high into the sky, so powerful that he could feel the heat on his face, engulfing every monster in its way and turning it into ash; and he does remember this fire disappearing much too soon and much too abruptly.

He remembers a scream cut short, blood splashing around and landing on his face, a body falling.

He remembers that, for a heartbeat, the world stopped.

He remembers rushing towards her; holding desperately onto some little shards of hope that maybe, just maybe, he would still be able to save her - and these shards being ground into dust the moment he kneeled down next to her.

He remembers trying to shield her body, cover it so that neither March 7th, nor Dan Heng, nor Stelle would have to see it; her pale face, and the deep crimson staining her white dress like grotesque flowers. But they were right behind him, and he was much too slow.

He doesn't remember their faces, he isn't sure if he even looked at them, but he can only assume they showed varying degrees of horror.

He remembers March clinging onto him, sobbing into his shoulder, and himself wrapping his arms around her almost mechanically, his eyes glued to Himeko's face.

She looked surprised.

Not scared.

Of course.

He doesn't remember a single time where she would show fear.

He remembers something growing inside him at that moment, too; a decision, crystallizing. Any thoughts about leaving the Astral Express he might've ever had lost any meaning at that moment - now, there was - is - no way he could just abandon them.

He still is almost painfully aware how much Dan Heng, March and Stelle need his guidance.

He doesn't remember how much time it took all of them to finally break out of the initial shock and move, he doesn't remember what ultimately made them do it, he doesn't even know how they got back on the train; he thinks he might've carried March all the way back, but he isn't sure.

He can't quite recall Pom Pom’s reaction, he can only guess what it was, given they were the one who met Himeko first.

The first few days are a blur, too.

He feels like he's in a trance; like he's just watching from the sidelines as his body does everything, a spectator in a grim play. He wakes up the day after and immediately gets to work, because he cannot stand the thought of simply lying there, he's afraid of just what may come across his mind. It's much better to keep working.

He doesn't want to give himself time, he can't give himself time, and he will insist he doesn't need to.

There's so much to take care of around the Astral Express, after all.

It feels natural for him to take over Himeko's responsibilities as well, now. Or maybe he's just looking for ways and excuses to keep himself busy; a part of him certainly is. He attempts to contact her family, or friends, or anyone that might’ve been in any way close to her. He ought to inform them of what had happened.

Aside from that, he doesn't remember much more.

But he does check on the kids; obviously, they're not actually children anymore, but they're his children, and they need him more than ever before, and so he ensures they get up, eat, drink water, go to sleep at acceptable hours, and he regularly checks in during the day, asking if they need anything.

Sometimes they just need him to hold them.

To hug them tightly, making a silent promise that everything will be alright, even though all of them know it won't - not right now, and not any time soon.

Pom Pom does the same for him, reminding him to take care of himself, too, but he forgets to do anything the moment the door to his room closes behind them.

Sometimes he feels like he's underwater, just ran out of air and can't breathe; his lungs are burning, begging him to take even one, small breath, but he can't - if he does, he's surely going to drown.

If he lets himself pay just a bit too much attention to certain thoughts, he's going to crumble, and he simply can't allow that, not when they need him so much - him, not the vulnerable part of him. They need Mr. Yang who's strong, and always knows what to do, and surely has a way for all of them to pick themselves up and piece themselves back together. For Dan Heng to speak again, because he hasn’t said a word since Himeko’s death. For March to go back to being so cheerful like she usually is. For Stelle to stop being so serious, with such an overwhelmingly dark aura around her.

He doesn't.

He won't admit it.

These first few days stretch into a week.

The scent of coffee coming from Himeko's room is much, much, much weaker now.

No one has entered this room since her death.

One morning Stelle knocks on his door.

He's used to working alone, but he lets her help him when she asks if there's anything she could do. Sure. There is quite a lot, actually, he'll find something for her no problem. It does feel tense at first; he’s so exhausted, he definitely hasn’t been taking proper care of himself, and he’s almost certain she will pick up on it even despite her own visible tiredness, but she doesn’t. Or, at the very least, she doesn’t mention it. She does talk about some other things, though, not too much, that’s for sure, but he’s never been more relieved to hear it.

He’s used to relaxing alone, too, but when one evening March asks him if he would like to watch a movie with the three of them, he agrees almost instantly. Her voice is still so quiet, almost unsure, and so unlike her, and obviously he can’t and didn’t even think about blaming her for it in any way, but it still breaks his heart a little-

No, not that.

It only adds onto the pain piling up since the moment he saw Himeko’s body fall to the ground.

But he follows March to her bedroom anyway, and as the four of them settle down, he lets her rest her head on his shoulder eventually. He lets Stelle do the same. He watches the movie - an animated one he isn't familiar with - trying to ignore the overwhelming sense of guilt growing in his heart.

It is his job to protect the crew; all of them, Himeko included, and he failed. If he was just a bit faster that day, nothing would've happened, all five of them would be watching this movie, and the atmosphere of this room wouldn't feel so heavy, this moment of peace wouldn't feel so fragile, like the smallest wrong move would be enough to shatter it into pieces.

His heart feels like something is repeatedly stabbing into it, again, and again, and again, and again-

He speaks up, eventually, and his voice is quiet, but he hopes it will be louder than his thoughts.

He comments on the animation, he compliments the beautifully drawn backgrounds, he even brings up the time he himself worked as an animator.

When Dan Heng asks him a question, it feels like everyone in the room can finally breathe again, but his heart still feels so heavy.

The week extends into two, then three, nearly a month.

The scent of coffee coming from her room is long gone, but he still catches himself surprised by the lack of it; he still catches himself expecting Himeko to leave her bedroom in the morning, to hear her talking to the kids or Pom Pom. When he sits in the parlor car, lost in thought, he's subconsciously waiting for Himeko to enter, with a teasing comment and a playful smile on her face.

The pain has become a little duller, but it remains, and he isn't sure if it will ever disappear. The guilt is persistent as ever, and although he doesn't quite feel like a machine quite as much anymore, he's exhausted.

Some days he feels like he's about to collapse, in every possible way.

The kids leave the Astral Express for a bit one day, finally; there's some shopping that needs to be done and they decide to go together. They ask him if he wants to accompany them, but he declines gently. No, he still has some work to do. Yes, he will be alright, they don't need to worry. No, he's not tired. Yes, he will remember to rest later. He feels bad that he made them feel like they should ask about all that.

The door to his room closes behind them, and he locks it with shaky hands.

He waits.

He waits until the sound of their quiet conversation disappears from the hallway.

His heartbeat is much too loud in his ears.

He wants to scream.

He's frustrated with himself because of that, because it's such a childish want, but he needs to scream until his voice gives up completely and he can't even talk anymore, until he's exhausted and empty, rid of everything he feels.

For now, though, he's struggling to breathe.

He leans against the door and forces himself to take in long, deep, painfully slow and shaky breaths. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

His throat hurts, his eyes start to burn, his vision blurs when the tears finally start to overflow.

He feels so alone that it physically hurts.

He is going to be fine, though.

He has been strong for them. He has been the support they need.

He will continue to be once they return.