[They recognize the sign even before he finishes it, something odd constricting and then crumpling inside their chest. They do, though. Hands stilled, shaking with nervous, useless energy for just a moment before his falls onto their right, bringing it down to where their knees met the ground. And they have stopped. Just as quickly as they had found that energy, now it's gone—smothered, one might say, but perhaps Kino had finally realized how foolish they had been. They knew better. They did, they did. They knew it wouldn't be too long now. They knew there wasn't anything they could do to save him.
Kino's shoulders bow over as they lower their head, something in their chest reaching up to stick in their throat. Kino registers the minute squeeze of his hand on theirs a half-second late, shoulders shaking once in response. They can sense it's supposed to be reassurance—that's something he would do—but there's still a jagged piece of refusal sticking out in Kino's mind, not accepting it, furiously wanting to hold onto him as long as they could.
Their free hand relinquishes the useless bandages to move to the top of his own, gently but purposefully turning it over to free their right—they couldn't sign well with their left, not having the same type of dexterity. It's a simple question, though; doubtful he needed to see the sign to see it in Kino's expression.] Why?
[Why did you keep fighting? Why didn't you get help? Why did you do this?
They knew they didn't have much time but they had to ask, if he could answer. Needed to understand. It would keep blocking off everything else if they didn't ask.
Kino had left so many behind in their life. It was so easy—you simply put them behind you, faced the road, and drove. People faded into memories, and memories faded into wistful nostalgia. Both good and bad was easy to run from in retrospect. Even people who had cared for you. It was the power of agency, the structure of a journey.
But now Kino truly understands why Master would kill them should she ever see them again. Not because they had run away without telling her. Not because they had taken her persuader with them. But because they had left her alone.
[ why. it was a good question. it was a legitimate question. and after all he's put the kid through in these last few minutes, it was one they deserved an answer to.
for that alone, he wished he had an answer.
one that kino would be able to understand, at least, because there's a reason it wasn't them he sought out. life was a very different beast in the hands of someone who hadn't yet learned not to value it. kino's hands would not have let him fall, even when he already had two feet in the ground.
why.
it's almost funny, really. it's not the sentiment he'd expected in his last few moments; years had been spent quietly, unconsciously preparing for a finally or good riddance, and if he were any wryer, that might have been answer enough, really.
but it doesn't matter. it doesn't matter that fighting is all he knows; fighting is why he'd been born, why he'd been kept alive, and thus fighting should be why he dies. it doesn't matter that in that last hit, he'd never seen hibari's eyes light up so bright before. it doesn't matter that miles and miles and miles away is the one man who might have been able to drag his sorry ass back from the grave he's already settling himself into (time and time and time again).
and it doesn't matter that he'll never get to say any of this. this isn't really about him anymore.
There is not always a reason. Master had told them that at least once, an answer presented for some of Kino's endless questions—she had weathered them without complaint because it had been apparent that Kino hadn't been allowed them in the past. The Land of True Adults didn't offer too much in the way of information about their country, their world; it didn't pertain to them, and the adults particularly didn't care about anything past their own subsistence. So Kino had been endlessly curious, and sometimes Master had no answer for them. There is not always a reason. Not even when you desperately needed for there to be.
The CDC had shown Kino this even better their own world had. They had no reason for what they did—none presented to them, at the very least. Would an answer have made it any better, though? Destroy this world so that you might save another. Would something like that make it easier? Kino can't be sure. Life is something one cannot quantify; lives were equal in importance, all lives, but they were not interchangeable. One could leave the world and pass Kino by like a cold wind and nothing else. Another could leave with what felt like a piece of them in tow, just as Nic did, the seep of his blood slowing. Kino knows that his heart rate is slowing. He would not last too much longer, no matter how tightly they clung to his hand.
A reason might have been nice, a shiny bauble to distract their attention momentarily, but it didn't change anything.
He was right, and Kino knows it. As they hear his words they can't stop their head from falling, shoulders rising up in the same moment. A light shudder of them, but otherwise silence.
Running out of time.
Kino didn't know what to do. They so rarely stuck around long enough to see someone pass—they were too busy passing through, a transient presence no matter where they went. The permanence of the CDC crew still felt strange.
It is still, quiet. Kino can hear his breathing continue to slow, ragged and wounded like the rest of him. The wind in the trees. The rustle and call of birds as they lifted off from branches above-head, fleetingly visible before disappearing above branches and leaves.
Something does form in their mind, giving them enough reason to look back up once more. They struggle to lift Nic's hand slightly once more, hoping that he can see the signs that they try to piece together but also making the gestures against his palm so he might be able to compliment it with that as well. It might be a little disjointed, some of the words either being estimates or not jumping to mind as easily as they might have in any other situation, but they hope the meaning is clear enough.]
A man once told me that seeing the birds fly made him want to go on a journey.
[The man that had given Kino the inspiration for their new life, their new persona, the man who had saved their life. It's apparent in the gravity with which Kino presents the words that it's something important to them. They had nothing else to offer him—they had no idea if it would mean anything or if it would help or do anything at all, but it was all they had. They were a simple traveler; they had little belongings, only stories and the words of people long since dead.
It's all they have. The hand drops to hold onto Nic's once more, clasped between both as Kino's shoulders bow over him.
They have nothing else to say, but there's something in the action and how tightly they cling to his hand that seems to say, almost ironically, "So go."]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
YELLS
Kino's shoulders bow over as they lower their head, something in their chest reaching up to stick in their throat. Kino registers the minute squeeze of his hand on theirs a half-second late, shoulders shaking once in response. They can sense it's supposed to be reassurance—that's something he would do—but there's still a jagged piece of refusal sticking out in Kino's mind, not accepting it, furiously wanting to hold onto him as long as they could.
Their free hand relinquishes the useless bandages to move to the top of his own, gently but purposefully turning it over to free their right—they couldn't sign well with their left, not having the same type of dexterity. It's a simple question, though; doubtful he needed to see the sign to see it in Kino's expression.] Why?
[Why did you keep fighting? Why didn't you get help? Why did you do this?
They knew they didn't have much time but they had to ask, if he could answer. Needed to understand. It would keep blocking off everything else if they didn't ask.
Kino had left so many behind in their life. It was so easy—you simply put them behind you, faced the road, and drove. People faded into memories, and memories faded into wistful nostalgia. Both good and bad was easy to run from in retrospect. Even people who had cared for you. It was the power of agency, the structure of a journey.
But now Kino truly understands why Master would kill them should she ever see them again. Not because they had run away without telling her. Not because they had taken her persuader with them. But because they had left her alone.
It's a terrible, hollow, awful feeling.]
hello clarice...
for that alone, he wished he had an answer.
one that kino would be able to understand, at least, because there's a reason it wasn't them he sought out. life was a very different beast in the hands of someone who hadn't yet learned not to value it. kino's hands would not have let him fall, even when he already had two feet in the ground.
why.
it's almost funny, really. it's not the sentiment he'd expected in his last few moments; years had been spent quietly, unconsciously preparing for a finally or good riddance, and if he were any wryer, that might have been answer enough, really.
but it doesn't matter. it doesn't matter that fighting is all he knows; fighting is why he'd been born, why he'd been kept alive, and thus fighting should be why he dies. it doesn't matter that in that last hit, he'd never seen hibari's eyes light up so bright before. it doesn't matter that miles and miles and miles away is the one man who might have been able to drag his sorry ass back from the grave he's already settling himself into (time and time and time again).
and it doesn't matter that he'll never get to say any of this. this isn't really about him anymore.
why?
why not. ]
wOUld aNY aNSweR ReAlLy hElp?
deletes you
There is not always a reason. Master had told them that at least once, an answer presented for some of Kino's endless questions—she had weathered them without complaint because it had been apparent that Kino hadn't been allowed them in the past. The Land of True Adults didn't offer too much in the way of information about their country, their world; it didn't pertain to them, and the adults particularly didn't care about anything past their own subsistence. So Kino had been endlessly curious, and sometimes Master had no answer for them. There is not always a reason. Not even when you desperately needed for there to be.
The CDC had shown Kino this even better their own world had. They had no reason for what they did—none presented to them, at the very least. Would an answer have made it any better, though? Destroy this world so that you might save another. Would something like that make it easier? Kino can't be sure. Life is something one cannot quantify; lives were equal in importance, all lives, but they were not interchangeable. One could leave the world and pass Kino by like a cold wind and nothing else. Another could leave with what felt like a piece of them in tow, just as Nic did, the seep of his blood slowing. Kino knows that his heart rate is slowing. He would not last too much longer, no matter how tightly they clung to his hand.
A reason might have been nice, a shiny bauble to distract their attention momentarily, but it didn't change anything.
He was right, and Kino knows it. As they hear his words they can't stop their head from falling, shoulders rising up in the same moment. A light shudder of them, but otherwise silence.
Running out of time.
Kino didn't know what to do. They so rarely stuck around long enough to see someone pass—they were too busy passing through, a transient presence no matter where they went. The permanence of the CDC crew still felt strange.
It is still, quiet. Kino can hear his breathing continue to slow, ragged and wounded like the rest of him. The wind in the trees. The rustle and call of birds as they lifted off from branches above-head, fleetingly visible before disappearing above branches and leaves.
Something does form in their mind, giving them enough reason to look back up once more. They struggle to lift Nic's hand slightly once more, hoping that he can see the signs that they try to piece together but also making the gestures against his palm so he might be able to compliment it with that as well. It might be a little disjointed, some of the words either being estimates or not jumping to mind as easily as they might have in any other situation, but they hope the meaning is clear enough.]
A man once told me that seeing the birds fly made him want to go on a journey.
[The man that had given Kino the inspiration for their new life, their new persona, the man who had saved their life. It's apparent in the gravity with which Kino presents the words that it's something important to them. They had nothing else to offer him—they had no idea if it would mean anything or if it would help or do anything at all, but it was all they had. They were a simple traveler; they had little belongings, only stories and the words of people long since dead.
It's all they have. The hand drops to hold onto Nic's once more, clasped between both as Kino's shoulders bow over him.
They have nothing else to say, but there's something in the action and how tightly they cling to his hand that seems to say, almost ironically, "So go."]